There once was a website of which I was a part that asked contributors to associate memories to particular songs. They could be funny or sad or poignant. They closed down their open shop a little while ago and turned into an online magazine, as best I can tell.
In any case, I had a musical memory experience yesterday. I'm not quite sure if it's funny, ironic, or (fill-in-the-blank). Reserve judgment until you hear said story.
Musical knowledge required leans towards the country side of things. Travis Tritt has a song called Drift Off to Dream. I used to think that it was a super sweet song, and for the most part it still is. The first verse, however, clues you into the stereotypical lonesome protagonist, alone with his drink at the bar, hopeful for the love yet-to-be.
That was our song. When I say our, I don't mean our in the current sense. She is a past love, one whom I talk to perhaps once a year. Last time we spoke was over the summer. She'd found out that I was engaged and gracefully congratulated me.
Yesterday, I was driving in my car when Drift Off to Dream came on the radio. I couldn't help but laugh because of my destination: the courthouse. The purpose? To get our marriage license. This our is in the present and future tense.
Though she's in my past and I harbor no residual regret or feelings toward her, our song still tugs at my heartstrings. Emotional memories get stored away in a different part of your brain. They are often illogical, and many of mine in Gainesville forced me to leave. I couldn't take seeing reminders of my past when I was trying to move into the future. Those daily reminders of past-tense our memories were more than I could bear at times. It often left me feeling alone in groups of friends, but unlike the lyrics, never with my drink at the bar.
Since I left, I decided to no longer let my past dictate my present happiness. I found happiness within myself and was able to find love to make it grow. I truly couldn't be happier.
When she and I finally met at the courthouse that afternoon, I told her about the song coming on the radio. She and I shared a laugh as we crossed the street to many more to come.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
one year later
In honor of one year since setting forth towards that M word many men fear, I thought I'd share the story. Names have been omitted, as usual. No sense in getting too personal!
“You’re next,” the groom whispered to me as we’re saying farewell at his wedding reception. I laughed; little did he know I’d paid the deposit on the ring and was picking it up as soon as we returned to Virginia.
All the pinball ideas bouncing around in my brain about how to do it. I knew the answer would be yes, but the question had to be memorable and unique. Everything that we’d done together over the time we’ve been together has been such. A proposal over dinner was too cliché and expected. I wanted to surprise her, and soon. Our upcoming trip to California presented too many obstacles to keeping it under wraps.
Morning of, I’m sneaking around, getting everything together for the day. Ring Pop, check. Camera, check. Scavenger hunt, check. What am I forgetting?
Oh, yeah. The ring. As soon as I pulled the box out, my pulse started racing. It wouldn’t quite slow down until I laid down that night.
We returned to the scene of our first date under the guise of preparing for an upcoming field trip. It was plausible, and she was none the wiser. All my sneaking would be unneeded; she never suspected a thing. Strolling through the city from Metro Center presented many occasions in my brain. How about there? No. Ok then, there? No.
The internal argument of where the best spot would be was silly really. When I asked her out, I picked a place she’d already been as an option. Turns out it had been on another date. Oops. Our first kiss was memorable in setting, but I interrupted her mid-sentence long after several “perfect” moments had passed.
Waiting was killing me inside. Walking in the door of the museum, I took a deep breath. The opportunity would present itself. It had to. My scavenger hunt was a blur. I added a few questions, racing through the museum, often racing ahead of her like a five year-old in Toys-R-Us.
And then it came. We took a breather on a small balcony overlooking the Oceans exhibit. I’d already stashed the Ring Pop in my pocket. “It’s now or never,” I thought, “This is it. The ‘moment’.”
I lean over to her, dry throat, mind swimming, and squeaked, “Marry me.”
Her eyes got really big, as if to say, “Is he serious?” Which is exactly what she said, I think.
“You’re not even on one knee,” she challenged me. Dropping to one knee, I repeated my request phrased as a command.
“Psssh. That’s not even a real ring,” she said with a glimmer of hope mixed with fear mixed with confusion in her eyes. I reached into my bag and pull out the ring. She immediately started crying and laughing and jumping.
Now it’s her turn to squeak feebly, “Ok.” So I was wrong about the answer, but then again, I didn’t give her much of a choice.
Of course, I didn’t have a chance when we first met either.
“You’re next,” the groom whispered to me as we’re saying farewell at his wedding reception. I laughed; little did he know I’d paid the deposit on the ring and was picking it up as soon as we returned to Virginia.
All the pinball ideas bouncing around in my brain about how to do it. I knew the answer would be yes, but the question had to be memorable and unique. Everything that we’d done together over the time we’ve been together has been such. A proposal over dinner was too cliché and expected. I wanted to surprise her, and soon. Our upcoming trip to California presented too many obstacles to keeping it under wraps.
Morning of, I’m sneaking around, getting everything together for the day. Ring Pop, check. Camera, check. Scavenger hunt, check. What am I forgetting?
Oh, yeah. The ring. As soon as I pulled the box out, my pulse started racing. It wouldn’t quite slow down until I laid down that night.
We returned to the scene of our first date under the guise of preparing for an upcoming field trip. It was plausible, and she was none the wiser. All my sneaking would be unneeded; she never suspected a thing. Strolling through the city from Metro Center presented many occasions in my brain. How about there? No. Ok then, there? No.
The internal argument of where the best spot would be was silly really. When I asked her out, I picked a place she’d already been as an option. Turns out it had been on another date. Oops. Our first kiss was memorable in setting, but I interrupted her mid-sentence long after several “perfect” moments had passed.
Waiting was killing me inside. Walking in the door of the museum, I took a deep breath. The opportunity would present itself. It had to. My scavenger hunt was a blur. I added a few questions, racing through the museum, often racing ahead of her like a five year-old in Toys-R-Us.
And then it came. We took a breather on a small balcony overlooking the Oceans exhibit. I’d already stashed the Ring Pop in my pocket. “It’s now or never,” I thought, “This is it. The ‘moment’.”
I lean over to her, dry throat, mind swimming, and squeaked, “Marry me.”
Her eyes got really big, as if to say, “Is he serious?” Which is exactly what she said, I think.
“You’re not even on one knee,” she challenged me. Dropping to one knee, I repeated my request phrased as a command.
“Psssh. That’s not even a real ring,” she said with a glimmer of hope mixed with fear mixed with confusion in her eyes. I reached into my bag and pull out the ring. She immediately started crying and laughing and jumping.
Now it’s her turn to squeak feebly, “Ok.” So I was wrong about the answer, but then again, I didn’t give her much of a choice.
Of course, I didn’t have a chance when we first met either.
Friday, August 7, 2009
whiskey tango foxtrot?
I've gotten some crazy spam emails in the past. Surprisingly, I don't get a whole lot of spam on my current email address. A lot of my friends have left this particular webmail client because of spam overload. I guess it all depends on whether your address is easily generated by spam bots. Anyhow, I got a chuckle out of this strange message that was sent to my Junk folder by the filters. No links, no signature, no please reply if you're interested.
Sorry, Mary S. I've already found love. What made you think this'd be a successful venture?
I am a romantic woman, but I am also decided and strong when it iss
necessary. I also have the sense of the humor. I'm very easy going,
open minded, and respectful towards men. Being creative is veryy
important to me. II am magical, mystical, musical, sensible,
responsive, magnetic, practical, whimsical, harmonious, intriguing,
thought provoking, kind and gentle yet firm, inquisitive, compatible,
full of compassion, spiritual- but not religious, observant but not
judgmental. I am kind, thoughtful, sensitive, like to laugh, loyal,
confident, objective and taking really goood care of myself. I would
do the same for my future partner
Sorry, Mary S. I've already found love. What made you think this'd be a successful venture?
Sunday, June 21, 2009
dad's day
We really should realize this every day, but we often don't. We take our dads for granted, and reading Postsecret this afternoon makes me realize how lucky I am to have a dad like mine.
One that's a part of my life. One with far more character than flaws. One that has guided me through times of difficulty. One that has been there in times of joy. My dad is a man of few words, speaking more like a Hemingway than a fillibustering Senator. He's full of one-liners in my memory, the strong, silent type like Eastwood.
There wasn't a whole lot of cause for him to worry when I was a kid or teenager. Sure I got dirty and caused more mischief with my friends than I should've, but I stayed on the straight and narrow. I'd guess I got more solicited advice about women from my dad than on any other subject. On that timeless debate among men, Pop's advice is usually on point, though I sometimes don't want to hear it. In hindsight, I realize the wisdom in his words. It took a few years to straighten myself out and realize I didn't know it all.
In describing my father, I see myself. He is the man I've become. Though we are wildly different in some ways, our similarities abound. I am my father's son in so many ways now. I'm certain there are many more to come in the next few years.
Learn something. Take care. Love you too, Pop. Happy Father's Day.
One that's a part of my life. One with far more character than flaws. One that has guided me through times of difficulty. One that has been there in times of joy. My dad is a man of few words, speaking more like a Hemingway than a fillibustering Senator. He's full of one-liners in my memory, the strong, silent type like Eastwood.
There wasn't a whole lot of cause for him to worry when I was a kid or teenager. Sure I got dirty and caused more mischief with my friends than I should've, but I stayed on the straight and narrow. I'd guess I got more solicited advice about women from my dad than on any other subject. On that timeless debate among men, Pop's advice is usually on point, though I sometimes don't want to hear it. In hindsight, I realize the wisdom in his words. It took a few years to straighten myself out and realize I didn't know it all.
In describing my father, I see myself. He is the man I've become. Though we are wildly different in some ways, our similarities abound. I am my father's son in so many ways now. I'm certain there are many more to come in the next few years.
Learn something. Take care. Love you too, Pop. Happy Father's Day.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
complete the analogy
Rush is to recruitment, as...
In frat boy life, there's a time twice a year that is known to all as Rush Week. In my frat boy circle, it was understood that rush is only two weeks of the school year, but getting the guys through the doors takes more effort than that. Recruitment lasts all year. Kind of like evangelizing for your house, without the Bible-thumping and speaking in tongues. Let the potential pledges know how awesome you think they are and how well they'll fit into your particular brand of popped collar-ism.
So, back to the original question, rush is to recruitment as...
Today is Valentine's Day.
The other 364 days of the year. The rest of the time that you show you care in whatever degree you do. Whether it's a new romance, and you're still getting to know one another; or whether you've been married for 50 years, and don't need to talk to communicate any more. It's about effort and making it clear that you think he/she/it is the bee's knees, the rad-gnarliest chick/dude ever, the best thing to ever happen to you. Expressing that he/she/it should remain a member of this relationship because while troubles there may be, the commitment and caring and closeness and coalition will carry through.
Rush is to recruitment, as Valentine's Day is to...?
In frat boy life, there's a time twice a year that is known to all as Rush Week. In my frat boy circle, it was understood that rush is only two weeks of the school year, but getting the guys through the doors takes more effort than that. Recruitment lasts all year. Kind of like evangelizing for your house, without the Bible-thumping and speaking in tongues. Let the potential pledges know how awesome you think they are and how well they'll fit into your particular brand of popped collar-ism.
So, back to the original question, rush is to recruitment as...
Today is Valentine's Day.
One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men — his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death.The once festival to celebrate love and St. Valentine's devotion to it has become very commercialized in the U.S. It is Rush Week for Hallmark, FTD, Russell Stover's, DeBeers, and all other V-Day corporations that prey on the lonely or the uncertain of how their beloved, not-quite-beloved, or we-just-met feels about them. It is one day of the year for you to show that you care about your significant other. But what gets them through that door?
The other 364 days of the year. The rest of the time that you show you care in whatever degree you do. Whether it's a new romance, and you're still getting to know one another; or whether you've been married for 50 years, and don't need to talk to communicate any more. It's about effort and making it clear that you think he/she/it is the bee's knees, the rad-gnarliest chick/dude ever, the best thing to ever happen to you. Expressing that he/she/it should remain a member of this relationship because while troubles there may be, the commitment and caring and closeness and coalition will carry through.
Rush is to recruitment, as Valentine's Day is to...?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
all my exes live in texas
[disclaimer: this stream of thoughts was not brought on by any of my exes. i swear.]
a few weeks ago, i got a text from a friend. "[insert ex's names] just proposed to [ex's new squeeze]. why do i care?" i tried to make her feel better, but i'm not so sure if i did. the short conversation came back to life in my brain when i happened to run into [ex's new squeeze] at christmas mass. she's someone that i went to middle school, high school, and college with, but it's been more than a few years since we'd spoken.
so the rambling in my brain began anew. why do we care so much about our exes' love lives? is it that sense of lost hope, even though the feelings for that person have long since faded? i went through my brain last night as i struggled to fall asleep.
i was talking to my favorite brunette about this last night, relaying the story of [friend with the ex]. we came up with a few theories. first and foremost, we are genuinely happy that they've found love anew, albeit with a twinge of regret because of our extinguished hope for it to be us. however, our happiness for that ex isn't free. it comes with conditions. that regret grows into other emotions when we know the new flame, either because it's someone he/she knew while dating us or a mutual friend of ours. another condition is when it's the next one. becoming the last one sometimes hurts, but it balances out when we stop looking into the past.
by staying in our present and looking towards the future, our past can no longer haunt us inexplicably. being happy with ourselves makes hearing about exes' love successes heavy on the good, light on the bad. that wave of romantic nostalgia is fleeting. there's a reason it didn't work out, and besides, you've gotta love the one you're with. if you're any good at this dating game, you get closer and closer to your target with each missed shot. consider each new flame as an upgrade of the snuffed ones.
as leda puts it, "your ex already had a shot. it didn't work out. no sense in worrying about it."
a few weeks ago, i got a text from a friend. "[insert ex's names] just proposed to [ex's new squeeze]. why do i care?" i tried to make her feel better, but i'm not so sure if i did. the short conversation came back to life in my brain when i happened to run into [ex's new squeeze] at christmas mass. she's someone that i went to middle school, high school, and college with, but it's been more than a few years since we'd spoken.
so the rambling in my brain began anew. why do we care so much about our exes' love lives? is it that sense of lost hope, even though the feelings for that person have long since faded? i went through my brain last night as i struggled to fall asleep.
i was talking to my favorite brunette about this last night, relaying the story of [friend with the ex]. we came up with a few theories. first and foremost, we are genuinely happy that they've found love anew, albeit with a twinge of regret because of our extinguished hope for it to be us. however, our happiness for that ex isn't free. it comes with conditions. that regret grows into other emotions when we know the new flame, either because it's someone he/she knew while dating us or a mutual friend of ours. another condition is when it's the next one. becoming the last one sometimes hurts, but it balances out when we stop looking into the past.
by staying in our present and looking towards the future, our past can no longer haunt us inexplicably. being happy with ourselves makes hearing about exes' love successes heavy on the good, light on the bad. that wave of romantic nostalgia is fleeting. there's a reason it didn't work out, and besides, you've gotta love the one you're with. if you're any good at this dating game, you get closer and closer to your target with each missed shot. consider each new flame as an upgrade of the snuffed ones.
as leda puts it, "your ex already had a shot. it didn't work out. no sense in worrying about it."
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
a million little pieces
way back when, i read this book. i wasn't in the best place in my life. lately, it's come up repeatedly in discussions, so i feel compelled to share my thoughts on it from way back when.
you read it? your thoughts, please. being in love then and being in love now are worlds apart, and i'm curious how your view may have changed (especially if you read this review when i originally posted it on myspace).
In case you've been living under a rock, you've probably heard about James Frey's "memoir" A Million Little Pieces. Curiosity finally got the best of me, and I borrowed it. It was slow going at first because his writing style was hard to get used to. The further I got, the faster I read. Partly because I didn't have to stop and think about who was saying what, partly because it became more intriguing. I found myself laughing out loud at his interactions with his fellow patients and the staff. The descriptions in the book are haunting and vivid. His fellow patients are real, and come from a broad spectrum of society. Mob boss. Boxer. Steel worker. Judge. It holds to some of the stuff I taught. Addiction doesn't care if you're black, white, rich, poor, man, woman, child. You abuse, you're done. Simple as that.
With the brouhaha over the fictive parts of the memoir, I found myself wondering at points in the book what was made up. There were certainly parts of the book that I am convinced were complete and total bullshit, but then again, I've not been in his shoes before. Since I can't relate to the anger that addicts felt upon finding out about the embellishments or bold-faced lying, I can't help but wonder if there would've been the same outcry or hope if it was written by someone else as a work of fiction.
Never having dealt with substance abuse myself, I can't relate to those aspects of the book. The struggle the overwhelming need the craving the Fury...Sorry, I guess Frey's style got into my head. Hell, I've never taken anything harder than booze, and certainly not to the point of abuse. The most I've ever drank in one night was the better part of a fifth of SoCo, and I'm still being told details of that evening.
"Words can't say this. The one word love means too little for what it is. It means everything and that is still not enough. It doesn't communicate even a fraction of the feelings involved. Love. The word is not enough for what it is. Love. Love."(316)
The part of the book that I related best to was when he fell for Lilly. Being in love is about the only addiction I've ever experienced. Always wanting to be with that person, never wanting to part. It's awesome and it's powerful and it's draining and it's exhilarating all at the same time. When you lose it, you crave it and fear that you'll never find it again. I suppose it's an addiction that most everyone wants, and it seems to be awfully hard to find sometimes. Each time you're lucky enough to find it, your mind and heart race with all the possibilities it poses. But each time you're unlucky enough to lose it, the pain seems more intense than the last, though you build your walls and defenses and it sadly becomes easier to deal with. Thus a vicious cycle begins. Each time you meet someone worthy of your love, it's harder and harder to let yourself go and just be.
you read it? your thoughts, please. being in love then and being in love now are worlds apart, and i'm curious how your view may have changed (especially if you read this review when i originally posted it on myspace).
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
reflections on a year past
whew! had i not been so crazy busy working my students today, my mind might have wandered where it ought not. they're off to p.e. now, so i do what i usually do at the end of the day. leave the lights off and chill out until they leave.
a year past. last year, today was the second monday in october. columbus day. yesterday was the day i rolled back from hound ears, relaxed and stressed all at once. you see, i had this date with a girl i'd met very soon after i relocated. fate intervened, and our paths kept crossing. she and i had tentative plans for a lunch and museum date the following day (that'd be today, folks, stay with me.). stomach butterflies worsened due to traffic snarls delaying her arrival at our meeting spot. we were far past lunchtime, and had to hurry through the museum. the natural historians kicked us out, and we found our way to chinatown. a chill, brief afternoon date turned into seven hours or so, ending with the sunset on the mall.
it's been an epic journey since then. travels together. family. friends. weddings. a funeral. easy meals. banana pancakes. eighties movies. delicious cupcakes. snow. rain. sunshine. it amazes me how much has changed in a short year. with the five years beforehand to compare to, it's like i'm not even the same person.
early morning phone call to start the day. i can't wait for dinner tonight or our museum-hopping planned for monday.
a year past. last year, today was the second monday in october. columbus day. yesterday was the day i rolled back from hound ears, relaxed and stressed all at once. you see, i had this date with a girl i'd met very soon after i relocated. fate intervened, and our paths kept crossing. she and i had tentative plans for a lunch and museum date the following day (that'd be today, folks, stay with me.). stomach butterflies worsened due to traffic snarls delaying her arrival at our meeting spot. we were far past lunchtime, and had to hurry through the museum. the natural historians kicked us out, and we found our way to chinatown. a chill, brief afternoon date turned into seven hours or so, ending with the sunset on the mall.
it's been an epic journey since then. travels together. family. friends. weddings. a funeral. easy meals. banana pancakes. eighties movies. delicious cupcakes. snow. rain. sunshine. it amazes me how much has changed in a short year. with the five years beforehand to compare to, it's like i'm not even the same person.
early morning phone call to start the day. i can't wait for dinner tonight or our museum-hopping planned for monday.
Friday, September 26, 2008
fifty weeks
mind blown. i still can't quite wrap my head around this one. i'm not sure what to write or what to share. i've written several paragraphs below this one about this and that and deleted them all. as i've said before, i'm not sharing too many details about us. if you want to know, all you've got to do is talk to me. it's not like anyone reads this blog anyways!
speechlessly happy. dumbfoundedly lovestruck. i guess that's about all i can say. everything else is for she and i to discuss.
speechlessly happy. dumbfoundedly lovestruck. i guess that's about all i can say. everything else is for she and i to discuss.
Friday, September 19, 2008
oh, climbing magazine!
from this week's dispatch. a how-to guide for gals and guys unwilling to be hit on at the climbering gym.
Tech Tip - Sport - Welcome to the Jungle (Gym)
by Krisitn Bjornsen
Seven tips for warding off plastic predators
YOU FEEL EYES UPON YOU — is that panting you hear? You flee to the bouldering cave . . . but you’re cornered. Any second, the lone, roving male will pounce, turning your once-pleasant session into a socially awkward morass. To avoid such scenes, you visit the gym at weird hours, but even this doesn’t always work. However, there are some simple ways to repel the mack-inations of even the most persistent rock Romeos.
Before you start, prepare to identify your foe. Five distinct species of male inhabit the rock gym: Skin Monkey (usually shirtless, aggro, and prone to grunting); Smarmot (an unctuous, Pepé Le Pew-like creature who uses pick-up lines like “Nice rack!”); Chigger (doesn’t take “No” for an answer); the Coach (sprays unsolicited “technique tips” that might make sense); and the bona fide Nice Guy, who wants only to climb and maybe meet someone. While this last type deserves friendly honesty (because, hey, the gym still beats the produce section, the bar, or — heaven forbid — The Sims for meeting people), the former four must be dealt with swiftly and decisively. I recommend the following seven tips. (Note to randy gym d00ds: these pointers will provide insight into how not to meet women.)
1. Evasive Maneuvers
With practice, you can learn to spot an incoming predator (you’ll likely smell the Axe Bodyspray, with nearby climbers scattering). Once alerted, activate your impenetrable “Estro-Shield,” in the form of several female friends, avoiding eye contact with your stalker as you immerse yourself in the group.
2. Dress for (No-Molest) Success
Wear actual clothing. That means no whale tail, “Juicy” short-shorts, or sports bras that could double as pasties. Basically, the only
visible jugs should be on the wall, and if you dyno, nothing should pop out. I know, I know: women should be able to show off their
bodies — this is the age of female empowerment, blah, blah, blah. . . . Ah, right, because when a girl stems while dressed like a Pussycat Doll, that’s just what guys are thinking: “Wow . . .she’s so empowered.” [See Sporting Life, Climbing No. 269, p.42, for the Fleshfest Self-Evaluation Scale.]
3. Say Hello to My Little Friend!
Climb with a guy friend, especially a burly, angry-looking one — you know, the Tony Montana, protective-older-brother type. “I’ll often climb with a male friend, which usually keeps the creepy guys away,” says the trad climber LeeAnn Stevens, of Boulder, Colorado. “Although it does keep away the sexy, rugged ones, too.”
4. Authorized Personnel Only
Guard your safety zone. One tactic guys use to pierce your personal bubble is the Belay Loop Sneak: Casanova finishes a route using an autobelayer and unclips the carabiner from his harness. But rather than simply handing you the biner, so you can have a turn, he “helpfully” attaches it to your belay loop, his hand coming dangerously close to (even grazing) restricted areas. (Anecdotal evidence reveals that males only do this when the autobelayer awaitee is female.) The Belay Loop Sneak is not acceptable, and you should quickly intercept the carabiner or grabby hand with a swift, karate-chop motion. Same goes for the Chalk Bag Sneak and the ever-cheeky, figure-8-loosening Finger of Forwardness.
5. Shrinkage
Outclimb them. This frightens away 98 percent of male suitors.
6. Tell the Truth
Patent lies like “I got a man!” “I have SARS,” or ”¡Estoy loca!” will eventually be uncovered. Instead, just be blunt. At Yosemite’s Camp 4, where the horny-dude vibe is “worse than the gym,” says big-wall climber Lizzy Scully, “I generally just smile nicely at [my would-be suitor], reply to his questions with one-word answers, and then either walk away and find a friend or, as I did in one extreme case, say, ‘Excuse me, but I’m trying to climb. Please leave me alone. Thanks.’”
7. Jock Block
Wear headphones, which act as a Do Not Disturb sign. If a roaming predator still attempts eye contact, look anywhere but directly at him (i.e., ‘What is that fascinating splotch on the ceiling?’). And, of course, avoid high-risk climbing times, such as student-discount night and “Swingers’ Sunday.”
For the Guys: Coug-Alert!
Fit climber dudes are like catnip to on-the-prowl females of a certain age. Cougar warning signs include: inordinate amounts of brightly colored makeup; rock shoes that match the pants (that match the shirt, which matches the chalk bag . . . ); manicured claws (I mean, nails); and batting-eye requests for Beta or a spot. After the latter, “She inevitably breaks into small talk, and then asks, ‘So, do you climb outside much?’ followed by, ‘You have to take me!’” says one of our male sources. To make your escape, respond with, “I don’t have any outside plans right now,” and then back slowly away. (Don’t run, lest you trigger the cougar’s hunting instincts.)
Tech Tip - Sport - Welcome to the Jungle (Gym)
by Krisitn Bjornsen
Seven tips for warding off plastic predators
YOU FEEL EYES UPON YOU — is that panting you hear? You flee to the bouldering cave . . . but you’re cornered. Any second, the lone, roving male will pounce, turning your once-pleasant session into a socially awkward morass. To avoid such scenes, you visit the gym at weird hours, but even this doesn’t always work. However, there are some simple ways to repel the mack-inations of even the most persistent rock Romeos.
Before you start, prepare to identify your foe. Five distinct species of male inhabit the rock gym: Skin Monkey (usually shirtless, aggro, and prone to grunting); Smarmot (an unctuous, Pepé Le Pew-like creature who uses pick-up lines like “Nice rack!”); Chigger (doesn’t take “No” for an answer); the Coach (sprays unsolicited “technique tips” that might make sense); and the bona fide Nice Guy, who wants only to climb and maybe meet someone. While this last type deserves friendly honesty (because, hey, the gym still beats the produce section, the bar, or — heaven forbid — The Sims for meeting people), the former four must be dealt with swiftly and decisively. I recommend the following seven tips. (Note to randy gym d00ds: these pointers will provide insight into how not to meet women.)
1. Evasive Maneuvers
With practice, you can learn to spot an incoming predator (you’ll likely smell the Axe Bodyspray, with nearby climbers scattering). Once alerted, activate your impenetrable “Estro-Shield,” in the form of several female friends, avoiding eye contact with your stalker as you immerse yourself in the group.
2. Dress for (No-Molest) Success
Wear actual clothing. That means no whale tail, “Juicy” short-shorts, or sports bras that could double as pasties. Basically, the only
visible jugs should be on the wall, and if you dyno, nothing should pop out. I know, I know: women should be able to show off their
bodies — this is the age of female empowerment, blah, blah, blah. . . . Ah, right, because when a girl stems while dressed like a Pussycat Doll, that’s just what guys are thinking: “Wow . . .she’s so empowered.” [See Sporting Life, Climbing No. 269, p.42, for the Fleshfest Self-Evaluation Scale.]
3. Say Hello to My Little Friend!
Climb with a guy friend, especially a burly, angry-looking one — you know, the Tony Montana, protective-older-brother type. “I’ll often climb with a male friend, which usually keeps the creepy guys away,” says the trad climber LeeAnn Stevens, of Boulder, Colorado. “Although it does keep away the sexy, rugged ones, too.”
4. Authorized Personnel Only
Guard your safety zone. One tactic guys use to pierce your personal bubble is the Belay Loop Sneak: Casanova finishes a route using an autobelayer and unclips the carabiner from his harness. But rather than simply handing you the biner, so you can have a turn, he “helpfully” attaches it to your belay loop, his hand coming dangerously close to (even grazing) restricted areas. (Anecdotal evidence reveals that males only do this when the autobelayer awaitee is female.) The Belay Loop Sneak is not acceptable, and you should quickly intercept the carabiner or grabby hand with a swift, karate-chop motion. Same goes for the Chalk Bag Sneak and the ever-cheeky, figure-8-loosening Finger of Forwardness.
5. Shrinkage
Outclimb them. This frightens away 98 percent of male suitors.
6. Tell the Truth
Patent lies like “I got a man!” “I have SARS,” or ”¡Estoy loca!” will eventually be uncovered. Instead, just be blunt. At Yosemite’s Camp 4, where the horny-dude vibe is “worse than the gym,” says big-wall climber Lizzy Scully, “I generally just smile nicely at [my would-be suitor], reply to his questions with one-word answers, and then either walk away and find a friend or, as I did in one extreme case, say, ‘Excuse me, but I’m trying to climb. Please leave me alone. Thanks.’”
7. Jock Block
Wear headphones, which act as a Do Not Disturb sign. If a roaming predator still attempts eye contact, look anywhere but directly at him (i.e., ‘What is that fascinating splotch on the ceiling?’). And, of course, avoid high-risk climbing times, such as student-discount night and “Swingers’ Sunday.”
For the Guys: Coug-Alert!
Fit climber dudes are like catnip to on-the-prowl females of a certain age. Cougar warning signs include: inordinate amounts of brightly colored makeup; rock shoes that match the pants (that match the shirt, which matches the chalk bag . . . ); manicured claws (I mean, nails); and batting-eye requests for Beta or a spot. After the latter, “She inevitably breaks into small talk, and then asks, ‘So, do you climb outside much?’ followed by, ‘You have to take me!’” says one of our male sources. To make your escape, respond with, “I don’t have any outside plans right now,” and then back slowly away. (Don’t run, lest you trigger the cougar’s hunting instincts.)
Monday, August 4, 2008
ve vill dahnce the tahngo
she's a dancer. quite a good one, in case you didn't know. ballet until college, even had a job lined up to dance and go to school part time, had she chosen to move to lexington, kentucky. watching football with her on saturdays might be a little more exciting in the fall, but i suspect she'd get tired of the florida owns kentucky jokes real quickly. 18 straight in football, and a pretty good streak in their more cherished sport.
i digress. the reason for the explanation is to illustrate how diametrically opposite she and i are when it comes to dancing. she's graceful and a quick study. i have two left feet and might have a learning disability when it comes to moving rhythmically. thursday night was attempt number two of "teach ben to dance". round one was swing at glen echo. it went better than expected, but i need more practice because i've clearly forgotten all eight steps.
the tango is difficult enough, but in the interest of meeting new people, we switched partners every minute or so. very social, but for a bumbling dancer like me, it made it all the more difficult to learn. one, step back right. two, step left. three, step diagonally forward right. four, step diagonally forward left. five, bring feet together. six, left foot forward. seven, right foot to the right. eight, feet back together. i can remember it now, but in practice, not so pretty. the basic argentine tango. ¡que difícil!
i digress. the reason for the explanation is to illustrate how diametrically opposite she and i are when it comes to dancing. she's graceful and a quick study. i have two left feet and might have a learning disability when it comes to moving rhythmically. thursday night was attempt number two of "teach ben to dance". round one was swing at glen echo. it went better than expected, but i need more practice because i've clearly forgotten all eight steps.
the tango is difficult enough, but in the interest of meeting new people, we switched partners every minute or so. very social, but for a bumbling dancer like me, it made it all the more difficult to learn. one, step back right. two, step left. three, step diagonally forward right. four, step diagonally forward left. five, bring feet together. six, left foot forward. seven, right foot to the right. eight, feet back together. i can remember it now, but in practice, not so pretty. the basic argentine tango. ¡que difícil!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
odd conversations
life has a funny way of teaching you things. first and foremost, lessons learned present themselves in seemingly unexpected ways. last night, we walked back to c.p.'s from dinner. palmer and i got into a random conversation about relationships and the like. not the person that i'd normally have such conversations with, but a few revelations came up about my life of the last year.
random times in gainesville, a lot of which with palmer, shaped where i am today. how so? well, were it not for the holding on to my past and trying to relive the college times that i didn't really have, i might not be where i am today. all of my missteps in relationships over the last two years brought me to the point i am today. happy beyond words.
people often ask me, "why d.c.? why not colorado or chattanooga or some other seemingly awesome climbing destination?" the short answer i usually give has something to do with chance, throwing a dart at a map. the long answer, well, you know why i'm not in korea. i'm considering more and more that was a blessing in disguise. sure, my life may have been open to the possibility of true happiness regardless of where i landed in my leap of faith, but i'd also like to think that fate intervened in putting me in d.c., pretty much alone on my 28th birthday. it was such a random lineup of occurrences that i can't help but think that a higher power had a hand in it. i chose to be happy. in doing so, i think i forgot all the pain of my past, the wariness of relationships, and the terror at winding up alone.
random times in gainesville, a lot of which with palmer, shaped where i am today. how so? well, were it not for the holding on to my past and trying to relive the college times that i didn't really have, i might not be where i am today. all of my missteps in relationships over the last two years brought me to the point i am today. happy beyond words.
people often ask me, "why d.c.? why not colorado or chattanooga or some other seemingly awesome climbing destination?" the short answer i usually give has something to do with chance, throwing a dart at a map. the long answer, well, you know why i'm not in korea. i'm considering more and more that was a blessing in disguise. sure, my life may have been open to the possibility of true happiness regardless of where i landed in my leap of faith, but i'd also like to think that fate intervened in putting me in d.c., pretty much alone on my 28th birthday. it was such a random lineup of occurrences that i can't help but think that a higher power had a hand in it. i chose to be happy. in doing so, i think i forgot all the pain of my past, the wariness of relationships, and the terror at winding up alone.
Monday, June 23, 2008
pay grade
i called it. among other insults directed at me, i knew shezad would say one in particular when he met this love, "you're dating out of your pay grade." not meant as an insult to me exactly, more of a compliment to her as who's got the good looks in this relationship. this was at the end of the night, however, after he'd gotten to know her over drinks at the cove.
last week, i read her the smart ass reply to my cousin's query about this mystery girl occupying my thoughts and dreams for most of my time in the district. she laughed, and asked why i've never really given much information about her on this here blog. well, the reason that came out was lame and a poor excuse for not sharing with the readers. i'm comfortable with sharing details about my life and adventures with those of you i know, and even a few i don't know. the same can't be said for those close to me, which is why i tend towards nicknames and abbreviations that those close to me would know, but few others.
here's the better reason, and the one that seems to be more accurate. it builds on the lame, incomplete answer i gave her. technology makes it easy to be lazy about keeping up with our friends. click here, click there, i can find out who's going to medical school in the u.k., whose daughter just turned two, and what couples broke up this week. i don't mind that with me. sure, i'd like to talk to my friends, but we all lead busy lives. that's a lame excuse for not calling, and i apologize for using it more often than i should. technology should not be used to find out critical information about our friends. conversations convey way more meaning than myspace or facebook could ever hope to. my closest friends know that. i get phone calls, or at the very least an email when i find out about engagements or pregnancies. you want to know about our first date? super, let me tell it with the laughs and smiling eyes that would accompany it when i orate. you want to know what we have in common? it's a different answer each day.
long story short, i'm happier than i've been in a long while, maybe ever. i'm more mature in this relationship and realistic about the struggles we may face. life isn't all gumdrops and jellybeans, and i'm no longer naive enough to think that. contrarily, i'm also no longer closed off and jaded. i'm open to whatever may come. i'm madly in love with this amazing woman, and i thank god each second i get to spend with her.
and that's all you're going to get on this. then again, those of you that have met her or talk to me know all that.
last week, i read her the smart ass reply to my cousin's query about this mystery girl occupying my thoughts and dreams for most of my time in the district. she laughed, and asked why i've never really given much information about her on this here blog. well, the reason that came out was lame and a poor excuse for not sharing with the readers. i'm comfortable with sharing details about my life and adventures with those of you i know, and even a few i don't know. the same can't be said for those close to me, which is why i tend towards nicknames and abbreviations that those close to me would know, but few others.
here's the better reason, and the one that seems to be more accurate. it builds on the lame, incomplete answer i gave her. technology makes it easy to be lazy about keeping up with our friends. click here, click there, i can find out who's going to medical school in the u.k., whose daughter just turned two, and what couples broke up this week. i don't mind that with me. sure, i'd like to talk to my friends, but we all lead busy lives. that's a lame excuse for not calling, and i apologize for using it more often than i should. technology should not be used to find out critical information about our friends. conversations convey way more meaning than myspace or facebook could ever hope to. my closest friends know that. i get phone calls, or at the very least an email when i find out about engagements or pregnancies. you want to know about our first date? super, let me tell it with the laughs and smiling eyes that would accompany it when i orate. you want to know what we have in common? it's a different answer each day.
long story short, i'm happier than i've been in a long while, maybe ever. i'm more mature in this relationship and realistic about the struggles we may face. life isn't all gumdrops and jellybeans, and i'm no longer naive enough to think that. contrarily, i'm also no longer closed off and jaded. i'm open to whatever may come. i'm madly in love with this amazing woman, and i thank god each second i get to spend with her.
and that's all you're going to get on this. then again, those of you that have met her or talk to me know all that.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
unanimous
only my parents remain. something tells me i'll hear the same thing i heard from granny and the rest of the ebensburg crew. hold on for dear life. she's a keeper.
thus far, from the top. granny, irene, barb, bob, bernie, joanie, angela, leah, arlene, carrie, billy, judy, marlon, brie, kara, shila, audri, abby, fred, nidia, leah, nicole, buddy, janice, jeff, rowland, lynn. ma & pop only got an hour dose way back at thanksgiving. they're not addicts yet. we'll talk at the end of june. i've lost track of the friends thus far, but it's quite a few. florida, get your asses up here and visit, so i can add you to the list.
thus far, from the top. granny, irene, barb, bob, bernie, joanie, angela, leah, arlene, carrie, billy, judy, marlon, brie, kara, shila, audri, abby, fred, nidia, leah, nicole, buddy, janice, jeff, rowland, lynn. ma & pop only got an hour dose way back at thanksgiving. they're not addicts yet. we'll talk at the end of june. i've lost track of the friends thus far, but it's quite a few. florida, get your asses up here and visit, so i can add you to the list.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
with a little love and luck
valentine's day vexes men. plain and simple. my thinking, what makes this day different than others? i know that st. valentine was a priest who secretly married young couples way back in the day. i know there was a pretty famous massacre in gangland chicago in the more recent past. i bet more guys know details about the latter than the former, but all are utterly confused about what to do for this holiday. i know that people watching is ever more interesting today. go to the grocery store and play the Which Girls Have Dates? game. i bet you have no trouble discerning the two. yet another difference in the sexes!
unless it's been discussed prior to today, i'd venture to guess that most guys are perplexed about what is appropriate for their girlfriends or dates. there's that fine line to walk between not stepping up to the plate and going overboard by letting on that you care too much. dinner? candy? flowers? lingerie? what's too much? what's too little? lucky me, i know the answer!
don't get me wrong, i'm still the same jaded valentine's day hater of hallmark. what was once a perhaps religious holiday has been corrupted by american commercialism. isn't today just another day to show that you care about or love someone? flowers, making dinner. no different than several other nights each month. i can just get cards for this particular date.
thanks, hallmark, for helping me say what she already knows!
unless it's been discussed prior to today, i'd venture to guess that most guys are perplexed about what is appropriate for their girlfriends or dates. there's that fine line to walk between not stepping up to the plate and going overboard by letting on that you care too much. dinner? candy? flowers? lingerie? what's too much? what's too little? lucky me, i know the answer!
don't get me wrong, i'm still the same jaded valentine's day hater of hallmark. what was once a perhaps religious holiday has been corrupted by american commercialism. isn't today just another day to show that you care about or love someone? flowers, making dinner. no different than several other nights each month. i can just get cards for this particular date.
thanks, hallmark, for helping me say what she already knows!
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
security in relationships
i'm aiming for a little discussion with this post. i want to know what you think of this all-too-common scenario that plays out with opposite sex friends.
as billy crystal's harry burns famously said, "men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way...no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her...the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story." when both agree that something might be there and dating is attempted, sometimes it's amazing and lasts. sometimes it's a disaster, both parties agree, and the friendship remains after a date or a month.
hang on. i'm getting to my point!
after moving on, why do the new beaus have a problem with the resumed friendship? leda thinks (and i agree most of the time) that an ex is the last person that a current should be concerned about. they tried, it didn't work, they think highly of one another, and if it's possible, they have a normal friendship. why the concern for lingering feelings? or the sense that the ex is some sort of threat?
i can easily see the issue with a long relationship. there's a better chance of lingering feelings in that case. although i'd say that in most cases, if the person is dating once more, aren't they gone? i'd define the shorter one as one where the friendship was and is a longer amount of time than they dated. no worries, right? she (or he) is with you now. you win, ex lost.
if you're one that takes issue with such friendships of your beau, why? if not, why not? i'm severely curious about this, as it seems to be such a cause of dating strife. so much so that i wonder if it's not better to just leave out that detail when describing your old friends to a new flame...
(i know people read my scribblings, but rarely do i expect much comment. please do!)
as billy crystal's harry burns famously said, "men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way...no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her...the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story." when both agree that something might be there and dating is attempted, sometimes it's amazing and lasts. sometimes it's a disaster, both parties agree, and the friendship remains after a date or a month.
hang on. i'm getting to my point!
after moving on, why do the new beaus have a problem with the resumed friendship? leda thinks (and i agree most of the time) that an ex is the last person that a current should be concerned about. they tried, it didn't work, they think highly of one another, and if it's possible, they have a normal friendship. why the concern for lingering feelings? or the sense that the ex is some sort of threat?
i can easily see the issue with a long relationship. there's a better chance of lingering feelings in that case. although i'd say that in most cases, if the person is dating once more, aren't they gone? i'd define the shorter one as one where the friendship was and is a longer amount of time than they dated. no worries, right? she (or he) is with you now. you win, ex lost.
if you're one that takes issue with such friendships of your beau, why? if not, why not? i'm severely curious about this, as it seems to be such a cause of dating strife. so much so that i wonder if it's not better to just leave out that detail when describing your old friends to a new flame...
(i know people read my scribblings, but rarely do i expect much comment. please do!)
Monday, December 31, 2007
buying the cow
There is no such thing as the one. It's more of a mind boggling whole hell of a lot of potential ones. That should be comforting, it's actually pretty terrifying. We would all like to kick back and wait for some magical force to show us who we should spend the rest of our lives with. But the truth is, there isn't a lightning bolt that slaps you on the ass and tells you to pick this person over all others. It's like the rain, rain falls all the time. Sometimes we are prepared for it, sometimes we're not. And depending where you are when it hits, you either get caught in it, or you don't. In fact, most of us try like hell to avoid it.
more than any other movie, buying the cow changed my outlook on life. smart, hokey, and hilarious all wrapped up in a chick-friendly (but not quite a chick flick) package. think swingers meets failure to launch. okay, that combination isn't quite right, but you get the point. maybe.
Monday, October 15, 2007
razzing
as an unfortunate consequence of being a single male surrounded by primarily older (presumably happily) married women, i've been subject to, let's say, encouragement to get settled and get myself hitched. one thing that's certainly changed in the last year or two (believe it or not) is that i don't need someone else to "complete me." sure, it'd be nice to have someone since a good number of my friends have taken the plunge and making plans with them would be easier if there were two of me, so to speak.
anyhow, friday afternoon, i was subjected to the funniest session of razzing regarding that since amber and cheryl used to get after me at lunch. or denise telling me she's going to set me up with so-and-so's daughter. or everyone saying they needed to approve of who i dated personally before giving their blessing to the relationship. especially after i related a summer fling with a girl from starke. anyhow, i got a few of my digs in back at them. oddly enough, the ringleader actually apologized this morning. said i probably get enough of it from my own mother. hell, under past circumstances, maybe i would have been offended, but i was giddy from the high of laughing my ass off.
laughter cures all. i think that's why i'm adjusting to the move so well. all my new friends make me laugh. maybe that's why i'm fending off cold and flu season too...
anyhow, friday afternoon, i was subjected to the funniest session of razzing regarding that since amber and cheryl used to get after me at lunch. or denise telling me she's going to set me up with so-and-so's daughter. or everyone saying they needed to approve of who i dated personally before giving their blessing to the relationship. especially after i related a summer fling with a girl from starke. anyhow, i got a few of my digs in back at them. oddly enough, the ringleader actually apologized this morning. said i probably get enough of it from my own mother. hell, under past circumstances, maybe i would have been offended, but i was giddy from the high of laughing my ass off.
laughter cures all. i think that's why i'm adjusting to the move so well. all my new friends make me laugh. maybe that's why i'm fending off cold and flu season too...
Friday, September 28, 2007
moving on
I wrote this a while ago. I won't say when. Don't want to give away who I'm talking about. Respect. It was cathartic at the time. Yeah, it's dark and depressing, but it's also incredibly introspective. What say you?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why is it that no matter what you say or do, certain things creep back into your mind? After months or years of trying to get over feelings of love or hurt or sadness, a little event brings them all flooding back.
You hear from a long-ago ex. She’s getting married next month. That’s sweet. Short relationship between the two of you, no contact for years. Some sense of longing for what she has, if only because you only remember the fond memories or insignificant feelings of hope for that with her lingering from way back when.
You see your first love for the first time in a year. Rarely speaking in the interim, you both want to catch up. Last time, you’re dating someone, she’s not. This time, the tables are turned. At least that’s what you anticipate. She plays it off, they’re just “seeing” each other, she’s really “not that into him.” Here it is, a year later, and you know they’re still together. The same shell game. The evasive responses. Though the distance between you is great, you still occasionally hope for fate to intervene and bring you back together.
You manage to maintain a friendship with another. Finally convinced of your true intentions for the friendship, she begins dating again. The time you speak and spend with her dwindles. Though it could never work, you wonder if there will ever be another chance to be with her. If this new guy she’s seeing on the sly is going to be the One. The One you hoped to be, strongly months ago; only occasionally now and with much less urgency. You wonder why the word friend somehow rings hollow coming from her, now that she’s openly moving on, though she hasn’t broached the subject with you just yet. I guess I’m a hypocrite in a way because I pretended to move on, and killed a friendship along the way. Keeping secrets from friends is tricky when that friend is also an ex. An ex that already got pissed about a date you went on a week after you broke up because you truly weren’t over it.
It’s strange, even the ones you won’t ever speak to again for fear of inducing psychosis creep back randomly. How lately you wonder how she’s doing. If the guy she’s supposedly seeing has tamed her insanity, or if he just manages to overlook it. Hell, her insanity may abate just because he wants to be the One for her.
Literally ran into one a month ago. Married, pregnant, happy. Unlike when I left her apartment, red-faced and crying. Her, not me. Me, weight off my chest, cell phone out, wanting to get a beer with a friend. Glad it was over. Nothing like finally ending a 3 week fling that was mostly spent concocting a way out. Maybe that’s what these exes felt like with me. When they move on, and I stop calling, I stop hoping. I guess I’ll never know. They certainly won’t bring it up, and doubt they’d have much to say if I did. One thing’s for certain, friendships might end.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
