Awkwardly Social

I used to have night terrors where I would wake up trying to figure out why the house was collapsing and no one would listen to me.  Then I got dumped, moved into a new apartment and the night terrors pretty much disappeared.  I was a little worried that when I moved in with Seth that the night terrors would return, but they haven’t.

Then, in real life, a month ago, my garage collapsed.  And maybe because it’s not attached to the house, or maybe because Seth is a steady force of calm in my life, I didn’t really even care.  I just sort of figured we would figure it out.

We looked at a few houses over the past couple of weekends, and there were two that I fell in love with.  One up the street from where my ex-boyfriend currently lives (awkward!!) and one way, way, WAY up in the Hollywood Hills.

The one in Beachwood is gorgeous, there’s a fireplace, a master bedroom with a sweet little balcony (!) and a decent little front yard, and $300 more than we’re willing to spend.  The one in the Hollywood Hills is incredible, the kitchen was to die for, fireplace, cozy bedrooms and insane views, totally in our price range.  There is just no way at this point that I can move up there.  I started getting panicky just thinking about it.  Being that secluded, that far away from my comfort zone… I’m just not ready.

So short story long, we negotiated with our current landlord for a rent reduction, and for the time being we’re staying.  And hiring a maid.  I’m not ready to leave Silver Lake yet.   I feel a little lame not wanting to move away from my neighborhood.  Like it makes me some kind of loser wanting to be close to the familiar, but whatever, for some reason my head is telling me to stay out of the hills because it’s one step removed from suburbia and I cannot move to the suburbs.  I appreciate that people with children want a safe street for their kids to ride bikes on and to trick or treat on and with good schools, but guess what, I don’t have kids.  Maybe never will…  (I still can’t see the future on this one.) I might as well stay comfortable.  Besides, my neighborhood happens to be the hottest one in Los Angeles, according to our realtor, and as dorky as I am, I need every cool point I can get, if living in Silver Lake gives me one, so be it.  My friends are here.  My restaurants are here. My life is here.

I was at the gym today, doing my 3.5 mile run when I looked up to the second level and saw a super familiar face.  There was a guy on the treadmill, red hair, thick neck, widely placed eyes.  I started wracking my brain for his name.  I went to high school with him, so I’m trying to figure his name and the only way I can do it in my oxygen deprived state is by association.  The results were stuttery.

My high school was small, so I knew pretty much everyone at least by face.  But this kid, I knew by name.  I start to beat myself up because of all the years of drinking, and doing drugs and that one year that I got an ill advised tattoo.  I don’t know why all of this is crashing down on me as I’m running on a treadmill staring at a dude on a stair machine, but it is.  The tattoo somehow means I’m retarded.  Or at least I’ve killed enough brain cells to not only forget someone I went to high school with’s first name but also enough brain cells to get a tattoo of a frog.  On my ankle.  To be fair, my senior year, I did a lot of drugs.  Like,  A LOT.

Anyway, I’m running down names, Jim, Ryan, David when finally one sticks.  Jared.  I know for sure his name is Jared.  But I can only come up with Jared Cooley, who is not this Jared.  Jared Cooley was in my sister’s grade and this kid was someone who I could only picture on the football team with Steve.  And Steve only played varsity from his junior year on, so he was never on the team with Jared Cooley.  So that was the wrong Jared.  Besides, even though I have only a small portion of my brain left after all the booze, this wasn’t that Jared.   The only other image I could get of this Jared, the not Jared Cooley Jared, was of him dating one of the fluffy haired girls.  My senior year, there were all of these girls with blond hair that seemed to be impossibly fluffy.  I think half of them were named Jamie.  But I was running through all the fluffy haired girls that he could have dated and it wasn’t any of the Jamies.  And then it hit me.  Holy shit, he dated one of my best friends.  Robin.  He dated Robin!  Why couldn’t I come up with his name?  At about this point I realized I was staring at someone.  Someone who was clearly trying to avoid looking at me.  Someone who may or may not have gone to a tiny high school in Arizona.  Someone who was just trying to get a workout in without some panting sweating girl who had an insane hairdo going on because of her issues with bouncing ponytails and bangs touching her forehead.

I finished running before he finished climbing stairs and I was too chicken to go over to him, because even though I KNEW his name was Jared, I wasn’t sure if he was actually the Jared I knew.

By the time I got home and showered I had completly forgotten about the mystery Jared at the gym.  So we went to dinner. I had Seth drive my car home from the restaurant, because I had two margaritas with my shitty chicken soft tacos and I’m nothing now if not a responsible drinker.  (That is a damned lie!  But whatever, I don’t drink and DRIVE anymore, so I’m SORT OF a responsible drinker.)  Seth doesn’t drink now, so when we got pulled over for swerving (I told him a million times that his relationship with lanes is weak) at least I wasn’t at the wheel. (THANK FUCKING GOD!)  This actually has nothing to do with the story other than I was relieved that I didn’t get a DUI tonight.  Phew.

So we got home and Seth had some business to take care of (show biz!  It knows no hours!) so I plopped open my year book and there he was, plain as day.  JARED.  Howard!  So, Jared Howard, formerly of Camp Verde, Arizona.  Do you work out at 24 Hour Fitness in Los Angeles?  If so, hi.  You’ve aged so well you look exactly like you did in high school.  Which makes me think, hmmm, maybe it wasn’t you after all.

This story really has no point other than it’s weird to see people from your small home town doing the stair machine across the gym from you when you’re trying to get your mile to under 9 and a half minutes.  I would say it’s awkward, but that’s really besides the point.  Awkward would have been if I went up to him and asked him if he went to Camp Verde High School.  Which I’m totally going to do.  If I ever see him again.  Stay tuned!

I don’t want to be that annoying girl that’s all, my therapist says…  and in therapy I learned… So, at the risk of only writing about my therapist this, my therapist that, I am writing this.

I had just finished up therapy this afternoon, after some weeping and kleenex shredding, my therapist said, “I hope I didn’t ruin wherever it is you’re going right now.”  And I said, “Oh it’s ok, I have a hair appointment, so I’ll just talk to my other therapist about what you made me talk about today, and she’ll be nice and wash my hair and not make me talk about hard stuff and I definitely won’t cry in her chair.”  He laughed.

So, at my other therapy appointment, for my hair, I was talking about how things were kind of awkward with Seth’s son last time he was here, and that he’s coming into town again, and maybe things were awkward because of the whole Seth and me talking about having a family of our own and I would imagine some kids wouldn’t handle that well.  And I love my hair stylist because she looked at me and smiled, and said, “Oh wow, you’re thinking about having kids?”  And it was probably the most non-judgemental amazing response I’ve ever gotten from someone about my reproductive future.  There was no “Really?  Why the fuck would you do that?” eye-brow of disapproval, there was no “Oh god, not another chick who wants to procreate” smirk of superiority, there was no “You’re going to ruin your life!” nose flare, and there was certainly no “Are you sure you want to do something so hard” head tilt,  just a sweet smile and a happy congratulations for me and my idea of making a family with the person I love most in the world.  And it felt amazing.  I didn’t realize how much that was missing.  And now I know exactly how to respond to anyone else who ever gives news about having children or career or both or neither, just smile and be happy for the person who’s giving you the news.  That’s all they want, and it may be the first time anyone has ever done just that for them.

I didn’t realize there would be homework.  No one told me that.

The good thing is, I’ve already been diagnosed with having some issues with control, and a bit of a perfectionism complex, so those two things mean I’m kicking ass on my therapy homework.

Actually, to be perfectly honest, much like my entire education career, I’m half assing it and procrastinating until the last minute and then taking a nap mere hours before my homework is due and then pounding it out 2 hours before class, flipping out because I can’t believe I once again waited until the last minute, turning it in knowing I totally failed.  And still getting an A.  Because no one fails therapy!  Yet!

I feel like that’s going to be what we talk about next week.

Fun!