CRAP!

I have thirty minutes to catch up on all of my e-mail today. So, of course, I try to write to my match.com guys. One of them is really heading to the friend zone, but we finally have a day in common (after about a month since we last saw each other), so I wrote him back. Then, I wrote back to someone who would NOT be a friend but...ahem...something more, and I used the friend's name.

I wrote an immediate e-mail to apologize...explaining my hectic week and that I had just written to my FRIEND...but....oh well, if that's what kills this, that's what kills this.

I am SO not cut out to be a playa!

Training

So, in many ways, I feel that this time sans boyfriend is my training period. The chance I have to learn how to be myself, how to do for others, and how to interact with the world around me. Although not for the reasons that my grandma thought oh so long ago, I do, in many ways, live in my own little fantasy world.

At times, I take a break from my world to look at the real world. In the real world, I can see that boyfriends don't come with instructions, nor do they come along just to fit my schedule. I know that it's going to be hard, and I'm going to have to give up some things.

The answer to "what do you do for fun?" might have more to do with spending time with him (at this point, some unknown guy...sorry if anyone got excited there for a minute) than with spending time at my random little hobbies. Of course, fewer people should ask me that question once I have a boyfriend, because mostly it's only guys interested in dating me who ask that question in the first place.

The trick to all of this is to date someone who shares some of my interests and also respects my need to spend time with people other than him.

I'm in training. I'm paying attention to the people with relationships. I'm seeing that Bonnie and Hayley have their own lives but that time spent with their husbands is hugely important to them. It's nice to see women my own age not being swallowed up by husbands or boyfriends.

It gives me hope that although I'll have to make changes, I won't have to entirely give up myself.

Oh, we had a little party down in Kingman

I finally put the pictures from my family's trip to Arizona on my computer, and there are some doozies. I can tell that we were just cracking up when these pictures were taken, but some of them look like we're actually ON crack...oh well. I picked two that sort of capture the mood.


In the interest of preserving at least some of my diginity, I am not including, "The Butt Shot, the 2006 Version." I'll just leave y'all wondering at what exactly that might be...

There Are Times

I visited my friend's church this weekend, and it was a good experience. I'm not going to go into detail about the sermon, because our little Bible study group already tore it a new one (you think I'm kidding, but I'm not). But when the pastor giving the sermon briefly mentioned that he had been raised Catholic but was, obviously, now not a Catholic, I started to think about the times when I am really glad to be Catholic.

I am the type of person who needs some rules within which to function. I don't need a hard and fast rule for everything, but I need some basic guidelines. I need some degree of predictability on which I can rely when I need it and against which I can rebel when I'm feeling cantankerous. The Church provides that stronghold for me.

If I attended a less....ordered church, I don't think I could function well within it. I need a bit of structure in order to organize the rest of my life. I like routines and patterns so that when I deviate from that, I feel a sense of relief and relaxation.

So, in a chaotic situation (like getting a new job, moving, traveling, facing a crisis, whatever), I am grateful for one, dependable anchor. I can go to mass, and I'll know the words. I'll know the order of the liturgy, and I'll successfully be able to follow along, regardless of what's going on in the rest of my life.

That, and if I attend the right mass, I know that the sermon can't go on forever, because there's a crowd of people waiting for the next one to start.

And also, I like to be Catholic when I attend another church and hear something wrong or misleading, and I can say inside, "That's not right!" Because, after all, I'm famous for finding one slightly inconsequential thing and focusing in on it...that gives me great joy.

Hey, I said I'm Catholic. I never said I was normal.

Something Fishy

So, here are all of the things that concern me about the Marine Biologist, all of which lead me to believe that I should not date him:

* His grammar was fine at the start of our online communication but has become increasingly worse and includes misspellings of words like "Caesar's Palace" as "Cezar's Palace." That's not a typo, that's...uhm...just WRONG.

* He asks for dates more than two weeks in advance (and with that much time in between each date), and that's just weird.

* He asks when to call me (after 9 p.m.) and then calls at noon.

* When I returned his call, he seemed, I don't know, irritated that I had called him (at just after 9 p.m., by the way) and then after establishing who I was, asked if he could call me back.

* In addition to not being the least bit happy that I had returned his call, when people answer their phones just to ask me if they can call me back, I get irritated. I'd rather leave a message than be faced with the false-hope of a phone actually being answered.

* He swears. I don't mind the actual fact of the swearing so much as the context. Do you remember when Ben Stiller was on Friends? He swears like that character, at wholely unexpected times, leading me to believe that he has some kind of a problem.

* In his e-mails, he seems really NICE and even states that sarcasm is a "turn-off" (which did worry me at first, since I'm, well, me), but in person, he's very sarcastic and seems to have quite a stash of bitterness and commentary.

* And most of all. I didn't feel comfortable around him. I didn't feel unsafe. I didn't feel ill at ease. I just didn't feel comfortable, and I like to be comfortable around the man I'm dating.

So, reaching back to the odd switch to poor grammar and moving forward to a rude handling of a phone call, I don't want to date him. And I don't have to date anyone I don't want to date, especially if it seems like he might very well have multiple personalities.

The Myth of the First Date

So, I have heard a number of coupled/married people (both characters in movies and television and people in the real world) say that they miss the first date, that they're sorry they'll never have a first date again.

The thing I loved the most about having a boyfriend was that when I went to see him, I already knew him. I even told him once, "I was thinking on the way over here that I'm so glad I know you, that this isn't a first date." He didn't get it (he didn't get a lot of things about me), but the point is the same. We've long ago established that I like the middle.

But in addition to having a preference for the middle, I am developing an extreme distaste for the first date. Maybe I'm an exception to the rule of loving first dates, because that's mostly all I go on...there hasn't been a "real" second date since the boyfriend.

It's not so much a distaste for first dates as an immunity to their magic. We talked for five hours? Okay, most of my first dates last that long. We finished each other's sentence one time? Alright, big deal. The guys, on the other hand, do not seem immune to the charms of the first date. They usually call (or e-mail) to tell me what a wonderful time they had, and I wonder if they were on a different date. I have had some enjoyable dates and would currently like to go on a second date with two different guys, but I'm not feeling the same magic that they feel.

I met up with the Marine Biologist (finally). He recognized me because of my sunglasses. He was cuter than I remembered. We talked. We ate dinner. We went for a walk. It was nice. There were aspects of him I didn't like but acknowledge I'd need to experience again before knowing if that's reason enough to not date him.

And even if I didn't like him (which I think I do), I would be willing to go out of him again just to get out of this rut of first dates. A first date rut is like having to go to Disneyland everyday or like that story I read as a kid where every day was Christmas...at some point, the magic wears off.

Here We Go!

After a weekend in Arizona with my crazy family (I love them, but they're nuts), it was time on Monday to start my new job.

And so I started it.

And I'm still starting it, haha.

It's going to take me time to get used to doing things differently...and I just work downstairs from where I used to work, but I almost feel like I've been banished from my old area, because things are oh so very different down here. But, enough about work!

The crazy family...well, let's just say that there was an incident with some chicken not getting cooked, then not getting to the place where would actually get cooked and then the three cars it took to get the chicken to the proper barbecue. Clearly my family is not big on communication.

One little tidbit:

My grandma's cell phone rang in Wal-Mart (uhm, yeah, I had to go to Wal-Mart, because I was forced...it doesn't make me like that place any more than I did before, and seriously, if they can sell $9 candles ON CLEARANCE, they can afford health benefits, that's all, thank you).

So, her cell phone rang, and she waits for my dad to answer his phone.

He says he doesn't have his phone, that it is, in fact, her purse that is ringing.

She opens her purse, takes out her phone and says a hesitant, "Hello?"

It was my cousin. Who lives in the same town. And sees my grandma twelve times a week (I'm guessing here).

And my grandma gets off the phone and says, "Well, I don't know how she got my phone number."

Sigh

But in any case, I got in quality time with my wacky cousins. My once-Harry Potter looking geeky cousin- has decided he is now "Goth," so I made fun of his pants with chains on them, because that's what older cousins do.

It was a grand old time.

...and tonight is the date with the Marine Biologist. Yes, I have the day right!

Ahem

...excuse me?

....uh, hi, is this thing on?

Yes, uhm, well, shy though I may not seem on a day to day basis, today I am somewhat, shall we say...sheepish?

Ooh, feedback on the mic, sorry about that.

Alright, so here we go...urm.

I didn't get stood up on Saturday.

Apparently the date was scheduled for this Saturday.

So, urm....sorry about that.

Rooted

Now, I have a "real" job (and I will actually start it next week). I am no longer in school.

And I should be eager to move out.

But I'm (much) older than when I moved out for college and after college. I know now what it means to live on my own, and I also understand that this time, I probably won't come back. Of course, I'll come visit, but after I leave this time, I won't ever really live at home again. Hopefully, my life will head towards having a husband and children, but for the (as yet unknown) period of time I would live alone, I would likely be somewhat scared and mildly uncomfortable.

Something happened to me in the last three years.

I became rooted.

Now, when the thought to flee the state, the county, the country pops into my head, I don't start thinking about the wonderful possibilities away from this place I've known for way too long. No, I start thinking about what I would leave behind, what I don't want to miss.

When I drove 80, 780 and 680 in one day, I thought about how I know the place where I live. I know the Bay Area, and commuting seemed possible that day. When I drove home from Hayley's place after Bible Study last night, though, I thought that it only takes 40 minutes to get from her city to mine, but that it's a very long 40 minutes, and that that 40 minutes when I'm exhausted first thing in the morning or right after work would make my life a living hell.

So, what do I do?

I can't live at home forever. But I can't check myself into the hospital every weekend for exhaustion, as if I were some kind of b-list celebrity. So, that means no extensive commuting.

What do I do?

For now, I let it go. I can't worry about that right now.

I Used To, Part II

When I filled out a survey a couple of weeks ago, one that happened to ask me the last time I cried, I wrote my honest answer: I don't really cry. I'm something of a robot that way.

But I actually thought about that more over the following few days.

I used to cry. I used to cry a LOT. If a teacher didn't call on me, someone didn't smile at me in the hallway, I got a bad grade, I got a good grade but could have done better, complained to the teacher and didn't get it changed. If I called a friend to go to lunch, and they couldn't go. If...you get the picture.

Partly, I grew up. Partly, I settled into being me and learned that not all disappointments are a direct reflection on my personality, intelligence or mere existence in the world. In other words, I figured out that the world doesn't revolve around me.

Funnily enough, I never thought that the world revolving around me meant that I should get my way all the time, that the world should do my bidding. No, I believed that the world was, instead, so concerned with my unhappiness that everyone in it had conspired to make sure that this unhappiness continued, regardless of my attempts to the contrary.

Now, I don't cry nearly as often.

When I do, they are great, huge, loud sobs that frighten the cat and worry my mom.

Though I don't cry much now, I used to.

Waiting in Vain

I want to write this while I'm still high on the caffeine I had at dinner and still in rather good spirits about this whole ridiculous evening.

Okay, so I realized that one of the major requirements I have when deciding if I will go out again with a guy is this: HE HAS TO ACTUALLY SHOW UP.

That's right, yours truly got stood up. I'm actually not entirely sure that I got stood up, but more I think that I am the victim of some kind of elaborate prank. About a week ago, about two weeks into talking to a guy on Match, his grammar changed and actually declined in quality...mostly I noticed that he kept writing "your" when he meant "you're." Now, I'm not perfect, but I AM an English Major, and the "your/you're" thing is one that bugs me a lot, and so I noticed it and I noticed that it was a change from prior e-mails.

But I let it go...wanting to be less judgmental than in the past and give someone the benefit of the doubt...after all, just because someone uses bad grammar doesn't mean that he's a bad person. It also doesn't mean that I have to date him.

Anyway, so, earlier this week this guy, otherwise known as "The Marine Biologist," asked me out to dinner for Saturday night. We went back and forth about location (decided on Walnut Creek) and time (we settled on 7, so that I would have time to go to church). On Wednesday, he said that 7 was fine and asked for my cell number just in case. On Thursday, I replied, thanking him for being flexible about the time, giving him my cell number and asking for his in return.

Saturday (that is, today) arrived...I had passed on a date with someone I might actually really like to give this guy a chance. Fresh my receiving communion, I headed to WC, got a bit lost and STILL arrived a couple of minutes early. For those of you who know my usual inability to get anywhere even remotely close to on time, arriving early would surely wow you. Although, I'm getting better. I degress.

So, I finally found parking, walked to the restaurant, and waited outside for a few minutes. He didn't arrive and was now a couple of minutes late. So, I went inside, looked around, didn't see him, asked the waitress if he had already checked in, got a vague response about how I could walk around the restaurant and look if I wanted to, walked back out, had a brief conversation with an elderly woman about what kind of restaurant that was across the street, and finally decided to go look in the bookstore across the way for a few moments to give Mr. So not getting a second date to show up.

I went in the bookstore, listened to a six year old try to persuade his mom to buy him a book his dad said he couldn't have, "Dad said I couldn't have it, but I thought you might let me." Mom's reply: "I'd like you to read literature but we'll see." And another between a mother and her teen daughter who had apparently stolen three dollars out of her wallet, "If you try to buy anything with that money, I will tell the cashier that you stole it from my walllet, wouldn't that be lovely?"

Full on literary genius, I walked back across the street for another wait. Nope. No Marine Biologist, no message on my phone. I went into the restaurant for a second and final time. Waited another few minutes outside and finally headed back to my car.

I thought he might call just as I was leaving, or just as I got on the freeway. But no. This guy never called at all.

But then I went to dinner with my parents, had a vanilla coke and tuna melt, heard Irene say swear words just to cheer me up, unexpectedly talked on the phone with Ryan, walked the track at Relay for Life, talked to Irene in a very loud voice about things I shouldn't talk about in public but will blame later on the caffeine high, and will probably come crashing down from the caffeine any moment.

For the first time in a long time, though, I believe that I did not get what I deserve. I don't deserve bad treatment, and I certainly don't deserve to be stood up. I also believe that there was a reason for this, that God didn't want me to meet this man, and I fully and wholeheartedly trust in God's plan for my life.

But seriously.

Do I have to add to my online profile, "In order to qualify for a second date with me, you must actually show up for the first one"?! Because, clearly, that message isn't coming across very well.

It's Gonna Be Nice

Well, well you never promised me that my days will be problem free
but you did promise to always take care of me
Right now it seems that my troubles will never end
I know you promised to be my closest friend
And it's gonna be nice

Instead of spending the next two weeks (well, less than that now) waiting to hear about the outcome of last week's interview, I'm going to be spending it training people on how to do my current job....

That's RIGHT!

I GOT THE JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm leaving my job with mixed emotions and sort of a vague ache in my chest. Two weeks to wrap up my job seems like a lot shorter time than two weeks of waiting.

I am so excited to be moving onto a "professional" position as a librarian, and, amazingly enough, as a librarian in the actual library branch I grew up using. But it will also be hard to leave behind the friends I've made here. Sure, we'll keep in touch, but it will be different once I'm "downstairs" in the branch.

The job I'm moving to is one that wasn't even available when I interviewed. I truly feel like I have so many hands lifting me up and making sure that I am able to shine in my new career. While I've studied, worked hard and done all I can, I really believe that this whole thing was out of my hands.

I'll always be a believer in divine intervention, but it's amazing how good it feels when I actually see God using it.

It's crazy right now Lord, but that's when you shine
I can't stop shouting knowing it's gon' be nice
It's crazy right now Lord, but that's when you shine
I can't stop shouting knowing it's gon' be nice
(It's gonna be nice)

* Song by Yolanda Adams *

I Used To

I clearly remember a conversation I had with two of my best friends from high school. It was the summer after our Freshman year of college, and we had gone to a local amusement park. We talked the whole day. Sure, we went on rides, saw shows, ate lunch, but pictures from that day show how exhausted we were from the effort of not having been around each other all year and most of the summer after three years of seeing each other every day of the school week. So, that day, we caught up on nine months of conversation.

On the way out to the parking lot, tired from the heat, wilting from exhaustion, we talked about whether or not we would ever marry someone who wasn't Catholic. I said, "Well, maybe Greek Orthodox," because the guy I had a huge crush on at the time happened to be Greek Orthodox. My friends were staunch in their belief that only a Catholic would do - the ethnicity/race might vary, but they had to marry a Catholic.

I've gone back and forth on the issue in the years that followed that conversation. The crush of that time went away in a flash of unpleasantries and other crushes, dates, pseudo-boyfriends, almost-boyfriends and boyfriends followed. Some were Catholic, some were Christian, some were something else entirely. There was one agnostic former-Catholic who somewhat returned to his faith after 9-11, but I didn't trust his return. There were the Catholic converts, too new and uncertain in their faith to consider the possibility that other religions have something to offer Catholics. There was an actual, cradle-Catholic who went to church on Sunday, watched baseball on Saturday and acted like a guy. But he had other issues.

At the end of "relationships" with Catholic guys, I think, "Maybe I shouldn't date a Catholic guy. I think that I don't really understand what a Catholic guy is and that I overestimate the importance of Catholicism in a relationship." At the end of "relationships" with non-Catholics, I think, "Catholic. Catholic all the way. I need a Catholic guy."

Now, I don't know anymore. I don't know if I'm "settling" by not insisting on being with a Catholic man. I don't know if I'm reading these Catholic guys correctly...the practicing Catholics guys I've dated tend to be far more conservative than me. The guys on Catholic dating sites actually state that they're looking for someone to be a stay-at-home-mom to ten kids, while Catholic guys on other dating sites tend to say that they're not really Catholic anymore. Sometimes a lapsed Catholic is worse than a practicing one...

So, I used to believe that I needed to date and marry a man who shared my faith, as much as possible.

Now, I just don't know.