Awkwardly Social

I booked a much needed vacation to Palm Springs with my cash from my second job, and then four days later my car gets stolen.  That’s not irony, it just sucks.

I had a spat with Seth last night and then my car gets stolen.  Karma or car… I’m too depressed to even make the pun.

Everyone keeps asking if I’m traumatized, and I’m not really even angry.  Just beaten down by this city, this life, this turn of events.

The good news is, I was just about to change my insurance to not be comprehensive.  Procrastination pays off!

After my $1000.00 deductible  (Um…) I’ll be able to buy a $200 car.  Or, you know, something in that range.

I guess a normal person would cancel their vacation plans to Palm Springs, but fuck that.  I’m fucking going.  I’m going to swim in a pool.  Play some damned tennis and drink margaritas until I can’t remember my name.

Last night after a kick ass run, that both of us admitted was probably our fastest, and hence, our hardest run to date, we showered and snuggled and I was feeling quite smug.  This whole exercise, diet, keep not smoking thing was working.  I am feeling better.  My life is awesome.  I love these last days of being child free having not a care in the world.  And to top it off, Lula has been a much better dog, sleeping through the night, now that she’s been running three times a week with us.

Can you tell where this is going?  Not yet?  Let me continue.

I went to sleep with Seth saying his stomach was still feeling kind of queasy, and I teased him about eating a pound and a half of pasta.

Cut to 1:30AM.  I hear Seth bolt out of bed and then I fall back to sleep.  Moments later, violent puking.  He pukes the way I puke.  Loudly.  And at length.

He finally comes back to bed and tells me he feels better now that everything is purged.  I fall asleep feeling slightly queasy myself, most likely because I just heard someone puke up a pound and a half of egg noodles.

And I fall asleep.

Then the barking begins.  Oh, woe is Lula.  There is an animal on the back porch.  And she is furious.  And I’m hoping it’s not the skunk I smelled earlier that night, so I grab Lula and try to get her to shut up and go back to bed but she’s not having it.  Finally, after peering out into the black night, seeing and smelling no signs of skunk, I go back to sleep.  Moments later she’s out in the back yard, snuffling around.  No skunk, no raccoon, only an irritating dog.

The alarm seemed to come early this morning, but that would just be my future sneaking up on me.

UPDATE:  I just got an e-mail with a lot of exclamation points from my sister.  And yeah, re-reading this, I’m kind of stupid. And so totally NOT PREGNANT.  It might read that way, but yeah, no.  Good lord, I’m such a tease!

Yesterday marks the anniversary of the first day of the rest of my life.  Forgive me if you’ve heard this one before, but it’s a story I never want to forget.

I wasn’t completely sure that love was out of the realm of possibility for me, but on that day, I had no idea that I was going to meet the love of my life.  I know that after my break-up and the subsequent dramatic writing that I did here, I became the temporary poster-child for heartbreak.  I still get an e-mail now and again from someone who remembers my story and wants advice on how to stop hurting.  Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that the best thing I ever did for myself was be open.  I said yes to everything and everyone and did my best to accept every invitation and show up looking like I wanted to be there whether or not I really did.  And for everyone who’s going through a break-up that’s the best advice I can give.

I like sharing my story because like any modern fairy tale it’s a little less cut-and-dried than “I lost my slipper when my knight woke me from a deep sleep while I was locked in a tower with long hair that was spun out of gold and I lost my voice but my prince rescued me from the dragon and I lived happily ever after” (or whatever).

I was sitting poolside, my feet up on a low table, a rapidly filling ashtray by one foot, a rapidly emptying wine glass by the other, when a guy sat down next to me and introduced himself.  I had never met him before, but I had been told he was going to be there and I had been watching him that day.  He has an easy way about him and I had been watching him for signs of awkwardness, being that he wasn’t a regular member of the group assembled there that day and he showed no sign of being uncomfortable.  So when he said, “I’m Seth,”  I said, “I know who you are.”

Hours later, we had not moved.  We just sat there and we were blown away by the way our lives were connected without ever having met before.  It was already written that we should meet, but if anyone had written it, it would have seemed too convenient, like it was just at service of the convoluted story of Los Angeles at the turn of the new century.  At some point in our conversation we talked about how we should get a drink sometime, and I programmed my number in his phone.   Later, everyone was gone but the host and hostess, and we all sat outside in the dark until it was clear Seth and I needed to go home.

He walked me to my car and we said goodbye.  There was no contact and I don’t particularly remember feeling any electricity, but I do remember watching him walk away down the street.  He has a swagger that comes from his innate coolness, and as I watched him walk away, I had no idea that a year later I would be his partner, but I knew we would have a lot of fun.  I smiled as I drove back to my little apartment and figured he would call or he wouldn’t and I was just going to leave it at that.

He tells me that he felt me behind him as he walked toward his car and that he considered leaning in for a kiss before he left, but that he just went with it and it wasn’t quite right so he didn’t.  And I’m glad he didn’t because I don’t think I was ready then, but a month later when he finally called the number I had programmed in his phone all those days before, I was ready to be kissed.  And how.

So that’s my little story.  It’s not a fairy tale, and the ending is yet to be written, but for me it’s a perfect little anecdote for how simple and easy and complicated and convoluted it can be to meet someone who turns out to be the love of your life.  Now, dust yourself off, put on the outfit that makes you feel like a super hero and say yes.  Your partner could be out there right now.

A sick feeling washed over me, all the blood rushed from my face and out of nowhere I felt completely insecure about my relationship and was absolutely sure it would be over in a couple of days and I would be out on the street with a stupid little dog, living in my car, unloved and unwanted.  Ah, homelessness fantasies, how I didn’t miss you…

Since we strive to be honest in our relationship, I immediately e-mailed Seth and told him I was flipping out.  He responded saying all the right things and I felt better.  Then I felt awesome.  Then I felt like shit again.  It was a roller coaster of an afternoon.

I got home at 9PM, pulled myself together and we went for a run, which started with a lot of complaining, hemming, hawing, and ended in feelings of badassery.  There is something about sprinting to a finish line while your boyfriend watches you disappear ahead of you that really makes a girl feel like a rock star.

I went to bed feeling like things were good and boy did my subconscious reward me.  I had this ridiculous summer camp dream about all the boys being completely in love with me and trying to hug me inappropriately and I would push them away with a laugh and hold up my be-ringed hand saying, “I have a boyfriend!” and wow, I let it go on for so long, this boys being all excited about me and me being all “he put a ring on it” that I managed to turn my alarm off and sleep right up to the moment I’m normally getting in my car and pulling out of the driveway.  It was not awesome.

Thankfully, Obama was in town this morning so at least there wasn’t any traffic.  Oh wait… they closed the freeway pushing all of that traffic onto Olypmic and they closed all of Century City!  Guess how I get to work in the morning!  I take Olympic through Century City!  Thank you, semi-non-dirty dreams about camp and also thank YOU, Obama!  You truly made my morning interesting.

Last week, for the first time in a long time, I had the overwhelming urge to pick up a pack of cigarettes.  Maybe it was that familiar feeling of driving home with the sun not quite down, the air was warm and it felt like summer could start at any moment.  Or maybe it was just that I wanted to smoke.  And how.  I didn’t stop for a pack, but all weekend I kind of drank my cigarette sorrows away which culminated in my Sunday afternoon panic attack and a noticeable shift in my waistline.

Seth and I run well together, so over the past couple of weeks we’ve been cramming in a run at around 8:30 or 9:00 at night.  It’s not ideal, but the smell of jasmine is heavy in the air and the crisp spring nights are making for excellent heart pounding, wind sucking, gravel crunching jaunts around the reservoir.

And now that my smoking cravings have really manifested themselves in ways that need to be quashed with something other than fistfuls of pretzels followed by gigantic glasses of wine, I’ve started bringing my lunch to work, eating dinner before I leave the office (to avoid eating at 10:30PM) and exercising at least 4 times a week.  Which leaves absolutely zero time for smoking.  See also no time for television (if only I didn’t work in television, then I wouldn’t see any of it ever!  As it is, I watch a fair amount just by watching our shows), which is good, but also has kind of turned me into that dieting, running, holier-than-thou girl who has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about when you put the words American Idol Star Dancing 24 Bus of Rock Loving Bachelors together.  Except I do.  And I try not to sound too insane when I say, “I didn’t see it, but I heard about it on Ryan Seacrest this morning.”  Because, even if you don’t watch it, if you’ve heard about it on Ryan frigging Seacrest you’re still kind of a pop-culture vulture.

Mostly, I’d rather sit on our Adirondacks with my feet in Seth’s lap, a glass of white wine in one hand and a perpetually lit cigarette in the other, but I guess that just isn’t happening.  It’s all running and salads and no booze for me until I can crush those sweet cigarette feelings.  Or at least fit back into my swim suit.

Shortness of breath, inability to see the future as anything but black and dark and bleak, disturbing frequency of head burrowed under covers and restless, anxiety ridden dreams lasting on and off all day long  - ah, Sundays, how awesome you aren’t.

Which brings me to Mystic Pizza.  Which opens with a panic attack of sorts.  So, moderately good segue for someone who’s having trouble writing!  Win!

I woke up from a particularly disturbing dream about college and a female professor and sexual favors for grades and needed a little brainwashing to get it out of my head so I turned on the TV and everything was making me suicidal, from kitty litter commercials to nightly news when Seth found Mystic Pizza.  He put it on and the questions began.  He’s never seen it and we started 3/4’s of the way in.  It was mildly difficult to convey why we cared that Annabeth Gish was fucking the dude she babysat for, and why Lily Taylor was covering for her and why the wife that comes back looks so old compared to blond glasses dad dude.  Then it became kind of hilarious because every time Annabeth Gish was on screen he’d ask me if she was Julia Roberts.  Then maybe 10 times in 10 minutes he asked me who the director was and if this movie made him huge and every time I would tell him that I had no idea, he would wait a couple of minutes and then ask again.  And then I smothered him with a pillow.  But it’s ok, he’s kind of into that.

So, I had a mild panic attack after hanging out with some old grad school friends because they all seem to be functioning really well and I on the other hand can barely hold it together.  I guess I’m just not ready for life quite yet.  I really thought I was, but yeah, not so much.  The good news is I seem to be able to fake it where it counts most and when I’m at home alone with Seth and the covers are pulled over my head at least I enjoy the company.  The dude can certainly make me laugh.  I mean, Annabeth Gish looks nothing like Julia Roberts.

I think the last time I was in a hospital I was visiting my college roommate’s sister.  She had just had her entire bowel removed because of Crohn’s disease.  Thankfully, this was much less stressful than that.  It’s way easier to talk to someone about their fainting spell, busted head and broken collar bone than their missing colon.

Other than hanging out perched on a window sill while my ass numbed and trying to figure out if the names being tossed around were people I should know or if I should just straight up acknowledge I had no fucking clue who they were talking and being told that sitting on the portable toilet chair thing that was awkwardly placed in the middle of the room  was totally fine (because you can put the seat down!), it was a really nice visit.

The only other thing I could manage doing this weekend was dragging Lula to the groomer.  They were really skeptical when I tried to explain I wanted her shaved, but not shaved naked.   I had to explain that she loved to sunbathe and I didn’t want to her to get burned.  (Sometimes shit just flies out of my mouth and all I can do is go with it.  But really, sunbathing?) Then they asked if I was ok with bows and perfumes.  I told them they were clearly blind to hegemony and she shouldn’t be burdened with the trappings of modern sex distinctions.  Actually I made up some bullshit story about her being ‘embarassed by bows.’  WTF?  Just about then they were dragging her away to the gas chamber (at least that’s what she thought) and I said, fine, put a stupid bow on her, I don’t care!  And when I went to pick her up she was wearing a pink bandana with pink skulls on it.  For the record she didn’t seem embarassed in the slightest.  And all I could do was laugh because while she wasn’t naked, she has almost no hair.  It’s adorable.

I feel like I’m going a little crossed-eyed with exhaustion.  My weekdays are long and full of jolts of creativity stabbed with pauses of drudgery.

I want to get back to this space and write all about my life and my partner and my house and my weekends but I also want to sleep.  Sleeeeeeep.  Also I sort of feel internal right now, like I don’t want to share some of the things that are going on right now because if I’ve learned anything in my (holy shit!) five years (!!) of blogging is that writing about your personal life on the internet can be equal parts liberating for oneself and shamelessly exploitative to the people who happen to share moments in time with you.  So that leaves me with charming stories about my dog and my bitchy neighbor next door that I don’t even have the energy to spin into anything remotely readable at the moment.  I will say this about that bitch next door, passive aggressive!  Her kids, it seems, had trouble getting ‘put down for their nap’ this one time (weeks ago!) when Lula was in the back yard whining.  But really, ’she was only worried about our dog.’  Sure she was.  So worried that she only brought it up weeks later when we were just casually walking by her house and politely said hello.  Rest assured, we make sure Lula’s dog door is locked now when we leave… Also, it was an awkward conversation to have while her dog was yapping uncontrollably and trying to rip Lula’s face off, but I’ll just leave it there.

The only other thing I feel like sharing with the class right now is that Seth purchased me a champagne bottle stopper.  It has changed my life.  Now I can have a glass of champagne at the drop of a hat and don’t have to worry about wasting the precious bubbly elixir.   It’s the little things, people.