Over the years I’ve been shocked to see signs in ladies restrooms telling us females to not “flush feminine products down the toilet.” I get it if maybe the restroom is used by young girls who are still learning the rules of this dreaded part of womanhood, but… Seriously? In an office? An office whose female population is at youngest maybe 23?

Seriously? How many times need we be told to keep the products that keep us fresh out of the commode?

I just want to know who is that dense?

/rant

One of the most difficult things for me to do is tell someone less-than-pleasant news. (I mean, consider how I worded that: “less-than-pleasant news.” I can’t even write anything other than a euphemism.) And, when it’s an experience I have never had, neither from the giving nor receiving standpoint, I am absolutely agonized. So, what happened?

Last night, during a pretty decent conversation with the guy I’ve been seeing, I let him know how I have been feeling, or rather, not been feeling, about our relationship. I hadn’t planned on saying anything last night; I wasn’t even certain I would say anything at all, in the near-term at least. But I had been planning what I would say whenever the time came that I mustered up the guts to follow through with it.

I had just gotten out of a movie around 5:45pm and was headed home to get ready to go out with some friends who wanted to “do something” for my birthday, which was Friday. John had called and left a voice mail, so I rang him back. We talked the entire drive home and continued to do so as I got ready to go out. The conversation really was good: he told me about a funny situation with a woman at work who was having a relationship with him that he was unaware of (she had “broken up” with him on the phone that morning - quite a funny story) and then we meandered into talking about our relationship by way of him asking me essentially if I would be his girlfriend. This latter portion of the conversation, too, was good, though I played coy quite a bit because I didn’t know how to answer him.

[On the one hand, I really do enjoy hanging out with him: seeing a movie, sharing a good conversation, and just plain having someone around who seems to  like me for who I am. But on the other hand, I have been having trouble feeling anything romantic.]

In his silly-yet-serious tone, he asked me for one reason I shouldn’t be with him and three that I should. I hesitantly gave him my responses: I should not be with you because of the problems you have (e.g., drinking heavily); I should be with you because you sincerely like me for who I am, you’re a very caring person, and you’re a very sensitive person. I meant every last word. He is a good guy on all those counts. We chatted some more, and I could tell - just like I’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks - that he is far more into me than I feel I am with him. For instance, he told me that he feels best when he is around me; that he looks forward to seeing me when he never feels that way about anyone else.

I want to be into him. I feel I have tried to be into him. But our relationship has basically flip-flopped. In November and December, I was far more into him than I thought he was with me. After Christmas, that all changed. And, I know why…

The Sunday after Christmas we were hanging out at his place and he was relying heavily on beer. He drank a lot. I mean, he finished off nearly 18 beers all on his own (over the course of 10 hours or so, but still). He was shitfaced by the time I left (my car was elsewhere so I had to rely on carpooling back to my vehicle, so it’s not like I could easily just walk out). Now, when he is drunk, he’s just drunk: not violent, not abusive, just inebriated. But, it was a side of him I didn’t want to see but one that I potentially needed to see sooner rather than later. I was embarrassed to be seen with him. He was utterly unattractive to me in those hours. Later that Monday I could tell he was trying to pretend like the night before hadn’t happened; he even asked me to “try to look past this.” And I wanted to try.  But something in my voice over the next week told him I was bothered…

That’s when he called me out on it about a week later and after several phone conversations. He told me that the way I was responding to him had an edge in it that made him feel like I had a problem - ever since “that night.” I was thrown off guard, but I was as honest as I could make myself be while trying to maintain the relationship. I told him that I was bothered by his drinking that night and that if I had an edge in my voice since then it was probably because of that; that, it is important to me that he can be around me without drinking so much; that what I saw of him that night was unattractive - not so much physically as otherwise. I could tell he was hurt by what I had to say but he took it as well as could be expected, I suppose. The call ended sort of abruptly and for about three days, I wondered where we stood.

Being the understanding (perhaps naive in your view) person, I knew that the week this all happened was a rough one for him: school (he is a high-school teacher) was just going back into session after the holidays and the school he works at has significant behavioral issues. And, John is tormented by the strain/stress of working there, so he has to pull back from other things in order to make it through the day/week/month. And I get that. But still, he didn’t call… he didn’t email… nothing. That’s when I decided to make the first move. I called him three days later; by week’s end, we were talking again as if nothing had ever happened.

And that is when the dynamics of our relationship had flipped: I still had a problem with “that night” while he saw it as an opportunity to redeem himself and prove to me that he was trying to change.

…

Back to the now.

As our call continued last night, he suggested that, “the answer is at least not a ‘no’,” to which I responded for him to repeat the question. He said it was whether or not I would be “his monogamous companion.” After a few barbs back and forth I finally said that there was something I had wanted to say to him. (Where did this courage come from?)

I was miserable. I mean, seriously, I had no intention in the least of saying any of what I said at that time. I was about to go out with my friends! I was supposed to be having a great time! It was my friggin’ birthday weekend and I did not want this to happen - not this way, not now. But I said it:

… I get the feeling that you are far more into me than I am with you

… I feel like you are more serious about me than I am about you

… I am really torn about saying anything to you because from one minute to the next I feel one way then the other about you; I love hanging out with you and having a good conversation… but

… I just haven’t been feeling that, erm, romantic ’spark’; I think we’re good for friends but…

As I heard his responses, each time, I tried to back out of the hole I had just dug for myself. Seriously, he really did take it “as well as could be expected” in that he said that he honestly appreciates being told the truth rather than be strung along, etc. We even continued to talk a bit more as I tried to help him understand what all I meant by what I said.

I was hurting, badly. You see, he is on the verge of a huge change in his life, one that I truly, in my heart, want to be witness to. He used to cycle competitively and is awaiting receipt of his new custom-built bike. He will pour his heart and soul into getting back on his bike and starting to ride competitively again. Whenever he talks about this, I see the passion in his eyes and I am astounded. I know he will be a different and better man for it and this is one huge reason I wanted to see our relationship out for a while longer. I told him as much, last night, as I was breaking his heart.

As I was breaking my own heart.

What hurts the most right now is knowing that he was really has been trying to change. On Friday night he wanted to treat me to something for my birthday, so we hung out at a restaurant and talked while he ate (I had dinner earlier with my parents) and we had some drinks. He had just bought a new car that afternoon and was quite proud of it and had me drive it to and from the restaurant (a huge sign of trust). While we were driving he’d occasionally put his hand on mine - something he had never done before. Later, when I was getting into my car to leave, he put his arms around my neck and leaned his forehead against mine and told me about what a nice time he had with me, etc. And all I could do was stand there, being almost aloof and nodding along.

Why did I have to say anything last night? Right when he was putting himself on the line… finally opening up to me like I wanted him to for so long? Am I fickle? I mean, I got exactly what I wanted from him: desire, interest, loyalty. And then I throw it back as if it’s just not good enough for me.

…

About eighty-percent of the time, I feel like I’m certain in my feelings that this was never going to be a long-term relationship. In fact, I had resolved myself some time ago - at least to a degree - that he wasn’t “the one.” However, I then turn around on myself thinking, “You’re just putting up your own wall… you yourself are scared to ‘be’ with anyone.” That’s how I feel right now: like things were starting to get serious and I got scared and ran away. And I hate giving up on anything I’ve put effort into, I really and honestly do. It feels like such a waste of resources… of energy… of time… of myself.

What if he was the one? What if he’s the only guy who will every take me for who I am: body and mind alike. He made me feel beautiful: something no one has ever made me feel in my life (I mean that). He wants to be around me, spend time with me, and get to know me. And I tossed it aside…

Was Joni Mitchell right when she said, “you don’t know what you got till its gone?”

Today marks the last [week]day of relatively complete freedom for me. Come 9:00 AM Monday morning, I will be reporting to a new gig I managed to snag quite easily not more than a week after graduating college. Since graduation, I have done practically nothing. My intentions were grand: take a week or two road-trip on my own to places undecided (I considered Colorado Springs to join my brother and his family). However, I just couldn’t make myself get up or out to do anything. I blame in part the process of being interviewed and hired as keeping me essentially bolted to my blood-red leather La-Z-Boy recliner and my desk chair. But, really, in this day and age, cell phone in hand, I could have gone somewhere and never missed a beat.

More probable the reason I stayed not just close to home but at home is that it simply felt the best thing to do at the time. Now, I have a few regrets about ‘wasting’ my “free” time, but ultimately it’s been quite rejuvenating. The only real downside to this respite is that my “home” is my parents’; this in and of itself presents a less-than-relaxing experience on several levels (for instance, now, as I listen to my mother huff her way through making dinner - she’s an extremely uptight and sorta pissed-off person, and everything is an ordeal to her). However, I digress…

I have to admit, I don’t necessarily believe that my ‘freedom’ is coming to an end. In fact, one might argue that the complete opposite is true: that with this new life I will find other ways of exploring my personal freedom. I will be financially able to support myself and do things that I have put off doing for a couple of years. And, socializing with people my own age (generally) and who are not my parents will help open me up again. (There is something to be said for the social effects of a job.)

I will, however, miss the late mornings and casual primping routine that I have come to love and adore these last few months. Ahh… memories.

This past Wednesday, I officially ended my career as an undergraduate student by completing my final in a grammar class at 9:00am. However, today is the day that I partake in the formality of walking across a stage, wearing a cap, gown, tassel, and honors cord, to accept a ceremonial diploma before the eyes of my parents and a few friends. In the past, I hadn’t given much thought to whether or not this ceremony meant something to me; I’m actually still not completely convinced that it does. But all in all, I do believe that it means something to not only me, but my family as well.

It has taken me 15 years to complete my Bachelor’s Degree. What with changing schools several times, having a career in there for almost 10 years, a marriage, and subsequently, a divorce, the life path I had chosen was by far not a straight line. But I got here. And now I should be able to pursue a dream I have had for a long time, to teach. And that? I suppose that is what makes this ceremony even the more worthwhile.

Earlier today, when explaining to my favorite instructor why she saw me crying on my phone in the hall before class, I heard myself say something rather profound about myself: I handle stress rather well until it handles me.

Late last night and early-enough this morning, I began to have my version of an anxiety attack. It’s been quite a while since this has happened, the last time — that I remember — it happened was when I lived in my apartment over a year and a half ago. I had a couple during those two years alone in my snug little cave, but that was because I was alone and unsure of my life. Why would have one now, of all times, surrounded by family and pursuing a dream that I have had for years?

Read the rest of this entry »

Would that just not be the BOMB? I think I would market it to women, primarily.

I’m talking about a device that can be used to turn off our brains when they start thinking too much. You know, to behave more like a man’s brain. I mean, seriously, what is UP with all the analyzing that goes on in our female minds? Why do we have to go to sleep each night thinking about how all the crap we did today didn’t really get as done as we thought; or, why, when we meet someone new - say a guy, for instance - we have to create all sorts of scenarios regarding what he said in that email or voice mail?

Yeah, you guessed it… I met a guy and I’m experiencing hyper-thinking activity. Does he really like me? Why didn’t he call? Is he mad at me? Am I too clingy? Do I need to chill out and let him have his space? Why didn’t he KISS me on that third date? Are we dating now, or are we just ‘hanging out’? Is he beer-goggling me? ARRRRGGGHHH!

I want it to stop. I know it’s insane. Completely and utterly insane. But no matter what I do, I CANNOT STOP THE VOICES that question Every. Single. Last. Word.

If you find the device that can turn off my brain (barring death), please, I beg you, let me know.

In just under a month, I will graduate from The University of Texas at Arlington with my undergraduate degree from the College of Liberal Arts. I chose a degree that many people consider “light”, and although I agree that it is so, especially at UTA, it is a topic I am interested in continuing to pursue as a graduate student. I am just happy that I am finally finishing my Bachelor’s degree, and that I will be more suited to find employment outside my previous career path. No, a BA is never guarantee that a job will be hovering on the horizon, but I will feel more apt to acquire a position, somwhere.

I will be the first of my generation across my family to achieve this, which is another thing to consider in my list of accomplishments. My father is the only one in his family to have not only graduated college, but to have sought and successfully completed both a Master’s and a PhD. The only other person in our family to have completed a degree is my Uncle Russ; however, he is a relation by marriage, which makes my degree even more meaningful to my family.

And now I have a dilemma: should I legally change my name back to my maiden name so that my degree will represent who I am and where I came from, or does it even really matter? Though I have been divorced three years, I decided to keep my ex-husband’s name for two reasons: 1) It was easier, and 2) It is sort of a cool name, from which I feel I garner more attention/remain in people’s memory better. But as I approach graduation, I am not really certain just “who” I really am. I have recently decided that there is a third reason I have not changed my name back: I do not feel my maiden name fits me, and it holds some bad memories (in sixth grade a fellow unpopular student made himself a hair more popular by rhyming my last name with an animal known for its large girth; something I was also representative of).

The decision has not come as yet. And, it is a conversation that will continue to play in my mind for not only the coming weeks, but well into my new life.

I am happy to be graduating, though. It has not been a difficult ride, and UTA is certainly not a very challenging school — at least not for me — but it is a huge accomplishment, regardless.

Now, if anyone knows of a job, let me know.

I’m not very political. I probably couldn’t tell you half of what either of the major party candidates stood for this election year. For that matter, I got the feeling that no one else I ran into could either: this was an election based solely on a marketing campaign. But, that’s just my opinion.

Though I lack any political expertise, I have had one opinion I feel should be considered: that Barack Obama is not black; he is bi-racial. And it bothers me, to my core, that he waged a campaign under the banner of being black. I am not denying him his African American heritage. However, he is denying something: his white heritage; his mother’s heritage. Be who you are, and I will love you for it.

And now, we are calling him our first “black” president. No, he’s our first [known] bi-racial president, and there’s a big difference.

I just had to get that off my chest. I like things to be called what they are, not molded as someone feels a situation deems.

Though this is certainly unimpressive by most standards of people my age, I accomplished something this morning that I just had to jot down.

I stayed awake after feeding my dogs at 7:22am.

Seriously, this is a big step for me. I’ve been lazing around since the spring semester ended in May, getting up around 9am or later (lately, *later*). And I’ve been sluggish all day. And, as usual, I tell myself I need to get up and stay up. Yet, it never works. I’m not naturally a morning person, in terms of jumping out of bed and otherwise springing to life. I’ll go to bed thinking, “I will get up and do X, Y, and Z…” but then morning rolls around and though I mumble to myself that I need to get up, I wind up snuggling deep into my pillows deciding the moment is better in bed than elsewhere.

But, I absolutely LOVE being awake early! Especially during the summer in Texas - the air is at its coolest. And, things are so quiet and serene. And this morning, I did it! Let’s see if tomorrow I can repeat the event.

No, not his shadow. His farts. Seriously, I’ve been dying to find a way to catch him in the act, sound effect and all, but it’s just not possible. So I just need to write about it.

Peanut, my little and younger dog (though still 7 years old), jumps up and runs away when he toots. I’ll be sitting somewhere, minding my own business when I hear a little air pocket… a sort of wwwfft sound… and Peanut will start and run off like, “Hey dude, I don’t know WHAT just happened, but that sure as heck wasn’t me.” It is really funny when you see/hear it happen, and I just had to share. Especially with you Maria.

(Oh, and other times, he’ll just sniff it… I swear. Disgusting.)