I just hit the two-weeks-single mark and am continually re-learning my life as I know it. Right now I am particularly grateful to the amazing people in my life who I somehow earned the right to call my friends.
When you are in a long-term relationship, life tends to revolve around your two-some. The number of friends you see regularly dwindles. You have to coordinate with not only these friends' schedules, but also check in with your boyfriend to see when his plans are so you can have date nights, etc. Then, there are other commitments you are expected to be at for him (friends' birthdays, family events) so the number of nights you are free in a given week gets quite limited. And the first thing to get cut is your friends.
I have the type of friends who, even if I don't see them for months, when we do go out, it's like no time has passed. My friends have always been supportive of my relationship and understood that I had little free time. Still, I worried that we could lose touch, that I would be edged out for more available, less boyfriend-heavy pals. One of my biggest fears of being single was that I would realize I had lost my friends to the abyss of coupledom.
Yet, now that my schedule is wide open, and I am in dire need of company, my friends have squelched these fears and are really the driving force in getting me through this confusing, yet empowering, time in my life.
I'm learning a lot about friendship in the process. For one, I now know who my real friends are. I dreaded calling people to let them know what happened. I didn't really want to talk about it (repeating the story over and over still sounds dreadful), so I emailed the news to a group of my college girlfriends as a way of consolidating conversations. Some of these friends have yet to respond. I'm sure I'll get shit-talked for saying this, and maybe my news wasn't that earth-shattering or important, but I tangibly saw first-hand who actually gives a crap about me and who, well, doesn't. Good to know.
Secondly, regarding these friends who did respond to my email (and the others who found out in text-message or just this weekend when I wanted to give the news in person), I was not only reminded who my true friends are, but how truly lucky I am to be able to have the amazing friends I do. As said, I didn't want to tell people. I tried doing the Facebook-relationship-status-update-as-a-means-to-show-I-was-single thing, but it just felt desperate and awkward so I took it down. Plus, I didn't want to be a total downer and make people feel weird, like they had to console me. I hate being that person. I've always felt like the stable, on-the-right-track girl. I've defined myself that way. And now I seriously have no idea.
After reluctantly giving the news, I have gotten nothing but support, reinforcement I made the right decision (crucial), and invites for weekends in New York, San Diego, San Fransisco and Atlanta or nights out in L.A. One friend, who I hadn't spoken to since June, took me out for coffee right away and then preceded to invite me out to keep me busy. Those of you who came out to my reading on Friday, I can't even begin to tell you how much it meant to me to have you there. And then there's the general aura of love and support I've been feeling. No one was annoyed I didn't rush to text or call. No one told me I made a mistake.
Guys, I couldn't do this without you. Thank you. I love you dearly.
Watch Me Embarass Myself in Public!
No, no I'm going to be dancing awkwardly, spilling on myself, tripping over carpet lint, or making out with random dudes (well, not intentionally), but I will be giving TMI by reading an excerpt from my super-classy memoir about trying to be slutty in college, entitled Gone Shacking.
Along with the fabulously poetic Stephen Silke and other more seasoned (published) writers, I am participating in the last USC Master of Professional Writing program reading series of the semester this Friday at The Spot in Culver City. The fun starts at 7:30 pm.
Hope to see you there!
Reintroduce Me Into the Wild
Well, the mass emails have been sent out. The close friends have been notified. I am a single gal. For the first time, well, ever.
The past four years consisted of full-on, in-your-face coupledom. Marriage and kids were discussed. Families were introduced. There is no debate that this was a serious relationship, perhaps the most serious I'd ever been in.
This four-year relationship began two weeks after I was cast aside by this guy I was so unbelievably infatuated with that I could barely be myself around him, even though I never truly knew how he felt about me. I also never figured out what it was about him that drove me completely crazy, but I loved that nerving, buzzing, crushing, anxiety-filling torture.
Technically, crazy-crush guy overlapped with my high school boyfriend, but not in the cheating sense. HSBF and I were together for nearly a year and a half and at about the year mark, the crush cascaded down on me. I waved it off as a minor issue, until I realized that I really couldn't be in love with two people at the same time.
This puts us midway through my senior year of high school, seven years ago. Prior to this I had a three-year saga of an on-and-off relationship with an older guy (not thatttt old, thank god), which was nonetheless inappropriate, confusing, sneaky, and nerve-wracking. Now we're at about freshman year of high school. Ten years.
Thinking about what to write today, this topic seemed appropriate with the changes being made literally in my life as well as emotionally. I'm so tired recently, unable to get out of bed in the morning--not out of grief--but just general weariness. I didn't compute my coupled years until I began writing and now I see why I am so damn tired. Ten years.
I can't help but wonder about how much growing I must have done in that time--freshman year of high school until now, as I complete my third year of grad school--and moreover how much growing I did with the guys in my life instead of just on my own. I don't believe in regrets, but now that I have gotten this second chance, I know I must use it carefully. I never expected I would be single again, yet here I am. Such is life.
Of course, I'm not flailing around in a void. I am interested in someone. I can't help my own nature (or resist his), but I am learning new instincts. No rules, games, tips, tricks (not that I have any, really). No jumping into the deep-end. No plan. I'm figuring out what dating--real dating, not within the contexts of a sure-thing relationship--really means. I'll let you know what I learn along the way.
Today's Confessions
I just felt awkward today. Not sure why. Everything I did was either completely self-entertaining, geeky, or slothful. First, I decided to skip yoga this morning because it was raining and I figured it would be best to stay in bed until 1 p.m. or so working. When I say working, I of course mean working and writing emails/checking facebook/etc.
Progress was made on one front. I recorded myself reading my piece for the MPW reading on Friday using my webcam (such a nerd, I knowwwww....). Not gonna lie, I think I did a pretty good job. At least I can entertain myself, right? Shouldn't that be enough?
To make up for my morning laziness I went to the gym around three to "run." This means I walked quickly for about 25 minutes and ran for 2.5 minutes two times somewhere in there. I always feel like a loser when the girl next to me had been running since before I got to the treadmill and then continues to sprint even after I'm done, but I just chalk up her behavior to eating disorder or convince myself she must be a marathon runner because, man, I am tired. (I'm now eating chips and huge bowl of guacamole to reward myself for such exertion.)
While at the gym, though, my day continued in the same awkward fashion. When MSNBC's coverage of the Iraqi journalist throwing a shoe at President Bush came on, I laughed a little under my breath. Of course, they played the clip repeatedly for the next 15 minutes--showing different angles, slow-mo--and I cracked up even harder, having to grip the sides of the treadmill for balance. Something tells me that even though no one really likes Bush, I shouldn't have been laughing at someone throwing a shoe at him. But, at least it's not just me. The secret service guy didn't even get to Bush until the dude threw the second shoe. That's what Janet Fitch might call a "telling detail."
To focus on something other than Bush's face when he awkwardly dodged the first shoe, I turned my attention back to my iPod, which had been thus far playing a selection of Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, Whitney Houston and Katy Perry (It's ok to be jealous, I know my taste in music is unparalleled). I decided to put on the Jock Jams Mega Mix, committing yet another social blunder for the day. That shit is super awkward.
But, really, embarrassing as it is, how great is that song? In about three minutes, you get the "Let's get ready to rumble" guy, every song played over the loudspeakers at Lakers games, "YMCA," "Everybody Dance Now," "I Like to Move It Move It" and more. Further proof that 1997 was a very good year.
Anyway, now I'm off to the Dolce & Gabanna store opening tonight, so it is time to exfoliate, moisturize, primp, and otherwise pull together some semblance of sexiness within the next three hours. As Jenn and I reasoned earlier, I need a new Facebook pic.
Progress was made on one front. I recorded myself reading my piece for the MPW reading on Friday using my webcam (such a nerd, I knowwwww....). Not gonna lie, I think I did a pretty good job. At least I can entertain myself, right? Shouldn't that be enough?
To make up for my morning laziness I went to the gym around three to "run." This means I walked quickly for about 25 minutes and ran for 2.5 minutes two times somewhere in there. I always feel like a loser when the girl next to me had been running since before I got to the treadmill and then continues to sprint even after I'm done, but I just chalk up her behavior to eating disorder or convince myself she must be a marathon runner because, man, I am tired. (I'm now eating chips and huge bowl of guacamole to reward myself for such exertion.)
While at the gym, though, my day continued in the same awkward fashion. When MSNBC's coverage of the Iraqi journalist throwing a shoe at President Bush came on, I laughed a little under my breath. Of course, they played the clip repeatedly for the next 15 minutes--showing different angles, slow-mo--and I cracked up even harder, having to grip the sides of the treadmill for balance. Something tells me that even though no one really likes Bush, I shouldn't have been laughing at someone throwing a shoe at him. But, at least it's not just me. The secret service guy didn't even get to Bush until the dude threw the second shoe. That's what Janet Fitch might call a "telling detail."
To focus on something other than Bush's face when he awkwardly dodged the first shoe, I turned my attention back to my iPod, which had been thus far playing a selection of Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, Whitney Houston and Katy Perry (It's ok to be jealous, I know my taste in music is unparalleled). I decided to put on the Jock Jams Mega Mix, committing yet another social blunder for the day. That shit is super awkward.
But, really, embarrassing as it is, how great is that song? In about three minutes, you get the "Let's get ready to rumble" guy, every song played over the loudspeakers at Lakers games, "YMCA," "Everybody Dance Now," "I Like to Move It Move It" and more. Further proof that 1997 was a very good year.
Anyway, now I'm off to the Dolce & Gabanna store opening tonight, so it is time to exfoliate, moisturize, primp, and otherwise pull together some semblance of sexiness within the next three hours. As Jenn and I reasoned earlier, I need a new Facebook pic.
Andy Samberg is Kinda Hot...Right?
First came "Dick in a Box." Now the would-be-completely-unattractive (except that he is funny, confident, and talented, and therefore--dare I say--sexy) Andy Samberg has created a new digital short just in time for the pre-holiday crunch time, during which many of us are perusing the Internet with fleeting will to attend to the growing piles of work that land on our desks and in our inboxes. If you haven't already, please enjoy the video (I would give you the title, but, like in DIAB, the reveal of the title is one of the best parts):
***If the video doesn't work, click here.
I think DIAB will prevail in terms of classic-ness than this digital short in that it was more creative in theory and highly effective in parody of the early 90s music videos it referenced. This short is more shocking and outlandish, which puts it in a different league. It plays on male insecurity in an over-the-top way without alienating men, while also giving women who have experience with premature men a good laugh as well. And, seriously, I think Andy Samberg (when he isn't making awkward faces) is kinda hot in this one.
Which digital short do you like better: DIAB or JIMP?
***If the video doesn't work, click here.
I think DIAB will prevail in terms of classic-ness than this digital short in that it was more creative in theory and highly effective in parody of the early 90s music videos it referenced. This short is more shocking and outlandish, which puts it in a different league. It plays on male insecurity in an over-the-top way without alienating men, while also giving women who have experience with premature men a good laugh as well. And, seriously, I think Andy Samberg (when he isn't making awkward faces) is kinda hot in this one.
Which digital short do you like better: DIAB or JIMP?
My Younger, Wiser Self
We can either run from the past, or learn from it. When I am feeling unsure of myself, I root around my room for my old journals to either a) see how good I have it now, or b) get some wisdom from my younger self. (This is why I have my students write letters to themselves on the first day of the semester--and why I do it with them--we typically give ourselves the best advice). Anyway, I found this snippet I wrote on March 30, 2007, while I was living in New York. I moved home April 27, and was in the process of packing and saying goodbye to the city:
"It’s weird having life change, or rather, not having prescribed boxes to check. Middle school, high school, college...those were givens. I am navigating my own path now and I don’t want to look back and wish I had done more. I just have to do the best that I can, and be as happy as I can be, as much of the time as possible. Even though I'm sad that things between me and New York didn’t work out, I know that my decision was 100% the right one. No matter if [grad school at] USC doesn’t end up being amazing. No matter if Willie and I don’t work out. I have learned that right now, right here, [living in New York] is not for me. I may not know where I am going, but on the way there, I am continually learning what I need to be happy and secure. I may not always do the right thing, but I will be in a place eventually where I am satisfied. I just have to remember that. It’s not all going to happen right away…"
I kind of sound like that Whitesnake song from Old School--("I don't know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been..." Totally listened to that in the car last night on full blast)--but the little smartie I was couldn't have been more right. I may be embarking on a new path, but I'm not alone. I have me. And, right now, I'm the only partner I need.
"It’s weird having life change, or rather, not having prescribed boxes to check. Middle school, high school, college...those were givens. I am navigating my own path now and I don’t want to look back and wish I had done more. I just have to do the best that I can, and be as happy as I can be, as much of the time as possible. Even though I'm sad that things between me and New York didn’t work out, I know that my decision was 100% the right one. No matter if [grad school at] USC doesn’t end up being amazing. No matter if Willie and I don’t work out. I have learned that right now, right here, [living in New York] is not for me. I may not know where I am going, but on the way there, I am continually learning what I need to be happy and secure. I may not always do the right thing, but I will be in a place eventually where I am satisfied. I just have to remember that. It’s not all going to happen right away…"
I kind of sound like that Whitesnake song from Old School--("I don't know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been..." Totally listened to that in the car last night on full blast)--but the little smartie I was couldn't have been more right. I may be embarking on a new path, but I'm not alone. I have me. And, right now, I'm the only partner I need.
Old School Revival
There is a movement afoot on my trusty Facebook.com. Maybe by revealing that I have noticed a trend brewing signifies I spend far too much time on the site, but that, my friends (hah John McCain, I use this term of endearment only to mock you), is a risk I must take.
Here it is: My friends are increasingly putting up uber-embarrassing (and cute) pre-, elementary, and middle school photos. Which I think is fantastic.
For me, the fun started about a week or so ago when I sent Alana, Ciji, and Jenn (the BFFs) a pic of us from our 8th grade Medieval Faire. Alana put it up on Facebook and a bunch of people I am "friends" with (but don't talk to) commented on the photo. After all, it was an event we all attended over a decade ago. So, as a way to avoid any real work early last week, I scanned a batch of photos I dug up from a cardboard box under my bed and emailed them to the BFFs. Alana chose the ones that were least threatening to our social standings and put 'em up.
Since my life consists of writing and procrastinating (the latter seems to be winning lately), I have noticed many of my friends digging through their own collections of old pics and putting them up for all to see. Profile pictures, entire albums pay homage to our young selves. Instead of being horrified by our embarrassing Halloween costumes, gap-toothed smiles, and general awkwardness, we proudly display them like well-earned battle scars. We have grown up enough to no longer really be embarrassed by how we used to look, which I thought was never possible, especially when I was in middle school.
Perhaps my outlook is such because I am one of these brave souls. I must trust that my friends on the greatest procrastination tool ever created will look at my unflattering photos keeping in mind that, no, I do not have braces or really bad hair anymore. But maybe that's the fun part. This wave of putting up old pics (which, again, may not be a trend at all, but I'm just going to say it is for the sake of this post) connects our pasts to our presents, bridges the gap between all the people in our social networks. Now, our college friends can tease us not only about the time we totally spilled our drink on that cute guy we were dancing with but also our first-grade perm. (Please tell me I wasn't the only girl with a perm at seven.)
While there are some memories we might never want to share with our social networks (no one needs a reminder of how god awful I looked on my first day of high school), I love how this seemingly sudden spurt of old pics can connect us with those Facebook friends we haven't seen since we were twelve, or two, for that matter. The whole point of Facebook is to connect with these people and putting up old photos is a really neat way of reminiscing. I'm always up for a dose of nostalgia to break up the monotony of online procrastination. I mean, how many times can I check the Newsfeed or pop over to see what Perez posted about Britney in the last hour? (Apparently these activities can amuse me for hours if the other choice is writing my chapter summaries.)
Right now a new batch of middle school pics is sitting in Alana's inbox, waiting to be posted. The BFFs and I collaboratively chose these gems on Friday and, not gonna lie, the best part of my week may be the moment they're posted.
So, old friends beware, you just might be tagged next. :)
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