After a very long absence, I recently found myself reacquainted with some old friends. I met these individuals back when I was 16 years old. We hung out for a couple of years and then college and life got in the way. I would run into one of them every couple months as we sometimes frequented the same bars and knew some of the same people. But it was only after a funeral back in February that we all met up again and decided to start hanging out again. Thus, The Meeting was born.
Our little club is comprised of four members: The Midge, two unnamed gentlemen and myself. We meet a local dive bar one night a week and talk about anything and everything. Seriously, some of the conversations would shock you.
I have always been a believer in the “When Harry Met Sally…” school of thought that men and women can’t just be friends. I had two best guy friends in my life and I ended up dating both of them for extended periods of time. My rationale? If you like this person so much that you want to spend your time, your secrets, your hope and your fears with them, at some point one or both of you is going to wonder what it would be like to date. Thus, the friendship is ultimately doomed from the start.
There is an amendment to this rule, which I have recently become aware of. We had our share of dating drama with these guys in high school. We’ve all grown and sort of matured. Both guys are engaged. None of us are remotely interested in each other. This makes having a friendship possible. And it rocks.
We can just hang out and be ourselves. No primping or worrying about inappropriate comments. No secrets. Last week, they asked us a “girl question” that was totally vile. They had always wanted to know the answer and were not afraid to ask us. They bitch about their women and we bitch about men. It is such freedom.
So I guess my lesson of the week is that I do believe now that it is possible for men and women to be just friends. Maybe I am growing as a person? Not sure about that, but I do know that I am looking forward to tonight’s meeting.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Happy Place
Everyone has a Happy Place whether they consciously recognize it or not. It is a place you go to when you are sad, depressed, lonely, angry or any combination of the above. You go to this place and suddenly things don't look so bad. You gather your strength to put a positive spin on things and go back and face your challenges head on. At least that is how it works for me.
The Happy Place can be an actual place, a mental state, a memory or sometimes even a person. I have had different Happy Places for each phase of my life. As a kid on Rowley Street, it was sitting in the tree in the front yard. As a teenager on Miami Avenue, it was the swings at Chaffee. At Uconn, it was Fairfield Hall room 109. In Boston, it was the Trident Bookstore on Newberry Street.
It came to my attention yesterday that I did not have a Happy Place in my current dwelling when I needed one most. As I sat there amid the piles of bills, resumes, cover letters, lawyers notices, bridesmaid dresses, stamping feet and accident reports, I began to feel trapped and overwhelmed. The word "Failure" was illuminated in my mind like a giant neon sign. I need to go somewhere else, anywhere else. So I picked up my keys, turned off my cell phone and headed to my car to escape my problems with no clear destination in mind.
Since it was a beautiful day, I opened the sunroof, blasted the stereo and hit the highway. It wasn't until I had driven for about 20 minutes that I realized where I was subconsciously heading. A place which always seems to calm my nerves and soothe my soul. I was heading for the beach.
The beach has always been one of my favorite places. The sound of the waves, the cool salty breeze, the smell...It never fails to relax me. As I sat there on the sand and looked out at the water, I felt myself letting go of all the stress, self doubt, fear and other erratic behavior I had been exhibiting lately. I could simply be me.
The cold forced me to leave before I was emotionally ready to head home, so I drove a little further down the road to Roger's Lake. My grandparents owned a house on the lake and I used to spend almost every weekend there as a child. As I drove by the Hallmark Ice Cream store and the Bee and Thistle Inn, I was instantly transported back to a happier time.
The little country store we used to buy candy at had been replaced by a much fancier, updated version of its former self. I could see the little island with the Tarzan swing on it that we used to row out to. I drove by the old house and remembered the lip synching concerts we gave and the beauty pageants we would hold. Mostly I remembered spending time here with my family. And it made me smile for the first time that day.
As I hit the road with Mr. Buble ironically crooning his hit song 'Home,' it suddenly occurred to me why I hadn't identified a Happy Place since moving back home. My Happy Place is my family. Since none of them were around, I was forced to seek my solace elsewhere. But I still found myself seeking out something familiar, something that reminded me of them.
When I arrived back home, the myriad of problems was still there waiting for me. But now I felt that I was in a much better place to start tackling them. I felt rejuvenated, stronger and ready to face it. With my family at my back, I can handle anything.
The Happy Place can be an actual place, a mental state, a memory or sometimes even a person. I have had different Happy Places for each phase of my life. As a kid on Rowley Street, it was sitting in the tree in the front yard. As a teenager on Miami Avenue, it was the swings at Chaffee. At Uconn, it was Fairfield Hall room 109. In Boston, it was the Trident Bookstore on Newberry Street.
It came to my attention yesterday that I did not have a Happy Place in my current dwelling when I needed one most. As I sat there amid the piles of bills, resumes, cover letters, lawyers notices, bridesmaid dresses, stamping feet and accident reports, I began to feel trapped and overwhelmed. The word "Failure" was illuminated in my mind like a giant neon sign. I need to go somewhere else, anywhere else. So I picked up my keys, turned off my cell phone and headed to my car to escape my problems with no clear destination in mind.
Since it was a beautiful day, I opened the sunroof, blasted the stereo and hit the highway. It wasn't until I had driven for about 20 minutes that I realized where I was subconsciously heading. A place which always seems to calm my nerves and soothe my soul. I was heading for the beach.
The beach has always been one of my favorite places. The sound of the waves, the cool salty breeze, the smell...It never fails to relax me. As I sat there on the sand and looked out at the water, I felt myself letting go of all the stress, self doubt, fear and other erratic behavior I had been exhibiting lately. I could simply be me.
The cold forced me to leave before I was emotionally ready to head home, so I drove a little further down the road to Roger's Lake. My grandparents owned a house on the lake and I used to spend almost every weekend there as a child. As I drove by the Hallmark Ice Cream store and the Bee and Thistle Inn, I was instantly transported back to a happier time.
The little country store we used to buy candy at had been replaced by a much fancier, updated version of its former self. I could see the little island with the Tarzan swing on it that we used to row out to. I drove by the old house and remembered the lip synching concerts we gave and the beauty pageants we would hold. Mostly I remembered spending time here with my family. And it made me smile for the first time that day.
As I hit the road with Mr. Buble ironically crooning his hit song 'Home,' it suddenly occurred to me why I hadn't identified a Happy Place since moving back home. My Happy Place is my family. Since none of them were around, I was forced to seek my solace elsewhere. But I still found myself seeking out something familiar, something that reminded me of them.
When I arrived back home, the myriad of problems was still there waiting for me. But now I felt that I was in a much better place to start tackling them. I felt rejuvenated, stronger and ready to face it. With my family at my back, I can handle anything.
Monday, March 20, 2006
The Disappearing Act
This is a phenomenon that has been around as long as dating itself. Both men and women alike take part in this freaky tradition. I myself am not to be eliminated from this category. But I have decided to try to find the root of this odd behavior. What is the reason for the Disappearing Act?
There are many different ways in which this comes about. The most frequently used would be you meet someone, hang out, talk on the phone and generally start enjoying each other's company. Then for no apparent reason, one of the parties simply vanishes into thin air. Cuts off complete communication and disappears. Like Keyser Soze, poof...their gone.
You may worry that something terrible has happened to them. Maybe they fell off a cliff and are in the hospital with no access to a phone, voicemail or their vocal cords. Or maybe their cell phone got stolen, thrown into the ocean or hit by lightening and they no longer have your number or any way to get it. Whatever the reason you create, it is easier then facing the possibility that it may, in fact, be you.
I can only speak specifically on the reasons why I have taken part in the Disappearing Act. Not being ready to date, fear of actually liking someone or just not liking them at all. Whatever reasons I had for disappearing tended to have more to do with what was going on with me at the time then the actual guy.
I think most people do it to avoid the cliched "it's not you, it's me" conversation. But when I think about it, I would rather have a stupid conversation like that then wonder if my phone will ring again...ever. Isn't it better to just have closure, move on and be done with it? The Disappearing Act leaves so much up in the air and make you question yourself for days, sometimes weeks on end. And it sucks.
Therefore, I am going to try hard not to do this ever again. If it means I have to be the bad guy for being honest, so be it. At least I won't feel guilty when the phone rings and I don't answer it.
There are many different ways in which this comes about. The most frequently used would be you meet someone, hang out, talk on the phone and generally start enjoying each other's company. Then for no apparent reason, one of the parties simply vanishes into thin air. Cuts off complete communication and disappears. Like Keyser Soze, poof...their gone.
You may worry that something terrible has happened to them. Maybe they fell off a cliff and are in the hospital with no access to a phone, voicemail or their vocal cords. Or maybe their cell phone got stolen, thrown into the ocean or hit by lightening and they no longer have your number or any way to get it. Whatever the reason you create, it is easier then facing the possibility that it may, in fact, be you.
I can only speak specifically on the reasons why I have taken part in the Disappearing Act. Not being ready to date, fear of actually liking someone or just not liking them at all. Whatever reasons I had for disappearing tended to have more to do with what was going on with me at the time then the actual guy.
I think most people do it to avoid the cliched "it's not you, it's me" conversation. But when I think about it, I would rather have a stupid conversation like that then wonder if my phone will ring again...ever. Isn't it better to just have closure, move on and be done with it? The Disappearing Act leaves so much up in the air and make you question yourself for days, sometimes weeks on end. And it sucks.
Therefore, I am going to try hard not to do this ever again. If it means I have to be the bad guy for being honest, so be it. At least I won't feel guilty when the phone rings and I don't answer it.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The Meet Market
I was forced against my will to attend this horrible event. I did not want to go. I whined like a little bitch for the three weeks leading up to it that I did not want to go. But somehow I found myself outside this very place on Tuesday evening.
If you are not familiar with the concept the Meet Market is an event set up by a local radio station where single guys advertise themselves as "Pieces of Meat" (I made lots of bad puns all night) and chicks come to ogle. I am not usually someone who is easily embarrassed. But for some reason, this was mortifying to me. But I agreed to go. Once again, being a nice person came to bite me in the ass.
After putting on the most conservative, non-sexy outfit I could find without rocking a turtleneck, I met up with my girls and headed downtown. What we found was a line of girls who had all arrived early to get the best cut of meat. We got in line despite my grumbling. That is me hiding from the camera as the radio station took pictures for their website.
Once in line, we were handed Men-U's. This was a little booklet containing each of the guy's vital statistics. Name, age, town of residence, job, car, what they are looking for in a girl, and if they are looking for a long term relationship or just a one night stand. All you ever needed to know whilst shopping for a man without asking. Totally mortifying.
Inside it was even worse. The guys had nametags which only included their numbers. Girls would look for someone they found attractive, find their number in the little Men-U and then decide whether or not they wanted to go talk to them. It was amazing to see 30 year old women giggling in the corner as they drooled over the Men-U.
I holed up in the corner with my friends and a Coors Light. Beer was the only thing that was going to make this evening tolerable. So we drank some.
The evening ended meatless at the diner where we entertained ourselves with funny stories and fake tattoos. Maybe I should consider becoming a vegan.
If you are not familiar with the concept the Meet Market is an event set up by a local radio station where single guys advertise themselves as "Pieces of Meat" (I made lots of bad puns all night) and chicks come to ogle. I am not usually someone who is easily embarrassed. But for some reason, this was mortifying to me. But I agreed to go. Once again, being a nice person came to bite me in the ass.
After putting on the most conservative, non-sexy outfit I could find without rocking a turtleneck, I met up with my girls and headed downtown. What we found was a line of girls who had all arrived early to get the best cut of meat. We got in line despite my grumbling. That is me hiding from the camera as the radio station took pictures for their website.
Once in line, we were handed Men-U's. This was a little booklet containing each of the guy's vital statistics. Name, age, town of residence, job, car, what they are looking for in a girl, and if they are looking for a long term relationship or just a one night stand. All you ever needed to know whilst shopping for a man without asking. Totally mortifying.
Inside it was even worse. The guys had nametags which only included their numbers. Girls would look for someone they found attractive, find their number in the little Men-U and then decide whether or not they wanted to go talk to them. It was amazing to see 30 year old women giggling in the corner as they drooled over the Men-U.
I holed up in the corner with my friends and a Coors Light. Beer was the only thing that was going to make this evening tolerable. So we drank some.
The evening ended meatless at the diner where we entertained ourselves with funny stories and fake tattoos. Maybe I should consider becoming a vegan.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The Inappropriate Family
I am inappropriate. For those of you who know me personally, this is no stunning revelation. I don't always say the most appropriate things and I often laugh and make jokes at extremely inappropriate times.
As the topics of conversation at my Friday afternoon lunch with my mother turned to apple bongs and nooners, I finally realized that I came by this trait honestly. It is a family inherited trait. Nothing is off limits to comments and ridicule. And we make fun of ourselves at every given opportunity.
We are often misunderstood. People mistake our "inappropriateness" as mean spirited or in bad taste. However, I have decided to set the record straight.
Shit happens, life is not fair...we all know these basic principles and clichéd statements. What I have been brought up to believe is that it is how you deal with the things that are thrown your way that defines you as a person. How do we deal with things? We laugh about them. We make jokes. Whether they are a reaction to a crappy work situation or a serious medical trauma, this is how we deal.
Sex has never been an off limits topic in my house. This made for a very open relationship with my parents. I can live without the dirty talk or T spanking Gail's ass. However, their laid back attitude made it easy for me to talk to them about anything. And this is a good thing. People think it is weird the amount of things I confide in my family. I've got nothing to hide. Yes, I told my mom when I needed to go on birth control. And my dad high fived me when he heard talk of the celibacy party. This may seem inappropriate but to me, this is normal.
I do believe that a certain degree of inappropriateness is, in fact, appropriate. It definitely makes life more interesting!
As the topics of conversation at my Friday afternoon lunch with my mother turned to apple bongs and nooners, I finally realized that I came by this trait honestly. It is a family inherited trait. Nothing is off limits to comments and ridicule. And we make fun of ourselves at every given opportunity.
We are often misunderstood. People mistake our "inappropriateness" as mean spirited or in bad taste. However, I have decided to set the record straight.
Shit happens, life is not fair...we all know these basic principles and clichéd statements. What I have been brought up to believe is that it is how you deal with the things that are thrown your way that defines you as a person. How do we deal with things? We laugh about them. We make jokes. Whether they are a reaction to a crappy work situation or a serious medical trauma, this is how we deal.
Sex has never been an off limits topic in my house. This made for a very open relationship with my parents. I can live without the dirty talk or T spanking Gail's ass. However, their laid back attitude made it easy for me to talk to them about anything. And this is a good thing. People think it is weird the amount of things I confide in my family. I've got nothing to hide. Yes, I told my mom when I needed to go on birth control. And my dad high fived me when he heard talk of the celibacy party. This may seem inappropriate but to me, this is normal.
I do believe that a certain degree of inappropriateness is, in fact, appropriate. It definitely makes life more interesting!
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