Coffee For Four: Epilogue

So, the coffee thing went well. I was much relieved. There was a bit of awkward at first, but my aunt, who's awful sweet, totally ignored that and just started talking with everybody like there had never been any drama at all. Kudos, aunt.

We hung out at the coffee shop for a good two hours, and I got all kinds of news from Ohio about what my aunt's been up to and about my cousins. Sadly, not all good news, one of my cousins has gotten into a relationship with a bad-news kind of guy. A guy, unfortunately, very like her father, a.k.a. my aunt's ex-husband. She made some comments about him in spots, and I got to understand more about that whole situation than I did before - she and the ex split while I was still too young to really understand things like domestic abuse.

At one point, while my uncle was in the restroom, she leaned in toward my mom and said something about that rough time, "I remember those three a.m. phone calls. Thank God you were on the other end." In that moment, I could really see how sad they were that the family issues had distanced them. These women used to be tight, and today was the first time they'd talked to each other in at least a year. Judging by how they were acting, it seemed like all my relatives missed each other.

Today it seemed like coffee could be first step in moving on from the past . I hope so.

Coffee For Four: Prologue

Tomorrow I'm going for coffee. I'm ambivalent about it, to say the least. There's a lot of potential for awkwardness, with possibilities of hostility and a side of unpleasantness. Ah, family drama, how I love thee. Lemme give you a quick bit of back story. My mom's side of the family had some issues after my grandpa died, regarding money he left to his kids, i.e. his sons got more (a LOT more) than his daughters, and the daughters were unhappy about this. My mom, recognizing that her father had problematic gender notions, did her best to shrug it off.

A couple years later, while I was old enough to chafe at living with my parents, but to broke to live on my own, my parents talked to my uncle (mom's brother) and I went to live with him. See, when I was little, he lived with my parents, rent-free, for a few years. So, to my parents, this was kind of a trade. After a couple months, my uncle said it wasn't working out and asked me to leave. My parents were pissed. Remember my grandpa's will? Remember how my uncle mooched off them? Yeah, pissed. Since then, we've not been close with this uncle. One of my aunts, however, has stayed close with my uncle, and drifted away from my mom.

So, that's the set-up. A few weeks ago, my aunt friended me on facebook. Then she said she's coming to town to visit my uncle and do I want to meet for coffee. Sure. Then she says, can my uncle come too? Um, okay. Then, my mom says, what about me? Fuck.

Dunno how it's going to go, but I'm kinda dreading it now. Too many people and too much damn baggage. Ugh.

Stray Dog #3

Here's an Isla Mujeres stray. The facial expression seems very mournful, or is it more a bored look? Mysterious dog.

Navy Guy

Last week the website kicked up another guy who showed some promise. He's 29, a Navy MP (Amanda says, "MPs are crazy, but you could do crazy"), and more confident/put together than Radio Guy or Comic Book Guy. However, after a couple e-mails, I learned he's currently stationed in Italy.

Navy Guy has mentioned that he's returning to my area "soon," so it might not be bad to just do some e-mails right now. But, then he's stationed overseas again for a year. So, in an absolutely best case scenario, where when he's back in the states and we meet in person and really hit it off, I'm looking at a long-distance thing.

I've got to say, it doesn't look like Navy Guy is going to work out. I'll keep going and see where it ends up, 'cause there's no harm in just trying on the shoes, but I'm not holding my breath. Come on, universe, would it really be that awful if I met a nice attractive gentleman who's actually within a 50 mile radius of where I live? Ugh.

Bye BB, Hello Gym Lady

BB came by my office again yesterday. He's growing a goatee kind of thing now which rather suits him, and he found another job at another gym. He gave me his new business card and I got a chance to ask him why he left the rec. center. He told me about it - they were paying him crap and he didn't really get along with his boss. I can understand why he left.

This morning I met with BB's old boss, aka my new trainer, aka Gym Lady/GL. Personality-wise, I think we'll get along fine. She's certainly different from BB in just about every way possible, but she's all right. The only thing I don't really like is she sometimes over-explains things, like I have no idea about anything, and while I can understand why she's doing it (she doesn't know what I know and what I don't, so she's covering all the bases) I don't like it. That's the annoying part about starting over with someone new, but it should go away soon once we get used to each other.

I do like the fact that her background is less about body-building and more about overall toning/conditioning. She switched around a lot of my resistance training. It'll take me a couple days to get used to the new stuff, but I think it'll end up working a little better for me.

F*ing Middle Aged Men at the Laundromat

Today I went to the laundromat to wash my comforter. I really hate going to the laundromat, but it had to be done. Why do I hate going? Well, because of schmucks like the one I encountered today. I start my washing and walk over to the wall to find a place to sit and work on grading some papers.

Middle aged, overweight dude looks over at me. "Smile already, it gets better."

Goddamn it, why do middle aged men always feel the need to tell me to f*ing smile? Since when is my facial expression any of their business? "Not 'til next week," I said as I grabbed my things and headed for another place to sit.

Behind me, I heard him say, "Huh?"

Exactly dude. You know absolutely nothing about me. Shut the f* up.

What happens next week, you ask? Nothing special, it was just the first stupid thing that came into my mind. More than almost anything else in the world, I hate being ordered to smile by complete f*ing strangers. It's rude and implies that if I'm not completely ecstatic to be doing my laundry, there's something wrong with me. I mean, what the hell?

Of course, I have a friend whose mouth is naturally turned up a the corners, begging strangers to randomly ask her "What are you smiling about?" Can't win for losing.

Since when is somebody's facial expression the business of strangers? Leave it alone, man. And, if you really, really want somebody to smile, commanding them to do so is damn sure not the way to do it. There's a much easier way, in fact. You smile at them. The vast majority of people will smile back.

Thank Harold I get to do all the rest of my laundry at home.

Damn Shoes

Once upon a time, I owned approximately five pairs of shoes:
1. Sandals
2. Work shoes
3. Back-up work shoes
4. Tennis shoes
5. Boots

Then, during the course of this whole girly thing, my shoe collection kind of exploded. I got a new pair of sandals, and since they were a by-one-get-2nd-cheaper thing, I got a second pair at the same time. Then another, then some boots, then...

Current shoe tally:
7 pairs of sandals
2 pairs of business casual shoes
1 pair old work shoes
3 pairs of boots
2 pairs of tennis shoes
and, as of a couple of days ago - 1 pair of boots with a stiletto heel

It's insane. It's like I've become possessed or something. I need to stop with the shoes, I really do.

Wore the new boots today. They make me tall.

Doomed Eyebrow

Me: Hello?
Amanda: Hey.
Me: What's up?
Amanda: You can't laugh.
Me: Okay.
Amanda: I mean it. You have to promise not to laugh.
Me: All right, already. I promise.
Amanda: *Sigh* My left eyebrow is gone.
Me: How?
Amanda: I don't want to talk about it.
...
Me: Well, on the bright side, it's a good incentive to get bangs like you've been wanting.
Amanda: I hate you.

Speckled Moth

There was a moth behind my mailbox. I lucked out with the black and white on black and white.

It's Hard Being Good

Thus spake the boy on Facebook: am I too good for a great girl, or not good enough? What am I doin wrong?

*Sigh*

I could tell him how complaining is bad marketing, or how there's no such thing as being "too good" for a great girl, but I think I'm going to leave it alone. Last thing I feel like doing is engaging in something so set up for a cliche.

Dude, get over yourself. That's what you're doing wrong.

BB & A Skirt, Or, An Irritating Friday

When I got to my office this morning at about 7:40, I saw the message button blinking on my phone. It was a message from BB canceling our appointment for today because he's no longer working at the rec. center. I still have no idea what the circumstances are, but my first thought is that it's a personality clash, which makes me irritated with him 'cause now I have to get used to some new person. Ugh.

I've been e-mailing back and forth with BB's boss to arrange a time to meet with her so she can take over my training. From when I met her briefly back in May, I got a good first impression from her, but who knows how that's going to translate. I have a hunch that she and BB might have pretty different training styles, and it makes me a little nervous about whether or not I'm going to like her approach.

In other news, I wore a pencil skirt to campus today. I got lots of comments and compliments from colleagues. On one hand, it was nice. On the other, it really made me feel self conscious. I'm also not a fan of how it restricts movement. I spent the whole time I was on campus being painfully aware of part of my legs being bare and being unable to pick something up from the floor without planning my movement. Once I got home, it took all of about two seconds for me to take it off.

"Single Life"

These days I'm having fun watching Def Jam Poetry on youtube. I just watched this one and thought I'd pass it on to any of the single ladies passing through:

Physical

I had my annual doctor's appointment today. I've had this doctor for about three years and I quite like her. I'm not so big a fan, however, of the exam part where I'm all naked and getting poked and prodded and... penetrated.

In other news, there goes one more year where my doctor is the only person other than myself to see me naked.

Mrs.

For some reason, this semester all of my students seem to think I'm married. It's weird. You know MLA? Well, if you don't, the header for your papers is supposed to look like this:

Student's name
Instructor's name
Class
Date

This semester, unlike all the previous semesters, I have a ton of students who, in the spot where they put my name, add a Mrs. to it. Color me baffled. I wear no wedding ring, 'cause it's silly for someone who isn't married to do so. I sure as hell haven't mentioned anything about having a husband, again, 'cause I don't have one. Yet, there it is, on paper after paper: Mrs.

What, exactly, is it about me that screams married? Or, what is it about this semester's crop of student that makes them think anyone who teaches them is, by default, married? It's damn strange, that's all I know.

Between that and a few other things, like the male student who walked me from one class to the next (no, dude, your "masculine charms" will not make me give you a better grade) and a cheating issue (I mean, come on, it's the very first week!), the first week of school promises lots of interesting things for the rest of the semester.