Touche

I spent this last weekend in Nebraska with my family.

My sister, Molly, is 5 years older than me. I am not the hippest person ever, but sometimes I am astounded at the pop culture that just goes sailing over her head. I found in Nebraska that she is not familiar with the revered "nose goes" rule of responsibility.

It seems this is a fairly localized custom, so let me take a moment to explain. When you are with a group of people, and something has to be done that no one wants to do, you put your finger on your nose and say "Nose goes!" The last person to touch their nose has to get the beers, call for pizza, google the urban dictionary meaning of 'dirty sanchez', etc. If you are among a group of 'nose goes' savvy people, all you have to do is put your finger on your nose and the message is clear. But be warned, that is only for the very cool.

So we're sitting around the dinner table and no one wants to clear 8 people's dishes. I put my finger and yell "nose goes!" I then have to explain to my entire extended family what the hell I'm doing.

The next night, my sister and I have been reading in bed (we are sharing a room because, let's review, we are in Nebraska and sleeping in a guesthouse) and its time for someone to get their ass up and turn off the light. I say nothing but make a quick physical gesture that is so enthusiastic that the whole bed shakes. There's a beat of silence. Then my sister says "are you doing that nose thing?" She sighs and gets up and turns off the light.

The next day we are at a family reunion, surrounded by people we've never met before, who are talking about people I've never heard of before. It was disturbing to realize I was related to an entire ROOM full of Nebraskans, but all the same, it had me thinking about family trees and geneology lines and all that shit.

I am spending all this time hearing about people begetting people and everyone is reproducing, and my sister and I seem to be slacking off in this department. I turn to Molly and say "Damn. We need to have some kids."

Molly looks at me and without missing a beat, she coolly lifts her hand to her face, and places her finger on her nose.

Well played, big sis. Well played.

Mystery

Are you ever like..."When did I eat CORN??"

Is This Blog Magic?

My stars, how its raining men in my life lately!

I can hardly turn around without meeting someone new. I have to say--if a boyfriend is not in the cards right now, I will gladly take this as a second option. Flirting is just so fun.

In my last post I was lamenting the inappropriate ages of all the eligible bachelors. Then, it seems that as soon as the last blog posted, every new man was suddenly between the wonderful, golden ages of 28-31. Was that the universe's reply to what I wrote?

I'm willing to consider it as an option. Which brings me to this post. If putting it in writing and throwing it on the web helps change the tide of who I'm meeting, let's try to tackle this next challenge.

While my dating life has made the vast improvement in terms of age, now, confusingly, all these new men are politically conservative! I think it speaks volumes as to how frustrating the age issue was to admit that even knowing their politics, I am still going on dates with these guys. Because I mean, come on. We know that shit isn't going anywhere. But going on dates is lovely and spending an evening with a man my own age? Its such a remarkable experience.

Still, I feel like most conversations are full of landmines. How quickly any topic can veer into politics-especially if I am the one speaking! Talking about food, volleyball and TV can only get me so far.

So here it is, universe! Thank you-really-for the improvement on the age issue. Now, if we could just get someone a bit more liberal. That's all I need! Everything else is great! They've been good looking, funny, fun, smart and laid back. Just need them to be leftist.

Let's see what you've got.

One for the Ages

I recently stumbled upon all these blogs written by single women across the country, chronicling their mostly terrible dates and thoughts on being single. Its been a comfort to know that there are women--women my age!!--who are still single, and struggling with the same things I am. Doubts about our own worth (is it something horrifying about me that makes me unable to find a partner), doubts about the need to be in a relationship (is it me or society that thinks I even need a partner), doubts about the guys we date (is this moron really my only option for a partner?). Most of these women seem smart, funny, independent and lively. If they are still single, then maybe it is not something so inherently monstrous about me that has me single as well.

The blogs remind me that at one point I had considered making this blog about my own single life. At the time I thought that was an original idea (ha!) but I didn't follow through with it for 2 reasons. 1) I don't, in fact, relish the idea of my love life being one big joke and 2)...not enough dating stories to compile a blog!

My blogging sisters found a way to deal with the second problem--online dating. Ugh. I am so not ready to do that again. When I think of online dating again, the words that pop into my head are like "hell", "torture"..."agony." I seriously, seriously hated it. That was 3 years ago and I'm still, like...have PTSD about it. I was hoping to never ever online date again. I am still far far away from wanting to, but I have noticed this one problem.

One of my biggest complaints about finding someone to date is the problem of age. I can constantly be heard bitching about the fact that all the non-retarded guys that are age-appropriate for me are already in relationships. Despite all my whining about this, I have been hoping that maybe I just don't know where to find them. But the last few weeks have me feeling more than ever that this is an actual, serious problem.

A month ago, I broke it off with a 34-year old. Just to clarify, I DO consider this age appropriate. Too bad it turns out there were some pretty solid reasons why he's 34 and not already married to someone else. Anyway. Since then, I have been pursued by a 25 year old...which, before I met him, I also would have considered age appropriate. But the more we texted, the less attractive he became. He did things like spell it "definnately", "good mourning" and "four play" and I was astounded by what a complete and total dumbass he was. Maybe its not fair to blame his stupidity on his age, but that's how I saw it. Things with him are currently on hold, although most like "on hold" will turn into never talking to him again.

Last weekend I got asked out by a 24-year old. (I refused. If 25 is too young, 24 is obviously not going to work either).

AND THEN, last night I met a guy. This was an interesting episode, let me just paint the picture for you. I play tons of volleyball, and evidently a couple of weeks ago someone had seen me at a league night talking to a mutual friend and had wanted to meet me. Not knowing this, I had left early as I was sick. Said mutual friend informed me that his hot friend was interested so I had better get my ass to the court this week (said friend is gay, so his use of the word "hot" is trusted-but he's also bossy). So, I get to the volleyball courts, I meet the guy, who is indeed hot, we play volleyball--he's an amazing player, which for me makes him extra, super hot--and although I can't say a shooting star was born with our union, he seemed cool. Judging by his looks, I had him figured for my age or maybe a couple years older.

Well, I did some Facebook stalking today. The guy is 22. 22!!! Holy hell!! What the fuck! At the speed they are getting younger these days, but next month I will be some freshman high schooler's homecoming date. 22, good lord.

This has caused me to reflect--I do, in fact, meet guys all the time. But they are either so young or in their 40s. What if online dating truly is the only way to meet single guys that are my age? Which of the three options do I prefer? Staying single for all eterntity (seems most likely), dating guys that are either children or fathers, or wading back into the online dating pool...

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh.

Little Poem for a Little Girl

I've been co-leading a women's process group at work. By co-leading, I mean that I sit there and either smile or frown, depending on what's appropriate, while my co-worker does all the actual talking and leading and engaging of clients. I am obviously the most valuable coworker ever.

Anyway. My co-worker feels that it is appropriate for her and I to participate in all the conversations and activities that we lead our clients through. The last few weeks have been spent working on our inner child. Don't worry, when she first started talking about healing the child within, I thought she was more than a little full of it myself. It sounds so Freudian, so analytical, so contrived and ridiculous. Now that I've done some work with it, I have to say there is some value in trying to remember an untainted time in your life and seeing how you can connect that to healing and change.

Today she had us think of our "pure child", and describe her with 5 words, and then take 5 verbs to match and write a poem. I participated in this activity begrudgingly, not knowing where she was going with it, and still thinking mostly that it was silliness. But when I read my poem to the group, I found to my total surprise that it made me tear up a little. I can't quite say what emotion caused the tears, but I do feel like I want to hold on to this little poem. Somehow it seemed like the next step was to throw it up on the blog.

"Abadibble"
She runs, uninhibited, like a gust of wind.
She laughs, feeding energy with energy.
She explores her world, and feels excitement and anticipation for what is around each corner.
She imagines, and creates games and play that are purely for fun and joy.
She builds, and finds delight in her forts and castles, unweighed down by responsibility.

And the 8th Dwarf Was Named Doubt

I'm a therapist now.

Its been a long time coming. There's a lot of feelings and thoughts that go along with it. Joy. (I'm doing something that matters!) Pride. (I worked my ass off for this!) Relief. (Thank god I'm out of that paralegal job.) Fascination. (Trauma is so interesting).

But mostly I wonder if I'm up to the task.

How on earth can I be effective in another person's life?

Grad school supposedly taught me that, at least on paper, but we had an "unconventional" program and they really glossed over the clinical side of things. I spend so much time in my sessions wondering what the fuck I should say to my client. My client tells me she went swimming yesterday with her aunt. I focus intently on not yawning. My client tells me she gets panic attacks frequently, and starts having one in the room. I try not to have a response panic attack of my own and all I can do is tell her to breathe in and out. My client tells me in graphic detail how her father used to beat her. I try to make sure my mouth stays shut while in my mind there's a picture of myself gaping at her, open-mouthed, in shock and horror.

A hundred times a day, a thousand times a week, I wonder if my clients feel let down by my presence. Mental health can be a terrifyingly dark and lonely road. At the very least, a therapist should shine a flashlight on the path to healing. I spend nearly all my time banging the flashlight against my forehead.

Sometimes I want to go up to my supervisors and shake them. "What were you THINKING hiring me?" Is it not so painfully clear to everyone around me that I don't know what I'm doing?

And how long before someone notices my incompetence and exposes me for the total fraud that I am?

Yo, Akon

Akon sings, "I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful."

His answer?

Chorus-- "Damn, you'se a sexy bitch."

Another line--" ...not just your neighborhood ho..."


Really Akon? That was the best you could come up with while trying to be respectful? Maybe you should try a little bit harder.









Good song, though.