My Fake Fa-La-La

"We're just like George and Issy," I said to V from beneath my Christmas tree.

"You mean you're a hot, tall blonde and I'm, umm, gay?"

Not exactly what I had intended but the evenings activities had definitely been enough to reconfirm not-so-gay-gay-best-friend status.

V and I reigned in the holiday season tonight by making dinner, decorating my Christmas tree while miming "Love Actually" as it played in the background, and of course drinking wine.

We cuddled. We do that - it is allowed at this state in our relationship, and we chatted about our current S.A.D. status. Not just my Seasonal Affective Disorder but our dueling cases of Seasonal Attention Deprivation.

It seems like just when a person couldn't be happier in their single status the holidays come around to smack you on the ass and say, "Hurry up and find somebody to fa-la-la-la-la!"

Still dating for the sake of dating or to make it through the holiday doldrums just doesn't seem right or fair to those involved.

V has been dating, although my over protective nature makes me think these girls aren't quite good enough for him.

A few weeks ago he went out with a girl who invited him out with some of her co-workers. He met them at a restaurant on the Plaza and when he got there he saw that her large group had already congregated in the back in a corner booth. Rather than get out to greet him, his date stayed where she was on the other side of the oblong table and left him to chat with a few of her colleagues, who he did not know.

"She should have got out," I railed. "If she invited you on a date she should have at least sat by you!"

"It wasn't a big deal," V assured me. He is the perpetual nice guy – one of the reasons he was the friend I invited over to help decorate my Christmas tree. I don't think any of my other friends would have tolerated my anal-retentiveness. V just grinned when I explained the dangerousness of the situation and said, "And how is this different than any other day with you?"

Still V deserves a girl who will get up and sit by him and instead he hangs out with bitchy girls like me.

This holiday season more than anything I want my friends to be happy. I want them to find someone to hold hands with in the snow and fa-la-la, if that is what they really want.

So any ladies out there who are nicer than me, drop me a line and I will hook you up with a real nice guy.

The Gift

This had to be one of the best Thanksgivings we have had in a while. The food was great, the family was relatively mellow. We even got to watch some entertaining football and speculate on how long Mangino would last.

My aunt and uncle's new home was beautiful and big enough to fit all of us and my fantastic friend Trish drove up to join us Friday evening. The best part of all was that at the end of the evening I could go home and sleep in my own bed rather than on an air mattress.

If that had been it, it would have been enough but this Thanksgiving my cousin and his bride-to-be gave me a special gift.

"The Gift" is the title of the song that they asked me and my cousin Dane to sing in their upcoming wedding. While it might not be my favorite wedding song, the bride loves it and I felt honored to be asked.

The thing is, I haven't sung for an audience in years, at least not when massive quantities of liquid courage weren't involved and I had been cramming to get ready.

My aunt and uncle have a music room in their home where their kids can practice their various instruments and where my uncle can play his guitars. Their son is a fantastic pianist and will be accompanying us in the wedding.

After dinner the three of us snuck downstairs to practice and slowly the family started to trickle in to listen. I normally sit out of the family sing-alongs or sing quietly on the sidelines but with the impeding wedding, it didn't seem like the time to be shy. I sang and danced, much to my own amusement and played mic stand for others on their turns.

Everyone huddled around taking turns on the microphone, as anyone with musical ability gave their songs a whirl.

It went on for hours, longer than I could stay awake and even as I napped upstairs on the sofa, I could hear my family's melodies and remembered once again what being thankful really meant.

I hope that the rest of my family enjoyed it as much as I did.

The Arsenal

A wise man said, “Don’t go into battle empty handed.” Or at least I think it was something like that. If not, there is, I am sure, some cliche out there to explain why after an exhausting Thanksgiving with my Dad’s family and a 4 hour drive back to KC, I would go to the gym and dye my hair before heading to my aunts house for the precursor to our enormous Saturday family Thanksgiving.

I love my family, very very much but there is no one else in the world with whom I feel as insecure, as statement which I am already assuming will offend someone. It does not matter what I do, where I travel or what success I accomplish, around them I will always feel like a chubby awkward little girl who just wants to feel like I belong.

We are many. I use to think of it as hundreds of voices trying to be heard in the world, personalities clashing and melding in unexpected ways.

My family likes to say that while we may be loud and we may be drama-filled, maybe more than some families, we also love more too.

And that is true. There is a lot of love. A lot. An eighty person house-hold a lot.

And you damn well better be ready for all that love or it will run you over.

When I was preparing myself for a family function early this year, my therapist told me I should play mental Bingo. In every square I should put something that drives me crazy about my loved ones. Then instead of dreading the uncomfortable moments I could embrace them, as they got me one box closer to a self-designated prize. She said that her patient who came up with the game actually made paper Bingo cards for him and his siblings.

He had an entire card filled with “When are you going to find a nice girl and get married?” He is openly gay.

So I took her advice and made a bingo card filled with questions about my job and my relationship status, comments on my appearance, the condemnations of my height and insistence on wearing ridiculously high heals. I sprinkled in a few off color remarks from less culturally sensitive individuals and the occasional joy stifling glance exchanged between couples at odds.

After twenty-four hours I earned a massage but surprisingly didn’t really need one.

I suppose it was a perspective shift, a little less weight placed on the opinions of others and a little less time spent trying to interpret what those possible opinions might be.

The anxiety I have felt around my family has always been mine, it is easy to be overwhelmed by that much love, and it seemed time to take ownership of it. I could continue to feel agitated and uncomfortable in situations that remind me too much of the parts of myself I have hoped to grow out of or I could breathe and try to see me for me, without the imagined lens of familial perception.

I am still probably going to make sure to dye my hair and fix my chipped nails as I run out the door - I still feel safer with my arsenal - but I hopefully I will worry about the meaningless moments a little less and enjoy all that loving a little bit more.

Shoot me

Somewhere between Columbia and Kingdom City, I started to feel really bad. Nauseous, dizzy, achy, hot and cold.

I just knew I was going to get sick.

I think I have been sick every Thanksgiving for the last five years but I used to attribute it to plane travel and LA stress.

This was bad. I was fine one minute and the next I thought I would have to pull over on the side of the highway. It was going to be a long drive and an even longer night.

My step-sister and the boys would be in town and it would be a full court press to see how much family time we could all spend together in 24 hours.

Growing up an only child, the holidays have always been a little difficult for me. It is a lot of sensory overload and as much as I love my family, even the mellowest family functions can cause anxiety. Lots of voices in not enough space.

When I walked in the door to my father's house the family was crowded in the kitchen. Before I could make my round of hellos, Billy, my step-sister's two year old approached me stone-faced. I was just getting ready to bend down and greet him hello when he pulled a dart-gun from behind his back and shot me in the chest.

It seemed fitting.

I spent the rest of the night hiding in the bathroom with my head over the toilet trying not to die.

That's what the holidays feel like to me, sudden shock followed by uproarious laughter and mild case of indigestion.

Weepies

I am not normally a big fan of turning to song lyrics for inspiration but on my drive to St. Louis this evening I started listening to a Weepies album again. I love this song and am actually using it as I work on my show "The Man Fast" which I will be performing January 15 - 17 at The Hemingway Gallery.

I don't feel lonely very often but on Thanksgiving, I always feel a sort of melancholy sweetness in watching the quiet moments between people in love, in the middle of all the holiday commotion. It isn't a longing as much as waiting and breathing - somedays it is just more difficult to be patient.

Anyway I think it is beautiful and so I sang it about 1000 times on my drive.

Somebody Loved by The Weepies

Rain turns the sand into mud

Wind turns the trees into bone

Stars turning high up above

You turn me into somebody loved

Nights when the heat had gone out

We danced together alone

Cold turned our breath into clouds

We never said what we were dreaming of

But you turned me into somebody loved

Someday when we're old and worn

Like two softened shoes

I will wonder on how I was born

The night I first ran away from you

Now my feet turn the corner back home

Sun turns the evening to rose

Stars turning high up above

You turn me into somebody loved

Mark your Calendars

A couple weeks ago I posted the blog "Defying / Defining Stereotypes", which I took down a couple of hours after I wrote it.

I have copied the initial post below because it was cause for the first time I got hate mail and one of the first times I have admitted that I was wrong. If you missed it, here is what I wrote:

I do my best not to men bash here on the Man Fast. Obviously, there is bashing but I try my best to limit it to specific individuals deserving of such a scolding and not an overall condemnation of gender.

I know too many great men to say that all guys are one thing or another.

Today, however, I have to make an exception. Today I have to say, "Guys. All of you. Can you please, pretty please, try to exercise a little bit of common sense?!?"

I realize that not all of you have the same definitions of what is and isn't acceptable behavior, but here, from me to you, I am going to illustrate, one last time, what crosses the line.

If a girl asks if her butt looks big – lie. I don't care if it looks like an alien space craft took residence in her behind, it is not your job to inform her of this – unless you are a.) her doctor and it is a medical emergency or b.) her trainer and she is paying you to be a dick. Everyone else – lie. I don't care if you think couples should talk about this stuff – lie.

And when you ask if size matters she will do the same.

Secondly, do not ever and I mean ever make jokes about a girl and her cycle. I don't feel like I should have to explain this. If you have to ask why, you don't deserve to date.

And lastly, unless you have expressed written consent, it is never ever okay to attempt to date your ex's friends, even if you guys are just buddies now. It enters into levels of weirdness that I feel like I should not have to point out and lest it seems I must.

One, it is uncomfortable for your friend/ex and it is highly insensitive, particularly if they have asked you not to. We do not want to hear you talking about trying to pursue our girls or indulge your shameless attempts to pretend like you don't know what you are doing. It is rude. Stop.

Two, it is uncomfortable for the girl you are pursuing. Whether or not she is interested it puts her in a horrible place and frankly, no one wants to think about dipping their toe into somebody else's pond. Maybe some girls are okay with diggin in on their girlfriends left-over but I am not and either are my friends. We have higher standards than that. That is why you are friends with us in the first place and why you should respect said friendship.

I can't explain why it would be okay for my exs/friends to date some of my friends and not others but that is just the way it is – and I am sure that that too is a universally accepted rule. You might not get it. You don't have to. You just have to use some common sense and accept what we say at face value.

I have spent a lot of time trying to be clearer in the way I communicate. And I think, "Stop trying to date my f-ing friends!" pretty much summed up my feelings on this matter, and yet boys will be boys, and it has now taken multiple face to face conversations, emails, phone calls, text messages and now one blatant blog post for it to sink in.

Not cool man. Not cool.

I suppose in retrospect the blog would have caused a little less commotion if I would have put it in context but I didn't and boy did it get some boys in a tizzy!

"Shicho" has left the following comment:

1. Seriously - don't ask us.

If you need a hug or want to know if we still [insert appropriate-to-specific-relationship-emotion here] you, then by all means do so...in simple and clear prose. But don't ask us to validate your insecurities. Please.

1a. If he's asking whether size matters, you're not dating a man.

2. re: 'cycle'; if he's making fun of it, you're not dating a man.

3. Uh...that's all you. If it's over, it's over. Really.

Part of me wanted to explain to Mr. Shicho and the others that the list, besides being a silly literary device that shouldn't be taken too seriously, was a comment on a series of incidents and conversations that I had had in the days prior but I knew that it really didn't matter and the situation really didn't warrant a defense.

The comments did get me thinking though. Thinking about conversations I had been having with V, who obviously was the subject of my rant number 3.

We have a close and somewhat dysfunctional relationship and the thought of getting stuck in the middle of his school girl crush made me uncomfortable.

But Mr. Shicho had a point. V and I haven't dated in a year and I was more than happy to set him up with some people, why not others? Why was my happiness more important than his?

I needed some time to deliberate. So I deleted the post, took a long hot bath and went to bed.

That night I had horrible nightmares, which is typical when I am contemplating something and when I woke up in the morning I rolled over and sent V a text.

"If you want to date her or any of my other friends, go for it. Delete all other comments."

"What?! Where is this coming from? I was going to send you a text last night after I read your blog that your point was duly noted."

"Well you should know I deleted the post."

"Yeah, I noticed that this morning. What was that all about?"

"I have decided that I was wrong – shocking, I know. That, like, never happens (insert valley girl accent)."

"Wait.... let me relish this for a moment.

"Shut up."

"Where is this coming from because I was thinking about it last night and I totally understand. I'd be weirded out if you started dating a guy friend of mine."

"Oh it would still totally weird me out and make me incredibly uncomfortable not to mention a little hurt - you did dump me (hehe) but that shouldn't matter. It was very selfish of me to think like that and if somebody makes you happy you shouldn't worry about me."

"But at the same time I should be considerate of you and your feelings because you are a dear friend. I value my friends to the point where they are my family b/c I don't have any extended family that I have real ties to (that can be a whole other conversation) and keep in mind that this is your blog - unfiltered, dirty but refreshingly honest."

"And apparently infuriating - I got some serious hate mail last night."

"Whoa, what happened?"

"My male readers didn't appreciate my take on the situation and they let me know it. But it's okay because… ugg...they were right."

"Wow. Did we just switch opinions? Did I fall for reverse psychology?"

"HAHAHA -now THIS is good blog material."

A few days later, V told me that he marked his calendar for the occasion. "The Day Lyndsey Was Wrong."

Thanks Coach

My Dad coached my junior high basketball team. I sucked. Somehow he missed the memo. So I played even when I was deathly ill with the stomach flu and puking up my guts at half-time.

Today my Dad asked me when I was going to be posting again. Not really asked – demanded. My dad hasn’t been this into my activities since I was riding the bench and being called “hacker”.

I assured him that I had a ton to post – if I could only find all the post-its and napkins and ticket stubs with the scribble I or may not be able to read.

Dating with Nightmare

Yesterday I got at message from “Nightmare” about coming on his radio program to give some sort of dating advice.

My first thought was, “Hell Yeah.” (So Mr. Mare, you name the date and I’ll be there.)

Then I thought, what exactly could I possibly say? Don’t suck? And don’t settle?

I mean really, if I had to write a book on the subject, I think I would just title it, “Want a man? Get a life.”

If we spent all that wasted energy meant looking for Mr. & Ms. Right on looking for a happier me, I think the world would be a better place and people would be having better sex – but that is just me.

So that is my platform. Don’s settle on some guy or gal just because you don’t want to be alone and don’t be so sucky to date that you would never want your sister or brother or the anyone else you really care about to date someone like you.

In the meantime, forget waiting around. Find things that make you happy and live you life to the fullest. You never know where your path might lead.

And yes…. I realize how cheesy I sound.

Girl's Night Turkey Night

Wednesday night was Thanksgiving with the girls.

I miss them. Even sitting there on Shortstack’s couch, feeling sublimely full and sleepy, I missed them. We had been on a stretch of regular, if not constant, togetherness - my own little Sex and the City (which we watched as we ate desert).

A lot has happened in the last few months. New jobs and job hunting, trips and achievements, break-ups and engagements. We have been a busy lot. And when the holidays are over and projects are complete I hope we can find time for more regular togetherness. And yet I know that growing apart is not necessarily growing out of each other’s hearts. Because for all the friends I have left in all the cities I have passed through, the friendships that matter, the friendships that last, never fade in my heart or memory.

“I love you girls” Shortstack crooned as she cleared the dishes from her coffee table.

There was no drama in the evening, no long winded antidotes. Just exhaustion and gluttony and the comfort of good friends.

Me, Myself and Introspection

“Well duh.” My dad said as he talked me down off the ledge I hovered on, just above the pit of dark and ugly.

“It is called Looking for Life with More Theatre and Less Drama. The title pretty much assures you that it is going to be introspective.”

I just got a rejection letter from my first round draft pick agent, the agent I could only create in my very best make believe, my sure thing, and she rejected me.

Between the recent publicly humiliating dating disaster and realizing I would never see one of my kids again, I had had all of the unpleasantness I really want to deal with for a while.

And this just sucked.

My first thought was, “Too introspective?” I can’t fix that. That is just me.

Ahh…isn’t Murphy ’s Law a bitch.

Here I am going on about not using the “it’s just me” excuse and it was the first thing that came to mind.
Though to be fair, my “just me,” involved the publishing of my book not the humiliation of another human being, although I suppose I did attempt that in my post of retribution…Hmmm.

“You can’t help but be introspective,” dad said. “What other kids debated the value of music over world peace at the dinner table.

He was right. I am a product of my parents and these days I am finding it increasingly bewildering.

How do I know what is good? When should you bend for your audience?

My dad kept reminding me that it took Frank Baum 16 years to get the Wizard of Oz published. “Although I know you don’t want to wait that long he said.”

He told me to have faith in my work and all that shmushy stuff your family is supposed to say when something disappointing happens. I don’t find shmushy to be terribly helpful but I appreciate the attempt.

But then he talked it out with me, first asking if there was anyway I could rewrite the book, not bailing when the suggestion was met with a prickly response. We discussed the issue of introspection, its positives and negatives and how it would read to an audience. It reminded me of working on my homework as a kid. Not something I particularly enjoyed. This was better. Two grown-ups. Friends.

So I decided the answer might be to change my audience before panic and toss out my book. At a closer inspection it made sense. I had been targeting agents with a penchant for travel/adventure and memoir. A hard sell to begin with, let alone in this market.

I am going a different route and I am excited to see what happens. I am excited that rather than sinking into the bleakness I was able to see the light. And more than anything I am thankful I had somebody to help me through.

The Red Balloon

My family has been joking about having the redneck Olympics for a couple of years now. You can turn your nose up at it all you want but in your hear of hearts you have to admit that there is something entertaining about the idea of toilet seat horseshoes and shot gun shoot outs in a front yard full of rusted out old cars.

Maybe not classy but entertaining.

Last night my girlfriend and I experienced the epitome of suburban redneckism in the form of The Red Balloon.

The Red Balloon is a karaoke bar at 75th and Antioch, where they still allow smoking, only take cash, and shirts, shoes and teeth are optional.

It was an experience. Women clad in sweat suits did the shuffle with tatted biker chicks who appeared to have done their share of meth. Men in see-through wife-beaters played darts with barely-legal girls in tie-die and camo, while effeminate on-lookers squealed over the chance to do a number by Kelly Clarkson or Madonna.

There wasn’t one “type” in this dive. Ages and races and sexual orientations all mixed together in a spirit of commeradory that may have had less to do with the public displays of humilation and more the $2 mini bombs (Yager and Sprite for those not in the know).

My girl friend and I attempted to sing, “Let’s talk about sex,” by Salt and Pepper. Funny, I never realized it was a rap song. It didn’t matter. The boys drinking 40 cans of Paps Blue Ribbon crowed anyway.

I left stinking of BO and cigarettes and had to shower for over an hour before the smell even began to evaporate.

It didn’t matter. It was fun and I developed an appreciation for cheap beer.

Afternoons with V

A couple months ago, V and I got into a fight, a big fight. The kind of fight that makes me so angry I can’t speak because I know if I do something really nasty is going to come out. This kind of fighting can only be done with people I really love. My parent, my best friends – my family.

V and I didn’t talk for almost a month. We are both stubborn and a wee bit passive aggressive and really, really adverse to confrontation.

When we finally saw each other it was awkward, mainly because he was nervous and I was pompous.

“What?” I said, “I was done being pissed a day after the argument.” Which was true, accept that as fine as I was, I wasn’t going to make the first move towards reconciliation. I was hell bent to wait it out. I was trying to prove a point and I think I was successful but it probably would have just been easier if I would have caved.

Like any family, within the time it took to drink one chocolate martini, all was better and have been since.

V is my buddy and I missed him terribly during our “break”. He gives good hugs and cuddles and tells me I am “crawesome”. He is my go to event helper and amusing drunk-dialer. He brings me coffee at work on the days when I am super cranky.

Today we took advantage of the crappy weather and took in an afternoon movie. I had not done that in ages and we went all out, popcorn, Milk Duds AND Twizzlers. It was delightfully gluttonous.

The movie was okay but the company rocked. Every gal should get herself a NSGGBF.

My Kids

During the Clark Kent portion of my day, I work at a school, doing fundraising and marketing to help kids in KC’s urban core get the programs and services they need to succeed in life. Drug treatment, on-site child care, mental health therapy and one-on-one education are just some of the services we provide.

I believe in this school and I believe that the work we do changes lives. I see it everyday.

Lately though my office has been a little too quiet.

I am missing the sound of one of my students who, for the past year, has visited me at least five times a day. A lot of his visits were shameless attempts to get out of class, but more often than not I think they were just him reaching out for a little human kindness.

I have worried about him for about as long as I have known him. He has always been tightly wound and I feared that his attention seeking behavior might one day manifest itself into something ugly.

Then one day it did.

He got into a fight at school. He didn’t start the fight but several kids were involved and bystanders got hurt. A young pregnant woman was sent to the hospital.

And since that day he has been gone.

I am not sure what happened, what prompted the fight but I know that things have been far tenser in the past few months than they were last school year. We have students from all around the city and the consensus is that things are heating up on the streets.

Heating up. I have no concept of what this means. But my kids do.

They know what it is like to lose brothers and uncles and fathers to death and jail. They know what it is like to choose between selling drugs and watching their brothers and sisters starve.

I worry about them. All the time. And for the most part I feel too far removed to feel as though I have any real impact.

For this young man, however, I felt like there was a chance to make a difference. I realize now how egotistical that sounds but being there for him, when he came in upset about a girl or proud over a new drawing, that made me feel like I could impact his word.

He is gone now and I will probably never see him again and all I can do is hope that the little human kindness I showed him was enough to make his world better, even if just for a moment.

These kids deal with so much I could never imagine and tonight as I prepare for my biggest gala of the year, I have the privileged of keeping them at the forefront of my mind. Regardless what goes wrong, what caterers don’t show up, which speakers go long, what technical snafus are left to deal with, I get to know that in my way I am making their lives better – even if it is only by fundraising for their school

We all have the chance to make our world a better place. For me it happens one kid at a time. And I am always happy pass along donations:

http://www.delasallecenter.org/delasalle.aspx?pgID=953

D is for Disappointment

Dude is lucky. That is all I can say. He is lucky because I took the high road and lucky because I took some time to cool down. Lucky because what I am about to say is nothing compared to what I could.

None the less, Mr. Sweet Thang is dead. Not the man but the moniker.

Nope, Dude or Doug or D-Bag or Disappointment pretty much burned his rights to anonymity last night when he outlined his theories on dating which included “Climbing the Ladder.”

“Here is what you do. You find some chick who you are aren’t that attracted to but who is cool enough and you just bang her until someone better comes along. That is how I got the hottest chick I ever dated.” He then proceeded to describe said female and the runner up.

We were having dinner with V and another mutual friend and for reasons I don’t quite understand this guy decided to perform stand up. He wasn’t funny.

What he was, was mean, hurtful, prejudice, spiteful, crass and just plain asinine.

I have dated some real winners in my day but I have never before been forced to sit and tolerate the type BS he was spewing, not around or near me but straight in my direction. It was intentional, pointed, so much so that I spent the better part of his rant trying to figure out what I had done to deserve this type of behavior.

And then I checked myself – nothing rationalized that type of BS.

It wasn’t the fact that he insulted my job or my religion, my moral principals or my physical appearance. And it wasn’t the fact that no one said anything, which sucked but was understandable given how bizarre he was behaving. It wasn’t even the fact that when I finally had enough and got up mid-meal and left, that he merely laughed because he was so amused with himself.

It was the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing, he knew that it was shitty and he had the nerve to fall back on the “It’s just who I am” excuse.

You know what I say to that? Grow a pair. Man up.

As a society we spend billions of dollars a year on improvement. Home repairs and car repairs and maintaining or enhancing our physical appearance.

Botox and treadmills, diet drinks and implants. Bigger muscles, increased endurance, changes in quantities of the hair in various locales.

And yet, when we act like shits, we are stubborn or arrogant, mean or unempathetic it is too easy to say, "That is just who I am."

I have dated so many guys, I have known so many friends who use this excuse as a way to get out of taking a long hard look at their "stuff."

I get it - we all have "stuff" and I believe that we have to give each other a little leeway, some room to navigate through and around our "stuff."

But having issues is no excuse to be unkind.

There are very few things that make me really angry. I have been thinking about this a lot lately, trying to really remember all the times within the last few years that I have been that kind of upset. Every single time I have reached that point, where my whole body tenses, my throat gets dry and my cheeks get flush, there has been an issue of unfairness - that I have perceived to have been treated unfairly or unfairness was put on someone I love.

I didn't deserve the jabbings I got last night and the fact that "that is just who he is" is not good enough.

Your behavior hurts people? Man up. Become better. Grow.

Life is short and while changes that involve the core of who we are are difficult and sometimes painful, they are necessary, imperative lest we live a shallow life.

I have low expectations that the former Mr. Sweet Thang would give two shits about my feelings about his behavior, or thoughts on its deeper meaning. I am pretty sure that he could care less that I was bummed not about losing someone I was casually dating but at losing someone I could have cosidered a friend. No I am pretty sure he made his feelings about me abundantly clear when he said, "You know I am like an Avril Lavigne song. Look it up and then you will understand why I am one way with you and one way around other people."

D is for Doug. D is for sad, sad disappointment.

Reset

My father sat on his couch staring at his i-phone.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“I am reading your blog. I do this every night. It is how I know you are alive. When you don’t post for a couple of days I start to get worried.”

Somehow my father and I have got back to this place. He is who I have flocked to this weekend when I need a break from it all, when I need someone to make me feel loved.

We have fired guns and played board games and eaten the world’s most delicious homemade blackberry cobbler. The weather was perfect and the pace slow enough for the whole family to hit the reset button.

It was just what I needed.

The Result

My step-mom (or as I like to call her because it is funny and couldn't be further from the truth - "my evil step-mother") and I after being converted by my father, the master NRA clay shooting champion (maybe a bit of an exaggeration).

Time to Get a Gun

So this is what an afternoon with my father looks like.

So I am on the way to the country with my father. Despite my aversion to guns, today just felt like a day to shoot something. The clay birds better watch out.

Just a guy

"Do you have bipolar?"

"No. Just a guy."

There is a reason I don't date - hell, the reason I have a whole blog about it. Dating is complicated, kind of a pain in the ass.

I suppose it doesn't have to be but I have yet to meet someone who can say, "I like you. Do you like me? Can we go out sometime?"

We don't communicate. We play games. We think we are being clear, but not so much.

"I don't make plans."

"Well, I do."

I am busy girl, and lately even busier than normal. I have barely had time to see my friends, work out, even write but I make time. Because I have to, because it is important.

This is why I plan, and why I expect that if someone expects any of my time that they give me the heads up. Otherwise I will just assume that I am off their radar and act accordingly.

"So are you coming out tonight or what?"

"I told you I am going out of town. If I had known you wanted to go out I would have waited. I texted you."

"Well I didn't know that I had to respond that moment or you were going to leave."

Yeah, pretty much.

Last weekend my girlfriend called me because she was pissed at the guy she was seeing. They had made plans to spend the day together and at noon he was still sleeping. She was at his house, without her car, basically held captive. She was angry because she was wasting her day waiting for him, when she could have just been doing her own thing.

I told her to let him win this one because he was exhausted but I was wrong and after having a second to think about it I understood her point.

We spend a lot of time waiting, trying to be accommodating, trying to make an effort. And it is not a complaint. We like to do it.

As much as dating is work, it is fun. The work is fun. We wouldn't do it if we didn't like it.

But the mind games, the wondering, the insecurity and the BS, that's not so fun.

I told V once that I stopped looking to date, looking for someone because when the right person came along I would just know. Not like an "ah-ha" light shining down from the heavens type of moment but like when you know that pizza and Chinese just don't sound that good for dinner but a burger will totally hit the spot.

I figure at that point, maybe it won't be so difficult. There will be no "does he/does she?" There will be a chance at mature honest conversation. Maybe even with planning and a little bit of effort.

Good Idea?

"Are you sure it is such a good idea?" My mother had been expressing her concern at my selected forum for communication with Mr. Sweet Thang and others.

I suppose blogging wasn't an acceptable method back in her day.

All the way back then.

"Probably not but then again immaturity is easily matched with immaturity."

Truthfully I never thought Mr. Sweet Thang really cared. He told me on more than one occasion that he was like a small child, enjoying attention, positive or negative, but last weekend I began to wonder.

We had a really lovely day in Lawrence - I know, I did anyway. He is a little harder to read. I had never been and it was a gorgeous day to walk around. I thought to myself, "I really enjoy this person" and I let myself get swept up in it. Afterward, as I was sneaking out of his house, he asked if I would blog about it.

I said no - there had been nothing "not normal" to write about, which sounded far worse than the compliment I had intended. It had been a nice day but I couldn't help but feel strange.

I started to think maybe it wasn't okay to write about not dating when you are actually dating someone, kind of.

I invited Mr. Sweet Thang out to our group get together last night. I thought it might tame the weird feeling.

He didn't want to leave the confines of Kansas and told my girlfriend who was trying to persuade him in a way that seriously pissed her off.

His dickish tendencies are one of the things that amused me about me but when you start to actually like a person, dickish funny tends to shift to just plain dickish, and the aggitation & insecurity that come with dating are one of the reasons I have been avoiding it in the first place.

"You just don't date. You have a whole blog about it." he said to tonight. His voice was bitchy and it caught me off guard. Maybe he didn't like being a through-line of my posts. Who could blame him.

"If you can break a guy he doesn't deserve to be having sex?" Obviously, he was less amused about my post from the night before than my girlfriend who made the comment.

Okay, perhaps I shouldn't repeat everything that my friends say when they are irritated at the boys in my life.

I don't know where things are with Mr. Sweet Thang. It is too hard to tell beyond the joking. Maybe my mom is right, and a direct approach would be a more appropriate way to go. I am trying. We will see.

As far as the blog goes, I guess I will just keep writing, at least until it bites me in the ass or someone else tries directness and tells me not to.

Wednesday is the new Friday

Friday night just couldn't come soon enough. So why wait?

V, two of my girlfriends and I planned a get together to blow off some hump day steam. V asked if I wanted to text them or should he. I was swamped so I asked him to take care of it. I assumed he would send an email. Instead we got this.

And he wonders why he is considered one of the girls.

I miss the pain

It was taken during my sojourn to Russia, when there wasn't a day that went by when my body wasn't bruised, broken and aching, and the knees in question belong to my classmates Steph and Jenna and me.

This picture doesn't do it justice but I remember us being in enough pain to make it worth the photo op.

I miss that pain. I would give anything to spend my days running up walls again. The human body was not built to sit behind a desk for nine hours a day and no matter how many times I workout, the two hour sessions do not make up for a lifestyle built on activity.

I have been boxing. It is intense and considering I did little this summer but happy hour and brunch, I am not in the fighting condition I once was.

Every day we are paired up with someone and recently I have been working with Erin, a spunky little thing in her early twenties. She reminds me of Steph and Jenna back then and her youth and enthusiasm are enough to spur me on through the most exhausting rounds.

One night we were jumping rope for what felt far longer than it should have and I mentioned yet again that I was tired. Well, not mentioned, whined.

"You say you are tired a lot." Erin scolded.

I knew she was right. I didn't even try to get defensive. I have succumbed to the secretary spread and my sedentary lifestyle has got the better of me.

"I don't even let myself think I am tired," she continued. "Otherwise, I am completely worthless."

Erin continued dragging me around the gym and I pushed forward, slowly remembering the love of the pain. I became cognizant of my minds ability to push past the limits of my bodies physical exhaustion and after a while I even began to enjoy it.

It might not have been the pain of the Russian ballet Nazi that still haunts my dreams but it was enough for today, enough to get me through life at my computer just a little bit longer.