Evaluations

So lately I’ve been reading a few self-help books, and decided it was time to start focusing on improving some areas in my life. I want a stable job since my current one is term, and have begun redoing my resume and sending out applications. Woo me! :) I’ve also begun looking into gyms because I am not feeling at fit as I want to be, and am tired of complaining about it. Double woo! Since moving back to the city I have been going out every weekend, getting back into touch with old friends, and saying yes to pretty much every event I’ve been invited too. Triple word score!

I have still not been asked out.

*sigh* This really shouldn’t get to me, but it does. These last three months I have gotten dolled up and gone out, and met new people, and sparkled at social events, and met a bevy of interesting (and even single!) men… and nothing.

Let’s put it this way, I have a bunch of new facebook friends, but they are all women.

I just want to give up some days, you know? But all the books I am reading tell me that focusing on the negative only makes you go in that direction. Like begets like, and so on. I must admit, when I was in super self pity mode last year, stuck in a small town with my family I was pretty angry and enjoying my pity party so much I heavily disagreed with such practical advice. More than one book sailed across my room to my refrains of “Stupid book! What do you know?!?!” and the ever eloquent “Pft!”

After re-evaluating some things in my life I am in the “try everything” stage. If I am asked to do something, I say yes (unless I have another commitment). Lately, I’ve been to more birthday parties, book launches, wine and cheeses, rock bars, dance bars, piano bars and late night movie screenings than you can shake a day planner at. Until last night.

A group of girls from my dance group were going out to a hip bar where it was a 50s and 60s theme night, and after much debating and lethargy, I instead settled in with a bottle of wine and a couple of my favourite episodes of Sex and the City. Today I saw the pics they posted, and how much fun they had, but an odd feeling was hanging with me. The feeling of how I usually feel after partying. I get all dressed up, with such hope, wear some cute shoes and a new dress I made myself buy, do my hair and makeup, hit the town and… watch my friends get hit on.

So this morning, looking at the photos I still had that echo of “must be nice” breezing through me. I know, I know, I could have gone out with them, put it all behind me, or push it down and just enjoy myself, but it always surfaces. That feeling of being singled out, or alone even in a crowd. I’ve worked very hard lately not to throw pity parties, but I think I just felt so tired. Tired of doing it so often, and for what? I have great times with my friends, but I go home alone. Even if I opt for a night in, I am very alone. I have nobody, no man in my life to just “stay in” with. And as much as I’d like to think it doesn’t bug me, and as much as I want these books, and this effort not to be wasted, I find myself saddened by the half whispered thought.

So I sit.

And I sip.

And I cry.

back to our regularly scheduled programming...

I was reading a blog written by a woman who gets unrequited crushes all the time, and she wrote , “Jim was the last guy — and it took awhile, but I conditioned myself to stop thinking about him, even after he called me up again, out-of-the-blue, casually mentioning that “maybe” we’d see each other one day soon.

Oh, how delightfully vague!”

I nodded, and then it hit me – I do the exact same thing. I try not to build things up in my head, but I do. I have this former co-worker who I still text back and forth with, but it wasn’t until after I read that paragraph that it occurred to me that I look a little too forward to his random texts.

Seriously, months could pass. I decided I was not longer going to start these texts (or emails, etc. with other guys I get crushes on), so when he texted it made me so happy! I thought long and hard what to say, and how to say it casually (dear god, yes, effort goes into these), and a thought hit me. I know he never asks me out or anything (we live in separate cities), but maybe texting me is just some sort of ego boost for him. Like, maybe he was rejected by someone he really likes, so he texts me who is always excited to hear from him, and sends back clever, flirty little updates. I realize that part of why I like texting him is because it’s safe and from a distance, but thinking that he may just think of me as that desperate chick who pumps him up leaves a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mostly because, looking back, this is how most of my relationships with men has been for quite some time now.

I have a good section of friends and acquaintances. If I go out, I often run into many people (i.e. guys) I know, who say “Hey!”, do the catch up/ joke with thing, etc. But even when the guys are single, they never ask me out. They do talk about how being single sucks, how another friend got married, how they would like to meet the right girl or whatever. What’s weird is sometimes I even think they’re kind of flirting with me, but I’m never asked out, and before I know it, they’re dating someone new, beautiful and “awesome!” I know this, because the next time they see me, they are only too happy to tell me so. This hurts especially hard when I have been interested in the guy. And, yes, it happens. Of course, they’re pumped because they found someone, and want to share it, but maybe I am tired of hearing it? It happens to me a lot.

Maybe because when they’re single, they feel they have someone to commiserate with, and when they’re finally in a couple, they want to show it off. I hear from both men and women the problems with dating, their last gf/bf, how they’ll never find anyone again, and then inevitably how the new person in their life is just so perfect. So I get to be this sounding board, because I can’t really relate back to the whole dating thing, since I am apparently so undateable.

And of course, I get severe crushes on some of these people. Of the three last guys, I have finally gotten over one because he was *so* obviously into my friend, and not me. This happens all the time. But this time it sort of hit me, and I "got over it". It was as though the "like" switch was turned off. I wish it was always so simple.

Usually I feel rather bitter, and dwell. Like on the Theatre Manager Guy. He pretty much has a girlfriend (I say "pretty much" since he's never said it to me, but you know when their page is spammed with little hearts and kisses and they don't remove them), and I don't want to be some sort of relationship interfering tart. Not that there was really a chance, but in my head I decided no, I'm just not like that.

Lastly, there is this guy who I have been quite in love with all unrequited like for the past few years. Yep. Years. And there was a time when I thought that maybe... maybe something could happen...

I'm still very single. *sigh*

One week.

A week has passed since my friend died, and I’ve awkwardly stumbled my way through the emotions. I’ve discovered that when serious situations strike, I need to be kept busy. Maybe so it doesn’t make me think as much.

I met Young Engineer through my friend, the Overanalyzer about 5 years ago. Hard to believe it was so long ago. He was still a teenager, and I in my mid-20’s at that point, but we got along swimmingly. He was incredibly intelligent, cute and quirky. He and my friend dated for over 3 years. When they broke up it practically broke O. I cannot imagine what his death did. I didn’t know what to do but apparently decided that food was the answer. I guess now when death occurs I turn into an Italian grandmother or something. I insist on cooking and feeding people.

I bought a severe amount of groceries and went over to O’s after I returned from Vancouver. I wanted to spend time with him, but needed a project. I hate sitting around when someone is sad. So we made pizza from scratch, and stuffed some peppers, and tested out a pasta salad. Considering I am just learning how to cook, it all came out fantastic, but the best part was O’s mum saying how happy she was O was eating something. I guess seeing food made over a few hours builds an appetite.

We talked about Young sporadically while making the dough and stuffing the peppers. Young and I had talked about depression a few times in the past. I struggle with it, and had a bad bout when I was 15. I told him what it took for me to get a hold of myself and move on, and he told me how he felt. We both criticized the methods of current drug prescribing practices, and what it took us to keep going. I mentioned that a big turning point for me was the old saying, “I would die for you.” I used to use that a lot at my worst. But then, I would die for just about any reason back then. It wasn’t until I thought of my mum (after I had been institutionalized) that it occurred to me that it meant more to live for someone. I felt I could die for anyone? Big deal. Living for someone was a hell of a lot harder, and I set that as my new goal. If for a while I could at least live for my mum, then maybe one day I could live for myself. I am mostly there now.

It hurts me that Young couldn’t do that for himself. It hurts me that there was more we could have talked about. It hurts me that we lost touch this past year and that he made the choice he made. But he doesn’t have to live with it, we do. O does. His friends and family do. I can’t blame him though, he’s already blamed himself enough. But, I miss all the things we talked about. It’s funny how death stains life so much. We used to sit at my place, with our friend Butler making us waffles while we watched cartoons. When I saw waffles the other day I started crying. Stupid, really. But I did. I am again.

So I made pizza because I didn’t know what to do. We ate, and later on I went home. And I thought about who and what I would live for. Does an event like this make you cherish life more? Or do we instead focus so much on the hollow, gaping holes in life that we lose ourselves? I’ve felt without purpose for a while now, but have been making a life for myself, slowly. Yet this makes me feel more awash at sea. No land in sight. And it’s night. But there is something peaceful about that to me. On a boat. The moon shining down. And I am alone. Then there is peace. I have chosen the boat instead of the sea. And for now, that is enough.

Rest.

highs and lows...

This past weekend was... messed up. Seriously surreal. To be honest, I am still a bit in shock over the series of events.

First off, I was experiencing a bit of a low. I am part of a dance troupe and we were going to Vancouver to perform at a festival. Should be a highlight (we were looking forward to it all year), and while indeed it was a coup, I was also kind of frustrated that because we had overbooked the show and then found out we had far less time than originally thought, my part got severely cut. The troupe leader asked me how I felt about it before we left, and I had to admit that considering how we had booked everyone else my part was the logical part to cut. But yes, it still bugged me. I wanted to go and wow those people, and instead I was reduced to sound clips. But again, it was my call, too. We could have cut our guest dancer, but she helped organize the festival, and I didn't want to be "that chick".

So we went, and we had an awesome motel! High! And I really get along with my dance troupe, so that was fun! And the area was filled with interesting restaurants! Chic shops! The festival itself was a blast! So many great shows and fantastic performers! Super high! I was really enjoying myself and looking forward to meeting everyone, and thought, 'Hey! Maybe I'll meet a guy!'

A few other girls in the troupe were single like me a while back, but have since met great men they are now dating. I was happy that they found someone, but a little frustrated that I don't seem to have that ease at meeting men. So was it selfish that I was kind of glad that one of my friend's who is now going through a divorce would be single in Vancouver with me? She even told me how much she was looking forward to having Girl's Nights Out. I was stoked.

Then she met a guy. Yep. The first night out. He wound up hanging out with us every night we were there. He was one of the lighting techs, so had access to all the same parties we did, which really helped with his hooking up with my friend. Good for them. Bitter for me. I know I should be glad she was able to have a fling of sorts, and get 'back into that game', but I can't help but feel I was once again the third wheel.

I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on having a good time. I decided I would try and flirt with someone. Another troupe had a really funny emcee, and in my mind funny = sexy, so I got up the nerve (translation = had a few drinks to get the nerve) to talk to him . Proud of me? Don't be. He barely even looked at me. My friend's kind of laughed it off for me, saying, "Wow, Friday. You tried talking to a guy who is even shyer than you around the opposite sex!" Shy? Or just not at all interested? Well, crap. Can I pick 'em or what?

So finally I decided that was it. Just enjoy the festival for what it was, and take in all the dance, all the glitter, and all the energy. Suddenly my phone went off. It was a friend back home asking if she could call me. Was it a good time? I found a quiet area and took the call. A very good friend of ours had just committed suicide.

I was in shock. I don't remember much else. I was pretty robotic the rest of the night, and for the rest of the trip. The memorial was yesterday, and I didn't go. I couldn’t go. I didn’t know how to feel, how to act…. it's still not real to me. I'm rather on autopilot, except now I keep looking back at my weekend before the phone call, and think how stupid I was being. But then my friend pops back into my mind, and I know he had a lot of the same problems as I did. Problems expressing myself, problems with relationships. And then I feel a tiny crack in my heart. I feel something try and leak out, and it's like it stains outwards, across my chest. And then I freeze again. And I feel stupid that I think my problems are so trivial. And again I remember how much we had in common, and it starts all over again, the crack getting bigger, the stain spreading.

I'm glad my friend met someone. We all need to have someone in our lives. Even if it's just for a while.

always something...

It’s always something, isn’t it? And usually, it’s me. After some intensive introspection I have uncovered a gem of self discovery. I am a dumbass. I mean, I’ve always had suspicions, but after taking a quantitative approach to my previous attempts at relationships I think I have hit the nail on the head.

Sticking with the scientific method I have discovered that the largest flaw lies with my inability to express my emotions. Don’t get me wrong. This lack of understanding of human emotional depth has actually helped me in the past, but it a huge hindrance when you are trying to emotionally connect with another human being. Big time.

Succinctly, I act like a jackass. I can’t talk, even though I am naturally verbose. I sweat, feel clammy, and can’t make eye contact, and this is just with the guys I see across the room in a bar. The worst part is my mind grinds to a brutal halt. I can’t think of anything interesting of funny to say if my romantic life depended on it. Which it does. Which is why it lays six feet deep, waiting for the piles of comfortable dirt to tuck it in so nicely.

I can understand if I was socially inept in other ways, but I really am not. At least, I don’t feel I am. But since this blog is about spastic me and the lack of relationship connectivity, maybe I should reign in those horses, hmm?

Perhaps I should go over some things about myself first.

Factoid #1 about me is I spent my life in a perpetual state of moving, and thus developed a disconcerting knack for meeting people and making friends. I say disconcerting since I also developed a knack for forgetting people, and to this day have a terrible memory for faces and names. My reality was I probably wouldn’t ever see you again in six months, so why bother? Harsh? More often than not, very true. My family (made up of my mother, my older sister and I) were basically nomads. I never stayed at a school longer that 2 years, and if I did, we lived in at least three places. When I went to University, the apartment I lived in for five years was literally the longest home I had ever had.

I feel this is where things really began for me. I developed some great skills, and met all kinds of people, but I never learned anything about maintaining those relationships. I didn’t have to. I was six. Or twelve. Or whatever. I did somewhat envy those around me who had friends their whole lives, and lived in the same house since they were born, but those were their lives, not mine. They seemed a bit weird, actually, and I instead went about my own way. Of course, when you’re a kid, you’re life seems perfectly normal. To you. I learned more about this later on.

Factoid #17 about me is I have absolutely no problem flirting with people I don’t care about. Is this effed up? Oh, sweet sausage in a cup, yes. I flirt like the Dickens. Men, women, a good looking chair. It’s all the same. I don’t care if the person is into me, so I go all out. I joke, I make people laugh, I sing, I dance. I have grabbed complete strangers and made them dance with me and do shots out of my ample chest. But the second I like you? You’re lucky to hear me speak.

What. The. Eff.

So once again. The problem - obvious in its simplicity… and yet, isn’t that the toughest thing of all?

once upon a time...

Tonight I went to a book launch. It was for a friend’s partner who has become quite successful, and it took place in a gorgeous, historic theatre in town. I had read other books of his, and find his writing to be fluid and touching. I was looking forward to meeting with a group of friends who were also going, and I wanted to get a signed copy of the novel for my visiting mum who could not attend. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Here, well, here I can admit that I mainly wanted to go so that I could see the guy I am completely crushing on. He manages the theatre, and works most nights so I was sure he’d be there. How sad is that?

I mean, I did want all those things I talked about, but knowing that I might see him, and (godforbid) possibly even talk to him made me giddy and excited in a way that all the other draws just couldn’t.

So I bought the book, got dropped off, and wandered in searching for my friends I was to meet. And by ‘search for my friends’ I expect you to read ‘scope out the joint for any sign of him’.

Standing in the lobby, I ran into a couple of friends who had just had an adorable little puffball of cute, who was cooing and smiling with reckless abandon. These hippie friends of mine produce some damn fine offspring, so I stayed and chatted with them whilst making baby faces, and nodding sagely along with author’s comments before he went on stage. Of course, the whole time I was doing Navy Seal scans of the room for a Him sighting. When did I become this girl? Oh. Right. Always. I am something of a relationship voyeur. I prefer to watch from a distance. The sight of a guy I like can tide me over for days. I like to picture in my head all the things I would say and do, and all the things he would say and do, that would be cute and flirty. You know, and then a white unicorn would show up and offer us a ride into the sunset and so on.

The reality? I saw him. I got the flip flops in my tummy, and he didn’t see me. Fine, I say to myself. I’m here all night. Try again. Wave at least. Wave! Be cute! Smile and wave!

After the reading and Q & A, I took a place in the long line-up to get my copy signed. My group of friends stood to the side to wait for me while they debated if they wanted a Blizzard™ (Canadian ice cream treat) or beer afterwards. Then I saw him. Again. He was obviously working (carrying cables and microphones to and fro), but he was there. Time to whip out the big guns. I waited for him to look up so I could wave.

In total I waved three times. Nary a response. Was it me? Am I not waving enough? Was someone standing in front of me? At one point he walked passed me, and I got a case of nerves because I had finally waved in his direction and he hadn’t seen and had walked elsewhere. I felt like an ass. I felt like a Blizzard™. And considering I’m lactose intolerant, this means I was feeling mildly suicidal. Why do I let things like that get to me? I doubt he did it on purpose. He’s quite a nice guy. We talk on facebook from time to time. I just wanted a reason to interact with him in person, but instead I just looked like a spaz. Not that he saw that.

All in all it makes me wish I didn’t have such expectations. I wish I had been able to go to this event just expecting to hear an amazing writer, to meet up with my friends and enjoy a beer, and to get a book autographed for my mum. But instead I turned it into this epic, “this could be the night he walks straight over to me and declares his deep feelings for me”, and end scene. The curtain dropping, happily ever after. And really, was I expecting that? Kind of. I just know that I am getting tired of building things up so much in my head, and them never living up to my expectations. I really have to stop doing that. After all, it puts a lot of strain on not just me, but on him. Does he realize the expectations I have of him? It would probably freak him out. We’ve never even had one on one phone calls or talks or anything other than facebook chat.

Man, I need to stop doing this to myself.

My mum.

So, to know anything about me, you first have to know a bit about my mum.

My mum is amazing. If there was anyone in the world I felt I could talk to about anything, it would be her. She is the most patient, giving, loving person I’ve ever known – and that’s saying something considering what a strange and stubborn kid I was. Boy, did I test some limits.

She was a single mother of two daughters, born two years and two days apart from each other (though it’s a pet peeve of mine that people still confuse us for twins to this day). A few years later she even took in a runaway teen who I have always known to be my oldest sister.

I think the best thing about my mum is that she may offer suggestions, or hint at what she feels I should be doing from time to time, but no matter what, she always accepts what I decide to do, even if that is to do nothing at all. Case point is my complete lack of relationships.

This past year I did the unthinkable. What no grown adult should ever have to do, but some are forced to. I moved back home for a year. It was Hell. At least, it was Hell in that I was stuck in a small town I was sure I had escaped, in order to take a job. Damn you recession! *shakes fist*

The only silver lining was I was able to spend more time with my mum, and got to see her more as a person than in “mother mode”. We spent hours going over a bunch of topics, like when I was a baby, how she felt raising little ones on her own, and even about men and relationships. I then told her some things about me from my new adult perspective, and she gave me great feedback. One was pretty weird.

I told her that ever since I was a little kid, I had pictured myself as an adult, playing with my child in a park. I can picture the day, and what the child (my son) looks like, and it’s something I would think of from time to time. It was years later when I was entering high school that some thing odd about it had finally occurred to me. In all those times I had daydreamed about this far off land, there was never a father. It was just me and my son. When I told her this, she contemplated it, and then told me that it makes perfect sense, considering my dad was never around. It had just never occurred to me growing up that a man would have to be part of the equation. There had never really been one while I was growing up after all.

She said it all rather pragmatically, and it was then that I realized how much of my independence I got from her. Who needs a man? Not her. But she would concede that wanting one is entirely different. In that vein, she got married for the first time 7 years ago. I even gave her away. “Take my mother, please!” :)

And tonight? Tonight she came into town to visit me in my new, big city apartment. The topic of some of the crazy relationships my cousins have gotten themselves into came up.

Me: “Sometimes I’m glad that I am perpetually single.”
Her: “Me too.”
Me: “Mother! You’re married!”
Her (smiling): “Oh right. Sometimes I choose to forget this.”

See why I love her so much? :)