Awkward Moments: Bath Time

When I was in Boston a few months back I was hanging out in the lobby with my friend JT chatting as we waited for our group to meet up for dinner. I felt a tap on my shoulder while I was talking to him and looked back to see a girl who was bundled up in Eskimo-like attire and sunglasses (we were inside and it was nighttime). She said me, "I have a really random question for you." Confused but slightly intrigued, I told her to continue.

"Is there any way that I could go up to your hotel room and take a bath?"
I don't know what I was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn't that. She told me how she had driven 12 hours to get to Boston for work and was staying with a friend who turned out to be exceptionally disgusting and she couldn't make herself stay the night in his dirty apartment but she'd been unable to find a hotel with any vacancies so far.

Sympathetic to her situation but not especially trusting of strangers, I was not at all thrilled with the notion of letting her use my bathroom, so I told her that the friend I was rooming with had just left to go back to his house and that he unfortunately had the only room key and wouldn't be back for at least an hour. The hour part was true, though I did in fact have a room key. I figured I'd get myself out of this very strange situation by letting her know she'd have to wait an hour before I could help her out. That blew up in my face when she said, "thanks, I'll just hang out until then" and she plopped down beside us.

I whispered to JT, asking him how I could get out of this and he sort of laughed at me, saying he had no idea. Our conversation sort of died with the presence of our new Eskimo friend (I should mention it had been quite warm that day) and as the minutes stretched on, things became very uncomfortable. After a while, I began to feel bad for her and started thinking that I'd just let her use the bathroom as long as she was quick. Finally I told her that I could get a key to my room and she could use the bathroom if she didn't take too long. I instructed her to meet me in the hallway on my floor and that I'd see her in a few minutes.

Between just wanting her to go and feeling like I should be a good Samaritan for someone who is just having a rough day, I wasn't thinking as straight as I should have been. You want to be helpful and do right by people and do something good for someone who might be in need, but you also have to watch out for yourself because there are terrible, shady people in the world. Deep down I want to believe the best in people, but it's rare that people exhibit good qualities. 33 years of human interaction has jaded me a bit towards the goodness of people. I mean the other day a 97 year old lady in a house near me asked for my help getting her trashcan to the street and the whole time I was eyeing her with suspicion, wondering what her angle was. Turns out her "angle" was that she is old and ran out of energy dragging a trashcan to the street that is as big as she is.

So I meet this girl in the hallway and as I'm walking toward my room it starts to hit me that, hey, I don't really know this person. I could in good faith let her use my bathroom to clean up, thinking I'm doing something nice for someone who needed a break, and then BAM, I might find her OD'd from doing a line of coke off of the toilet seat. Or crack or whatever drug people do lines of. Or she could call the cops and accuse me of rape. This possibility didn't occur to me at the time, but my friends who saw the whole story unfold said, "we were real sure you were going to get ax murdered."
Halfway to my room my sanity returns and I decide this is an absolutely terrible idea and I only have a few seconds to figure out how to get myself out of it. About that time, I hear her get a text and she says one of her co-workers had managed to get a room and she offered to let he stay there, so she could just head to her room for a shower instead. This was a huge relief.

She thanked me over and over for being so nice to her and she follows up with, "you've got to let me give you something" to which I decline. We go back and forth like this a couple of times and she says, "no, no, I really want to give you something".
Now, I can't say for sure, but I feel pretty confident that she was propositioning me for some saucy-time.
I continued to decline until she finally said that she appreciated me trying to help and that I had done my good deed for the week and that maybe she'd see me around.

I honestly think she was on the up-and-up about her day and how she just wanted to get a shower in to feel clean, but all the same I feel like I dodged a significant number of bullets that night.

I've always complained about how I have to approach women instead of the other way around, but if this is the way them approaching me is going to go, it's probably for the best. "Can I take a bath in your room" is a little too intense a first conversation for my tastes. I need someone to find a nice middle-ground between not talking to me at all and wanting to use my bathtub.

Waking Up

It's frustrating to look back at my 20's and realize how much time I wasted doing nothing. I say nothing, but that's slightly dramatic. I moved to a new city, completely changed careers, I loved and lost. In that time, I moved up in my new career at a decent speed. I can't go so far as to say I was focused on my career. Had I been specifically  focused, I'd be farther along than I am now. I should instead say I got so caught up in the 9-5 life that I ended up in a perpetual cycle of: work, go home, sleep, repeat. I didn't notice that my hobbies and social life quickly took a turn for the worse. I didn't notice that I lost myself in the tedious grind of that lifestyle. It's not a stretch to say I forgot how to be who I was supposed to be.

Having a solid career is a wonderful thing and I'm certainly thankfully to have one. But losing who you are, forgetting to socialize, forgetting to dream and to try and accomplish those dreams... well, that's a terrible thing. It's those things that create truly important moments in our lives that we look back on with fondness down the years. It's how we become enriched.

But as I mentioned, I didn't notice all of this was happening. It wasn't until the last few years that I really saw myself from the outside and noticed these negative changes. My health had suffered, my social life was in shambles, all of my hobbies that I was once been passionate about I hadn't touched or even thought about in years. All because I was lost in the routine of daily life. All because a fog has settled on me without my awareness.

I don't really know what woke me up, but I've been trying to make up for lost time now that the fog has lifted. Not that time can ever be reclaimed, but I'm trying not to let it slip through my fingers as easily as I once did. My friends probably think I'm having a mid-life crisis even though I'm not old enough for that. At least, I HOPE I'm not. I jokingly say "mid-life crisis", but I haven't bought a fancy car or gotten a mail order Russian bride. I've just been picking up old hobbies. Things I love but have neglected for too long.

I forgot how energized I get by learning something new or working on projects. I've been taking so many classes it's hard to keep track. And I've been loving every second. My goal at the start of the year was to try and do something new every month or to put myself in situations outside of my comfort zone. I saw a great quote about that once, "life begins at the end of your comfort zone." And I'm finding the more I put that theory to the test, the more true it begin to appear. There's a pretty extensive list of "stuff not in my comfort zone" that I can fall back on so this could go on for quite a while.

I look back and think about all the grand dreams I had when I was younger and I feel disappointed that I didn't make a more concentrated effort to reach them. But I realized that - while I had motivation then - I didn't have the level of motivation required of the people who do something truly special with their life. Even as motivated as I am today, I don't know if I have the right amount of drive. I hope I do and I'll be interested to see what the future holds as my young, passionate self continues to merge with the more driven, present version of myself to create - hopefully -  a better me than the other two.

I shake, I shake I could never see-

how good a young love could really be-

I know, I know it's not that bad-

Take a look at what we had.

Dating in 2014: Yep, Still Confusing

Having been off the dating market for a while, I had this strange notion that when I was forced back into that world that it would be a new animal from the one I'd unsuccessfully tried to tame last time. Turns out it's pretty much the same as I left it. Which is to say it's 90% exhausting, confusing, and confidence-destroying with the remaining 10% being amazing. The amazing part doesn't always balance out having to tolerate the other parts, but it's all worth it when it does. I love the thrill of getting to know someone who has the potential to be an incredible presence in your life and a person who enriches you in ways you did not anticipate. There's all of these possibilities for the future that suddenly open up in front of you and you can't wait to see where things go. Unfortunately there is (usually) a whole lot of the 90% happening before you get to that point.

I have never been cut out for 'dating'. When I was in my late teens/early 20's, I didn't have to date. Somehow I would always meet someone that I would hit it off with and then we'd "go out" or whatever it's called now. We would see each other exclusively, we'd label each other boyfriend/girlfriend, and so on. Looking back, I didn't realize how amazingly unusual and lucky that was. I just assumed that is how it worked for everyone. When I moved to Nashville at 24 suddenly I had to start dating and I had no clue how it was done. 9 years later, I still have no idea.

There were a lot of things I had to learn over the years that aren't remotely self-evident.
I didn't realize people who said "let's get together again" might not mean what they said. I've never been great at letting someone down but I don't say "I want to see you again" when I don't mean it. And neither should you. I'm a big boy, I've been loved plenty of times but I've always been rejected plenty of times. I can handle it. Just say "nice to meet you"...if you don't return my calls after that, I get it.

I didn't realize that some people actually take "dating rules" seriously, such as waiting two days to call someone. If I like someone, they seem to like me, and I feel like talking to them...I call. I'm daredevil like that. I don't want to tell you how many people have been offended by my thought process on this subject.

I didn't realize how many times I would get a date mad at me for opening the door for her. I certainly didn't realize one day I'd be cussed out in front of a restaurant for doing it. She screamed at me that she was "not fucking helpless" but I already knew that. After all, she'd driven herself to meet me and I assumed there were at least two times she had to open a door to make it happen. That's just how I was raised. It's a polite thing, not a male/female thing. She failed to see that I also opened the door for the gentleman who was right next to us.

I didn't realize that people would be going out on dates with multiple people at the same time. That was never my style, but in the dating world if you don't do that, you risk wasting your time because someone else is and they decide they want to get to know another person instead of you.

There was a whole lot of shit I just didn't realize and, now that I do, I just don't understand. I also don't really want to understand. I don't want to get "good" at dating and become an efficient date machine. That's not the person I want to be. I'm not out there to date, I'm out there to meet someone special. Being optimistic as I am and mixing that in with all of the real world experiences I've had which have caused disappointments, let-downs, and heartaches has created in me an uneasy combination of jaded and hopeless romantic.

Despite all my past experience, I was excited to get back to dating after having been in an important - yet unfortunately stalled - relationship for the past year and a half. That feeling of excitement of just who I might meet welled up strong. But...dating can be unforgiving on your ego which I'd evidently forgotten. I take rejection too personally even now in my 30's. It's a problem I've always had. Even realizing that rejection is so often not even about you as a person, your mind can always make it be. Maybe that's a little arrogant but I know so many people, myself included, who roll that way. Dating can take your feeling of self-worth and demolish it before you realize it is happening. One day you're walking confident and tall, daring the world to challenge you, and the next you're looking at your feet when you walk and slumping your shoulders under a weight you didn't even realize you'd started to toil beneath.

Take my most recent date, which was my first date since getting back on the horse. I went from feeling like I had so much to offer people to feeling completely worthless and like no one could be trusted.
I met her for brunch in Germantown, a nice low pressure situation where we could actually talk and get to know one another. It's so rare for me to meet anyone I hit it off with and want to see again, but I quickly found myself leaning forward to make sure to catch everything she said and was excited when she agreed to meet up again. I can't stress how rare actual excitement is when it comes to dating anymore.
The next weekend, I sat with her in the park while we watched live music. Close enough to enjoy it, far enough back where we could talk. Which we did for about 5 hours. I enjoyed listening to tales of her life while she would unconsciously grab a handful of her hair in a fist then flip it over her shoulder, wafting her pleasant shampoo scent my way. And when it began to rain for a short time, I even had the pleasure to chivalrously hold the umbrella for her. She scooted in closer to make sure we were both fully under it. It was adorable.
We talked frankly of past relationships, and how strange dating could be, and I was refreshed by how candid and honest she seemed about everything. She even brought up how frustrating it was when people would say they wanted to get together again and yet you never heard from them after that. As we were parting - myself a bit more smitten than I had been earlier- I was obviously pleased when she told me she wanted to get together next week, followed by a "I really mean that, I'm not just saying it."
I'm sure you can imagine my confusion when she cancelled on me a day before our third.

This was one of those situations where the ego makes it all about you when it probably isn't. In classic form, my mind made her decision all about my failings and all I could think was that if you can't rely on someone as adamant about going out again as she was, how are you ever supposed to know or trust what someone says? And also that I sucked and everyone hated me.
It turns out she'd met someone several weeks before me that she'd also been out on (several more) dates with (see, everyone does it) and it had started to get serious so naturally she wanted to see where it went. Assuming she was being honest - which I want to believe she was - that is a reason I can completely understand. I've been in that situation before, though I admit it's not fun to be on the receiving end. But in fairness, it's terrible to have to decide between two people when you think highly of them both. I'd like to think she agonized over the decision though I have no proof that. But it comforts me so that's what I'm going with. Despite feeling more at ease about the situation now that I've had a bit of time to step away from it, I'm still very disappointed I won't get to see her again and I'm trying my best not to be bitter about it even though sometimes I struggle to refrain from wishing ill on their relationship.
Though it would have been nice if she'd at least told me more than 18 hours before our date so I could try and make new plans.

Anyone out there who is going through these same struggles as I, you have my sympathy. Also, stop dating the few girls I like.

"I remember that look, the last one you gave me.
A kiss on the cheek, as you were leaving.
The last thing you said was 'I'll see you again'
But we both know we won't-"

Buckley

My dog Buckley - who is my favorite "person" in the world -  has been diagnosed with a degenerative heart disease... news that I am not handling at all well. I'm told it is a very unusual case in that he is not showing the standard signs nor symptoms typically associated with this type of problem, so they are running ever increasing amounts of tests on him to see if there is anything else at work. My fingers are crossed that nothing more will be found and that he will never have any complications as the vet said could be a possibility.

Rough Night

The one disadvantage of now being able to reach REM sleep - a new experience for me - is that I dream now. A lot. 90% of the time I don't get those fun dreams where I get to fly around unfettered from normal mortal restraints  My dreams always seem to be introspective or about things from my past that I normally try not to dwell on. I've been known for allowing the past to sit heavily on me, though over the last few years I've gotten much better at not dwelling. But the times I let my guard down, those great chains of 'what if' try to pull me under, and they stay with me far too long, as if to make up for lost time. When I dream about days gone by, those heavy irons persist all the longer, permeating my thoughts so deeply that I struggle to clear it out. Friday night's dreaming has made for a downer of a weekend, even days later when I cannot recall anything from the dream except for faces.

One day I'll learn to stop letting my mind torment me about things that happened in the past. 

Today is not that day.

Time heals all wounds, but often it’s only by the application of the grave, and while we live some hurts live with us, burning, making us twist and turn to escape them. And as we twist, we turn into other men.

Awkward Moments: In the Car...Again

I wrote on here the other day about a random 30 year old guy who came up to me while I was sitting in my car and bragged about how much of a pimp he was with 60 year old ladies. Evidently this is the start of a new trend.

The other morning on the way to work, I stopped at a gas station to refuel. I was sitting in my car - windows down -  listening to an audiobook as I waited on my gas to pump when I was again randomly approached by a creepy stranger.

I had noticed the fellow earlier, lugging various boxes to and fro, from his diesel to the gas station. On a trip back to his truck, he stopped, looked at me and said "hey," motioning with his head towards the car in front of me after I acknowledged him with a look. I followed his gaze to the silver car in front of me then back to him, my face questioning.
"That's pretty sexy," he said, "...and what's driving it ain't to bad either, ha HAAA!" at which point he balled his hands into a fist, put them out in front of him and then made a single powerful air hip thrust in the car's direction and said, "taa DOW, you know what I'm sayin'?!" and then walked back to his truck and drove off. 

I am clearly making myself look far too approachable when I'm in the car.

Awkward Moments: In Which I Say "Jazzercise" More Times Than Anyone Else Has in Decades

About a week ago I was huddled against the cold inside my car waiting for my gas to finish pumping when a random 30ish looking guy, who was headed inside, slowed down, pointed at me with both fingers and said, "heeeeey YMCA, alright". His "alright" was punctuated by the usage of his fingers like a gun, "all" *bang* "right *bang*, and he pulled his hands back like he'd shot me with each syllable. Thrown off by his general awkwardness and a physical gesture I tend to mentally pair with sleazy characters, I stared at him with a perplexed expression until he pointed at my YMCA parking pass which I had completely forgotten about in the moment. I uttered a non-committal "...yeah..." not really sure what he was wanting from me unless it was praise for his ability to recognize letters. He approached my door - which is exactly what I want at night, in my shady neighborhood, by a total stranger who is clearly insane - and said, "it's just that I work there, it's cool that you go man, which gym do use?". I told him about the one near work that I use, leaving out the one closer to home that I prefer, just in case he was trying to stalk me so that he could stare lustily at my bum from across the locker room, possibly making gun gestures at it then winking slyly.

Turns out, the very gym I was trying to scapegoat was the one at which he works. 
"Groovy, groovy, that's where I work! I actually I teach the jazzercise class there." 
Is jazzercise even a thing anymore? I mean, the guy still says "groovy" so I didn't want to question him and accidentally shock him out of some sort of time-lapse stupor he was in and cause mental trama, like that old myth about waking up a sleep-walker. Maybe he was an extra on Lost, so I had to be careful.

All I know for certain is that my spellchecker has never heard of jazzercise. I know back in the 80s it was a big deal, but did it actually survive the 90s and 00s? I figured at best it made it to the late 90s before passing away with minimal fanfare. I hear about zumba and body-pump and all that constantly, but I'm pretty sure I've not even HEARD the word "jazzercise" in 15 years.

"Jazzercise?", I said, the question and disbelief clear in my voice.
"Oh yeah, jazzercise is hot right now", he claimed.

Jazzercise is hot right now. That's an actual phrase someone said to me in real life.

Unbidden, he started telling me how he used to sell those homeless newspapers, "The Contributor", for a long time but how things had picked up for him lately and - at this point he reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant wad of cash that was all one dollar bills as best I could tell - he was "rolling in it."
"Not only do I make some sweet dough, I get all the 60 year old p**** [hint: lady parts] that I can handle."

*blink*

Aside from that being an extremely awkward thing to say to a stranger (a stranger who was acutely aware of how loud the guy was talking and that the gas station was extremely crowded), why he, as a 30 year old man, would brag about his sexy times with women twice his age I couldn't fathom. Not that there's not some pretty 60 year olds in the world. Mary Steenburgen is still rockin' it, but I'm guessing she's not in his class. Regardless, it's an unusual claim to fame.

I couldn't help myself. I said, "...Sixty?"
"Hey man, p**** is p**** no matter how long it's marinated."
Thanks for that word poetry, Don Juan.

Mercifully my gas finished at this time and I was trying to get out of there when he said I should come by the class sometime. Hoping that wasn't a pick-up line, I declined, saying I didn't think jazzercise was really my thing.
"Who cares if it is your thing, just come for the ladies. If you can't get laid in there, you can't get laid at all."
And I guess I can't because, despite being single, I'm not going to start trolling jazzercise classes for the elderly.

The moral of this story is, ladies, avoid the jazzercise class at the Maryland Farms YMCA. Possibly that YMCA in general. And jazzercise.

Did Technology Stick Me In A Mediocre Existence?

I often wonder if technology has ruined my life. "Ruin" is a bit strong considering technology is how I pay the bills, and have for years now. But there's no doubt that the rise of technology in my teens changed the direction of my life significantly. Of course, that can be said for many people. 

I have always had a very addictive personality... I get it from my father. If I get a fire under me about something, it is often hard for me to put it out. It's the reason I never started drinking when I was younger, the reason I never touched drugs. If I had, I have little doubt I'd have ended up an alcoholic or drug addict. Instead, it seems, I became addicted to technology and it only recently occurred to me how much it may have affected my life.

In the '90s I became addicted, an addiction I eventually focused into a career, and by the mid-to-late 2000s I was able to get the addiction under control. I still use tech too much though, often at the expense of productivity/self-improvement.

That path shift caused by said addiction wasn't all bad - being able to eat is awesome - but it did have some costs. It partially helped destroy an important early relationship in my life. Additionally, I feel it stunted my social growth in a way in which I've never fully recovered. It also, I only just realized in the last few years, took me off the road to accomplishing various dreams I had when I was younger and still, on occasion  feel bouncing around somewhere deep down inside of me. Sure, those dreams may have been rather far-fetched, so much so that I'd not admit them to any but my closest friends. But there was still a chance, no matter how slim, and I would rather have tried to reach them and failed instead of what I did, which was simply not try and still failed. I'm not the best writer and thus I do not have the ability to adequately relay to you the disappointment I feel in myself for that.

Lately I wonder, is it too late? The adult part of me laughs at the old dreams, tells me to buckle down and accept this 9-5 desk life. Young-Me thinks Adult-Me has become a sell-out and settled on things that should never be settled on. There's some powerful inner turmoil, not unlike the conflict in my mind when my religious and scientific sides try to settle their differences. 

Right now, I have no idea whose side to take. They both have valid points. But I can't help but think of that saying how, when you look back on your life, you'll regret the things you didn't do far more than the things you did.

And in truth, I've never really felt like an adult.

Dec 20, 1954 - Dec 20, 2012

I don't know if my step-dad and I were especially close, though we had gotten closer over the years. We didn't chat on the phone. But that's not fair measure of closeness as I am not much of a phone person. We did talk a fair bit about this and that when I'd come visit. We got on well. But "close" is a strong word and I don't know if we were that. I think it would be safe to say we were friends, though. And despite our differences and some of the things he did, said, or thought that I may not have agreed with, I believe he was a good man.

Whatever we may have been, his passing has hit me harder than I would have expected. He always seemed like such an irrefutable and steady part of life. Something that could weather any storm, something that, if you looked for it, was always there, like a mountain. I didn't realize it until he died, but I sort of expected him to outlast everyone, and it's a shock to me that the last happy birthday I wished him was on the very day he left us all behind as he lay diminished, but peaceful, in his hospital bed.

Manly Moments

I woke up very groggy this morning. I got up, threw on a shirt, headed out to my yard to do a quick chore. Only then did I realize it was still completely dark outside. It was at this point I heard a rustling in the bushes and I look over in time to see two glowing eyes come charging right at me. And naturally, I took off.
I ran a very clumsy loop around the yard before retreating into the safety of my home. It didn't really click during the chase that the eyes were only a few inches from the ground. All I know is that when two glowing eyes rush at you out of the darkness, you run. You run your ass off.

After making it inside and reflecting, I realized it was probably an animal (which some later investigation confirmed to be a possum) but at the time, my natural assumption was some sort of demonic terror.

On the up side, the whole affair may have increased my street cred. I think I already have a reputation for being a little unbalanced for a few completely innocent and silly incidents. Now we have me, in the darkness, doing full speed sprints around my yard with a battle cry issuing from my lips. At least I hope it sounded like a battle cry and now what it probably really was: a girly squeal of terror.

Everybody floats down here

Untitled

 
Never mind how long it lasted
You’re still the best thing
That never happened

If you're a bird, I'm a bird.

I have the most ridiculous habit of watching sad/romantic movies when I am missing someone. I think I overdid it today. If I drank, I'd be getting ripped right about now. I feel like I at least should have had a gallon of ice cream to eat while I watched two such movies back to back, but instead I just stared unblinking at the TV while I foolishly let the cinematic adventure kick my fragile insides around for a while. What a productive way I spend my late, late Saturday nights.

Do you think of me, like I dream of you-
Do you wish you were here, like I wish I was with you
You loved me before; do you love me now?

Awkward Moments: The Police (not the band)

For being someone who never does anything against the law, I have certainly had some crazy (and unfair) run-ins with the police over the years. Between nearly getting arrested for "excessive drug use" (I've never done drugs a single time in my life) by a cop who could "sense drugs - even pills - when someone has taken them", to getting cuffed and slammed on the front of a police car with a gun trained on me for "kicking in a public bathroom door and stealing all of the toilet paper at a swimming pool" as my other friends with me at the time were calmly and politely interviewed by the many, many officers who came to stop the infamous Toilet Paper Bandit, I've had more than my share of misunderstandings with the law. With this in mind, I feel I am completely in my rights to get rather paranoid when a police car gets behind me, even though chances are I haven't done anything. 

...I should note that, as far as the toilet paper theft is concerned, I've never stolen anything (tp included) except when I was six or so and I took a 5 dollar bill off of the mantle in my grandparents home. And I thought the face on the bill was cool looking (6 year old me respected beards) which is why I took it. I still very vividly remember the shame of admitting my crime to my family.

The point is, there's other people out there the police should probably be focused on more than me, especially in my neighborhood, which is where this incident went down.

Last Friday, I was kindly invited to some sort of shindig at the zoo. I never did know what the official name of the event was, but it was sort of like Oktoberfest except with wild animals, which initially struck me as a bad place to have people consuming lots of alcohol. So I went and, while I don't drink, who doesn't love the zoo, hot dogs, and being with friends?

Important to the story; though I don't drink, I gladly try sips of different drinks to see what their flavor is and, basically, remind myself why I don't drink, as every sip of alcohol always does. And when I say "sip" I mean "wet my lips so the hint of flavor gets on there". I had a sip of about 5 or 6 different beers, each one tasting increasingly like wood, or feet, or wooden feet during the 3 hours I was there. The total volume of those sips would probably add up to a teaspoon. Far less than the shot of NyQuil I take when I'm sick which, due to my low alcohol tolerance, will find me afterwards going "WOOOO I'M SICK!!!" and ripping my shirt off like a professional wrestler.

When you arrive at the Zootoberfest, they give you an actual glass that you carry around to sample the various drinks and, upon leaving, you take it home with you. Obviously mine didn't see much use but at some point it was used for drinks when there was no water to be found to rinse out the other glass.

The actual zoo visit was uneventful; the line for The Grilled Cheesery was way too long, which was very sad but I was uplifted by seeing a 40 lbs rabbit, and eating a delicious pretzel and hot dog, and having good company, so all-in-all, great evening.

As we are leaving, I think, "perhaps having two open glasses smelling heavily of alcohol in the front seat with me isn't a great idea" but then I dismiss it, figuring I have to get the glasses home somehow, and besides, what are the odds of being stopped? High, apparently. Very high.

The last time I was pulled over, it was literally in my drive-way. The officer had seen my brake light was out, which I did not realize, then swarmed me when I pulled into my home. Nothing of note there; a bunch of people looking out of their windows, glad it wasn't them, and I was given a warning and off he goes.

Back to the zoo night, I am less than a mile home when I pass a cop parked in the very obvious "waiting to see someone slip up and pounce" spot. My first thought is "I hope I wasn't speeding" but that's pretty much always my first thought. I pass and he doesn't move, whew. Safe. Then as I get to the red light, he pulls out and behind me, but in a normal fashion. The traffic light changes and we proceed. My cars tail light had come to mind around this time, but clearly I was good to go or he'd have gotten me. I tell my friend in the car "last time I was this close to home, I got pulled over for a dead tail light. I'm glad they are both working this time.

Naturally, no sooner have I spoken than "booooeeeeeewwww" (siren sound), the lights come on and I'm pulled over. That's when a moment of panic sets in. The glasses!

"Oh crap. Hide the glasses".

That alone makes me sound pretty guilty.

My friend grabs the glasses and is about to put them on the floor when suddenly a blazingly bright light shines in HER window, right as she has both glasses held up and in front of the window. There's no way the glasses weren't seen. She puts them back into the cup holders and we fumble trying to roll the window down. It's my car, I know that the window control is on the center console, but we are both hitting every button but that one. Doors are locking, flashers are turning on and off, and it looks like we are stalling. I manage to pull myself together and roll the window down.

The cop is very laid back, "yeah I just wanted to let you know your tail light is out. If you'll get me your info so I can run it, I'll give you a warning and send you on your way".

Instead of just complying, I figure it's a good idea to tell him that, "yea, I was just telling my friend here about this happening before and how you're supposed to replace both lights but the other was fine so, despite it being $3 to replace it, I just went on my way" and rambling away like the Micro Machine guy. The ceaseless, inane rambling of the guilty.

"Sir, have you had anything to drink?" and by reflex I say "no" which, considering my less than teaspoon of manly "sipping", is true. However my first thought is "I'VE LIED TO THE LAW" and I mentally start to fall apart.

Normally in such a situation, anytime I reach for something, I tell the officer what I'm going for and where it is. But as stated, I'm falling apart and feeling guilty even though I'm not, so I reach (waaaaaay too quickly) for my wallet to get my license, as previously requested. I get a very quick, stern "SIR do you have a WEAPON in this vehicle" and his hand goes for his hip. Given the shadiness of my neighborhood, I'm surprised he didn't blast me out of pure anticipated self-defense. I replied (quickly) in the negative and told him what I was reaching for. Everything settles back down and he heads off.

He can't have been gone for more than half a minute when he gets back and says "our computers are going a little slow, can you step out of the car for a minute please". Oh boy. I join him on the sidewalk, which of course I trip over as I step up on it, and he says, "I want you to do this for me" and he describes how he wants me to put both hands over my mouth (as if I had just seen something shocking) and follow the pen of his with my eyes.

First off, I'm so nervous at this point that my hands are clamped down on my mouth and over my nose (which for some reason I covered as well) so very tightly that I can't breathe through my hands and I'm nearly causing myself to hyperventilate. But I'm worried moving my hands away will cause me to fail the test, so I leave them. I'm not sure my frantic breathing was helping me seem like I was innocent, though.

Second, it's pitch black outside. I am in front of him and blocking any light from his car, and behind him is nothing but darkness. And his pen is completely black. For a minute I thought he was completely messing with me and had no pen. I do my best to follow it but am basically just watching his hand move because I simply can't see the pen most of the time. 

After this, he holds it straight in front of me at arm's length and says for me to take my index finger and touch the tip of the pen. Pfft, easy. I go for it and as you might expect miss it by about an inch. Then it just all comes out, how it's dark and the pen is dark and he has a black outfit on and I can't see the black pen against the black background, maybe if I moved and let the light hit him, etc etc. More ramblings of someone who is clearly guilty-ridden. 

Thankfully, there's not really much after that. He looks to me and says, "did you just have one?" and I said, "no, no, I don't even drink at all" which, I now realize, is probably a bad reflex simply because it's not that believable. Most people drink SOME. I followed it up with a smooth, "I was the designated car driver type person from the thing at the zoo place". I get a warning about the light, and am sent on my way, and no cuffing or guns or anything like that. It could have been a lot worse.

The next day, I'm at a Taste of Nashville with another friend. It's a similar event but it has things for me to do as well, namely eat tasty food. But they do give you two plastic cups to sample the drinks when you first arrive. At one point I'm holding both my cup and my friend's cup as they are in the bathroom, mine filled with booze-free lemonade (but I had to ask for it specific because all the lemonade had booze in it) and another that was clearly alcohol, when who should walk by me but the officer from the previous night. I on reflex threw both cups into the nearby trash and headed the other direction. 

My friend was not pleased I had tossed away the drinks but at least I narrowly avoided jail yet again.

I Am Troubled

Today has been a strange day for me, and it's not even noon yet.

The word "betrayal" is a strong word. I don't feel like I've ever experienced it. Not in a way that would warrant a use of such a dramatic word, at least. I have friends who have and I've seen the results. It's pretty terrible. Sure, I've had relationships that fell apart, but I've never been cheated on (that I am aware). I've lost friends, but simply through growing apart and not something terrible happening. But never betrayed. I feel like I got a little taste of betrayal today.

I have a friend (or HAD, I guess) who I've known for over 10 years now. We've always been close, or so I thought. Over all the years while she was moving to various places for school, we always stayed in touch and talked often. She felt like one of the cornerstones of my life, of who I am, much the same way that my family does, or my best friend, or other such staples in my life.

I haven't heard from this friend in about a year which was after a very passionate - and I realize now, ironic - speech from her about how I was the only one in her life who was always there for her no matter what the situation was and how much she appreciated it And then I never heard from her again. That was over a year ago.

I couldn't reach her via phone, email, Facebook, anything. She had been really sick for a while and no one knew why, and I was afraid the worst had happened and she was dead, but I couldn't find out. I obsessively searched obituaries in the areas she had last lived. I couldn't find any news of her of any kind, and I'm usually pretty good at playing detective. So naturally I was terrified. Not knowing was awful.

Last night I had a dream about her. I don't recall the subject, just that when I woke up, the worry had set in and I ran upstairs to begin the search anew. But it didn't take long; Facebook saved me some time, seeing that she finally had some activity going on. Unless someone hijacked her account, she's alive and active. I'm now torn between relief and fury, and people who know me know that 'fury' isn't a word that can ever describe me.

Obviously I'm relieved she is alive. I had no idea how much stress that was causing me until I felt the overwhelming weight lift from my shoulders that I didn't realize I was carrying. But with the good comes the back, and her being fine means she's received my many attempts at communication, my frantic inquiries on if she was alive and she knows how worried I was. And she didn't give a shit. Instead of even the quickest reply of "I'm fine", she thought it was totally fine to let the guy who she said is always there for her assume she might be dead. That is what I'm worth to her. I feel bad for her friends who weren't as reliable as I was.

What kind of person is this? My friend April says I am very good at seeing through the BS of people and seeing what kind of person they really are. So how is it that I could be so completely fooled by the quality of this individual for over a decade? How is it so possible to be THIS wrong about someone? And how will I ever find rest and comfort in knowing another person when in the back of my mind this memory will nag at me and constantly remind me that, hey, you might not know who they truly are even a little bit.

Good Times

I saw one of these today for the first time in years. It reminded me of when I was a teenager and someone special to me used to randomly give them to me during the day on occasion. They appeared sealed, but upon opening one I would find a loving message carve out of the strip. A silly thing, but I miss that.

I also miss having my patterns carved into my apples.
(And that is a literal comment, not a sexual euphemism).

It's not my destiny-
to be the one that you will lay with

Awkward Moments: The Restroom At Work

We have an unfortunate restroom situation at our new office. When I first moved in, we only had one functional restroom, which was located downstairs. It was a bit of a hike to get to the restroom, and you had to walk through a whole floor of people you didn't know. Aside from that, it wasn't really a big problem. It mostly meant I had to stop making a habit of waiting until the absolute last second when my bladder was at maximum capacity to take a bathroom break.

Shortly after we moved in, they installed a new set of restrooms on the second floor, where I am located. I was out of work at the time and didn't realize it was open and proceeded to use the old restroom downstairs for about 2 weeks before I was told the new one was open. Oops.

Unfortunately, with the new one open they shut down the old restrooms for a remodel, so we are currently having to deal with 1 stall and 2 urinals total for the entire building. Not an End of the World type of problem, but it has led to some awkward situations.

I wouldn't think designing a restroom would be all that complex. I mean, I have never done it (and I have drawn a surprising number of diagrams of what I thought was a better way to show my teammates) but I would expect people who do it for a living would be pretty savvy at it. This doesn't seem to be the case.
The design of the new men's restroom is horribly thought-out. A friend told me before I'd seen it that the door opened outward in such a way that people in the department across the hall could see inside to any guy who was using one of the urinals. I thought this had to be a joke. Turns out he was right.

During my first adventure to use a stall, I'm standing there, doing what you do at such a location, when the restroom door opens. As one naturally tends to do, I looked back to see who had entered the room (without making eye contact; it IS the men's room, after all). Having seen who was entering, I start to turn my head back around when my sight goes beyond this new person, out the still open door, across the hall... and my eyes lock with a very uncomfortable looking woman in the department across the way. I think I could see a little part of her die inside, even from that distance. Now I spent half my time trying to ninja my way around the office so I don't bump into this person.

The stall itself is another adventure. The inside of the stall is HUGE. The toilet is so far back from the door of the stall that you can't see if anyone is in there by looking at the floor to find feet. And the stall door closes on its own so there's never a time where you walk in, see it open, and know it's safe to enter. Now you either have to knock or bend over to look under the stall. Both obviously quite awkward. I've tried to figure out a good angle to use the mirror to see feet, but so far, when I've thought the coast was clear, it proved to be very unclear.

So it comes down to knocking, which isn't nearly as reliable as you'd expect. If I'm in a stall and there's a knock, I can't yell "OCCUPIED" - in a fake voice to disguise my identity - fast enough. Much to my surprise, not everyone is like that though. Twice in a row I had exhausted my other options to see if it was safe to open the door, and proceeded to knock. Loudly. No answer. I pull the handle, there is resistance and a very angry shout of "I'm IN HERE". Twice. By the same person. The first time was evidently not enough of a lesson.

In the old location the cleaning lady would come by and knock on the restroom entrance and yell "is anyone in here?" while knocking. It was really weird to yell out something to let her know someone was there, but it was even worse if one of the other stalls was being used. You didn't want to shout out and let the other person know who you are. So you'd wait it out and hope they answered. It was like a really strange game of chicken. In the end, you'd both wait too long and the cleaning lady would come in anyway and there would be three very embarrassed people instead of just one semi-embarrassed person.

I'm starting to think those people who refuse to use any public restroom are on to something.

Hot Yoga

I learned about Hot Yoga approximately 8 years ago from a show called "Dead Like Me". Due to that single episode which featured a class filled with trim, gorgeous women, I assumed for the longest time that 'hot' meant 'sexy' instead of temperature, so I avoided looking into trying a session, fearing I might be denied access and have my self-confidence shattered.

I overcame my fear after all these years and went to my first class today and I learned something very important. It's freakin' HOT in there. I should have known I'd be in trouble when I was at home getting ready to leave for class and I thought to myself, "it's sweltering in here" and it was only 68 degrees. Clearly I was going to do well in a 110 degree room while doing difficult yoga poses.

I told the friend that invited me that I might not be able to make it because I couldn't find any (clean) pants that I could do yoga in. She laughed and said, "oh no, you want to wear shorts". This troubled me because I find the idea of doing any sort of deep lunges as a shorts-wearing male to be risky business. Plus I recalled the last time I wore shorts to a class (a spin class), I nearly exposed myself. And I don't want to be like this guy.

 

I didn't have time to run to the store, so I had to make due with what I owned. 2 pair of shorts and 3 pair of boxers (that's right, no briefs and certainly no tighty-whiteys). I thought about doubling up on either underwear or shorts, but I figured it would kill my mobility, so I had to find some way to keep myself decent for the duration of the class. And let me tell you, I felt pretty weird sitting around testing to see if I could do a squat without my cash and prizes making an appearance. Not to mention that some of the phrases I googled to get advice on the 'situation' probably made me show up on some sort of national pervert list. In the end, I tried every possible combination of shorts and undies until I finally found a combination of slightly longer shorts with slightly tighter boxers that gave me the best chance of keeping myself covered.

Longer shorts. Tighter underwear. I had done all I could. The rest was in the hands of fate.

Naturally when I got into the studio, my friend had reserved us a spot in the very front by the mirrors. I was hesitant, needless to say. But I think I safely made it through class without showing off anything. I certainly was keeping an eagle eye on my shorts to make sure. I guess I could have asked my friend if she noticed anything, but I think that's probably a pretty awkward conversation to have. I'm going to assume the whole class managed to stay PG and make sure to buy some tighter shorts before I go back.

I doubt anyone paid me any mind, being so focused on their own workout, but if they did I'm sure they were wondering why the new guy in the front was staring at his own crotch in the mirror the whole time.

Buckley

I don't really post videos, but I had one that I felt needed to be shared with the world.

My dog Buckley is very well-behaved at home. He's mostly quiet, doesn't chew things, and was house-broken very quickly as a puppy and has an accident maybe 2 or 3 times a year, thankfully always on the hardwood in the same exact spot by the door. But when I visit my family, he acts like he has never had a day of training in his life

He's always been a little skittish and I believe that was because he was abused before I adopted him. I don't KNOW that he was, but it's just a guess from how he used to act as a pup. He's gotten braver over the years but he's still pretty timid at times, especially around guys that aren't me.

My mother has three little dogs; a 16 year old 2 lbs chihuahua, and two dachshund. And they also scare him, though you'd never really know it by watching him. He just acts like they aren't there. But sometimes their barking makes him nervous enough to cause him to tinkle (I have 5 nieces and a dog, so yes, I say things like "tinkle" and "potty") JUST a little on the carpet. My mother is not a fan of this. So she forces my poor dog to wear a diaper. I especially like when she puts on the tiger-striped one that makes him look like David Hasselhoff.

This is a video of what he does literally ALL day when he has a diaper on:

The weird thing is he does this dance even without the diaper, but only when I'm sitting down. He'll back up between my legs and then start doing the weird dance, bouncing the back half of his body between both of my legs like he's in a pinball machine. He's strange.

Awkward Moments: Doors Are Complex

I had a ridiculous moment this morning. I work on the second floor of a six story building. The elevator section of our floor has a balcony and overlooks one of the first floor entrances. As I was walking across the balcony, from one door to another, a woman who looked to be late 20ish walked in the entrance below. I gave her a quick glance of curiosity and that was it. It wasn't any sort of stare, despite her being cute, because staring is creepy. But at the instant I looked her way, she looked up and we locked eyes and she no doubt thought I'd been ogling her the entire time.

At that moment I reached the other door and went to open it and somehow failed to succeed. Rarely daunted by failure, I tried again, pulling mightily this time, but to no avail. Then I realized the problem; I wasn't turning the doorknob.

To be fair, the opposite door I'd just come from, while the exact same design, doesn't have to be turned and you just pull on it and in you go. I'm going to pretend I was still in that mindset and not that I just couldn't figure out how to work a door.

Regardless, I'm sure all she saw was some dude staring at her and then being defeated by a door. I decided I had to play it off to save a little of my rapidly depleting dignity, so I KNOCKED on the door. I will point out that this leads to a hallway and there's no one around to hear a knock. But the girl below did not have any clue that this was the case, so I knocked. And I knocked again. I waited until she was JUST out of my line of sight before I opened the door, and then said aloud, "thank you!" so she'd think someone had opened the door for me and I was politely thanking them for it.

Who knows, maybe I made her day because she thinks she was looking so good today that she caused a random guy to stare and forget how to turn a knob.

More

I've been having an odd few months. I spent my 20s going to college, then moving to a new city and creating a career for myself that had absolutely nothing to do with the things I did in college. I did pretty well. I'm certainly not a wealthy person, but I don't need to be. I can afford to do the things I enjoy for fun, I sleep comfortably and warm at night, I never go hungry. Not everyone can say that. Yet I feel more and more unsatisfied with my life, and that's an impressive feat I think, being the type of person who is nearly always positive and upbeat and able to find fun in the little things.

I am realizing that the things I do for a living don't matter. Sure, somewhere down the line they matter, but they don't matter to me. I always just assumed I'd do something important with my life and I didn't notice that I wasn't until that fact presented itself to me by surprise one day. I'm 31 now and that's still young in the grand scheme of things, but I'm not gaining more time and I have no road-map on how to do the great things that I, when I was much younger, just knew I'd be doing by now. I don't think I even know what I consider to be important or great. Even if I had that map, would I know what direction to head?

We won't even get into my relationship woes. I'd need a book for that. It weights on me the most, though. The world has been trying to kill the hopeless romantic in me for the last decade and at times I thought it had succeeded, but on rare occasions I will meet someone who stirs that part of me and makes me realize that I'm still clinging on. Or I will remember; and in doing so realize that while those things I recall - sometimes fondly, sometimes painfully - didn't work out, that there's still a chance new and possibly greater things will.

Considering the state of the world, I really have no room to complain. Things could be a lot worse. But realizing things could be worse doesn't mean I can't wish things were better. Or at least, different.

  

Tell me it's nothing-

try to convince me that I'm not drowning
Oh, let me tell you; I am.