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They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said 'no, no, no'
I have teetered on the edge of serial single and serial dating for years now. Thus, my blog. However, this year both sides of the fence have culminated into a gigantic, festering vat of emotionally draining energy.
I mean, things were to a point were Kaz and SlinkyChic insisted I audition for VH1’s Tough Love, a reality TV dating boot camp. Look, Slink even started filling out my application:
Q: Why do your friends think you are single?
“I would say you are single because, well, you have not yet found THE ONE, but THE ONE has not yet found you either. The potential future Mr. Josie has to GET YOU, and let you BE YOU. You are Little*, but not LITTLE in your attitude. I would say that you have a certain type and when your friends show you a potential MAN, you may not consider him upon the first review after the 2 seconds you have reviewed him from head to toe....plus usually when we go out it is late at night and usually quite dark and libations may be involved.”
And then she also added this in her email --
“I think your criteria may be very selective and narrow, meaning that you HAVE to have a man that falls w/n a list of your requirements if he EVEN gets as far as to talk to you...
Oh, and they LINGER..... they have to be long gone before you can move on!!! YOU HAVE hanger-oners... that are always there or come back. I have trouble typing on this little laptop, maybe we need to have a conversation all of us and make a conclusion as a group. We need to make this GOOD.”
Slink’s email was touching enough to make my eyes water and brutal enough to make my eyes water.
I am particular. Not particular like, “narrow, meaning a man must fall within a list of requirements,” but particular like a hot-house orchid; I have certain conditions I want THE ONE, as Slink put it, to meet.
These “hanger-oners” at one point did meet my “conditions”, but over time, fell out of favor for one reason or another – and stayed around. And, yes, some fell into the category of major douchebag – and stayed around.
I didn’t care. I didn’t care these “hanger-oners” weren’t THE ONE, they were someone to go to dinner with, on a long-weekend with – let’s be honest, I wasn’t in love with any of them. Hell, there were a few I didn’t even really like, never mind love. This leads me back to the culmination of a festering vat of emotionally draining energy… There were a few I did deeply care for (i.e., Ian) -- and one I was insanely in love with (i.e., the secret crush). But, the feelings were not returned.
Ian didn’t want to get married again, or live together, or spend lots of exorbitant time together, but he didn’t want to break up either. I thought I would be okay with his terms, I even called him, “Mr. Right Now” to his face. I guess, deep down, I thought he would eventually change his mind. Ah! Wait! I know what you are thinking! But let me add, Ian would also say things to make me believe his mind was changing. After a long weekend in Boston last month, I finally realized he never meant anything he said in terms of change – and was harshly reminded, leopards don’t change their spots.
The secret crush I have been referring to in my junior high school manor since the creation of my blog, is no longer secret. I think. I think he knows about the depth of my feelings, but with men, ladies you know, they mostly lack the ability to connect the dots – no matter how many degrees. But, at this point, does it really matter if he knows? It’s been a cat and mouse game of flirtation for the past year, however, he decided to stick with his current situation. I am heart broken, and worse, I feel stupid. He made himself clear – even if he did dabble with the idea of me – and he did dabble – you do not not bring up your current situation for this long without dabbling! Plus, he talked a big game. He dangled the proverbial carrot of many super fantastic, incredible projects/jobs/etc. on a stick in front of me, yet, meant none of them. I don’t know which is worse – being the girl not chosen or realizing the guy of my dreams could actually fall into the category with all the rest -- douchebag.
So, three weeks ago to the day, I put myself into douchebag rehab. (Kaz and Slink are extremely proud). No more accepting phone calls, emails or text messages. I have deleted all the “hanger-oners” out of my phone, email address book and social networks.
I have emptied and cleaned my festering vat – with bleach.
*VH1 Tough Love, Season 2 casting was closed when I went to submit my application.
*”Little” is one of my nicknames.
Sex, drugs and nakedness. Did I mention I was with my parents?
Not living far from New York City, last week for my birthday, my parents announced they would treat me to day of shopping, a matinee and dinner with close friends in the Big Apple.
Being avid travelers, my parents always amaze me with their savvy and worldly knowledge.
STEP DAD: “You know…I think they have a bathroom on these trains.”
MOM: “We sit backwards?”
After enduring a non-express Metro-North Line train ride into Grand Central, we then endured yet another non-express line – the ticket line in Times Square.
For those of you who know – and for those of you who don’t know – there is a ticket booth in Times Square (http://www.tdf.org) where would-be show-goers can purchase matinee (and some night shows) at a discounted price. Since it was my birthday, my parents advised me to pick the show of my choice – they also advised me they wanted to see a musical.
As the line dwindled and we neared the ticket window, so did our show options -- we were down to Shrek, Mary Poppins and HAIR. Shrek – a singing, flatulent ogre…um, no thanks; Mary Poppins – been there, done that; so, that left….HAIR. I faintly remember listening to my parents’ HAIR album (yes, 33LP record) growing up and knew the premise… how bad could HAIR be?
Sex, drugs and nakedness. Yup. Did I mention I was with my parents? I know I am a full-grown adult, but as a kid, you never outgrow AWKWARD.
I understand this play was a radical social commentary of the late 60s, I get it. I understand the naked protest is just that – a protest. I get it. The cast was uber-talented. I am not debating that. I know this particular revival JUST won the 2009 Tony Award for the Best Revival on Broadway that very week. I am not debating that either.
What I am saying is, by intermission, I was ready to throw the Kumbaya towel in. I am just not a flower child, thus, the 33 songs which comprise HAIR – and trust me, all 33 were performed – put me over the mother-loving, hallucinogenic, orgy edge. I am a child of the 70s, by then, the hippies were fading and The Partridge Family was taking over the sit-ins. Donnie and Marie were stars – clean cut and as white bread as you can get. No LSD for them.
The only thing close to HAIR when I was a teenager were – the glam rocker bands – POISON (who, incidentally, where at the Tony Awards this year as well, you know, when douchebag lead singer, Brett Michaels had a run in with the stage – in case you missed it -- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JocPcYBCN18 ), Bon Jovi, Cinderella, Stryper, etc. The hair was there, but the radical social commentary for these guys was showing off how many groupies they could fit backstage – they were burning hotel rooms down, not draft cards.
At the curtain’s close, my mother felt the same as she did close to forty years ago when seeing HAIR in London, “It’s still as radical now as it was back then;” my step father agreed and remembered seeing the play in New York shortly after its debut – and still likes the nudity (*wink*), and I…I was glad to leave (sorry, HAIR) – with a new appreciation for the play, actors and our freedom, of course.
HAIR: The Musical
http://www.hairbroadway.com
2009 Tony Award Winner for Best Musical Revival
Al Hirschfeld Theatre
302 West 45th Street, New York, NY 10036
Prize Pack Winner
My apologies for not posting the winner of the
MAY PRIZE PACK
...and the winner is....
KAZ
The PRIZE PACK will resume again in July -- so check back often -- and COMMENT!
10 Things
I have been tagged by one of the hippest bloggers around, Date Girl, from The Date Girl Diaries (http://dategirldiaries.com) to list 10 Things About Myself, so here we go…
1. 2009, for me, is The Year of Facing Fears – and, they are as follows:
a. Becoming a casualty of the economy – getting laid off
b. Leasing a new car – and then getting laid off
c. Gaining the 10 pounds back after working so hard to shed them
d. Meeting the most incredibly sexy, smart, funny, better-than-sliced-bread man I have ever encountered, falling deeply in love – only to have the sentiment unreciprocated
e. Turning 35 – still not in the place where I want to be, nor with the person I want to be with, realizing 40 is around the corner.
f. Starting over – yet again.
2. I once gave a gift, only to discover after being unwrapped in front of a crowded room, included a pair of my underwear. Never wrap anything next to your clean (thank God) laundry pile.
3. I am addicted to eBay. If I had $1.5 million, my purchase this week would have been part of the Eiffel Tower stair case (sorry, the listing disappeared after no one bid).
4. I received one of the most touching birthday gifts to date -- a snow globe from one of my favorite movies, Ratatouille, with a handwritten note “Remy was a little mouse with big dreams who achieved them -- dream often, dream big. When you get discouraged, turn this on and dream with him.” 
5. Yeah, this blog was a “class project” – and yea, this “class project” won a regional academic award, a significant cash award and significant publicity and business contacts across three states. Oh, and did I mention, I do the same – and more -- for my clients’ “projects” – as for the haters, BITE ME, MOTHER FUCKER.
6. I collect sock monkeys – and anything with a sock monkey on it.
7. I am over Facebook. It’s lovely to connect and re-connect to old and new friends close and far, but – enough already. The quizzes have put me over the edge. I am predicting the beginning of its’ decline.
8. I have sold three pieces of art this year – with current interest in a fourth.
9. I, too, could live off of carbs alone. If I had to choose one food to eat for the rest of my life -- nutrition aside -- I would forever eat French fries.
10. I have major projects cooking...an online empire is underway -- Achtung, Baby!
Setting. Development. RESOLUTION.
Hello readers!
Thank you for patiently waiting for me to crawl out of hybernation.
I came down with a bad case of acute creativity block.
Thank you for your wonderful comments and support of this piece.
I now present to you, for your consideration, my complete flash fiction piece.
PLEASE NOTE: Georg's understudy, Henry, has stepped in for this performance.
Enjoy!
**************************************************
Graduation
Commencement is not only about the degree,
but about taking life to the next level.
I could hear the inner wheels of Henry’s mind grinding as he lay silently next to me, both of us facing
opposite directions with only the smalls of our backs touching.
I sat up holding the comforter up to my chest as if to shield me from the vulnerability ahead. I turned and spoke to his back, “I knew this would happen the minute I saw the back of your head.”
He picked up his head and rested his chin on his shoulder. “What?”
“Well, actually… I knew this would happen when I first saw your back…in your fabulously sexy, dark-navy suit with the silver pinstripes…then I saw the back of your head. But, still, I knew.”
Still confused, Henry now swiveled his body counter-clockwise to lie facing me on his side. “You knew what?...From what…my head? All I heard was you think I’m fabulously sexy,” he let the last word trail off slowly like he used to do while teaching, using sarcasm to get his point across, only this time, it was seductive, luring me back down next to him.
I let go of my death grip on the comforter and slid back down on my side into his open arms and nestled up close to his chest. We were now looking into each other’s eyes.
“When I walked into Albert Hall, while I was focused on finding Room Six, you were hunched over at the water bubbler. I couldn’t help but say to myself, ‘Wow. Who is this with the phenomenal taste? He's a student here?’ You then stood up straight and walked into the next room. I only saw the back of you head. But, I knew. The salt-and-pepper hair was a dead giveaway.”
As he kissed my forehead, he muttered, “I still have no idea what you are talking about. Are you calling me fabulously sexy again?”
***
Eventually, we had to pull ourselves away from each other and the seclusion of my bedroom as it was Monday morning and we both had classes to teach. As Henry showered, I got up and started the coffee.
“Ugh. Rain again,” I muttered to myself as I opened the window blinds. Opening the blinds was painful, not because of the light hitting my un-ready pupils, but because I felt each one of those horizontal lines of light shattering the cocoon the weekend in bed had just built around me and Henry.
Reality was rearing its’ ugly head with the possibility for sheer and utter disappointment when Henry leaves, as he had not responded to any of my feeble attempts to convey the true breadth and depth of my feelings. I had tried several times during the course of the past two days to gather the thoughts, feelings and emotions rushing through me for the past year into what needed to be the perfect combination of words to tell to this man, the most wonderful man I had ever met, I was in love with him.
I could still hear the shower running. I started to prepare myself for the worst. I started running scenarios of our departure through my head.
“Thanks for an amazing weekend. But…I’ve already told you…I’m happy in my current situation..."
“East or west coast?”
Henry startled me. While I was preparing myself for the dreaded “You’re a Great Friend” speech staring out the window, he had gotten out of the shower, gotten dressed and poured our coffee. He was standing at the edge of the kitchen holding in one hand my “I ‘heart’ LA” mug and in the other, my “I ‘heart’ New York” mug.
“LA or New York,” he clarified.
“Oh…New York, please. Thank you.”
***
I stood frozen in anticipation as I watched Henry gather his belongings from around the apartment. I was still in my bathrobe, still gripping my “I ‘heart’ NY” mug and still unable to breathe.
“Well...” Again, his words rolled off his tongue with great seduction.
We were now walking towards each other. When Henry reached me, he took the mug out of my hand, placed it down and began kissing my neck.
“Stunning, sexy, and irresistible,” he kept kissing me as he spoke.
“What?” My mind was preoccupied with his lips, not conversation.
“Turquoise, strappy high heels and your refute of Georg Hegel’s theory of the Absolute.”
“What?” I repeated, still preoccupied.
“That’s when I knew I had fallen in love with you.”
***
*fin*
I feel a tantrum coming on…
As the week begins to wrap up, I feel as if I could throw an old-school, temper tantrum as if back in the day of being four-years old. I feel the only way to shake the pit this week has left in my stomach is to pitch a fit of crying it out, while screaming and tugging on my hair, stomping on the floor with both feet at the same time, ending with a grand finale of kicking the wall.
Anytime I get a stomach pit, I know I need to re-focus, however, this yearning to kick-it old school, literally, was a red flag warning me I was in need of a spiritual overhaul. I needed to meet with the one man I consider one of New England’s top spiritual advisors – the pizza man down the street. Actually, The Pizza Guy down the street. I needed guidance immediately, so I picked up the phone to schedule an appointment. I ordered a veggie wrap.
**HISTORICAL FLASHBACK: I do not cook. If I do, I make sure the recipe does not require more than one pan, thus, I order out a ton. Through a variety of wraps and personal-size pizzas, I have come to know The Pizza Guy’s owner, Bobby. Over the course of the past two years, while waiting for my orders, we have discussed a multitude of topics, especially the spiritual and universal laws of the universe – and success. There have been occasions when Bobby suggests I read a certain book and after I telling him I finished it, he invites me to sit in the kitchen to eat and discuss what I have read.**
As I walked in the pizza shop, Bobby looked up and with one eyebrow raised said, “Ahh…I see you are fighting the universe again. Come back and eat. We will talk.” I followed him to the kitchen table hidden behind the enormous brick oven and sat down at the table. He placed my wrap down in front of me and proceeded to pull Deepak Chopra’s The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success down from what had to be three dozen or so recipe books high up on the shelf above the prep counter.
“Here,” he opened the book and handed it to me, “read this chapter and I will be back.”
The book, a hard cover showing signs of frequent use with dog-eared pages, bookmarks and torn jacket cover, was opened to the fourth chapter, The Law of Least Effect. “Ah, fighting the universe,” I said to myself while thumbing to the next page.
As I read the chapter, I came to a page with highlighting. “Any time your encounter resistance, recognize that if you force the situation, the resistance will only increase. You don’t want to stand rigid like a tall oak that cracks and collapses in the storm. Instead, you want to be flexible, like a reed that bends with the storm and survives…When you remain open to all points of view – not rigidly attached to only one – your dreams and desires will flow with nature’s desires. Then you can release your intentions, without attachment, and just wait for the appropriate season for your desires to blossom into reality.”
I released a heavy sigh and then bit into my now luke-warm wrap. My Italian yogi, in his trattoria Ashram, had once again, instantly calmed my soul.
Bobby was right, throwing the tantrum I was dreaming about would only make my frustration worse. I needed to stay within the present moment and welcome the new adventures which lay ahead of me.
As I was half way through my wrap, Bobby returned. He didn’t say anything as he stopped and looked at me. “Ahhh, Bella, I am glad to see you stepped out of the ring. Boxing is hard work,” he said as he smiled and tapped me on the head. “Now, let me get you some gelato to sooth the wounds of your soul.”
Ah, divinity.
Part Two: Rainy Day.
“Ugh. Rain again,” I muttered to myself as I opened the window blinds. Opening the blinds was painful, not because of the light hitting my un-ready pupils, but because I felt each one of those horizontal lines of light shattering the cocoon the weekend in bed had just built around me and Georg.
Reality was rearing its’ ugly head with the possibility for sheer and utter disappointment when Georg leaves, as he had not responded to any of my feeble attempts to convey the true breadth and depth of my feelings. I had tried several times during the course of the past two days to gather the thoughts, feelings and emotions rushing through me for the past year into what needed to be the perfect combination of words to tell to this man, the most wonderful man I had ever met, I was in love with him.
I could still hear the shower running. I started to prepare myself for the worst. I started running scenarios of our departure through my head.
“Thanks for an amazing weekend. But…I’ve already told you…I’m happy in my current situation…”
“East or west?”
Georg startled me. While I was preparing myself for the dreaded “You’re a great friend” speech staring out the window, Georg had gotten out of the shower, gotten dressed and poured our coffee. He was standing at the edge of the kitchen holding in one hand my “I ‘heart’ LA” mug and in the other, my “I ‘heart’ New York” mug.
“LA or New York,” he clarified.
“Oh, New York, please…and thank you.”
To be continued...
Breaking up in 160 characters or less.
Remember when Berger broke up with Carrie on Sex in the City, using a Post-it note? Do men really avoid real, serious conversations at any length? Are they really this weak?
Yes. And now, with the aid of technology, they have gotten worse.
Let me give you some personal examples:
When living with my ex-boyfriend, in a pinch after my computer fell sick, I had to use his and found his latest obsession – S&M/bondage sites. Then, I found S&M bondage paraphernalia in his closet – all in my size. To this day, he refuses to talk about any of my discoveries.
One guy I dated, texted me “Happy Birthday” – no phone call, no card, nothing. Needless to say, I turned into my evil twin just as fast as Bruce Banner turns into the Hulk. “Hulk, smash!” Me and my girlfriends have an expression, “Even the freaking gas station sells flowers.”
Another ex-boyfriend, like clockwork, texts on Thursday nights at 11PM. “Are you up? What are you doing?” I usually text back, “I’m on my way over…” And, just like clockwork, an hour later I get another text. “Where are you?” As if.…heavy sigh.
And, this leads me to my latest situation. The latest bo, Bostonarcissist, would call and text everyday, but never would want to do anything that didn’t fit within his schedule, to his meal plan, or didn’t involve him as the center of attention. He thought because he texted and made a phone call everyday, he upheld his end by deeming those actions as “he’s interested.”
Needless to say, after asking if he wanted to come see my part of the world, receiving somewhat of a heckled response, getting a request for painted toe nails AND an outfit request described as “something sexy,” I hung up. “Yeah, um…I can’t make it” where the last words I said before pressing my cell’s “end” button so hard the phone fell on the floor spitting out its battery.
This morning he left a voice mail message asking why I haven’t called.
“Let’s face it--everything was about you,down to your caloric intake.I need someone into me.Perhaps an escort service would be more appropriate for your needs" (exactly 160 characters, thus the funky spacing, texted back today at 11:32 AM).
Jon Voight’s Car
Hi. My name is Josie.
And I am an eBay addict.
I can buy, sell, and win ANYTHING on eBay.
If I can’t find it on eBay, it doesn’t exist.
What exactly do I mean by sell anything?
Well, here are some examples…
• A bag of shells I picked up off the beach – a little old lady from Brooklyn, NY bought them
• A ceramic flute from Korea – a gift from an ex-boyfriend no longer sentimental to my cousin, Wendy
• A size 6X Celtics shirt
• SIX, yes six, Manny Ramirez LA Dogers dreadlock wigs for Jackie (the best was tracking them down in the bowels of the stadium to purchase them for re-sale)
• A torque wrench
I have bought just as many random and bizarre items…
• Handbags galore
• An armoire (it came in 3.7 million pieces)
• An antique black cat bank
• A MANUAL treadmill for my mother
But, my favorite purchase of all time is Tori Spelling’s table (see photo).
Yup, as in 90210 Tori Spelling.
About a year or so ago, when Aaron Spelling passed, Tori got into a tiff with her mother when issues of the estate, and more importantly, issues of Tori’s affair with the then-married Dean McDermott, arose. Tori, in an alleged act of defiance, sold most of her belongings.
In shear excitement of seeing – and more importantly, buying – some of Tori’s items, which you know, have to be beyond super fantastic, I kicked into super sleuth mode and tracked down the eBay seller auctioning off her goods.
Tori’s items were indeed heavenly. Gucci, Jimmy Choo, Chanel…
I had bids on everything (Tori and I wear the same size)! However, I kept losing everything I was bidding on…except, her antique end table.
The table arrived in a ginormous box. I really didn’t know how I would move the box into my apartment – until I tried to pick it up. It weighed only a few pounds. Perhaps, the seller forgot to put the table in the box? As I opened the box in the middle of my living room, I scooped out POUNDS of packing peanuts – with little sight of a table. I scooped out more peanuts – finally I sighted a table! And it was incredibly -- LITTLE! The antique end table I was expecting turned out to be more of an antique plant stand. That wobbled.
After checking the auction description, the height was clearly there in print. Apparently, I was consumed in the mere fact this “table” was coming from Tori’s beach house to reside in mine.
I love it, despite its diminutive stature. And, as they say, it’s a great conversation piece.
