Girls' Night

This weekend I went on my first official girls' night. It was a night full of cliches, and rather disappointing.

One of my oldest friends (known her since middle school) was in town visiting family, and we wanted to get together. She wanted to go to the city up north to party - 'cause everything's better after a forty-five minute drive on the interstate, apparently. Since I'm working on saying "yes" to new experiences, I agreed. I picked up my friend, then we picked up her sister-in-law, who's a total sweetheart, then we went north. Once in the other town, we went to the house of my friend's sorority sister and met up with a friend of sorority girl's, a tall, lovely gal.

So, here's the breakdown:
Me, my friend, the sis-in-law, sorority girl, and tall gal. Me and my friend were the old spinsters of the group, everyone else was 22 or 21. Herein lies one of the problems. My friend has been getting her undergrad. degree for seven years. This has created a kind of prolonged adolescence as she keeps hanging out with new undergrads - she gets older, but most of her friends are 19/20 year olds. Thus, she's all about partying, thus she's been at college for seven years and still hasn't graduated. I love her to death, but seriously, it's sad. But, I digress, back to Saturday night...

Going to sorority girl's house first was the most retarded plan of the night. We all sat on her couch for an hour while she took a shower, changed her outfit three times, and fussed over her hair. Then tall gal showed up, they did shots of Patron, and we went downtown. We took the Patron with us and they did more shots in the parked car. The sis-in-law was not amused. We were both in the back seat and she looked over at me, "I thought we were going out. I can sit in a car at home."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm too old for this shit."

Finally, we made it to a bar that sorority girl & tall gal scoffed at for being too empty. The bar had a DJ and a small crowd - it was about right for me, but didn't have enough men for the girls. Granted, they still managed to find plenty to dry hump, I mean, dance with.

That's also were we met drunk guy who was a friend of friend of my friend - i.e. two degrees removed from knowing us. He was also very, very drunk. He wanted to dance with the girls. My friend wanted to dance, and she's the type who tries to be nice, so she danced with him. After he tried to dive in for a kiss, which was after the fourth time he tried to grab her ass, even she had had enough and told him to leave her alone. But, as with all cliched annoying drunk guys, he kept circling around our table, diving in from time to time to grab one of the gals. Dude came about a hair short of getting kicked in the balls by the sis-in-law and only left her alone when she showed him her wedding ring.

Eventually, we left the bar I liked and went to one so crowded that we couldn't move. The sorority girl and tall gal were much more pleased with this bar, but I've got to say that standing around, smooshed in a crowd is pretty damn boring. That was a pretty typical note for me that night, boredom. I've never been one who's all that interested in "partying," and Saturday night reminded me why.

It was good to spend time with my friend. I got some interesting people-watching in, and I liked meeting the sis-in-law. However, the sorority gal was totally inane, and her whole objective of going out with friends just so she can ignore the people she went with in favor of paying attention to people she just met is not something I really understand. (I mean intellectually, I get it, but I just don't GET it.)

Well, the new experience has been tried. Next time, I go ahead and skip the party and find a nice, mellow bar with good conversation and maybe some live music. Yup, that's much more my speed.

Send Your Good Thoughts/Prayers

Since I recently got in touch with Cancer guy again, he's been at the front of my mind. Life is mysterious and full of synchronicity. Today I found something on Kendall's blog that I'm re-posting below. It looks like Brandy's guy may have multiple myeloma. I learned what multiple myeloma meant in Sept. 1999 when I found out that my friend had it. The prognosis for people with this type of bone cancer is grim. In 1999, the doctors told my friend he should start making arrangements. They measured the rest of his life in terms of weeks. Now it's over ten years later and he's still playing poker and loving life. It's been a hard road for him, but he's fighting to make the road a long one. I'm sending out my good thoughts that Brandy's guy will do the same.

Now, the re-post:

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

Under a Neon Moon

This pic. comes from the "cabin" at my parents' property. Going camping wasn't my idea of a good time, but I like the way this photo turned out - neon lights are fun.

Social Butterfly Training

This past week I was hardly at home. I had extra shifts for the boring job and, on more than one night, went directly from my work shift to a Christmas party or whatnot. Good grief, talk about exhausting. It was a good, satisfying exhaustion, though. I met some new people and spent time with some folks I've known for a while.

Amanda was in town, and it was great to see her again. Though, I wouldn't have minded skipping the part where I met her and a friend of hers, a.k.a. ex-stripper gal, at a bar. Ex-stripper gal gets on my nerves. The two of them arrived first and when I joined them, this chick didn't so much as pause for breath, much less say "hello." She then spent the next fifteen minutes straight on a rant. She literally never slowed down enough for neither Amanda nor I to say, "uh huh," much less contribute to the conversation. In short, girlie is used to being the center of attention and has bad social skills.

Since she was so blatantly excluding me from the "conversation," (she wouldn't even look at me while she was monologuing), I took the opportunity to watch the room. There was a cute guy at a nearby table who I caught glancing at me, so I tried to practice making eye contact. It was a partial success - one small step for womankind, one giant leap for me. Then, since, Amanda is good at conversational judo, she gradually steered the night away from the one-woman show and toward actual interaction.

On another night, the gal who does my hair (got highlights this week!) invited me to see her boyfriend's band at none other than the bar where my crush works. Synchronicity, no? So, I saw Bartender Guy again and found out he's a smoker - no huge surprise there, he is a bartender after all - which is gross and dampens my crush. But, on the other hand, he wears button-up dress shirts, which is ever-so appealing, and who does that in my oh-so-casual city? So, even though the smoking is usually a deal-breaker for me, I'm staying open minded for now.

My crush on him is unusual and serendipitous, so I don't mind having it a while longer. It's interesting, if nothing else, because he's a blend of traits I'm attracted to - the dress shirts, being a bartender - and traits I'm not attracted to - the smoking, for instance, and I usually don't have strong physical attraction to skinny dudes. Also, there's the way he keeps popping up on my radar, even when I'm not stalking him ;) and how he's good friends with people I'm friends with, and it turns out he was even a senior at my high school when I was a freshman there. If anything, it's kind of strange we haven't bumped into each other before now.

On a side note, being formally introduced via hairdresser gal means he's now the 3rd bartender I know with the same name. That means, if my sampling is statistically valid, that approximately 25% of male bartenders in the world are named Dave.

Cancer Guy's Phillipina Love

When I was a teenager, I did volunteer work at a bird of prey rehabilitation center. One of the other volunteers was a dude who had a couple of daughters around my age and, over the years, he became kind of like an uncle-type to me. In '99 he got diagnosed with a really hardcore variety of cancer and the doctors said, "Um, six months, if you're lucky." Then he flipped cancer the bird and now it's ten years later.

In the process, he and his wife got divorced - the marriage couldn't handle the big C, and then he moved out to the east coast. I've talked with him sporadically since then, he got re-married to a gal from the Phillipines, and in May he told me the cancer had come back. A few days later, thinking that no news is bad news, etc. I sent him an e-mail. Turns out, he's not dead. Whew. (Yeah, I know that sounds callus, but it's callousness with love, I promise.)

He is now on facebook, though, and I got my first look at his Phillipina love. I'm disturbed a bit. Cancer guy was born in '62, his new wife was born in '87. That means I'm older than her. I'm a bit skeeved out, I must confess. But, they seem very happy with each other, and, let's be super realistic here, this is not exactly a normal marriage - the til death do us part aspect of it all is a little different when you marry a guy with terminal cancer. Still, whatever, it's weird.

Then again, my wonderful friend Constance is very happily married to a man who's 16 years older than her, and Amanda thinks my ideal guy is going to be about twelve years older than me. This age difference thing is complex. How far does it have to go to cross from "age is just a number" into creepy-land?

Just Call Me Chicken

I went out with M., lady of the unrequited love, last night. We went to the bar where Bartender Guy works, and when she started to hint that she'd rather go somewhere else, a la, "This band's okay, but not worth the cover charge," I confessed.

"I like the band okay, but my real reason for wanting to come is the guy who took our cash at the door."

"Really?" She turned to look. She nodded appreciatively. Then she said, "The part I don't get is why, if you came here for a crush, you're sitting with your back to him," she pointed to the opposite seat of the booth, "instead of where you can look at him."

"Um..."

"Not to mention why haven't you gone over and talked to him?"

I probably blushed at that point. Then she laughed hysterically and called me a chickenshit.

I sighed. "I'm bad at this, at boys."

The best I managed was a quick exchange with him on the way out along the lines of, "Going already?" on his part and, "Yeah, but the band is fun" on mine.

Yup, he'll fall in love with me for sure now.

My First Hug

Today while I stood in a store doing the boring job, one of my old students spotted me and made a beeline right to me. I had him for fall semester last year. He was a good student and he even brought me a Christmas card at the end of the semester (a card I still have). He said hello with a big smile on his face and then gave me a hug. It was totally sweet and it has officially made my day.

Another Batch of Ducklings

I've got a stack of grading I need to do before my English 101 final at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning. I'm pushing the clock with regards to how much time I have left to do it, but I'm still reluctant to get to work. End of the semester grading is the hardest. It's all so... final.

In the semesters that I've been teaching, I can trace a change in me in each. The more I do it, the more confident I get about the content, which means I pay more attention to the individual students. Side effect = I get more invested in them. Then the end of the semester comes along and, whoosh, they're gone. Sure, I'll spot a few next semester wandering around campus, or I may even have a couple of 101 kids again since I'm teaching a couple sections of 102, but most of them are going to vanish. It's bizarre and it makes me just a little bit sad.

Most of them will fall off my map and the little mysteries of each student - like the young man studying accounting who has a homemade tattoo on his hand that reads "la famiglia" - will remain mysteries. The writer in me makes up stories to go with the quirks of these students, but as the instructor, it's not my place to get personal.

So, I get to know them the best I can during the course of the semester, I try to help them the best I can, and then they move on and I never really know what happens to them after my class. My brother reminds me, "You'll have another batch next semester to get attached to," but I'm stalling on grading the last bits, because I get sentimental during this part of the semester.

It seems so cheesy, but there you have it. I actually like most of my students.

Amanda Does Not Approve

I sent Amanda my new & improved website profile and she was not impressed. She says it's cheesy and "I am afraid that this is going to attract the 'sensitive' guy--you know, the type also referred to as metro sexual because no one can tell if he is gay or straight--not even him."

So, fine, I'm editing it again. It's frustrating. I'm getting a Masters degree in English, I've written a novel, etc. etc. but writing one damn blurb that will get a guy's attention and make him want to get to know me is proving more than I can manage. I mean, for the love of George, it's only 400-ish words that I'm trying to write!

Back to the drawing board. Time to think harder about my intended audience. Gotta do what I keep telling my comp. students to do and write with my ideal reader in mind ;) Man, this is hard. At least the line about the zombie movies is Amanda-approved, so I can keep that much.

The New Profile

Today I decided it was time to re-write my profile for the dating site. The old one, which Amanda helped me with, was okay, but it felt kind of blah. And, in light of my new favorite song, I thought it was time to freshen things up a bit, be a bit more friendly, and be more personal. So, with no further ado, the new blurb:

I believe we tend to find something because we're looking for it, not because it finds us. That's why I work hard at optimism and seeing the good in all kinds of situations. So, here I am, on this site, looking for the right someone. I'm hoping to find a pleasant surprise - that guy I never saw coming who's going to be the perfect partner to have adventures with.

If you laugh easily, would rather encourage than discourage, and especially if you like zombie movies, then I would love to get to know you better.

What do you think? Is it garbage or worth keeping?

Who's Stalking Who?

A couple days ago I got a call from a number I didn't recognize so I let it go to voicemail. The caller didn't leave a message so I forgot about it.

Today, I got a text from that same number.
Them: Who is this?
Me: Jean.
Them: I think you have the wrong number.

Um, yeah. You're the one who called me, dude. Oh how I love misdials.

The Blue Picture of a Red-Tailed Hawk

This comes from a photo I originally wasn't too pleased with. But then I cropped and adjusted the color a bit, and now I quite like it. Sometimes a little bit of editing is magic.

Going Solo

I did my hair and went to the bar, arriving half way through the band's set. The friend who was maybe going to meet me didn't, but there were plenty other people there to talk to so I did plenty of, "hey how've you been" and catching up.

The cute bartender from the other night did show up, but just as a customer, so I didn't have an excuse to talk to him. Instead, I talked to everybody else I knew when I worked there and ended up sitting with one of my favorite couples in the world, they're super nice, really sweet to each other, and they met online, which is what I remind myself of every time I want to stop messing with the dating website. It was good to talk with them and everyone else and have an embarrassingly girly drink.

Now I have to get dressed and head off to my shift for the seasonal gig. I am so tired and all I want to do is go back to bed, but no rest for the weary, right? Despite the tiredness, I'm very glad I went out last night.

It's Like a Marathon or Something

It's been a long day. First class at eight a.m., after staying up late last night to finish grading, then it was off to the seasonal job until seven p.m. In a short while, I'm off to the bar to possibly meet up with a gal friend who probably won't show up. Part of me just wants to stay in tonight and watch TV 'cause I've got another long shift for the seasonal job tomorrow, then another Sunday, and I have a lot more grading to do over the weekend before my first Final at eight Monday morning. It's been a long week. I'm tired.

But.

But, my friend might make it to the bar. But, the cute bartender might be working. But, there might be a band. And the biggest "but" of all is that I really do need to spend more time around people other than students. So, I'm watching the Michael Buble music video again, then I'm taking a quick shower, doing my hair, and going to the bar to have a drink and maybe talk to people.

That Buble Song

In the car today, I heard this song. It seems very fitting with my last post. A reminder to be optimistic.

Couples, Couples, Couples

There's a theory about relevance. The theory is, you buy a red chevy and all of a sudden, all you see everywhere is red chevys. It's a radar theory - you're paying more attention to something and so you spot it often.

I'm having a reverse relevance experience. Every where I look, I see couples. Thanks to the seasonal job, for hours on end I stand in a store, watching people my age walk by hand-in-hand. I see gals my age pushing baby strollers around. I see a cute guy, then his girlfriend/wife rounds the corner right behind him.

I gotta tell you, it's extremely annoying. Where are the single guys? Have they all gone into hiding?