With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw. James was what you might call my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have the adventures and deep talks with, minus the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Although somehow he and I had become the best of friends, I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it was. I sat in my car with the radio going for about five minutes. Leaning back into the cool leather, I stared at the clock--Jason would be landing in four hours. My blue eyes stared back at me in the rear view mirror, I was transparent and I had a guilty conscience. The passenger seat would soon be occupied and the backseat full of baggage. I groaned, pushing my sunglasses back over my eyes--it was now or never. I got out of the car and felt the heat rising off the pavement, it was the dead of summer and most people had the right idea to stay indoors, protect themselves from getting burnt.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and immediately started confessing like a kid in trouble, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had expected to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s...” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..not helpful. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.” So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, sitting comfortably with his arm draped over the back of the booth. Calm, cool, indifferent. Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x,” I hissed as the waitress hurried over. I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
His honey brown eyes grazed over the empty restaurant and then looked up to the approaching waitress indifferently, “No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--yes. Yes, it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He proceeded to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was now drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine too.” She cooed, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I raised both my hands in disbelief, watching her giggle to her friends as she moved to the computer. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. Not happening. No, absolutely not, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.” I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her.
If there is one thing that drives me up the wall about being a girl, is that sadly--I cannot stand girls. Particularly girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, usually in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Things had been stressful and I was even fed up with dealing with myself and my self-inflicted emotional roller coaster. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? The bitch had balls.
“Whatever, do you think you she could be anymore obvious?” I snapped, he smiled innocently and I continued back to my order of business, “but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack that he had limited my encounter with Evan to such a physical thing--as if all there was between us was nothing more than a cheap hook-up.
“Call it what you want. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” Now his attitude was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the desperadas. The women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you meet, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. Why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? And why would he just assumed Evan wanted nothing with me? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area?
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he was interested, you would be dating. It’s all the same at the bars, just trying to get ass.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.” His words had stung. I felt like an idiot.
James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button. It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true. I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think,“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I mention where this is going,” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room.
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy: the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth. This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. I could tell he was frustrated, definitely more apathetic than usual. Maybe he was being so dismissive of what happened at the club with me because he was being dismissed in his own love life. There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something critically back to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling it as if I had burned him, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you determine it can’t go anywhere?”
“Nah. I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank on a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my own future is.” His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and all the while, just hoping the water won’t be freezing.” I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or, take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my heart?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far,” I managed to reply as I was mid-swallow on a handful of ketchup covered french fries.
He laughed putting on a dramatically confused face, “Come again? Eat much?”
“Yeah, you’re hilarious. What I’m trying to say is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now, it’s like she said last night, being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “Yeah, sure. But it’s just weird because instead of playing house, your playing relationship.” It made me feel slightly better in some sense that a handsome catch like James could have problems finding someone. Perhaps, it’s not that there is some kind of defect with single people or people who have problematic relationships: but more so, that we are all just trying to find the right someone to bank on a future with.
I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.
I got back in my car and started heading home, I only had about a two hours before I had to go to the airport. I started envisioning what I wanted my own future to look like. As much as I enjoyed the spontaneity of my single life, I equally enjoyed the security that came with the familiar nook of Jason’s neck. When I think about Evan, my heart skips a beat in my chest. So what’s better--the spontaneity of the unknown, or the comfort of the familiar? Is it possible to have both? Something told me as I parked in the garage and looked at Jason’s sports equipment on the workbench that I couldn’t have my cake and eat it too. I needed to make a choice and when it came down to it--I wanted to be with someone who loved me, for me. Maybe James had a point, maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment with Jason and forget all about Evan and..sparks. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling--hypothetically, would there ever even be a future with Evan? Evan and I had sparks, but did he have a nook for me?
Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” Jessica’s voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone.
I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted by bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.” The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. Instead, I finished shaving my legs, watching the foam slide off the razor. Then, it hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I. It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”
Chapter 6
Even in the evening, the heat still emanated off the pavement. I parked the car, scribbled down the row and level, shoved it into my purse, and applied Jason’s favorite vanilla lipgloss. I angled the rear view mirror lower, adjusting my cleavage in my black push-up bra. I had decided that red was too feisty, black kept it simple and sexy. I wore my favorite black summer dress, clinging to my body subtly without overdoing it.
I walked through the automatic doors and clicked my foot waiting for the elevator. A happy couple stepped out, barely mid-make out session before the doors opened intrusively. They giggled passed as he tugged her forward into a playful hug. Disgusting. In truth, it made my heart ache a little. Would Jason and I be that couple?
Jason rarely complimented my figure, but when he did I knew it was sincere. Ex-dates in the past had made that mistake, over-complimenting. Jeff, for example, a handsome guy from a loaded Italian family--he had everything going for him. That is, until I answered the door and all he could say was, “Wow, Delaney James, you look just amazing. Really stunning.” Compliments are great, in moderation, after awhile it becomes overkill and superficial. He continued on, unabashedly admiring my ass in my jeans, “Are those True Religions? Or Rock N’ Republics?” My jaw almost hit the floor as I sputtered the response, wondering how his metrosexualness had gone undetected. Nothing worse than getting a shopping partner when you wanted a real man to get down and dirty with.
I looked up at the screen with the departures and arrivals. I squinted, trying to differentiate all the flights coming in from New York. I moved to outside the security check point, a shiver coming over me as I thought about the stress of the security check point. I stared at the man staring placidly at the x-ray scene, just waiting to ruin someone’s day by taking their liquid necessity.
An older man smiled up at me, his plaid pants and worn v-neck sweater reminding me of my pop-pop. I smiled back, “Who are you waiting for?”
He laughed sheepishly, tapping his cane, “Nobody special. What about you?”
I cocked my head to the side, “Nobody special? Well, I’m actually just picking up my boyfriend.”
His snicker caught me off guard, “Not one of those lesbians? Seems like all you young people are lesbians or gays.”
My eyes widened briefly, so much for cute old man, “No..no not one of those.” With that, I politely turned my back and moved over to the airport Starbucks nestled between a newsstand and the touristy desert store. My savior, lit up in green lights, from awkward conversations.
I picked up a black coffee for myself and a carmel macchiato for Jason. That was the first drink he ordered after we met. We had walked together from the park and tied Bachi beneath his seat and sat outside, talking about our lives, movies, politics, religion, Bachi--it was the first real conversation I had had in a long time. That was what I loved about Jason, I chewed on the tip of my nail, thinking about what a fool I had been to risk losing him. I picked up the two drinks, walked over to the coffee condiment stand, put one bag of splenda in his and two in mine along with some vanilla powder. Jason and I may not have fireworks per se, but we respect eachother. We were like two ships, but instead of passing in the night, we were parallel. I pulled out my phone, his flight should have landed by now. Just as I was dropping it back into the abyss, it vibrated from a text, Evan.
When am I going to see you again?
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Just as I was going to press delete, my obnoxious “Sexy back” ringtone started filling the area around me. The black coffee spilled onto my arm and the phone dropped out from my pinky. Painfully embarrassing and annoying. The phone spun around on the brown tile and irritated business men glared at me from their laptops. I crumbled down to the floor in an awkward squat, trying to make sure my dress kept all things hidden. I picked up the phone managing to say “Hello?”
“Dee? Where are you at? I’m standing outside security.”
“Oh babe, I’m at the Starbucks, be there in a second.”
“No worries, I see you now.”
I threw the phone into my bag, thinking how it would have felt better just to throw it into the coffee, against the wall, or even at one of the assholes who didn’t bother to help me. I scooped up the coffees and turned to see Jason. He looked so official in his khaki’s and white button up shirt. He actually looked older than 26, his hard work had aged him.
“Hi beautiful, I missed you.”
His arms felt so secure around me. Jason would lose sleep before missing a work out, and his hard chest showed it. He gave me a quick kiss on my neck and a loving pat on my butt.
“Missed you too stranger,” I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, extending the carmel macchiato proudly. He stared at the cup, muttering a confused thanks.
“Remember, from our first coffee date?”
“Yeah, remember how much indigestion I got from drinking it?” He scoffed, chucking it into the garbage can as we walked towards the elevators.
“Oh, well I would have drank it, you didn’t have to throw it away.”
“You’re blonde is showing. So, how was your weekend?”
I stared up at the top of the doors, watching the elevator come back down. We definitely weren’t ever going to be the couple that had stepped out earlier. I sighed, “Pretty uneventful, just went out with Sara and Amber.”
“How trashed did they get?”
“What do you mean?”
“They are pretty much alcoholics, really, you should try and find some classier women to spend time with. Think about how that makes you look.” He sighed, staring down at his Rolex impatiently. “Jesus, how long does it take the elevator?”
I was still processing what he had said about Amber and Sara. He had come out with us when we first started dating, and never again. Now I guess it was making sense, he thought that anyone who had a few drinks at a bar was a raging alcoholic. My friends could be rowdy but never sloppy, what’s so bad about having a good time? I found myself saying it aloud.
“There is a difference between having a good time and being irresponsible. Come on, Delaney, we aren’t in college anymore. Time to act like adults, settle down.”
The elevator doors opened and we stepped in, “What floor?”
“Oh shoot, um..” I dug through my purse searching for the piece of paper, “I think 5...um I’m not really sure. Just one second.”
“For Christ sake Delaney, I leave for one weekend and you just fall apart? Check your inside pocket.”
Sure enough, the little paper was there 3D.
“Level 3, row D.”
“You should really organize that thing.”
“Do you have anymore snide remarks to make? I’m sorry my friends and my purse aren’t good enough for you. But what do I know, I’m blonde.” I snapped, rolling my eyes, leaning back into the cold metal wall. The cool silver felt good on my back, I could feel the tension returning to my shoulders. As generous and kind-hearted as Jason was, he was also incredibly judgmental and serious. I realized now why I hadn’t gone out in so long, it wasn’t worth the third degree questioning I would receive from Jason when I got home.
He pulled me to him, putting his arm around my neck, it just felt heavy instead of comfortable, “Don’t be silly, I’m sorry, it’s just how I feel.” He kissed my forehead, “I’m just tired from my flight, that’s all.”
I leaned into him, giving in. “So you didn’t want to go get dinner then?”
He sighed, “Not really, I’d rather just chill out on the couch, open up a beer, and watch the game. It was a pretty crazy couple of days.”
“Oh, well, is there room for one more on the couch?”
“Absolutely, but you’ve got to give me a neck massage in exchange for the seat.”
He reached and took the keys from my hand, always preferring to drive. He said my driving made him nervous, something about accelerating into turns instead of decelerating. All I knew was that I had a license and zero accidents, that was good enough for me.
I retreated into the passenger seat of my own car, turning the radio down while watching him adjust the seat.
“So tell me about New York.”
“Pretty good, it’s nice to be home though. I have some big news, I was going to tell you over dinner but since that’s not happening, I guess now is as good as any.”
My stomach turned, I looked out the window watching a plane take off before turning back to stare at the hard outline of his face. His jaw clenched and his eyes danced in excitement, “I got a promotion. Big promotion.”
“Really?! That’s fantastic, congratulations baby. You deserve it.” I squeezed his hand and patted his leg affectionately.
“Good, I’m glad you feel that way. The only thing is that I’m going to have to be in New York for the next few months. You know, just to help the new branch take off.”
My stomach turned again, “A few months? Wait, so you’re moving back to New York?”
Friday, March 6, 2009
Rainy Day Reflection
Have you ever heard wind so rough, it almost sounds like angry drops of rain? Posadas is covered in a blanket of brooding, gray clouds. The town is quiet besides the subtle vibration from the window. Just like the Sun, I want to hide away for a while. Disappear into my solitude.
It’s interesting how I can go from moods of wanting to be around people all the time to wanting to be alone with my thoughts and my writing. Polar opposites that somehow comprise who I am. Sometimes incredibly outgoing and other times shy and introverted. These moods of solitude strike every now and again out of the blue, undetectable to a strangers eye.
The epic Don Quijote tour is approaching and I find myself digging in my heels, wanting to spend the weekend alone doing whatever “I” want to do. I feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about the possible random adventures to be had; but also thinking about how nice it would be to sit outside a cafe, read, and work on my book. Meander around the various boutiques and buy some summer clothes and accessories. Drink wine in my freshly cleaned apartment and enjoy a homemade batch of brownies. Next weekend I’m going to Italy for 5 days..last weekend I went on an epic adventure in Galicia, maybe it’s okay to just have some time to myself. Still, there is that twinge of...Should I? On the other hand, just to contrast with how much I’ve grown up, I really just want to be alone for a weekend. Two months ago I was practically terrified to be by myself, now I’m thinking of going to a couple museums in Cordoba by my lonesome, happily.
This afternoon I stopped by the post office across the street to send a postcard to my Grandma, someone I miss all the time. I finished writing a couple others, but haven’t officially sent them off. I’m content with my selection, each unique and personalized. By the time I made it home I had just missed the delivery guy, I received another package from my Mom, complete with a cute jacket, two new pairs of blue mittens, low sodium ramen noodles (picante!), and about 12 new books. I’m currently 455 pages into Stephanie Meyer’s “Breaking Dawn” and 293 pages into David Baldacci’s “Saving Faith”--it’s a political thriller, something I normally wouldn’t get sucked into, but I really like his style. The story is told through the perspective of about 4 different main characters, each chapter alternates their stories. It’s an interesting approach, something I’m not talented enough to take on. It’s difficult enough to create the voice of one character, let alone tell a cohesive story through the eyes of 4 distinct characters. Insert deep longing sigh here. The looming thought in the back of my head, to be honest, is that my writing isn’t good enough. Ultimately, that I’ll never amount to anything and I’ll be one of those people settling for another occupation, always thinking of what could have been, always wishing they were more talented. Not so positive, eh?
I have been meaning to get around to writing regales of my travels in Galicia. Not in the mood just yet, probably when I upload my pictures. However, Baiona and the roaring wind reminded me so much of the Sonoma Coast and my family. Our family photos are littered with pictures of my brother and I jumping on rocks like little conquerors and howling happily into the wind. I sat on this massive black rock that jutted into the ocean for a good half an hour. Contentedly staring at the waves crashing, observing a quiet fisherman and taking note of the faraway lands obscured by the low puffy clouds. It was the first place I’ve been in Spain that felt like home. Memories of home were fresh and palpable. Particularly, the photo of the three most important women in my life taken at the coast: my Grandmother, my Mother and my Great Aunt. I don’t know why but it makes me cry to think about it, I guess I’m just missing them and wishing Lenna was still alive so I could call her and tell her that I finally did it, just like she always hoped I would.
It sounds strange, but I hope I’m making her proud. Traveling has always been an important aspect of life to my family. I was raised looking at exotic antiques from foreign lands, reading books from India, listening to Lenna speak in Spanish over dinner, and learning how to say words in French from her letters. There is a picture of Lenna and my grandmother sitting on a camel in Egypt, wearing elegant flats and skirts with fabulous old school sunglasses and platinum blonde hair. They are just..amazing.
I had never wanted to travel before the summer of my Junior year of College. All at once, it hit me like a train--I had to get moving, get away and get out. I marched down to the study abroad office and called my Mom a few minutes later, “What do you think about me going to London?” and of course, true to form and family tradition, “It’d be a wonderful experience, absolutely.” I’m not sure what changed in me. It was a year for personal growth. That winter was known as the 100 year storm, and will always remain my emotional rock bottom. What occurred to me then, what really sunk in, is that in the end--we are the ones who can change our lives. Friends will be there to show you the light at the end of the tunnel, but we are the ones who have to get our hands dirty, roll up our sleeves, and start putting things back together (usually better done with a smile on your face).
I just started tutoring another girl named Laura on Wednesday’s, her parents are teachers at my school. After our first lesson, they showed me the pictures of their favorite vacations/expeditions around Spain. They have also co-authored three travel books about Cabo de Gata. There were pictures of Laura at two years old, trekking along side her bold parents in front of these breathtaking landscapes. I realized, that’s the kind of life I want to lead. I want to travel and explore the world, and eventually instill that appreciation in my kids. They are an amazing family and really accomplished; I’m glad I got to see a version of a married couple that seemed slightly more fitting and attainable..the idea of my other half not as someone to settle down with, but someone to shake things up with, to travel the world with.
This is what I wrote about Baiona in my journal..(per usual on a new favorite bench).
It’s interesting how I can go from moods of wanting to be around people all the time to wanting to be alone with my thoughts and my writing. Polar opposites that somehow comprise who I am. Sometimes incredibly outgoing and other times shy and introverted. These moods of solitude strike every now and again out of the blue, undetectable to a strangers eye.
The epic Don Quijote tour is approaching and I find myself digging in my heels, wanting to spend the weekend alone doing whatever “I” want to do. I feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about the possible random adventures to be had; but also thinking about how nice it would be to sit outside a cafe, read, and work on my book. Meander around the various boutiques and buy some summer clothes and accessories. Drink wine in my freshly cleaned apartment and enjoy a homemade batch of brownies. Next weekend I’m going to Italy for 5 days..last weekend I went on an epic adventure in Galicia, maybe it’s okay to just have some time to myself. Still, there is that twinge of...Should I? On the other hand, just to contrast with how much I’ve grown up, I really just want to be alone for a weekend. Two months ago I was practically terrified to be by myself, now I’m thinking of going to a couple museums in Cordoba by my lonesome, happily.
This afternoon I stopped by the post office across the street to send a postcard to my Grandma, someone I miss all the time. I finished writing a couple others, but haven’t officially sent them off. I’m content with my selection, each unique and personalized. By the time I made it home I had just missed the delivery guy, I received another package from my Mom, complete with a cute jacket, two new pairs of blue mittens, low sodium ramen noodles (picante!), and about 12 new books. I’m currently 455 pages into Stephanie Meyer’s “Breaking Dawn” and 293 pages into David Baldacci’s “Saving Faith”--it’s a political thriller, something I normally wouldn’t get sucked into, but I really like his style. The story is told through the perspective of about 4 different main characters, each chapter alternates their stories. It’s an interesting approach, something I’m not talented enough to take on. It’s difficult enough to create the voice of one character, let alone tell a cohesive story through the eyes of 4 distinct characters. Insert deep longing sigh here. The looming thought in the back of my head, to be honest, is that my writing isn’t good enough. Ultimately, that I’ll never amount to anything and I’ll be one of those people settling for another occupation, always thinking of what could have been, always wishing they were more talented. Not so positive, eh?
I have been meaning to get around to writing regales of my travels in Galicia. Not in the mood just yet, probably when I upload my pictures. However, Baiona and the roaring wind reminded me so much of the Sonoma Coast and my family. Our family photos are littered with pictures of my brother and I jumping on rocks like little conquerors and howling happily into the wind. I sat on this massive black rock that jutted into the ocean for a good half an hour. Contentedly staring at the waves crashing, observing a quiet fisherman and taking note of the faraway lands obscured by the low puffy clouds. It was the first place I’ve been in Spain that felt like home. Memories of home were fresh and palpable. Particularly, the photo of the three most important women in my life taken at the coast: my Grandmother, my Mother and my Great Aunt. I don’t know why but it makes me cry to think about it, I guess I’m just missing them and wishing Lenna was still alive so I could call her and tell her that I finally did it, just like she always hoped I would.
It sounds strange, but I hope I’m making her proud. Traveling has always been an important aspect of life to my family. I was raised looking at exotic antiques from foreign lands, reading books from India, listening to Lenna speak in Spanish over dinner, and learning how to say words in French from her letters. There is a picture of Lenna and my grandmother sitting on a camel in Egypt, wearing elegant flats and skirts with fabulous old school sunglasses and platinum blonde hair. They are just..amazing.
I had never wanted to travel before the summer of my Junior year of College. All at once, it hit me like a train--I had to get moving, get away and get out. I marched down to the study abroad office and called my Mom a few minutes later, “What do you think about me going to London?” and of course, true to form and family tradition, “It’d be a wonderful experience, absolutely.” I’m not sure what changed in me. It was a year for personal growth. That winter was known as the 100 year storm, and will always remain my emotional rock bottom. What occurred to me then, what really sunk in, is that in the end--we are the ones who can change our lives. Friends will be there to show you the light at the end of the tunnel, but we are the ones who have to get our hands dirty, roll up our sleeves, and start putting things back together (usually better done with a smile on your face).
I just started tutoring another girl named Laura on Wednesday’s, her parents are teachers at my school. After our first lesson, they showed me the pictures of their favorite vacations/expeditions around Spain. They have also co-authored three travel books about Cabo de Gata. There were pictures of Laura at two years old, trekking along side her bold parents in front of these breathtaking landscapes. I realized, that’s the kind of life I want to lead. I want to travel and explore the world, and eventually instill that appreciation in my kids. They are an amazing family and really accomplished; I’m glad I got to see a version of a married couple that seemed slightly more fitting and attainable..the idea of my other half not as someone to settle down with, but someone to shake things up with, to travel the world with.
This is what I wrote about Baiona in my journal..(per usual on a new favorite bench).
Thoughts come as naturally as the crashing blue-jade waves, in eye-sight only a noble fisherman and the outline of far-away lands in the distance. I can taste the salt when I breathe, everything about the coastal town of Baiona is soothing. It’s nestled between lush rolling hills and the world outside is quieted. While watching the boats lull, the only sounds to be heard are the seagulls, cadenced by the quick whoosh of passersby and waves lapping onto the sand.
Friday, February 27, 2009
But seriously
Alright, things have taken a precarious turn.
I'm sunburnt, exhausted, hiding out in a smoky bar that smells like onions. Desperate to get connected to the familiar--the rational people from home. I have never gone to such lengths to get internet, it's the only thing that will keep me from freaking out at the moment.
So alright, last night I stayed in my first hostal. It was interesting, smelled like grandma perfume, and was run by a fantastic family with alot of spunk. The lady was about 80 years old and I didn't understand Galician. It was totally bearable and adorable. Circa 2am when I was trying to sleep, it wasn't so adorable. Bascially, drunken devastation was happening in the quaint street facing the window. Drunken debauchery--arguments, some kind of unwarranted violence on a box, and several renditions of songs, accents, etc. SHENANIGANS. I guess Will and I took alternating shifts of total annoyance. When he would wake up angry, I would be sleeping, when I would wake up angry he would be sleeping soundly.
We walked around Santiago all afternoon and basically baked in the sun. The poor brits are worse off than me, but we're all a little pink. After traipsing around town in my stylish flats, by the time I got to the train station with my massive backpack--it was time to rest my feet and put myself back together mentally.
So I here I sit, perched in a chair with my dwindling patience and perseverance. After a night of no sleep in a hostal and an exhausting day of sight seeing, i'm put out.
Shenanigans.
Also, you should know that today at the Cathedral, awkward moments peppered everything. And if you thought I can be awkward..you haven't met my roommate.
Best moment ever occurred when Will and I decided we should experience everything the Cathedral had to offer and stood in line to view a casket of St. James and then also to go view a statue. Well little did we realize that we were expected to provide a donation, and literally wrap ourselves around the statue and pray all under the supervision of a security guard. I had NO idea what to do. I had wanted to take a picture but of course no photos or videos, so I just started giggling because it was so unbelievably awkward. When my turn arrived I just smiled and dropped in some money, I received a dazzling bookmark, and then turned smiled and briefly admired the statue. As I was fleeing down the steps, I turned just in time to see Will awkwardly putting his head against the statue and holding it--not knowing what else to do. Poor Will isn't even Catholic. It was THE MOST awkward thing ever--he's priceless. I'll relay some more stories later on, i.e, my flight from Sevilla to Santiago--the awkward bag situation and Will forcing his to fit beneath his legs, having no leg room, and his toothbrush vibrating in his backpack the whole way just before getting off and hitting his head to complete the whole absurdity of everything.
Best moment ever occurred when Will and I decided we should experience everything the Cathedral had to offer and stood in line to view a casket of St. James and then also to go view a statue. Well little did we realize that we were expected to provide a donation, and literally wrap ourselves around the statue and pray all under the supervision of a security guard. I had NO idea what to do. I had wanted to take a picture but of course no photos or videos, so I just started giggling because it was so unbelievably awkward. When my turn arrived I just smiled and dropped in some money, I received a dazzling bookmark, and then turned smiled and briefly admired the statue. As I was fleeing down the steps, I turned just in time to see Will awkwardly putting his head against the statue and holding it--not knowing what else to do. Poor Will isn't even Catholic. It was THE MOST awkward thing ever--he's priceless. I'll relay some more stories later on, i.e, my flight from Sevilla to Santiago--the awkward bag situation and Will forcing his to fit beneath his legs, having no leg room, and his toothbrush vibrating in his backpack the whole way just before getting off and hitting his head to complete the whole absurdity of everything.We also arrived in Santiago with no map or directions to the hostal beyond a tiny piece of paper 
Will declared "We're not lost, we just don't know where we are." I'm like..so we're lost. It's just priceless, it's like the depiction of the commercial where the man stays lost because he doesn't want to get directions, Will says that takes the fun out of it--correction, asking for directions just saves you time. Wish me luck, I'm definitely perpetually thinking.."but seriously" at the moment.
Will declared "We're not lost, we just don't know where we are." I'm like..so we're lost. It's just priceless, it's like the depiction of the commercial where the man stays lost because he doesn't want to get directions, Will says that takes the fun out of it--correction, asking for directions just saves you time. Wish me luck, I'm definitely perpetually thinking.."but seriously" at the moment. 
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
When in Posadas...
It's official! Thanks to my mom and her American Express, i'm going to Athens, Greece for my birthday! April is going to be the best month yet, my mom is coming for Semana Santa, the following weekend i'm going to Greece and the weekend after that I'm going to my favorite city in the world, L
ondon. I can't wait to go back to my favorite spot in St. James park--I could sit there for hours.This weekend I am going to Galicia--It is very green and lush, pretty different from Andalucia. 
So, it will also be my first experience staying in a hostal--insert horrified face here :) I already know that Amy is eagerly anticipating my scottsdale-worthy freak out. I'm sure it'll be fine, but it will definitely be an experience. I'll keep you posted, i'm bringing my staunch laptop companion with me.
So, it will also be my first experience staying in a hostal--insert horrified face here :) I already know that Amy is eagerly anticipating my scottsdale-worthy freak out. I'm sure it'll be fine, but it will definitely be an experience. I'll keep you posted, i'm bringing my staunch laptop companion with me.
I'll be honest--I hate hotels, any hotel, even if it is a 5 star hotel on the beach. Just not my thing. It's been a thorn in my mother's side since I was tiny mittens.
“Move out of your comfort zone. You can only grow if you are willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.”
But i'm really excited to see new things--prepare yourself, next weekend I am going on a Don Quijote tour...i.e, going to the actual spot where Don Quijote fights the Wind Mills thinking they are Monsters. I will be Sancho Panza. Insert secret sexy smile here. Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Groseros..mal educados..ay ya ya.
“There are thousands of causes for stress, and one antidote to stress is self-expression. That's what happens to me every day. My thoughts get off my chest, down my sleeves and onto my pad.”
So I had my first class at 9:30 am this morning, after yet another night of strange, onerous dreams--I trudged to school still enervated after 2 cups of black coffee. Maria Bravo was nowhere to be found, so low and behold--I had an entire classroom of 14 year olds staring at me curiously. Just me..and them.
I decided to work on an activity from one of my other classes from last week, Questions about you, and they were unruly, frustrating, and well...teenagers. Half-way through class I got aggravated--how is it possible to be so disrespectful, when a teacher is speaking--you listen. So I told them so. I told them "I have never seen a class so disrespectful to their peers--when another student is speaking you need to be quiet so I can hear and correct their pronunciation (among the top contenders for difficult words..Possession, Type (which they say TEEP) and Prized (Pree-zid)." Que Fuerte, "Sois unos mal educados"
This class just aggravates me; they are so apathetic and rude. I enjoy majority of my classes but this class is just..argh. Why waste my time? If you don't want to learn english and prefer to walk around saying "Teep" instead of type..that's your choice. I swear, teachers deserve a medal for their patience and ability to teach steadfastly.
So, i'm going to walk home and listen to something happy on my ipod, eat a little bit of food and then go for a run. I have a private tutoring session at 6:30 and several activities to look over. I just want to sleep, i'm so wound up from not sleeping--slightly more irritable, slightly more on edge, slightly more impatient. All are qualities I don't want to have.
Quotes about stress:
“Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important. Just lie down.”
“People need trouble -- a little frustration to sharpen the spirit on, toughen it. Artists do; I don't mean you need to live in a rat hole or gutter, but you have to learn fortitude, endurance. Only vegetables are happy.”--William Faulkner
Monday, February 23, 2009
My diabolical inner monologues
Imprimatur, 1: a license to print or publish especially by Roman Catholic episcopal authority *2: sanction or approval.
Today I gave myself the imprimatur to travel to Italy mid-March, Paris at the end of March, Athens for my Birthday and London the following weekend. However excited I am about my future travels, I am making a public complaint against Ryanair and their asinine change-of-booking fee of 50 euros. I loathe you--you pathetic joke of an airline. If I didn’t love my computer so much I would have karate kicked the website screen. I would call and make a formal complaint but it’s impossible to talk to someone over the phone. To conclude, to Ryanair, Tiene huevo la cosa.
So yes, I decided to start my 23rd year on the planet with a big step. I wanted to go somewhere really special. I have always dreamed of going to Athens, Greece. I’m not sure where it comes from, maybe all the classic Greek literature I’ve read in my life. But, I decided that’s where I’m going to turn 23. I’m smiling just writing about it.
In not so hopeful foreign life news, I woke up this morning as if someone had thrown ice water on me. I woke up just after I had had a dream about my Dad. I was standing somewhere in a store by the check-out, reaming my Dad out for everything. I think he had tried to blame me for everything and I just went off, telling him I didn’t want him in my life, I didn’t want his last name, and that I wanted him to forget mine. I’m still kind of reeling. The weirdest part of the dream is that my favorite teacher Maria Bravo was there and she was standing in the background, looking at me with disappointment. Like my outburst was inappropriate? I thought it was a random dream--sadly, Kenny and his dream book aren’t here to help me sort it out. The best I can say is that amongst the hurt, I have some repressed anger towards my Dad. Anger I wasn’t aware I had been carrying around for the past 2 years. The most ironic part of the dream is that I had previously been patting myself on the back for not having any small moments of sadness thinking about my Dad. When I was talking to Amy the other day, I had told her that I had gone on a really long run without thinking about anything stressful--it occurred to me on that hour run, that I am really content lately. Spain is like a bubble, where I control what is going to stress me out and what is not important. Here, I don’t have any reminders of my father, no car to worry about, no upcoming exam to keep me up at night, and no dramatic people in my daily life. Yet, for 2 days I have been unable to sleep, pestered by some unknown discontentment bubbling under the surface--so what gives?
It begs the question--am I traveling or am I escaping? It pops into my head every now and again when I stare out my window onto the quiet life outside. I would tentatively answer--I’m not escaping, I’m taking time for myself. Here, it’s about what I want to do, rarely what I have to do. I’m far enough away from my normal life to get some perspective on things. I need to work on overcoming stress: usually due to my haphazard talent of taking too much on at one time, or trying to complete too many tasks in one day.
It’s silly really, thinking about myself running around all worked up all the time. I guess that’s what makes me entertaining, my diabolical inner monologues about blockbluster late fees, airplane change-of-booking fees, chatty kathy’s on their cell phones in line...etc. I think Will is now fully versed in the weirdness that encompasses my personality. I was curious about the cleaning products under the sink in unmarked spray bottles. So I took a whiff, which probably killed about a million brain cells--and then proceeded to spray them in different spots on the counter: testing their cleaning power. I ended up putting them away, worrying about poisoning us both. Later, I decided to ask Will if he was curious what they were as well, he said no, definitely not. I said “we could test it on the stove cover...just to see..” he shook his head and said whatever I wanted to do. Ultimately, it cuts grease incredibly well and now our stove cover isn’t greasy but is shiny and sparkling. I eased my mind by putting it into the stove-cleaner category. I’m still thinking about asking the landlord’s mother who works at our school if she had any idea what they were. But that might be exposing my weird/random inner monologue too much, some things are better kept to ourselves.
Today I gave myself the imprimatur to travel to Italy mid-March, Paris at the end of March, Athens for my Birthday and London the following weekend. However excited I am about my future travels, I am making a public complaint against Ryanair and their asinine change-of-booking fee of 50 euros. I loathe you--you pathetic joke of an airline. If I didn’t love my computer so much I would have karate kicked the website screen. I would call and make a formal complaint but it’s impossible to talk to someone over the phone. To conclude, to Ryanair, Tiene huevo la cosa.
So yes, I decided to start my 23rd year on the planet with a big step. I wanted to go somewhere really special. I have always dreamed of going to Athens, Greece. I’m not sure where it comes from, maybe all the classic Greek literature I’ve read in my life. But, I decided that’s where I’m going to turn 23. I’m smiling just writing about it.
In not so hopeful foreign life news, I woke up this morning as if someone had thrown ice water on me. I woke up just after I had had a dream about my Dad. I was standing somewhere in a store by the check-out, reaming my Dad out for everything. I think he had tried to blame me for everything and I just went off, telling him I didn’t want him in my life, I didn’t want his last name, and that I wanted him to forget mine. I’m still kind of reeling. The weirdest part of the dream is that my favorite teacher Maria Bravo was there and she was standing in the background, looking at me with disappointment. Like my outburst was inappropriate? I thought it was a random dream--sadly, Kenny and his dream book aren’t here to help me sort it out. The best I can say is that amongst the hurt, I have some repressed anger towards my Dad. Anger I wasn’t aware I had been carrying around for the past 2 years. The most ironic part of the dream is that I had previously been patting myself on the back for not having any small moments of sadness thinking about my Dad. When I was talking to Amy the other day, I had told her that I had gone on a really long run without thinking about anything stressful--it occurred to me on that hour run, that I am really content lately. Spain is like a bubble, where I control what is going to stress me out and what is not important. Here, I don’t have any reminders of my father, no car to worry about, no upcoming exam to keep me up at night, and no dramatic people in my daily life. Yet, for 2 days I have been unable to sleep, pestered by some unknown discontentment bubbling under the surface--so what gives?
It begs the question--am I traveling or am I escaping? It pops into my head every now and again when I stare out my window onto the quiet life outside. I would tentatively answer--I’m not escaping, I’m taking time for myself. Here, it’s about what I want to do, rarely what I have to do. I’m far enough away from my normal life to get some perspective on things. I need to work on overcoming stress: usually due to my haphazard talent of taking too much on at one time, or trying to complete too many tasks in one day.
It’s silly really, thinking about myself running around all worked up all the time. I guess that’s what makes me entertaining, my diabolical inner monologues about blockbluster late fees, airplane change-of-booking fees, chatty kathy’s on their cell phones in line...etc. I think Will is now fully versed in the weirdness that encompasses my personality. I was curious about the cleaning products under the sink in unmarked spray bottles. So I took a whiff, which probably killed about a million brain cells--and then proceeded to spray them in different spots on the counter: testing their cleaning power. I ended up putting them away, worrying about poisoning us both. Later, I decided to ask Will if he was curious what they were as well, he said no, definitely not. I said “we could test it on the stove cover...just to see..” he shook his head and said whatever I wanted to do. Ultimately, it cuts grease incredibly well and now our stove cover isn’t greasy but is shiny and sparkling. I eased my mind by putting it into the stove-cleaner category. I’m still thinking about asking the landlord’s mother who works at our school if she had any idea what they were. But that might be exposing my weird/random inner monologue too much, some things are better kept to ourselves.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Just a thought
I was thinking, is there really such a thing as bad timing? Do some things fall apart, in order for us to grow apart, grow up, and come back together? It seems to me that when we say our goodbyes--sometimes what we mean to say is see you soon.
I picture it in my head as one of those old silent movies; Two lovers parting ways on a aged cobblestone street in Paris, where the hopes and desires of the characters are written at the bottom of the screen. The words gone unsaid but not unfelt. Perhaps the reason we choke, act awkward, say the wrong things and screw it all up is because it’s not the right time. Maybe, just maybe..sometimes we can’t find the right words.... because it isn’t the right time to say them.
In my opinion, at 2:45 pm in Posadas: the road to love is unpaved, full of detours, hitchhikers and bad directions.
Ps: Above entry, not to confuse change and maturity. Once an asshole, always an asshole.
I picture it in my head as one of those old silent movies; Two lovers parting ways on a aged cobblestone street in Paris, where the hopes and desires of the characters are written at the bottom of the screen. The words gone unsaid but not unfelt. Perhaps the reason we choke, act awkward, say the wrong things and screw it all up is because it’s not the right time. Maybe, just maybe..sometimes we can’t find the right words.... because it isn’t the right time to say them.
In my opinion, at 2:45 pm in Posadas: the road to love is unpaved, full of detours, hitchhikers and bad directions.
Ps: Above entry, not to confuse change and maturity. Once an asshole, always an asshole.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Perpetual noise in Posadas equals a couple more pages...
So last night I couldn't sleep at all. It seems that the perpetual noise of Posadas is determined to wake me up every hour, on the hour. I am now ready to fight with the garbage man who seems to really like coming back SEVERAL times. How much garbage could there be? To be honest with you, I'm not even positive he is the source of all the ruckus. Anyways, funny day teaching--Imagine me actually raising my voice. Que Fuerte. It's kind of funny, the meanest, most assertive thing I say to my students is "Why are you being rude?"
So anyways, in regards to my work in progress. I decided Delaney cannot have a boyfriend anymore--Jason's gotta go. In order for her to be really stuck between three guys she must be available to test the waters, you know? Anyways, so i'm working up to it. I just wrote the skeleton for the next part, introducing James and the questions about relationship ruts--stick with it, or get out? Here is the next part, a very primitive draft.
***
With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw, he was my source and my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have adventures and deep talks with, without the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Somehow he and I had become the best of friends, yet I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it is. I was almost scared to talk to him about it, scared to tell him about the mess I was emotionally tangled in.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and started confessing, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s such a cop-out!” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..I’m so disappointed. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.” So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x.” I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
“No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He continued to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine.” She drawled, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. No, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.” I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her. I cannot stand girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, particularly in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? Women.
“Not to beat a dead horse, but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack to limit my encounter to such a physical thing--as if all there was nothing more between us than a cheap hook-up.
“It’s not about being a slut. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” He was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the desperadas. The women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you met, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. Why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area?
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he wanted you to be his girlfriend or anything more in his life, you would be.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.” His words had stung. I felt like an idiot. James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button. It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true. I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think,“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I mention where this is going,” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room. Was it possible James was being overly critical of my kiss because he was attempting to rationalize the same epidemic--mixed signals?
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy, the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James, and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth. This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something brutally honest to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling his arm, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you say it can’t go anywhere?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my future is.” His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and just hoping the water won’t be freezing.” I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my leg or something?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far. What I’m saying is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “It’s just weird. Instead of playing house, your playing relationship.”
Maybe he had a point. Maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling and what he thought when he saw me. Sadly, that is not realistic. I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.
Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” her voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone. I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted my bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.” The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. It hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I. It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”
So anyways, in regards to my work in progress. I decided Delaney cannot have a boyfriend anymore--Jason's gotta go. In order for her to be really stuck between three guys she must be available to test the waters, you know? Anyways, so i'm working up to it. I just wrote the skeleton for the next part, introducing James and the questions about relationship ruts--stick with it, or get out? Here is the next part, a very primitive draft.
***
With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw, he was my source and my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have adventures and deep talks with, without the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Somehow he and I had become the best of friends, yet I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it is. I was almost scared to talk to him about it, scared to tell him about the mess I was emotionally tangled in.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and started confessing, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s such a cop-out!” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..I’m so disappointed. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.” So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x.” I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
“No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He continued to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine.” She drawled, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. No, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.” I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her. I cannot stand girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, particularly in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? Women.
“Not to beat a dead horse, but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack to limit my encounter to such a physical thing--as if all there was nothing more between us than a cheap hook-up.
“It’s not about being a slut. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” He was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the desperadas. The women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you met, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. Why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area?
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he wanted you to be his girlfriend or anything more in his life, you would be.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.” His words had stung. I felt like an idiot. James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button. It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true. I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think,“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I mention where this is going,” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room. Was it possible James was being overly critical of my kiss because he was attempting to rationalize the same epidemic--mixed signals?
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy, the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James, and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth. This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something brutally honest to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling his arm, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you say it can’t go anywhere?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my future is.” His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and just hoping the water won’t be freezing.” I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my leg or something?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far. What I’m saying is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “It’s just weird. Instead of playing house, your playing relationship.”
Maybe he had a point. Maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling and what he thought when he saw me. Sadly, that is not realistic. I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.
Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” her voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone. I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted my bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.” The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. It hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I. It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
On my mind tonight..
Catachresis: use of the wrong word for the context, 2: use of a forced and especially paradoxical figure of speech.
*Because the word “Journal” itself derives from a word meaning “day,” Mrs. James was of the opinion that the phrase “daily journal” is a catachresis.
When I think of today I bite my lip and scrunch my nose. Tough day? I eventually surrendered and went to the grocery store because I needed to move, to get out. I would have preferred to go running--to sort through some of these worries/feelings, but of course my feet are blistered from my 8 mile walk through the country in leather ballet flats. ( in short, went and visited Claire, wore the wrong shoes on an 8 mile walk to celebrate the Moon Virgin. We both realized how strange our lives are---had a great time--more on that later).
So here it is, I have a student that I just started tutoring. We kind of bonded from our first meeting, kindred spirits maybe. Tonight we were playing a board game from my teaching book where you roll the dice and answer the question “Tell me about..” and the questions vary from “your most important possession” to “what you worry about” and when it came to the last question she said she worries about her security. We started talking and it ends up her parents are divorced and her life has been very difficult. Perhaps I have found that the silver lining of my problematic relationship with my Dad is that I could actually tell her “I understand” what you are going through. Her home life is.. horrific, and her mother is like my father in the fact they should never have decided to become parents. We had a real conversation that only two people could have who know what it’s like to feel unloved by a parent. I want to teach her all the lessons I had to learn the hard way. I told her what my mother told me recently, “Your friends become your family.” She does not like being at home, it's onerous and stressful. So, she is going to come over on Thursday and we are going to make dinner and watch a movie in Spanish. I told her I would help her study for her English exam on Friday. In short, I’ve adopted her.
I just hate sitting here powerless. I want to take all her pain and worries away--make her believe that it will get easier. The most frustrating part is not being able to speak perfect Spanish, have all the perfect words to say. More importantly, I want to take care of her. Make sure she always has the support and love that she needs. I would like to find a guardian angel for her. In place of words of reassurance I gave her a big hug--I think the language barrier is going to force me to be more of a hugger.
Another thing I have been thinking a lot about lately is my distance from people. Not physical distance in Spain, but at home--in my regular life. I never wear my heart on my sleeve. I try and smooth over any tribulations I may be having, immediately, before they show on my face. Maybe that’s not right either. I think I’m too hard on myself, I think we are all too hard on ourselves. Why is it that I love to be there for my friends, talk to them when they are having a bad day or moment--but I don’t want to let myself be upset or angry? In brutal honesty--I even put Bella before myself. I take care of Bella and fuss over her so I don’t have to deal with my own stress. Being here, away from a small dog to worry about, I find myself starting to take care of myself..work through things--trying to improve myself. The fundamental problem for me is my inability to express emotions-- I feel so vulnerable when I talk about how I’m “feeling.” I’ve definitely ruined more than a couple relationships by not being able to communicate my “feelings.” I guess I have been thinking about the words that have gone unsaid. In the beginning here, I couldn't bring myself to call someone and say “This is really hard--i’m having a hard time.” I’m emotionally stunted. I guess it’s not totally my fault---as amazing as my family is, my mom can be a complete ice queen and my father is emotionally retarded. I don’t think he has emotions.
I have never heard the words “I love you” from my father. When I really talk about my life, my sadness, or my frustration--I roll over it quickly and brush it off. I talk about the haphazard/disappointing relationship with my father in a blase, indifferent, tone of voice. Why can I write the words with emotion..but not say them? Am I destined to be devoid of vocalizing real emotions for my entire life? I have heard and repeated "If you can't change it, change your attitude. Accept it and move on." Harsh? Or Realistic? Whenever we are confused about relationships or life in general, we are so quick to try and be Confucius instead of simply confused. Are there some things in life that just suck and will be stay that way no matter how many wise sayings we throw at them?
Here is a loaded question: I want a happily ever after, but am I ever going to be emotionally available enough to get it? Like I said, I have a lot on my mind. I’m sitting in my newly rearranged bedroom contemplating how to reorganize my emotional makeup. How to fix all these broken parts.
Loneliness, insomnia, and change: the fear of these is even worse than the reality.
You can't wring your hands and roll up your sleeves at the same time.
We can easily manage if we will only take, each day, the burden appointed to it. But the load will be too heavy for us if we carry yesterday's burden over again today, and then add the burden of the morrow before we are required to bear it. ~John Newton
It is the little bits of things that fret and worry us; we can dodge a elephant, but we can't dodge a fly
Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From the evil which never arrived.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go. ~J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye
Friday, February 13, 2009
Desperate Housewife
"I would be content being a housewife if I could find the kind of man who wouldn't treat me like one."
Emancipation: the act or process of freeing someone from the restraint, control, or power of another.
How does the word of the day always manage to fit into my day perfectly?
After cleaning the kitchen, going to the supermarket, baking my third batch of brownies,
slicing vegetables and making pico de gallo, I ended up cooking a dinner for 3 british boys that I didn’t get to eat... because there wasn’t any left for me. I didn’t even get so much as a thank you. Will felt terrible when he realized his friends had finished off all the fajitas before I even got a chance to eat. I said it wasn’t a big deal, I didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was. Neither of them even seemed to notice. 
My mind went into overdrive as I finished washing their dishes..I officially am thanking God that women have been emancipated from the expected role of homemaker.Thinking back to the cliche images of women from the 50s holding a fresh cup of coffee: they are wearing a dress with heels, apron, uptight hairdo and a smile plastered on their face. I finally get it. I just don’t think for me, as the daughter of a strong single mother, the kitchen is a satisfying place for me. It has seemed obvious to me my entire life, but for a brief moment tonight--I could picture my life as an under-appreciated wife and mother.
My heart immediately began to thump as I thought about all the meals my mom had cooked that I had felt it necessary to complain about. After packing my lunch in the morning, dropping me off at school, working all day, picking me up, cooking dinner, and doing my laundry--I wish I could go back in time and be more helpful and appreciative. My mother is and always has been, absolutely amazing.
I think that is an aspect of my relationship with my father that made me most resentful--when it came to something needing to be done, I was always called upon before my brother was. I remember the last time I saw my Dad when he took my brother and I to dinner and he needed ketchup, “Courtney, go ask the waitress for ketchup.” I wanted to say “I’m not the one who needs ketchup, am I?”
So, yes, there is part of me that gets a weird sense of enjoyment from cleaning a house, cooking dinner for the people I love and nurturing those around me--but there is also an equally important part of me that wants to be appreciated and looked at as an equal. Today I had decided that I was going to take the butano tank around the corner to get refilled at the shop. Just as I was lugging it across the apartment and out the door, Will came home and insisted on carrying it to the store for me. I had wanted to do it, because what happens if it needs to be changed and Will’s not around? I just don’t like relying on anyone--not even for something as basic as carrying a heavy item. It became even more apparent when we were walking back from the grocery store and Will said he would hold onto the heavier bag while he waited for his friends at the train station on our walk home. I said..”Just give it to me, I’m going home anyway.” And he said, “Well..it’s pretty heavy. I’ll just hold onto it.” I started thinking about all the times I carried several bags of groceries up the stairs in my apartment, because I have a weird thing about making two trips. Will eventually gave up the grocery bag begrudgingly and I felt that although Will was fulfilling the role of a proper gentleman, I wouldn’t be myself if I submitted to stereotypical gender roles. I am perfectly capable and willing to carry a grocery bag. Maybe it has nothing to do with gender roles, maybe it just has more to do with me being incredibly stubborn and sometimes overly independent.
Will is always really considerate and helpful, however sometimes I think he thinks me doing things by/for myself is..strange? I might be totally wrong--i’m not well versed on gender roles in London. I think it’s more than okay for me to do things for myself. Most girls complain that boys are not traditionally considerate enough (opening the car door, pulling out your chair..etc)--so at what point did chivalry turn into being condescending? Am I just misplacing baggage from my relationship with my father onto men acting like gentlemen? Is offering to do things for a woman belittling, or is it just that we aren’t used to chivalry anymore? I would argue it’s both. Granted, I think I am much too tainted by the condescension of my father to make any decision on the subject without being biased. Either way, I am really lucky that Will is my roomate and not his friends.
To conclude, next time your mother or the woman in your life does something sweet and considerate--be sure to say thank you.
Remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Felicidades para al dia de San Valentin
"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."
Things just keep getting weirder
Sciolism: n: a superficial show of learning
The sun is shining and Posadas is peaceful--Thus I was only too happy to curl up on my bed in my comfy pink blanket (which makes me think of Amy because we are both obsessed with ours). Austin sent me a phenomenal care package full of American delicacies: double-stuffed oreos, ranch doritos, ferrero rocher, twix bars, and...melon burst shaving cream. Did you know I’ve been using men’s shaving cream? They don’t have shaving cream for women at the local grocery stores..go figure. I practically ripped the package out of the letter carrier's hands and shredded it with the knife trying to open it. We don’t have scissors. Needless to say, 8 double stuffed oreos, 2 handfuls of ranch chips, 2 ferrero roches and a bowl of pasta later..I realized rationing the good food is more agreeable than a sugar induced tummy ache. Before you judge, like the postal worker who said “you’re going to make her fat”--I eat the smallest, saddest meals alive everyday. Somehow I joined weight watchers Spanish edition, I’m waiting for the hidden camera crew to pop out at any moment and say “Just kidding, we flavored everything jamon just to fuck with you!”
The food couldn’t have come at a better time because I was about to send out an SOS on the food front. Last night I went to Bar San Francisco with Will and his friend Joe (who is visiting from Northern Spain) to visit Paco. I brought Paco some of the pseudo-edible cookies I had made--I promised to practice. Now I have to continue on my Martha Stewart streak before they realize I’m a total impostor---i’m working on keeping the entire town of Posadas placated/well-fed with sugary, semi-burnt, baked goods.
Anyways, the night took a fateful food twist--Will and Joe were ordering Bull’s tail and somehow Paco thought it was imperative I try it as well. After a polite no--I found myself seated at a bar, full of old men staring at me critically as I looked down at the plate of fatty bull tail. I took a bite, stomaching the chewy texture, swallowed, and kept a smile on my face. I was also peer pressured into eating a piece of “black pudding” chorizo--aka, blood and fat. On the plus side, Paco has changed my name from “Guapa” to “Guapisima” --insert secret sexy smile here.
So, in short I’ve graduated from peer pressure at parties to peer pressure in restaurants--specifically, eating repulsive foreign food.
Tonight I’m going to get coffee with another teacher named Maite, she is about my age and really sweet. I don’t think she speaks any english so I’m going to have to put my Spanish to use. I’m keeping my fingers crossed I can manage.
I learned a mean phrase to say in Spanish, It doesn’t have a direct translation but Juan Manuel told me to say it with a lot of intensity, “Tiene huevo la cosa!” -- It might be sciolism, but I don’t care--I was even given a hand motion to add emphasis!
I also learned another important phrase, “Te echo de menos” ..which means I miss you.
So to my loves, Te echo de menos.
The sun is shining and Posadas is peaceful--Thus I was only too happy to curl up on my bed in my comfy pink blanket (which makes me think of Amy because we are both obsessed with ours). Austin sent me a phenomenal care package full of American delicacies: double-stuffed oreos, ranch doritos, ferrero rocher, twix bars, and...melon burst shaving cream. Did you know I’ve been using men’s shaving cream? They don’t have shaving cream for women at the local grocery stores..go figure. I practically ripped the package out of the letter carrier's hands and shredded it with the knife trying to open it. We don’t have scissors. Needless to say, 8 double stuffed oreos, 2 handfuls of ranch chips, 2 ferrero roches and a bowl of pasta later..I realized rationing the good food is more agreeable than a sugar induced tummy ache. Before you judge, like the postal worker who said “you’re going to make her fat”--I eat the smallest, saddest meals alive everyday. Somehow I joined weight watchers Spanish edition, I’m waiting for the hidden camera crew to pop out at any moment and say “Just kidding, we flavored everything jamon just to fuck with you!”
The food couldn’t have come at a better time because I was about to send out an SOS on the food front. Last night I went to Bar San Francisco with Will and his friend Joe (who is visiting from Northern Spain) to visit Paco. I brought Paco some of the pseudo-edible cookies I had made--I promised to practice. Now I have to continue on my Martha Stewart streak before they realize I’m a total impostor---i’m working on keeping the entire town of Posadas placated/well-fed with sugary, semi-burnt, baked goods.
Anyways, the night took a fateful food twist--Will and Joe were ordering Bull’s tail and somehow Paco thought it was imperative I try it as well. After a polite no--I found myself seated at a bar, full of old men staring at me critically as I looked down at the plate of fatty bull tail. I took a bite, stomaching the chewy texture, swallowed, and kept a smile on my face. I was also peer pressured into eating a piece of “black pudding” chorizo--aka, blood and fat. On the plus side, Paco has changed my name from “Guapa” to “Guapisima” --insert secret sexy smile here.
So, in short I’ve graduated from peer pressure at parties to peer pressure in restaurants--specifically, eating repulsive foreign food.
Tonight I’m going to get coffee with another teacher named Maite, she is about my age and really sweet. I don’t think she speaks any english so I’m going to have to put my Spanish to use. I’m keeping my fingers crossed I can manage.
I learned a mean phrase to say in Spanish, It doesn’t have a direct translation but Juan Manuel told me to say it with a lot of intensity, “Tiene huevo la cosa!” -- It might be sciolism, but I don’t care--I was even given a hand motion to add emphasis!
I also learned another important phrase, “Te echo de menos” ..which means I miss you.
So to my loves, Te echo de menos.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Rules of the heart.
We all struggle with relationships. Whether it is with our boss, co-workers, friends, significant others..even circumstances where a relationship is lacking can become complicated.
Regarding an aspect of our lives so inherent and important--why is it that there is no cautionary rulebook? We have guidebooks for all sorts of things: cooking, traveling, learning a new language, sports, decorating, dieting, religion, and even make-up. When it comes to the most complicated situations--I suppose we are forced to write our own guidebooks, follow our own, sometimes unreliable, compass.
Some are challenging, some are new, some are familiar, some are part of the ever revolving door, and some are well, changing. When a relationship alters--is it the dynamic, or is it us?
For example, one of my friends recently grew out of a relationship. The relationship guidelines were wrapped up in a neat package--without strings. The casualness of the relationship continued over a year, off and on, but even without the strings, it was still hard to not become accustomed to the familiarity, caught, attached. But when is..enough, enough?
I’ll be honest--friends with benefits is a common denominator known to be worthy of avoidance. But it seems, although we are aware of the danger--we are still curious, thinking to be the exception to the rule. To the boy or girl who hopes it will go somewhere..I say this--What great relationships were forged from, “Let’s hook up without any ties in case someone better comes along.” Isn’t that really the bottom line? Relationships aren’t inconvenient when it is the right person. It’s a load of bullshit if you try and sugarcoat it any other way. Is that love, the love, found when you settle for being an option?
Why is it, even when we have the rules in front of us--we still go against what we know is best?
I just don’t think we can win. I get exasperated; I read “He’s Just Not That Into You” and I felt a wave of relief--someone was finally telling it like it is. The brutal honesty I craved. But then I found so many exceptions and complications to the delineated truth. Maybe the book is right, maybe there are no mixed signals. But is it possible--when relationships are in fact so complicated-- to not have them? Are mixed signals and neat packages that ultimately become baggage, just part of the deal?
And in those relationships that are familiar--with tried and true understanding, familiarity, and trust--is it possible for one person to change without shaking up the whole dynamic? Must we grow together or simply grow apart? Statistics say that high-school sweethearts are the most likely to stay married because they relate to eachother the best. If that is true, does it blow hope for theories like “opposites attract” out of the water?
For example, two of my bestfriends are habitually struggling with their own theories:
One of my friends represents the cynic. Not that he is burned by relationships--but rather burned by the complications that come along with them. For someone who desires straightforward, no bullshit, just you and me--is it possible to get through the complicated disaster that is dating? He asks, is it ever possible to want what you CAN have? Or are we all just looking for something better, something unattainable, something that doesn’t exist?
The other, is weary of expiration dating. If an individual is unsettled and unsure of their own future--is it at all possible to plan a future with somebody else? He questions whether it is even smart to start a relationship not knowing whether you can finish it. More importantly, is it possible to pursue a new relationship when you have unfinished business with a love from the not so forgotten past?
I, the closet hopeless romantic, confess to believing love conquers all. I believe, when that love comes to your doorstep, you have no choice but to let it in--however inconvenient, however unexpected, however difficult--because when that loves comes along, there is no longer any other choice. Those loves of the past, the heartbreaks, the disasters, the regrets, will no longer matter. Those will finally stay where they belong, in the past.
To be truthful, however much I believe; alone in my room in Spain--sometimes the loneliness is palpable. I miss the comfort that comes from my hand being held. I miss the security of having your bestfriend in tow. I miss the feeling of tears coming from too much laughter. I miss the butterflies that follow a knock-your-socks-off kiss. I even miss looking up to catch the knowing smirk that follows when I do something awkward I hope went undetected.
You know, they say when you are alone--suddenly you are painfully aware of twosomes. I don’t want to get all mushy-gushy on you right before Valentine’s Day (sigh) but a couple of weeks ago when I was going to Cordoba, I saw two people who made my heart ache. It was an older couple, late 30s, mirroring eachothers body movements like two satellites in sync. Their weather-worn hiking books sparked images of epic adventures, and long walks together. They were bohemian, blissful, and completely oblivious to the curious stares they received. They were..a perfect fit. As they waited for the train, he pulled her close and they started dancing slowly. He even did a hollywood dip. They were both glowing, so in love, and I couldn’t help but look for wedding bands. I wondered if it was the “infatuation” stage of a new relationship--how long would it last? How long had it lasted? Or maybe, as the avid reader of “Pride and Prejudice,” “Wuthering Heights” and “The Notebook” in me hopes-- it is that love, the all consuming, can’t live without you love.
Friday, February 6, 2009
When in Spain...
A Simple I Love You Means More Than Money
So--this morning I woke up extra early to pack for my trip to Pozoblanco and get to school to plan my trips to Italy and Greece. Upon arrival to Santander, my bank, the clerk regrettably told me I had no money in my account.
I then went to school to talk to the secretary Antonio who is in charge of payment--and he said "Oh..yes, I needed to ask you how much you are supposed to get paid and for what months." It was one of those moments where I wanted to shake him--like lights on..nobody's home--why didn't he talk to me about that at some point last week since I gave him the information over a week ago. Sigh. So needless to say, my trip to Pozoblanco is delayed until next weekend. I love you's will have to suffice until I have money again. When in Spain....be penniless. :)
If at first you don't succeed....
There is a reason that these quotes are so commonplace, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” “Everything happens for a reason”, or, “Some things fall apart so better things can fall together” --They never rang true until I decided to travel to a foreign country and become a cooking aficionado..or.. well I won’t get ahead of myself...simply a pseudo cook.
After my afternoon of homesickness, I decided it was time to call my favorite optimist--My grandmother. My grandma is 96 years old and the most inspirational person I’ve ever met. I was so happy to hear her voice, she reiterated how proud of me she was..and it definitely made me cry, just missing her and being with her. Marisi told me that she and my grandmother pray for me in the morning and at night--it made me feel looked after, cared for? It also made me think of when Erin got prayed over ( and yes, I’m smirking). My grandma has been sick the past week and she told me, “But I never complain” and it’s true--she sees the silver lining, makes lemonade, counts her blessings. It makes me wonder, is it possible to have that optimism and inner strength without the age? They say wisdom comes with age, but is it possible to learn the lessons without making the mistakes?
I told Marisi about the Cookie Disaster of 2009 and she laughed sincerely and said, “You’ve got to start somewhere!” and it’s true. So, I decided to get out of my rainy-week funk and go for a run by myself. I did the route from the other day, added another warm layer and then some extra distance. Then the most fitting thing happened, when I reached the bridge and stopped to look at the castle; against the rumbling gray sky, a rainbow arched over it in the distance. So I suppose, without the rain..I wouldn’t have had the rainbow.
By the time I came home, I was inspired to try the cookies again. Sure enough, I channeled Martha Stewart and cookies appeared--a little deformed, far from perfect, but absolutely 100% edible. Likewise, to totally contrast with yesterday, Will bought avocados from the butcher and they turned into yummy guacamole on top of fajitas seasoned with a half package (instead of the over-seasoned result from the full) and lime juice. Great success.
So with a little work, a little patience and a little perseverance I think we can turn our mistakes and mishaps into wisdom and improvement. Afterall, we’ve got to start somewhere.
“Failure is only postponed success as long as courage “coaches” ambition. The habit of persistence is the habit of victory.”
“Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”
"the gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials"
“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.”-Henry David Thoreau
ps: In defense of the Cookie Disaster 2009 --my mom told me the reason they are not coming out "just right" is the difference in flour here. Will also decided we could blame the vanilla extract...it MUST be the magical ingredient. :)
After my afternoon of homesickness, I decided it was time to call my favorite optimist--My grandmother. My grandma is 96 years old and the most inspirational person I’ve ever met. I was so happy to hear her voice, she reiterated how proud of me she was..and it definitely made me cry, just missing her and being with her. Marisi told me that she and my grandmother pray for me in the morning and at night--it made me feel looked after, cared for? It also made me think of when Erin got prayed over ( and yes, I’m smirking). My grandma has been sick the past week and she told me, “But I never complain” and it’s true--she sees the silver lining, makes lemonade, counts her blessings. It makes me wonder, is it possible to have that optimism and inner strength without the age? They say wisdom comes with age, but is it possible to learn the lessons without making the mistakes?
I told Marisi about the Cookie Disaster of 2009 and she laughed sincerely and said, “You’ve got to start somewhere!” and it’s true. So, I decided to get out of my rainy-week funk and go for a run by myself. I did the route from the other day, added another warm layer and then some extra distance. Then the most fitting thing happened, when I reached the bridge and stopped to look at the castle; against the rumbling gray sky, a rainbow arched over it in the distance. So I suppose, without the rain..I wouldn’t have had the rainbow.
By the time I came home, I was inspired to try the cookies again. Sure enough, I channeled Martha Stewart and cookies appeared--a little deformed, far from perfect, but absolutely 100% edible. Likewise, to totally contrast with yesterday, Will bought avocados from the butcher and they turned into yummy guacamole on top of fajitas seasoned with a half package (instead of the over-seasoned result from the full) and lime juice. Great success.
So with a little work, a little patience and a little perseverance I think we can turn our mistakes and mishaps into wisdom and improvement. Afterall, we’ve got to start somewhere.
“Failure is only postponed success as long as courage “coaches” ambition. The habit of persistence is the habit of victory.”
“Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”
"the gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials"
“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.”-Henry David Thoreau
ps: In defense of the Cookie Disaster 2009 --my mom told me the reason they are not coming out "just right" is the difference in flour here. Will also decided we could blame the vanilla extract...it MUST be the magical ingredient. :)
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Just a bit homesick.
After the day that can only be remembered as Cookie Disaster 2009, I'm feeling a little bit homesick. Insert long sigh here.
Home is not where you live but where they understand you. ~Christian Morgenstern
Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes
Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson
Home is the shelter from storms--all sorts of storms.
"I love her and that's the beginning of everything."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Home is not where you live but where they understand you. ~Christian Morgenstern
Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes
Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson
Home is the shelter from storms--all sorts of storms.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Domino Effect
I’ve been thinking--life is more like a game than I ever imagined. Particularly, dominoes. Everything can be seemingly in line..perfect..and you realize that once one domino is out of place..it can ruin everything. It is an agitating process to line them all up again...but what other options do we have?
I’m speaking to the other people who are too critical. We dream big, hope big, and get hurt big. The odd thing is, at the end of the day, we are our harshest critics. I get so frustrated when things don’t go according to plan--and today is one of those days where nothing goes according to plan, in small ways that start adding up. You wouldn’t have noticed, the frustration bubbling under the surface, eminent at 2:40 am.
I wish I knew how to do more things. I hate learning the hard way--fouling it up and then meeting someone who could have told me that 1 + 2 = 3. Cooking is a perfect example. I wanted to do something simple, bake chocolate chip cookies. Maybe I’m homesick, maybe I’m wanting to be more betty homemaker, maybe I’m just unrealistic. It’s simple right, baking chocolate chip cookies? Wrong. Good luck going into a rural supermarket looking for flour, baking soda, and the most difficult--chocolate chips & vanilla extract. It’s all in SPANISH. And FYI..vanilla extract is not commonplace..not to mention converting litres into cups. Three grocery stores later, and one electronic store. I’ve substituted vanilla extract for vanilla powder. I also substituted a simple baking sheet for a 9 euro baking pan. I should have thought this out, but I’m always one step ahead of myself. It’s almost like I set myself up for failure, with ideas too big, too out of my own reach. I know, it’s chocolate chip cookies--not really that big of an idea, but it’s more than that. It’s me.
Backing up a bit, to prove my point, I was set on going running today even though I still have that weird lingering cough and the weather is gray, dreary, and drizzly. It had to happen. Nonetheless, I went to school to work on my lesson plan in my running gear...dressed with purpose. On my walk home, the cold chilled me and threatened to overtake my determination. Another layer of under armor and I was on my way, jogging without direction behind Will (who is training for the marathon). We ran over the train tracks, through the mud, up into the farm fields, up the steepest hill of my life and over a bridge, back down through the back of the farm fields, which an interminable amount of time later led us back into the perimeter of town. 40 minutes later, about the time my lower abdomen was burning, rain started sprinkling....and then in unison with my feet hitting the mud--it turned into a horrific torrential downpour. I looked at the castle in the distance, contemplating the stark contrast between rural farm fields and an amazing fortress in the horizon--but my cramp got more severe and the rain soaked my clothes through. Blinking rain drops out of my eyes, I split up from Will, ducked under the train tracks in the underground tunnel (exchanged “uh-ohs” and “awww poor girl” looks with a cute couple waiting for the bus) and jogged off the cramp all the way to my dry apartment. Weather won that round.
Fast forward to the epic grocery store extravaganza..After putting it off all weekend, I finally decided to make fajitas. A night of culinary trials. I was really excited about the guacamole, since we couldn’t find tortillas, it was my reassurance: And then I cut into dark brown, molding avocados. All four of them, dark..molding..inedible. The fajita seasoning smelled like barbeque. The make-shift tortilla..the PITAS..were stale and tiny. I put the avocados in a bag to take back to Dia, to show the woman who picks out the vegetables what she gave me. I was so mad. Will said we should just laugh about it and go to the butcher from now on, so we can pick our own vegetables. It’s just like..really? I just miss food. It’s simple--you buy yogurt that looks like familiar packaging and you get something that tastes completely different. You buy fajita seasoning and get smoky barbeque. It’s not the end of the world, by any means, but it’s a different world and sometimes I miss Pei Wei, Paradise Bakery, and Szechuan Omei. Tomorrow I’m going to attempt the cookies...if you never hear from me again it’ll be because my head exploded from the habitual epic failure of attempting to become a spanish Martha Stewart :)
I’m speaking to the other people who are too critical. We dream big, hope big, and get hurt big. The odd thing is, at the end of the day, we are our harshest critics. I get so frustrated when things don’t go according to plan--and today is one of those days where nothing goes according to plan, in small ways that start adding up. You wouldn’t have noticed, the frustration bubbling under the surface, eminent at 2:40 am.
I wish I knew how to do more things. I hate learning the hard way--fouling it up and then meeting someone who could have told me that 1 + 2 = 3. Cooking is a perfect example. I wanted to do something simple, bake chocolate chip cookies. Maybe I’m homesick, maybe I’m wanting to be more betty homemaker, maybe I’m just unrealistic. It’s simple right, baking chocolate chip cookies? Wrong. Good luck going into a rural supermarket looking for flour, baking soda, and the most difficult--chocolate chips & vanilla extract. It’s all in SPANISH. And FYI..vanilla extract is not commonplace..not to mention converting litres into cups. Three grocery stores later, and one electronic store. I’ve substituted vanilla extract for vanilla powder. I also substituted a simple baking sheet for a 9 euro baking pan. I should have thought this out, but I’m always one step ahead of myself. It’s almost like I set myself up for failure, with ideas too big, too out of my own reach. I know, it’s chocolate chip cookies--not really that big of an idea, but it’s more than that. It’s me.
Backing up a bit, to prove my point, I was set on going running today even though I still have that weird lingering cough and the weather is gray, dreary, and drizzly. It had to happen. Nonetheless, I went to school to work on my lesson plan in my running gear...dressed with purpose. On my walk home, the cold chilled me and threatened to overtake my determination. Another layer of under armor and I was on my way, jogging without direction behind Will (who is training for the marathon). We ran over the train tracks, through the mud, up into the farm fields, up the steepest hill of my life and over a bridge, back down through the back of the farm fields, which an interminable amount of time later led us back into the perimeter of town. 40 minutes later, about the time my lower abdomen was burning, rain started sprinkling....and then in unison with my feet hitting the mud--it turned into a horrific torrential downpour. I looked at the castle in the distance, contemplating the stark contrast between rural farm fields and an amazing fortress in the horizon--but my cramp got more severe and the rain soaked my clothes through. Blinking rain drops out of my eyes, I split up from Will, ducked under the train tracks in the underground tunnel (exchanged “uh-ohs” and “awww poor girl” looks with a cute couple waiting for the bus) and jogged off the cramp all the way to my dry apartment. Weather won that round.
Fast forward to the epic grocery store extravaganza..After putting it off all weekend, I finally decided to make fajitas. A night of culinary trials. I was really excited about the guacamole, since we couldn’t find tortillas, it was my reassurance: And then I cut into dark brown, molding avocados. All four of them, dark..molding..inedible. The fajita seasoning smelled like barbeque. The make-shift tortilla..the PITAS..were stale and tiny. I put the avocados in a bag to take back to Dia, to show the woman who picks out the vegetables what she gave me. I was so mad. Will said we should just laugh about it and go to the butcher from now on, so we can pick our own vegetables. It’s just like..really? I just miss food. It’s simple--you buy yogurt that looks like familiar packaging and you get something that tastes completely different. You buy fajita seasoning and get smoky barbeque. It’s not the end of the world, by any means, but it’s a different world and sometimes I miss Pei Wei, Paradise Bakery, and Szechuan Omei. Tomorrow I’m going to attempt the cookies...if you never hear from me again it’ll be because my head exploded from the habitual epic failure of attempting to become a spanish Martha Stewart :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)