The Way Things Are






Had a lovely weekend, thank you
2005-08-08, 4:17 p.m.

Had a lovely weekend, thank you, comprised of much fun and much productivity. I love those weekends where you get a good combination of recreational stuff mixed with laundry, cooking, homebuilding, and haircuts. Getting the chores done makes me appreciate the fun stuff even more.

I am currently hiring an administrative assistant, and am perusing the resume of a lady whose email address is a1manwoman @ whatever her provider is .com. I like the idea that she is using the same internet address for job-seeking as she does for perhaps trolling the personals looking for dates, or constantly checking in with her controlling husband. She never knows what she’ll find when she opens her email. Naked pictures, an order to get your ass home, a job offer, or all at once? Seriously folks, set up a generic, professional-sounding email account for your resume.

I have some friends from college – actually, it’s a group that did a semester in Italy – who got together for a 20-year reunion in Santa Fe. This is the trip Surly was on this weekend, and unfortunately, my wondrously fond memories of my semester in Italy are marred by the reality that that’s where I met Surly. Sure, I’d seen him around school before, but we didn’t hook up til we were completely untethered from reality in Italy.

It was as if lust and unaccountability bloated my body, rendering it lighter than air, and I proceeded to float above the earth, unworried about consequences. O for the wisdom of a 40-year-old in a 20-year-old body. That would be one jaded and cynical 20-year-old, eh? Not to mention bossy and judgmental. But oh the lack of self-created drama…

Anyway, I would have loved to have gone, but I (1) have pledged all my money to the Almighty Church of Building a House, Amen (2) do not wish to spend a weekend reunion in Santa Fe with Mr. Surly, or anywhere near him, (3) THERE IS NO THREE (4) would desperately like to see maybe half a dozen people out of the possibly 40 that are going.

I was just not motivated enough for all of these reasons to make the trip happen.

I heard from the organizer today – one of my very best friends in college, and one of the half dozen I would sacrifice a pinky toe to see – and he said that he hopes my ears were burning. People were talking about me, and it was all good.

I emailed him back and said that I missed him, that DishWasher and I were planning trip to his part of the world next summer, and that despite his assurances that people missed me, that I so disliked myself 20 years ago that it’s hard to imagine everybody else didn’t desperately dislike me, too. Hard to imagine I was missed.

Honestly, there were a few folks in that group that I didn’t really click with, but if I ran into them around town it would be cool to see them, even if I didn’t want to stick them in my pocket and take them home. So even if people really did dislike me back then, maybe they wouldn’t hate me as badly now (if they actually did hate me)…oh hell, I don’t know where I’m going with this. Suffice it to say: 20 years ago was the start of a vast downward spiral in my life, and if I were everybody else, I would have had an assful of myself then and wouldn’t want to have to deal with me now. Did that make sense?

Not that I am all angsty about it now. I like myself now. I mean, who doesn’t? But I didn’t relish (mmmm, relish) the thought of going back in time 20 years, self-esteem wise. You know those roles (mmmm, roles) that we pigeon-hole ourselves into? And my role from 20 years ago is like a weenie wrapped up in the scorched, dried-out biscuit of my former relationship with Surly. Yeah, that.

OH! In other news, we got a group together to go eat at the local Everything is Sufficiently Okay Restaurant down the street from us. Walking back, I noticed that Don was missing. I asked his Friend-Girl Linda where he was, and she said he ducked into the gas station for some tobacky. Gross, but anyway. I said “He’s a funny little duck,” and she said (cue music of doom) “I need some help figuring out that funny little duck.”

Oh no. It took her a lot longer than it would take me, for I have no patience. But she has reached the point where she’s asking his friends “What is UP with this guy?” All I could tell her is “I don’t know. He’s neurotic, insecure and strange, but I love the guy. But I haven’t figured him out.” I feel for her. However, I have no insight into what makes him tick. He’s clearly afraid of women, but why?

Who could be afraid of little ol’ us?

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