Will Suppositories Remedy Emotional Constipation?
I am troubled, friends.
Lately, I've been on an absolute roll, a definite high. Sometime around Memorial Day my mojo kicked back in and I have been out entirely more often than I should be, drinking entirely more than is necessary, and having more fun that I've thought possible.
But I have fallen into some trouble.
Flip relationships and "fellationships" aside, I have now been single for almost two years. And it's great. Am I looking up at the sky at night (or doing something equally ridiculous) and wishing I was standing next to a sexy man who works me good? Not really. Am I started to feel the dull ache of wanting someone to roll over next to in bed in the morning? Not really. Am I still getting inexplicably depressed and weirded out at weddings? Well, yes, but some things will never change.
I am happy. I have my side(s) of the bed. I go out and do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want, and I don't have to answer to nobody. (And for the record, I am fully aware that my last sentence was grammatically incorrect, but it seemed context-appropriate so I'm going to roll with it.) I have a great job that I still love, friends who are trustworthy and entertaining at just about any hour of the day, a sweet little muffin-faced kitty, and the funnest big sister who I have the luxury of leaning on whenever I need to. I have a nicely-sized 1 bedroom apartment and a new car. I have wireless internet and a DVR that is filled with such emasculating fare as "Gilmore Girls" repeats on ABC Family and "The Hills". And most importantly, I have great parents who live just far enough away and per my last doctor's visit, I'm nice and healthy. I have settled into my little routine, and I am comfortable.
Or not.
I've been in a few awkward romantic situations recently. Situations that are or could be on the verge of manifesting into something larger. And while I've always prided myself on being openhearted and giving myself to a fault despite having a past riddled with shitbags, I guess things have changed.
I am emotionally constipated.
Some of my friends have been there. Most of the guys I've been involved with have been there. And yet even if you're standing next to the person, or face-to-face with them, unless you've been there yourself, it's incredibly difficult to identify with.
But as evidenced by some undisclosed situations in recent weeks, I've realized there is nothing worse that standing nose to nose with someone else and being mobilized with a state of emotional paralysis. There is nothing worse than walking away and wishing you had said something differently, more meaningfully, or less apathetic. And yet there's really nothing worse than running in the opposite direction of a situation that's better managed head-on - all because you are so terrified of rejection and consequences that you choose your pride over your heart.
I always thought people who kept a guard up were so smart to do it, but I never understood why they couldn't just take it down when they wanted to. To me it was like a little picket fence that you could construct and destruct at will. If you want to
tell someone you like them, you just f*cking tell them. If you want to
show someone you like them, you just f*cking kiss them. I mean, how hard is that?
Well, I've wanted to tell and I've wanted to show, and I am 0 for 2 at both in recent weeks. I'm pretty disappointed with my actions. One has to wonder where I started really thinking with my head where matters of the heart were concerned, and why, when face-to-face and given the perfect opportunity to throw it out there, I choke harder than the US did in the World Cup last week.
Maybe when you "grow up" you just become less immune to consequences. Maybe you think and you analyze, and if you're me you then overthink and overanalyze, and your internal gauge of whether it's worth the risk dissipates rather quickly. You talk yourself in circles so much that you end up talking yourself out of the entire hemisphere. I wonder why it's so hard for me and what it is exactly that I'm so terrified of, but on the flip side, I am comfortable and happy and scared to shake that. I've worked really hard to be where I am and to risk having someone come in and topple my house of cards seems kind of gallant and ridiculous.
I am emotionally constipated, and I need to fix this.
I will take any and all suggestions, short of taking some sort of nude pottery sculpture class or listening to Ani DiFranco over and over again. Any other suggestions on how to grow a pair and emote are appreciated though.
No Really Means "No, And No, I Will Not Give You Rationale"
Pardon me if this post is semi-coherent, but some jackass decided to stay out until 2 am on a school night last night, two hours after the $20 second-place trivia winners beer voucher ran out, and about after $10 of James Brown and Beck jukebox music played at Fontaine's, which led to a heated dance-off involving some ass grinding, the Roger Rabbit, and the Worm.
So I'm talking to my friend CK tonight, and I was recounting this story from a few weeks back, where - brace yourselves, this gets odd - a friend (who I'll just refer to as James Blunt, for all intents and purposes of this posting) tried to get me to go home with him. Mind you, this was after a long night of drinking massive quantities of alcohol (including 1 Red Snapper shot short of throwing up), but as I'm telling the story, I said to myself, "Self, let's post a blog about this, so that we can help men everywhere prevent jackassedness from happening." Which is really how many of my posts begin.
In a nutshell, my very platonic James Blunt got into a bit of a fight for my honor after he spotted what he thought was a cute guy's Drunk Ugly Friend mocking me in conversation.
FREEZE.
Drunk Ugly Friend: the token asshole in a group of good-looking guys who is insanely ugly (face usually contains one organically protruding feature, like buck teeth, or ginormous ears) and not coincidentally insanely drunk, possibly caused by a glance in the mirror, or the realization that all of his friends will likely get laid that night and he will inevitably be headed home solo, with only an economy-sized bottle of Swiss Formula body lotion and some internet porn to console him. His motto is typically similar to "If you can't win 'em over, be an asshole because they like it," which would ordinarily work with a decent-to-good looking guy, but never works with an ugly guy because that behavior only validates what women have passed snap judgment on initially, which is that G*d has a cruel sense of humor.PROCEED.
After defending my honor, I felt somewhat obliged to my friend, because although the situation was blown out of proportion, I knew that I had a friend that was willing to punch the shit out of any guy that mistreated me, and I give any man that would defend a woman's honor in that manner major credit. My ultimate goal has always been to have male friends (and at some point, a man) that would seek justice - with fists, the old-fashioned way - should I be disrespected. That move is hot, and if done correctly,
almost hot enough to make any woman want to sleep with you even if she's not attracted to you.
So later in the evening (well, morning), as we're walking to the car, he stops me in the parking lot and the next thing I know, I am locked into an embrace. Now, with all due love and respect to James Blunt, had you asked me to make a list earlier that night of what could possibly happen, it would have looked like this:
1. I would meet John Krasinski from "The Office" and he would ask me out.
2. I would see Brad Pitt holding little black children for Angelina Jolie at the bar while she orders two cans of Pabst.
3. Scientologist aliens from Xenu would abduct me in their spaceship and take me back to their homeland.
....
....
....
184. My friend would stick his tongue down my throat in the parking lot of this bar.
After we pulled out of the parking lot, the drive home was relatively quiet. For the first time in maybe ever, I was rendered completely speechless and could not think of a damn word to say. I knew it wasn't that big of a deal, but the fact that it was so unexpected kind of made it that way. And I was a little nervous that he would try to pursue things further, which I knew off the bat was decidedly not something I wanted to do.
We pulled into his parking lot and I parked the car. He then asked me to stay. I said no.
And then, in the most common, yet idiotic man move ever known to...well, man, he says:
"Well, why?"
Men of the world, heed thy advice: Never f*cking ask why. Resist the temptation!Here's the deal: asking why is only going to hurt you. And no matter what you think, it will not convince the girl to change her mind. This is f*cking we're talking about, not a malpractice suit. You can't rely on rhetoric to win the case. And while you may think that talking about this rationally will appeal to the pragmatism of women, we, as a gender, are a paradox. We may make a mental SWOT analysis of which pattern of sheets to buy at Ikea, but we are not as ambivalent about wanting to see you naked. We mostly know one way or the other from the get-go.
An added stress to the "Why?" question is that the Whyer puts the Whyee in a compromising position. In the case of James Blunt, who I think is witty, incredibly smart, a talented writer, funny, and astonishingly entertaining, I feel awkward because I now have to come up with rationale that reasserts my position to him without being offensive in any way. I mean, could I have said, "I don't think you're very good looking at all and yet you're so experienced that I'm scared if I get close to you and breathe in I'll contract a VD?" Possibly. But I'm fairly certain that even James Blunt would find that offensive.
So I tell him that given our friendship, this would be awkward. He responds, "Well, it's not like we work together anymore, so what's the big deal? There's no need to keep it a secret or anything."
Hmm...point taken, Johnny Cochran, but the answer is still "no"."Why?"
I thought quickly.
"Where's your angle, KA? Where's your f*cking angle?!" The truth was, there's a reason why I didn't go into any profession that required thinking on your feet. I was clearly quite terrible at it.
Finally, I decided to go with the Right Said Fred Approach:
"Well, here's the thing. I am so riled up right now that if I went home with you, we'd probably sleep together, and that's not something I want to jump into. You're incredibly tempting, but I don't want to regret anything."
Oh yes, he's too sexy. Too irresistible. And I will be so intimidated by his massive member that I would be irrevocably scarred. That had to work, right?But then I hear, "Well, don't worry, I'm a gentleman. We can just (insert act here) and I won't sleep with you. Even if you beg me. Because you told me you didn't want to. It stops there, I promise."
Wait, we can (insert act here)? Are you kidding?! Way to go, James Blunt. Way to lay it out there. It was a brave move, but the answer was still "no".With no options left, I went with the approach I was trying to avoid at the risk of making myself seem horrible - the Boiled Bunny:
"Okay, here's the truth. If we hook up, I might start liking you. A lot. And then if you say you'll call me to hang out and you don't, I'll get upset. And if we go out with a group of people and you talk to another girl, I'll get upset. And if you and I hook up and you tell me down the road that you don't want a relationship with me, I will boil a bunny in your kitchen. It will not bode well for you, I promise. And you really don't want that. You really don't."
Yes, baby. I will get so hot and crazy for you that I will go ballistic on your ass and you'll live to regret it.Well kids, I tell you - the Boiled Bunny is foolproof, because with that, he was gone in a flash. And in the two weeks that have passed, we have never discussed it since.
Which doesn't make me want to ask "Why", because clearly, I know better.
An Open Letter To All Future Houseguests and Wedding Dates
Based on the nightmare that was caused by hosting my friend/date to a mutual friend's wedding last weekend, I found myself issuing the following email on Monday morning. Readers, please take this as serious warning for what not to do if you are ever to stay with/escort me to anything...ever.
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(Houseguest name here):
Address to mail a check is as follows:
(my address here)
As a reminder, the gift was $50 (plus tax) and if you could add $20 for gas expenses, that should help to cover it.
Per our conversation this weekend, it's interesting to watch people change over the years - sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. There may have been a lot that has changed for you but what unfortunately hasn't changed, as demonstrated this weekend, is that you will still throw your friends or anyone else under the bus to get a piece of ass.
I chose to act like a lady and to not confront you and embarrass you in front of (witnesses) this morning, but the truth of the matter is that I am offended and disgusted with how I was treated. I bent over backwards for you - even going so far as to buy you your favorite kind of (rare) beer - and to make sure that your weekend was easier and you had a great time without having to concern yourself with details. From Saturday evening on, I was treated like an inconvenience to you - and more specifically, yesterday, which was the day of our friend's wedding and a day that we should have all celebrated together. Instead, I ended up spending the majority of the evening with (witness), who, despite not having not spoken to him in over two years, behaved like a gentleman and was incredibly gracious.
I didn't mind hosting you or driving you so that you didn't have to spend money on a hotel/car, and I acknowledge that you thanked me for it, but to expect me to pick you up from wherever you decide to crash, and to put me in the compromising position that you placed me in at 4 am this morning when you, (witness), and two wedding guests arrived at my apartment complex with (bride's) car and a flat tire and slept on my floor, is taking advantage of my hospitality and blatantly disrespectful. What astounds me further is that in spite of the audacity you displayed in asking me to host you in the middle of the night (when I have to work the next morning, and there were plenty of hotels available, not to mention cab service), is that you asked if I could leave a spare key with you so that you and three other people I barely know can use my apartment in the morning as some sort of pit stop on your way to the airport and while you figure out how to fix the bride's car (which, tangentially, I can't even imagine how furious I would be in her shoes). I know you understand that I was absolutely justified in refusing this request.
I may be a good friend, but I am not a doormat. I am not a housing facility for people who don't plan ahead and/or are too frugal to reserve a hotel room and/or make appropriate arrangements. I suspected when you asked me to go to the wedding as your guest despite having received an invitation on my own, that it was motivated by being offered a place to stay, and I'm sad to say that my suspicion was correct. I chose to open my home to you and expected nothing in return (not even expecting an offer for lunch or dinner as a thank you, knowing that's not your style) except for your respect, and did not even receive that as a minimum. You placed your own selfish, inexplicable need to hook up with some hippie from Oregon who you'll probably never see again in your life, over what you told me last week was your objective this weekend - to see myself and your other friends and to stand up for your friend at his wedding. How disappointing.
As such, I'll expect something in the mail within the next week.
Maintaining Your Utmost Professionalism
I think that in the year and a half I've been writing this blog, this may be the most serious post I've ever written.
But really, isn't it time I took things in a different direction? We all need to grow up at some point.
So today, I had a rep lunch. Rep lunches are always a mixed bag because you never know if it is going to be the best/worst meal you've ever had. My first ever rep lunch was with a state tourist magazine. The rep was a huge fan of the outdoors and spent seventeen (I counted) minutes discussing how much he enjoys looking at sparrows when he's nesting in his cabin. We then segued into how geographically-remote business practices have become and marveled that over the course of the past two centuries, we've moved from an industrial, manufacturing-based society to a service-based, techno-dependent work force.
I almost died during that lunch.
Our rep lunch today was with an oldie but goodie who was introducing his latest protege to our agency. The Protege was brand-new to the business and wanted to get acquainted with us, as we would likely be working together in the future. He wasn't bad looking at all - not necessarily my type, but definitely good enough. And that's really all one needs.
Ordinarily I would throw in a disclaimer about how I don't think I'm fantastically hot and I am not egotistical, but screw it. From the second I met him, the guy was clearly trying to get acquainted with my pants.
The entire lunch, he acted as though we were on a first date...asking questions, where was I from, what accounts did I work on, did I enjoy the missionary position, things of that nature. Finally, after answering his slew of questions, I looked around at the rest of the table, when all of a sudden he blurts out, "I swear I know you from somewhere." I shook my head, but he proceeded to inquire about pretty much every place I've ever resided, until finally he exhausted himself and tore into the crab cakes. (Not that there was much left, as going up against me in crab-cake consumption is like challenging Barry Bonds to a home-run hitting contest.)
Anyway, so it's about halfway through lunch that I realize the table leg I've been kicking this entire time is actually the Protege's leg. Oh yes, I had been playing an unconscious game of footsie with this guy ever since we divvied up the calamari.
Shit.
Wanting to maintain my utmost professionalism, I promptly apologized with a very humble, "I'm so sorry, I thought I was kicking the table leg," and he gave me a shit-eating grin, Cheshire Cat-style smile and replied, "Oh, that's fine. I really enjoyed it."
Wow, great. Predicted time of employment in the real world for this guy: 5 business days. It's a good thing his boss is a chauvinist, because that shit wouldn't fly otherwise. I'm sure he and boss returned from lunch and he shared the story with him and got a high-five and a slap on the ass. And possibly a $10k raise. It's times like these I have penis envy, because if I could do something totally inappropriate and get a high-five, a slap, and a raise, that would be a five-star day for me, really. Steak and red wine for dinner!
Anyway, a few minutes later, I feel a strange sensation rubbing against my foot. I peek underneath the table, and sure enough, Protege is playing footsie with me. And smiling at me! At a rep lunch. How positively kinky. Part of me thought, "Bring it, bitch", and the other part thought, "Quelle horreur!"
I contemplated calling him out on it, but decided he was kind of cute and I should let it slide.
I mean, surely we've all made mistakes. There is the case of my very dear friend, America*, who received a job offer via email and instead of forwarding, replied back to the HR director saying, "Yeah bitches, the Ho got hired!" Surprisingly, the offer was not retracted and she went on to a long and sometimes happy career.
There was the time that my hilarious co-worker got drunk at the office party, had a chat with the boss, and when the boss told some unbelievable story, hit him hard on the arm and exclaimed, "Get the f*ck out!"
I recall another time when I had to fill out some grad school graduation paperwork and they asked me for the circumference of my head for a cap. Having sat in a cube with no access to a flexible tape measure or string (or even a decent-sized piece of paper), I pulled out a wooden yardstick and began measuring around my cranium just as the boss was walking by. He made some scathing comment about the lax standards for granting Master's degrees in today's world and I mentally gave him the finger when he walked back to his desk.
And perhaps best yet, when I was training for my Scooter Racing competition at my old agency, I took a little workday scoot around the 14th floor (on three separate occasions) and, having not figured out how to work the brake, ran headfirst and crashed - first into a wall, and twice into the executive VP of the agency - who had to break my fall and was not amused.
So all things considered, perhaps I am not the best to lecture on maintaining your utmost professionalism, other than to ask that one does as I say and not as I do. And oh, mind your feet at the dinner table.
*Names have been hidden within country names to protect the guilty.
Overheard in the Highlands
The following snippets were overheard in the Virginia Highlands bars on June 3rd, 2006:
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(KA walks up to bar to get drink.)Guy with lisp: Tho, are you ordering drinkth?
KA: Yes.
Guy with lisp: I jutht found out my wife cheated on me and sheth leaving me.
KA
(pats guy on back and walks away): Well, good luck with that.
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Random short ugly guy: Were you here for the festival earlier today?
Susie
(drunk since 2 pm): Yes.
RSUG: Do you like art?
Susie: No.
RSUG: Well, there's this artist here from New York - he takes wood and etches things into it. Then he paints over the wood and it looks completely different.
KA
(to Susie): Sooz, you think you'd like that?
Susie: Probably not.
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(Susie flicks cigarette on outdoor patio.)Bald Piercing Guy: Hey, did you just flick your cigarette at me?
Susie
(laughing): No.
BPG: I think you did.
Susie: No, I did not.
BPG: Well, you're not just a flicker, you're a liar, too.
Susie: I only lied about being a flicker.
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Trashy Rural Guy: Y'all, I'm movin' to Atlanta. It ain't nothin' like Kennesaw. Y'all are big city people here. Are you from the city here?
KA
(turning to Susie sitting on opposite side): I'm going to kill myself.
TRG: It sure must be nice livin' here. I'm movin' here myself. Tell me, is it this busy here all the time?
KA
(turning to Susie again): This is my last night out ever. It all ends after tonight.
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(Later on in the night, Trashy Rural Guy Attempt #2 at Conversation)TRG: So. Where are your men?
KA: We don't have men. But if you're referring to the men we're always out with that might be misinterpreted as "our men" - one of them is at a cabin in the mountains this weekend, one of them is out on a fake date with a supermodel, and the third is probably at home, jerking off to the Sabres on tv.
(Silence.)
