Disappointed

If I have initiated all of the contact in a week, does that mean someone doesn't want to see me?

If I am feeling disappointed because he said "let's touch base Sunday" and then he didn't, is that on me for not saying I am feeling insecure about having initiated all of our contact lately and that I want him to be the one to reach out?

Do I read too much online dating advice trying to figure out how to date like an actual adult? 

Anyway, I feel disappointed. I fear that my inauthentic lying garbage behavior has put me in this precarious position. He's been distant ever since that night when I lied to him about the aliens. (Sidebar on that - my friend said "Of course he believes in aliens. He's a comic book writer." and that realization made me enjoy that he believes in aliens.)

Miguel wants me to be safe, so Miguel said I should wait for him to come to me. So I guess I'm spending Halloween with Miguel and Marina and not with Chris...but on the bright side, I'll be with Miguel and Marina, and I am 100% confident they love me just the way I am, and Miguel is such a good friend that I have somehow moved beyond any need to lie to him!

The Legend of Miss Adventurous Part Six: The Love of My Life

"WAIT!"

I literally stuck my arm in the door of the train as it was closing for departure. Not a subway train... an AMTRAK. The conductor met my desperate plea with a grimace; she was probably trying to decide whether or not to leave me in ugly Penn Station.

"Please, my best friend is going to Iraq..."

It's amazing how that softens people's faces--you'd think I was going myself. The door opened and I hustled in, thanking the woman about twelve times as she gestured to show me toward my car.

People often find it hard to believe that my best friend in the world is a soldier for the United States Army. Well, technically she's an officer, a lieutenant. I'm a pacifist, an isolationist and a bleeding heart liberal. The military leaves a sour taste in my mouth with its just following orders attitude that acts without regard for an individual's belief (or disbelief) in a cause. I realize it's a necessary entity, but I'd like to see less of the "defense" money spent on guns and more spent on ways to reduce the necessity for them. Also the Army stole my best friend and partner in crime, and I've always been a little bitter about that.

-----

I will always vividly remember the moment I first saw AJ because I immediately fell head over heels in love with her. Four weeks into my freshman year of college I was in the lobby of my dorm waiting for the elevator with my laundry. I was saying goodbye to Three First Names, my sort-of boyfriend, giggling at him as he made a goofy joke and then wandered off to his room on the first floor. That elevator always took forever, but all traces of impatience disappeared when she danced up (literally, she danced) to wait with me.

Her curly blonde hair was haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks and lips were rosy from the unseasonably cool September weather. She wore a lavender hoodie over a white tank top and had on flared jeans and white sneakers. I was sporting the goth look back then in a black minidress with tiny red flowers all over it, and a curtain of straight hair that hung to my waist in a shade closer to purple than to red. I probably had some serious eyeliner going on too. If anyone had been watching they would never have guessed that we would become friends. They definitely wouldn't have suspected that my heart was racing about a mile a minute or that I was dying to pin her against the elevator doors and kiss her and entangle my fingers in that messy blonde hair. I was totally smitten. "Hi," I squeaked.

"Hi!" she chirped back. "You're [Miss Adventurous], right? You're friends with PDF?" (See? I was popular in college. People knew who I was and stuff.)

"Yeah. Do we live on the same floor?"

"I think so. I'm [AJ]."

Her name was like a whisper through leafy trees in the forest. I completely forgot that Three First Names existed...or anyone else, for that matter. Her smile melted me. The sweet smell of vanilla hovered in a cloud around her. I saw her only in soft focus with a key light gleaming in her green, almond-shaped eyes. I couldn't stop noticing the little sliver of exposed skin between her jeans and her hoodie (remember when shirts weren't all hip length? Good times). We chatted for a minute but I was so busy gawking at her and marveling at her breezy, comfortable essence that I don't remember what was said. I just loved her instantly and wanted desperately to be a part of her life.

The next time I saw her she told me she'd been sexually assaulted. I was floored that she told me, but she said she was telling everyone because the police couldn't do anything and she didn't know how else to deal with it. I was enraged that some asshole guy had taken advantage of this angel. I asked if there as anything I could do for her. I visited her room, which was down the hall from mine, and we talked about it some more.

We got closer over the weeks that followed and eventually I confessed my hopeless love to her. She generously tried a little to love me back but she just didn't have it in her to love a girl. We agreed to be friends. Then, suddenly, it was like we had never been apart. We were like two trees that sprouted seperately and then, as we became saplings, grew together. We were two separate identities completely entwined with one another. There was no separating us.

Although our physical relationship never seriously progressed beyond warm hugs and pecks on the cheek, we were the perfect couple in every other way. Eventually her roommate left school and I moved in in a matter of hours. We had a hamster together that I pretended to hate. I followed her to cheesy college keggers and she came with me and PDF to the gay clubs and drag shows. I toned down the goth look and she got her tongue pierced. She got me stoned for the first time. We dressed up in funny costumes together. We played cowboys and Indians in the halls. We danced and danced and danced. We stole a drag queen's wig out of his apartment and had a million late nights at Denny's. She was the one at the hospital holding my hair back while I vomited charcoal into a trash can. She was the subject of all of my student films and I coached her monologues and enthusiastically applauded when she practiced singing and dancing. We founded the Circus, a motley group of like-minded, creative kids who would be an informal institution on campus for years to come.

A year after we met she went away to basic training for the Army. She never was the same after that. When she came back she was a nineteen year old grownup, and I was coming down from a year of sex, drugs and poor academic performance. We never really shared the same friends again. She still had dreams of the stage and the spotlight but they were overshadowed with a new rigidity (which I have since recognized as discipline, something totally foreign to me at that time). I wanted New York, she wanted LA. I was dreamy and experimental and she was driven. Even though we spent two more years at the same school I hardly ever saw her. I found myself saying "I miss you" on the phone. I met JH. I moved away.

Through the years though, "I miss you" became "I love you" on both ends, and with greater significance than the puppy love I once felt. And though the gap of our fundamental differences grows wider and wider every time one of us makes a life change our respect for one another grows too. I used to love her so intensely that I think it was hard for me to see how different we really are... Now that we're older my blind adoration has smoldered to a deep appreciation for a great and dear friend...although I have to admit a little jealousy when I found out her boyfriend had proposed.

Much as I disagree with the war and the military, I am proud of AJ for the life she has chosen to lead. She and I agree on one thing though; it sucks that she has to go. It blows my mind a little that she is strong and noble enough to follow through on her promise to a country that basically screwed her and stuck her and millions of other soldiers between a rock and a hard place.

Profound PDF by candlelight

PDF never stops surprising me. He has this bizarre, kind of unheathy attitude toward life, but his reasons for it are actually quite impressive. He has this flippant, casual attitude about his own life history, and he doesn't like to talk about it with anyone. "What's past is past," he says, "I prefer to look forward instead of back." I think he and I are a true case of opposites attracting; we have a lot to learn from one another. I cannot fathom ignoring my past--in fact I can barely stop talking about it. I have this idea in my head that a person is the product of his or her combined experiences, and that without knowing all of those experiences, you can't get a sense of who that person really is. Also in my infinite idealism, I tend to assume that everyone is interested in knowing who other people really are. I think though that the reality is that we all need a little mystery (or at least the semblance of it) to keep things entertaining.

We went out Thursday night to this cute restraubar on the Upper West Side and had the most delicious white sangria ever, along with a tangy fresh mojito and some marvelous mussels. The conversation, as it always is with us two, was good and silly and fun, and then about an hour in, as it always does, the light banter shifted to a deeper discussion. There came an appropriate moment to bring up a question that's been stewing in my mind for a while: "PDF, how come you keep secrets from Boyfriend?"

"Uuuhh oh. Like what?" he asked, an uncomfortable impatience permeating his tone.

"Like getting arrested in college? Like your entire relationship with [ex-boyfriend A]?"

At first he was a little indignant that I had brought up the subject, but after I assured him that my inquiry was made out of curiosity and not judgment he smoothed his ruffled feathers and spoke matter-of-factly. Much like me--and, I suspect, everyone--there are things in his past that are embarassing and a little shameful, things that he'd prefer to forget. Basically his take on these things is that nobody needs to know everything about you (I get that). Everyone does stupid things, so we can assume that everyone around us has a few skeletons in their closet that they'd like to forget (yep, still with ya). But PDF believes that there is no reason to acknowledge the existence of his skeletons (huh?) and he sees no cause to share them with Boyfriend, even though they are part of who he is (uh... I don't get that at all).

Then--get this!--then he says the most profound and awesome thing: He feels like Who He Is ought to speak for itself with no need for excuses or explanations.

Whoa! Talk about something I can learn from! It's exactly this kind of thing that illustrates why I love people with ideas and sensibilities that are different from mine. His blatant disregard for the past notwithstanding (he even goes so far as to block certain things out of his own memory), PDF is on to something here. Granted, he takes the concept to an extreme, but I think somewhere in between my open-book and his lock-and-key diary there is a middle ground that would be better for both of us.

So here's a truth for me (and you) to think about: Who I am may be colored by my past, but there is totally no need to show off the paint when I display the artwork, so to speak. It's a much richer experience to wait until someone else gets interested enough to start asking about the techniques and tools that created me.

It's a very basic concept, but one I often forget. To my old friends the fact that I am a walking personal tragedy is funny and endearing because they know that I am strong and positive enough that my lemons always turn into lemonade. New friends might need a little time to warm up to me before I open up so much. I am being hasty in my search for really great friends and my search for a romantic interest (much as I hate to admit that I am searching for one....but I am). I had such great friends in New Orleans, and such great friends in Ohio...they were like chosen families. I am heartsick for my chosen families, and impatient to begin one here. I'm going to take PDF's advice though, and back off a little from the search... Instead, as he says, as I know, I ought to focus wholeheartedly on my career and trust that the rest will come.

With a smile and a wink he said something else to me too: "You know, honey, you've only been here five months. I'm really getting sick of your unwillingness to accept a life that is anything less than your ideal. It's making the rest of us New Yorkers look bad."

Ha! HAHAHA!

Oh where, oh where can she be?

Obviously, my job is kicking my ass. Obviously. But I feel like even if it wasn't I wouldn't be blogging as much. I just...don't feel like it. Which is a little odd, considering a month ago I was a blogging machine. Still, cool things have been happening, and I feel like I should write it down so I can look back later.

Over the last couple weeks I've been on another pallid date with Friend of a Friend (my never refuse an invitation policy is about to come to an end) and one kind of nice date. The nice date was really nice, but I just don't have the energy to follow up...I feel kind of indifferent about all that.

And I went to a couple of belly dance shows. That was a great day! Tiring, for sure, but it was wonderful to spend time with the Squirrel Girls and get to know them a little better.

I went to Cleveland, which was really awesome, because I got to do nothing! I really spent most of my time there just sitting around the house with my mom and sleeping. The MS walk was a really nice way to begin my visit; I got to make my mom cry tears of joyful surprise just by showing up, and I also got to see a lot of my family, including all four of my grandparents. I got to have a mini reunion with Salty and the four kids who grew up behind us when we lived in the Little Red House (they also happen to be our step-father's nieces and nephews). I got to poke Salty in her funny-looking distended belly. The best part though was a Sunday stroll through Lake View Cemetery in Cleveland Heights with Mom and Salty, enjoying a pretty day in a peaceful place with the two people I love best in the world.

I've realized that, since moving to New York, my life has been progressing two weeks at a time. It seems like every two weeks there is suddenly a beat, and then everything changes....so I'm kind of wondering what the next change will be... I assume exhaustion?

Tonight after wrap I met Aunt J and Auntie R out at a restaurant, where they were entertaining my cousin...who I have never met because she lives in a small country in Eastern Europe! I wish I could have been a little more enthusiastic about it, but I was still residually tired from my 6 am flight yesterday. I know that J and R understand; they've both been there many times. European Cousin was really sweet and I enjoyed just being around her and listening to her broken English (I wished I could speak her language) and learning about the country and our family. I've always wanted to visit my family in Europe--Salty got to go several years ago and said it was amazing! Even if it was just for a couple of hours I'm really glad I was able to meet her, and hopefully she's glad too.

I had a lot of fun listening to Aunt J try to describe our jobs to our cousin too... She told stories from the most ridiculously atrocious movie she ever worked on. Fun!

....

Oh dear. Okay, I'm practically dozing at the keyboard. It's time to go to sleep. My body just won't wait.

Tomorrow, maybe...

My mom is totally worth it!

I wound up not sleeping last night. My cab dropped me off at home at 12:15 am. I stayed awake, cleaned my apartment, got everything ready for the cats, and then at 4:00 am, I called a car service. I slept from the moment I buckled in on the plane to the moment the flight attendants rang the bell to signify we could remove our safety belts. I picked up my rental car, jaunted down the highway, and arrived at the site of the 2008 MS Walk just outside of Cleveland!

My mom taught me to read when I was three. Nearly every night as a child she would cuddle with me in my bed, holding a books in front of me so that I could see the words and follow along while she read them aloud. She has always been a great lover of books, and, like Salty said, my memory often includes her curled up and reading on the couch.

My mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis just after I moved to New Orleans in 2003. MS is a chronic disease of the nervous system that affects over 400,000 Americans. Nobody knows for sure what causes it, and there is no cure. In fact, the only treatment available are drugs that slow down the degeneration of myelin, the tissue that surrounds your neurons. It affects people in different ways and to various degrees. For a long time, MS rendered my mother almost completely blind. She, a woman of independence who raised two girls on her own, nearly lost her job because she could not see. She hasn't driven herself anywhere in five years. Worst of all, she can't read like she used to.

Over the last couple of years, my mom has actually gotten a lot better, thanks in part to the Cleveland Clinic, a world-class hospital with an excellent eye care center. She is still unable to drive, but luckily she has been able to keep her job because of very generous and understanding coworkers and employers (and setting her computer's desktop resolution so that it looks huge). She listens to books on tape and picks her way slowly through large print novels.

My optimism in the face of adversity is definitely inherited from my mom. She's the kind of woman who doesn't really ask for help, she just keeps on going and believing that everything will work out for the best. She's been through so much--she was my age when my dad died. She stayed with him and supported him through his disease, and after his death, she was the one who kept everything together for our family. At twenty seven she did this. And she stayed positive through it all. She somehow always manages to come out with a smile on her face.

Despite this great attitude and independence, it's been a big struggle for her, as it is for many people, and she's not used to asking for help or support from people--she's always supported herself. So when my sister decided to surprise her by putting together a team of her family and friends for this year's Walk for MS, the very least I could do was stay awake all night to make sure I didn't miss my flight! All in all, we had almost 30 people show up to support my mom, and we raised $1,600 to support research that, hopefully, will find a cure!