girlabc

You may say it’s because I’m a teacher that I hate tardiness, but that’s not the reason why.  Yes, I do hate it when people are late.  I mean, the judgment just emanates from me when I’m made to wait.  It’s not that I’m impatient, but that I value my time just as much as I value others’.  So, if I can schedule my comings and goings so that I can avoid, as much as possible, to show up past an agreed upon time, then I expect the same of others.

That’s my disclaimer for the following rant.

A friend of mine was supposed to come over tonight to assist with some computer stuff.  He’s the friend who’s had a crush on me since, allegedly, middle school, and while I’ve only ever seen him in a guaranteed platonic way, it appears he’s had other notions in his head.  Whatev.  That’s his issue, not mine.  Anyway, tonight was planned in advance.  Actually, tonight was a postponement of a previous day.  A previous day that had to be rescheduled after I contacted him two days prior to said previous day to confirm whether or not he’d make it.  He couldn’t, so okay, no biggie– we postponed to tonight.

Tonight, I thought he might swing by around 7:00 or 8:00, since the computer stuff would take approximately two hours.  Seven and eight rolled by; I took the dog out for his evening walk and by nine, still no sign of my (rude) friend.  Ten o’clock.  It’s not like I’d invite him to spend the night, so I didn’t see why he appeared to feel the need to come as late as possible to linger for as late as possible.  I knew he was playing games– he’s been late before and I don’t like it because, simply put, it’s rude and disrespectful.

By half past ten, I flicked off the front light because I’d decided he’s not worth even that wee bit of electricity.  Four minutes before eleven, I received an email: “Hey, sorry I couldn’t make it tonight, friends from out of town, they leave tomorrow and I can come tomorrow or tomorrow night, what time is good for you?  Sorry again about tonight.”  Did I forget to mention that earlier this evening before I took the dog out, I sent my friend a text to let him know my mom and I were expecting him and that he could come by whenever it suited him?

Rude.

I know this is a stunt that some men (and some women, I assume) like to pull to show their heft.  “Look at me!  Aren’t you getting upset now that I haven’t made an appearance?  I’m king of your world!”  I’m actually not really sure why some people behave this way– the lack of courtesy, the disrespect, the inconsideration– but I’m pretty sure it’s to provoke some sort of reaction.  The lawyer I dated circa 2008?  He did this on our first date, called at the last minute– literally– to cancel plans.  Asshole.  The quasi-crush from last year?  He failed to show up as he had told me he would the last full day he was in town.  Bastard.  This issue-plagued friend from tonight?  Turtle egg.  (So said Mom.)

I guess these people are small and insecure, and so they wish to elicit aggravation that assures them they’re big and desired and important.  I guess.  I don’t think I’ve ever given the satisfaction, though, with an outward display of repulsion at such rudeness.  I mean, I’m seething inside, but I brush it off.  Treat it like nothing.  Not only that, but I treat him like nothing.  Because frankly, nothing is what such a person is if he disrespects you so blatantly.

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.

Today, I woke up before eight, checked my email, fed the dog, drank terrible instant coffee, puttered around, and then prettified myself to be presentable in public.  Public was a trip to a local thrift store with my mom.  Perused the circumference of the store– books, knick knacks, hand bags, scarves, toys, and costume jewelry– before going to a hoity toity faux Parisian stretch of city to meet a friend for tea.  But first, some shopping– bought a past season bolero style blazer at half off, and then caved into the whimsy of a green plastic peacock memo holder, also half off– then tea.  Talked the usual talk: skin, style, stress, someone (rather, no one) special, and so on.  Said good-bye.  Went back to the thrift store to retrieve my mom.  Purchased three books, one of which I’ve read before but must have on my bookshelf because the writing’s so beautiful.  Drove back home.  Had a quick lunch.  Drove to the Jewish community center to exercise.  (While I’m not Jewish, my ilk is sometimes referred to as the Jews of the Orient, so I kind of fit in.)  Did half an hour on the elliptical.  Watched half an hour of Wolverine.  Did an hour of Zumba.  Watched fifteen minutes of Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan on a machine I couldn’t figure out how to use.  Drove home.  Fed the dog.  Ate dinner.  And now, here I sit and type.

Somewhere during the day, I had a moment of lucidity regarding dating and relationships.  At least, I think I did.  Maybe it was this morning’s Google Offer of speed dating at half off that triggered something, combined with the friend’s usual grumblings about men and dating and a lack of a relationship, topped off by the Zumba session with me checking out my shapely self.  All of which got me thinking: I’ve got to do some things so that I can get a guy.  Note the plural: some things.

So, thing one: put myself out there.  Going to Zumba?  Sure, that’s active and out, but let’s face it– odds are, the only attractive guy I’ll ever meet there is one who is out.  You know.  Out of the closet.  Thus, it’s pertinent to know what activity counts as being out there and what doesn’t count as being out there.  My usual hang out?  The library– where talking is discouraged and quiet study is encouraged.  Hmm.  I’ll have to rethink where I go to see and be seen.

Speaking of sight, thing two: a sight for sore eyes is always a very, very good thing.  Shallow but true– people, and men especially, are visual creatures.  If they don’t see anything attractive on the surface, they sure as hell won’t bother themselves to investigate beneath the surface.  (On an unrelated note: Hey, I don’t make the rules, and protesting them only eats up precious time.  I’m at a very time sensitive point in my life now and can’t make anymore stupid jaunts to, oh, the Arab Gulf for a year and then Central Asia for half of another– during the sunset of my twenties, no less!– and imagine Prince Charming’s going to come and save me.)

Thing three?  There ain’t no Prince Charming once you outgrow Disney princess fairy tales.  Best to accept it and make do with reality.

As for reality, thing four pertains to that is-it-or-is-it-not “real” spark.  My friend asked me today what I would do if I met a great guy who’s dependable, compatible, and all around a very fine partner– except that there’s no spark.  “What would you do?” she queried, her face fraught with furrowed brows and a worried frown.  “What would you do?”  Me?  What would I do?  He sounds great– we get along, you say?  We  like each other, and respect each other, and I can count on him, you say?  “Umm… I don’t see a problem,” I hedge.  She’s smarter than I am, so maybe she sees something I don’t.  But really, I don’t see anything wrong with her what-if.  No spark?  No matter.  It would be nice, but a spark isn’t necessarily a good spark– there are bad sparks, too, that can come off as exciting and oooh-ahhh but gradually become just another annoyance and sting in the ass.  I can live without a spark if everything else is in order.

Thing five is what I believe to be most important with my own current situation: cleanse and clarify the mind.  See, since November of the year before last, I’ve been almost inexplicably attracted to someone who ultimately, one year later, clarified to me that he’s not interested.  Ouch.  It has only been three months since I’ve completely cut off communication with him, but that’s not to say he isn’t still constantly in my mind.  Which is not good.  Because, you see, with him in my mind, how am I to meet someone else?  He’s like a giant road block, a humongous obstacle, a big ass STOP sign which my heart dutifully obeys.  The trouble with this set up is, obviously, that I can’t proceed and move on with Mister Roadblock congesting my mind.  Thus, even if Thing One, Thing Two, Thing Three, and Thing Four are followed, without Thing Five, you’re not going to get too far in this desire to meet a guy.

I think?

Maybe Super Moon last night shed some clarity, or it could be my reiki master friend who sent some vibes out to assist me in obtaining my request for clarity of mind.  I don’t know.  I feel like my murkiness is returning, but may this post be proof that I did have a mini “A-ha!”

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.

My ex-boyfriend turns thirty-three today.  I didn’t realize today was his birthday, I swear, and while I’m not proud to admit it, I learned today’s his birthday because I looked him up on Facebook just now.  Just to see where he’s at.  You know, what he’s doing.  If he has a lady friend.  That sort of stuff.  But it’s not like I had a sudden urge today of all days to take a peek at his online presence.  His memory surfaced last night when I took the dog out for a walk.

Talk about timing.

I remember for his twenty-eighth birthday, I gave him a box full of things I had acquired in anticipation of celebrating his birthday together– a gift card to Jamba Juice (because he was really into juice), a Chia sheep (because it’s his Chinese zodiac sign), condoms (need I say more?), and other semi-practical and semi-sentimental stuff– but then, wouldn’t you know, we broke up before his birthday.  Because he had a been a supreme dick on mine.  Picked a fight with me.  Yelled at me.  Made me cry.  He had completely forgotten I was turning twenty-four.

Talk about timing.

Anyway, the latest with him is he’s very likely still single– a real shame because he’s a real solid catch!– and that he’s going to be a homeowner.  Like, very, very soon.  Offer accepted soon.  Oh, he’s also going to compete in a marathon in Maui.  As I said, he’s a great guy and, if I may say so myself, I have pretty good taste in worthwhile men– it’s just that the men don’t have any such similar taste.  I refrain from saying they have no taste for me but that’s crazy talk.  I’m delicious.

So, I suppose this spur of the moment entry resulting from following-up on an ex and the five years that have transpired make me reflect and ponder on any lessons I’ve learned.  I’m blanking out now that I’m fixating on the lessons, but I know I’ve learned plenty, like:

1. What you think you want may not correspond with what you actually want on-line, in the flesh, and live.

2. Be flexible about your wish-list and be ready to amend it as things progress.  People change.  You’re people.

3. That there list?  It should be about qualities, not quantities or anything else.

4. If a person makes you feel like crap, then let that be the end of that relationship.  Inexcusable.

5. People break up for a reason.  Remember that reason and it’s applicability if you ever are tempted to use super glue.

6. Everybody has issues and everybody who’s ever been in a failed relationship has baggage.  That is okay, normal and perfectly reasonable– but to misappropriate the issues and baggage on a new partner and relationship is not okay.

7. You have precious time that could be spent elsewhere, so it’s important that time spent with someone brings you happiness.

8. It’s also important to give affection and appreciation on top of receiving.

9. Just a reminder that it takes two.  No compromise?  No deal.

10. If it didn’t work, have a good sob and on with the show.  Someone better is in the offing, and the sooner you process the failure, the sooner the potential winner can appear.

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.

I have really crazy dreams– crazy like insects that fight with each other and tear antennae off to fence; crazy like pyramids of puppies at a warehouse wholesaler; crazy like myself strolling naked in the street, followed by my previous quasi crush rolling himself in a wheel chair, with a group of clothed people after a parade.

I analyze such dreams because, insane as they may be, I’m certain my subconscious must be trying to tell me something.

I have more realistic dreams, too– realistic like my previous quasi crush ignoring me; realistic like my previous quasi crush traveling with me; realistic like my previous quash crush crushing my feelings.

Such dreams are much easier to make sense of because they reflect reality.  Duh.

These past few nights, I’ve dreamed about him.  It was disturbing to see him night after night in my sleep, and by night four, I decided I’d rather not sleep– but oh, how I wanted to sleep!– because, yes, I was tired, but no, I didn’t want to have another bad dream about him because the bad feeling that accompanied me when I awoke wasn’t because the dream itself was scary and bad but because it was, sadly, very real and reminiscent of real life.

So, I drank half a bottle of wine and tried to induce sleep by alcohol.  It didn’t work.

And I still dreamed of him.

Damn.

I very seldom dream of recognizable people, never mind people for whom I have a soft spot in my heart.  It’s always a treat when I have such dreams of those I love.  The dreams I had had of him prior to our unpleasantness were a little strange– one of them involved a wheelchair, another involved an elliptical trainer, and there was an even earlier one that I’ve since forgotten– but they were very nice because it was so nice to see him.  This recent series of dreams, though, had the same effect on me as a nightmare would have had.  Awful.

The first installment was him talking to me.  Not engaging me in conversation, not even talking to me about anything interesting.  Just him talking.  At me more than to me.  Almost as if I really didn’t matter; why would I if the conversation is a monologue?

I did not enjoy that.

The second installment was his friend assuring me that my former quasi crush sincerely wanted to see me and talk to me, and that the purpose of his trip was to see me and talk to me… but when my crush joined his friend and me, he hardly so much as said hello to me and instead focused his attention elsewhere.

I did not enjoy that, either.

The third installment was the worst.  We were in a group of six people total, and he announced in a joking manner that he was gay.  I told the buxom blonde beside me that I wasn’t much surprised.  The blonde and I sit side by side at a picnic table, he sits next to me, and then retracts his statement of homosexuality by looking past me to the blonde to tell her, “I like you a lot.  I am really into you a lot.  I want to go out with you.”  And he slides her his room number on a piece of scotch tape.  (I wish the dream had ended there but the table just had to turn into a bed with him and the blonde in it– and me still seated at it as if it were still an ordinary table.  Awkward.)

I really did not enjoy that dream.

I wondered why the hell my brain wanted me to think such things.  Why torture myself with such an awful image?  With such a terrible sensory reminder of how hurt I felt by him?  I woke up with hurt feelings after each dream.  Definitely not a good way to start my day.

So I wondered.  What the hell, self?  Why am I doing this to me?  Hello?  Do I really want to re-experience this?  No.  Do I really need to remind myself of this?  Er– maybe?  Yes?

After three nights of bitter dreams, I had one very sweet dream of a friend I’ve had in real life for fourteen years.  In my dream, he gave me a hug.  And he gave me a kiss on the cheek.  And I felt very good.  I felt happy.  I felt loved and cared for– and yes, I woke up feeling good.

The single contrasting dream of my friend to the three dreams of my allegedly “close friend,” as my previous quasi crush would call our friendship, reminded me that friendship is supposed to make you feel good.  Friendship is about feeling happy and giving support and being caring and loving and kind.  That’s what friends are for.  You want confusion and chaos and cheating?  Family can cover that without you even asking.

Not only was I reminded subconsciously that friendship should affect you in a positive way, but I also consciously put two and two together and remembered that the foundation of any romantic partnership or relationship is– say it with me now– friendship.  That’s what any successful relationship requires at its core.  Friendship.

I’ve been making good personal progress this week with processing the former quasi crush and his weight in my life.  As a friend, he disappointed and hurt me.  It’s true that prior to his visit, he had expressed his desire to see me and said he didn’t want to miss the opportunity, and it’s also true that during his visit, I didn’t really feel like he cared very much at all to see me or spend time with me.  He told me he liked me a lot but that he wasn’t in love with me and that I needed to get over it.  And I am.  Now.  Just about.  Almost entirely.

I got my wake-up call.  Finally.

And it only took some disturbing dreams to get (over) it.

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.

I can’t sleep, so I count the months:

since November;

to December;

to January;

to February;

to March;

and now, April.

Five months, roughly, of processing and purging the previous quasi crush from my being.  People say there’s a formula for getting over someone—something about the length of time smitten halved, times three, and then quartered, followed by plus one or two or something like that.  My math’s never been any good, but essentially, I understand there’s a window of time we all pass through, whether by skipping  or scampering or shuffling or streaking.

Me?  I’d say I’m slowly backing into that window.  It’s taking a while, I must say, and I have no one to blame but myself for the inefficiency of shooing him out.  A lot of the happiness I associated to him was, I realize, self-generated, and the miserable geographical factor was absolutely self-inflicted.  What can I say?  I gave it a shot and wound up shooting myself in the foot.

Note to self: no more of that, please.

So, I’m trying—really, I am—to really, genuinely, truly stop myself from thinking of him so fondly.  I really admired him before, and even told him so, and I respected him because I saw many positive traits in his character.  Well, this warm and fuzzy perspective of him isn’t exactly helping me in moving through that window, so I need to intervene and make things cold and prickly.  One classic method of turning liking a person to disliking a person is to catalog all the negative aspects of said person.  Just think negative, build it all up, and exhale a sigh of relief in having dodged that heap of dumpiness.

I ask myself, “What did I dislike about him?”

And I tell myself the following, in order of memory retrieval:

“His ear piercing.”

“His other facial piercing.”

“His facial hair.  Ick.”

“His nasal hair.  Super ick.”

“That topless photo of his backside showing some plumber’s crack that he posted online to meet girls.  What the fuck is that about?  Disgusting.”

“His English voice.  A tad too soft and feminine for me.”

“But then his native phone voice was way too booming and loud.  ‘Efendim!’  Yeesh.  Pipe down already.”

“Answering his cell phone—loudly—in a public place.  Rude.”

“He smoked before.  Probably a lot.  As Turks do.  Like chimneys.  Egh.”

“He joked about rape and pedophilia.  That’s just sick.”

“He wasted food.  I really didn’t like that.”

“He came when it suited him and he left when it suited him.”

“He didn’t even ever ask me if I was hungry.”

“He picked on me.  Shoes.  Clothes.  ‘What is this, San Francisco style?’  At Merve.  At the statue.  Ass.”

“Things he said didn’t seem to correspond with things he did.  Incongruency between words and actions.”

“He made me feel bad.  Correction: he makes me feel bad.  His friendship makes me feel bad.”

Bingo.

Piercings and hair and voice are negligible.  So are tobacco and crude humor.  But being with him and experiencing our friendship sucked.  It sucked big time.  I felt slighted, I felt disrespected, I felt disregarded, I felt unappreciated.  In short, I felt like shit.

That right there is non-negotiable.  Can’t be with someone who makes me feel like manure.

And that said, what’s the point in staying hung up on a person who produces such a bad feeling within?  If someone deliberately (or “accidentally” repeatedly) causes you to needlessly feel humiliated or ashamed or incensed or simply sad, then why stay latched to someone so unkind?  I used to think my former quasi crush was kind—and I think he is, still—but something happened and he’s just not that kind to me anymore.

You can see that I just might relapse and romanticize him in a warm and rosy light.  He’s kind.  He’s thoughtful.  He’s considerate.  Well, he is—just not to me.  To me, he’s not kind, and he’s not thoughtful, and he’s not considerate.  He had been, but then he wasn’t and now he isn’t.  He’s tarnished.  Electron.  Negative.

What did he do to make me think poorly of him?

Let me count the ways.

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.

I find myself in a weird situation involving a lot of internal conflict.  There’s a heap of mind over matter, heart versus brain, feeling faced off against thinking—and I know I brought this foggy tug-of war upon myself.  I hesitate to say my mind played tricks on me, but I seriously wonder if I talked myself into believing something that’s unreal.

The weird situation I’m thinking about involves me and my regard for my former quasi-crush.  To hell with what anybody else says (which, by the way, is a solid vote for me to forget him and move on), and to hell with what he may say (which, if I recall, is that he likes me a lot but is being logical regarding the circumstances), and to hell with what I say (which, I am ashamed to admit, is that he’s a reason the universe has plunked me here).  None of that is as important at the moment as the other guy.

Yes, there is another guy.

I don’t really know what to say about him except that he’s a really nice guy—to everyone—and he’s considerate, particularly to me, and, well, what else?  I sensed his attraction pretty early on when we went out for dinner or coffee and dessert alone without the rest of the group—his suggestion—and based on the conversations we’ve had, I get the impression he’s trying to figure out how open I am to settling down, to marriage, and to long-term commitment.  I mean, he really doesn’t need to ask me more than once about my plans after this contract, and he really doesn’t have to inquire multiple times on various occasions about my interest in settling down and getting married, and he really doesn’t need to know about my hobbies and down-time interests and stuff like that.  He definitely doesn’t need to suggest traveling together and I don’t really know why he even cares to arrange his holiday plans with mine—same time frame, same destination even.  I mean, it’s all talk, but it’s talk that happens repeatedly that I get the impression he’s eyeing me in a way that’s more than just platonic.

(Okay, and at the insistence of a friend, I asked Tarot just to show her how it works and, boy oh boy, this guy definitely sees me as some sort of temptation: the Devil, to be precise, which isn’t exactly the right choice, tempting as it—or I, in this case—may be.)

Anyway, the point of this ramble is to say that under normal circumstances post-heartbreak and post-heartache, I’m usually pretty damn pleased to have a welcome distraction—some would call this distraction a rebound.  Now, I’m not saying that I bounce to another guy without thinking, but it is really helpful to have an option in order to expedite the healing process.  I was so desperate to forget about the engaged guy, for example, that I agreed to go on a blind date with some Russian-American guy in Korea simply to take my mind off of someone I liked very much but who wasn’t available.  But in this situation I find myself now?  I’m stubbornly attached to the one who’s unavailable: former quasi-crush.

Why is that?  Here, I have a very nice guy who is considerate of my preferences—green tea because I like it, even though he prefers black, for example—and who, much to my surprise, serves me food and who seems to have the same relationship objectives as I do… and yet, I’m not motivated to go out with him or to pursue more with him—even though it seems to me that he is motivated to go out with me and pursue more with me!  Isn’t that strange?  Instead of this very nice guy, I’m stuck on this other used-to-be-very-nice guy who can barely ask me, “How are you?” when we—correction, when I—greet him online.

What the fuck is the matter with me?

Why on earth would I be more attracted to this guy who’s not responding to my sweetness as he should be (so says a friend here) than to the guy who’s not only very nice to me but is expressing an interest in me?  I don’t understand, and this is the weirdness of the situation: that I don’t seize advantage of other opportunities, such as other men, to alleviate my hurt feelings.  In the past, I would not have ever hesitated to welcome a guy who could heal my bruised ego; and yes, that’s even if I were mostly using him to get myself over the hurt.  Poor Mr. Rebound’s at the wrong place and wrong time?  Not my problem—if anything, it’s because I’d be so banged up and hurt that I’d even get together with guys I’d otherwise not look twice at.

And again, this is the strange thing.  This other guy who’s very nice has more to offer than my former quasi-crush does.  I hate to get superficial like that, but it’s one way to compare and contrast objectively.  Other guy wins, hands down.  Even so, there’s something still unresolved between former quasi-crush and me that, I believe, is preventing me from moving forward.  I think.

See, this is where I think maybe I’ve fooled myself into believing something that’s not there (but I know that’s not right, either).  Maybe I’m just a masochist.  I really don’t know.  But I figure, if I was able to talk myself into this situation, then I better damn well be able to talk myself out of it.

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ABC Girl: A Bit Confused.

Questioning her identity, her origins, and her perception.