TMI

Got some feedback today that my blog was a bit TMI. Have to say, sorry, but that's the deal. I don't have many forums (my journal, my blog) to be honest, so...

So, with that in mind, I post the following.

I've been worrying a lot about whether I am so smitten w/ the new guy b/c it means I don't have to be alone or b/c I really find so much connection between us.

There are a lot of things that point me to the realization that it's the good connection. We're starting to know the characters in one another's soap operas. We know some (not all!) of the trigger issues between ourselves. I know what movies he wants to see and he knows what movies I want to see. The argument will be over which we see together. (It's called compromise!)

Still, there are a lot of things we've got a massive disconnect on. He doesn't get that the standup circuit is a close-knit (if anonymous) group of personalities and we all know one anothers' stories and issues. So when I get excited talking about these people, it's like I'm talking about my friends (RIP Bob Schimmel). Mocking them very rightly ticks me off. (He's the same way w/ his music, although he doesn't see that). We have vastly different work lives and experiences. And, we're totally Jupiter/Mars (except I seem to be from Mars whereas he's Jupiter, but that's another story for another time...)

Yet, I desperately want to transcend these issues. Because I love him. Purely and honestly. He's good and decent and honest and direct. Not to mention intellectually stimulating and not so much bad with the physical stuff.

So I hope and wish and pray that we'll overcome these other little things.

This all was massively reinforced by tonight's episode of "Louie" on FX. The replay isn't up yet, but you'll be able to find it here. It's a beautiful portrait of what it sometimes means to be single, and alone.

Common Sense - and the Problem with Not Having Any

OK - so here's a hypothetical situation to ponder...

Say someone - we'll call her Ms. M, commutes to work and, round trip, it takes about 3 hours. Let's also say that 90% of her work can be done online, especially if no one else is in the office.

Let's finally say that, when at home, Ms. M generally gets more work done because 1) commuting time 2) working lunches 3) no distractions.

Now, let's say that Ms. M's new boss has put a kaybosh on working from home - even if NO ONE else is there. Why, you might ask, would someone insist on this, given the reasons above?

Perhaps the reason is, "because your job was presented to you as an office job when you accepted the terms of employment, so you must be in the office."

So, say Ms. M posits that, if it's an office job, she has full permission to leave her laptop at work and turn off her Blackberry when she leaves the office. Sounds reasonable right?

You'd think.

Lack of productivity + failure to take work/life into account = disgruntled employee.

Luckily for someone, in the immortal words of a Ketchup Advisory Board commercial: "By her bumper stickers she doesn't appear to be someone who owns a gun...."

Talk about wanting to have your cake and eat it to.

Avoidance of Work

My new boss - Prima Donna that he is - has decided I am not allowed to work from home. It's an office job, he tells me. But, I reply, I can do everything at home I do in the office. But, he replies, it's an office job. Which is kind of like saying, you can't because you can't because I said so. In the world of 2010 telecommuting, it makes no sense. But it seems to stoke his ego and make him think he's in charge, so whatevs. I'll just be like water when it encounters a rock. I'll go over, around, through fizzures, and eventually still make it to the other side intact and integrated.

All that wonderful meditative therapy aside, I cannot pretend that his bullshit don't make girlfriend mad. And so even though I fully plan on working from home tomorrow (no one else will be in the office and he's in AZ, so who's to know?!?) I am avoiding returning to the world/worry of work.

One of the not-so-admirable ways I have of disassociating myself with work and other, perhaps more grounded, parts of myself is by becoming attached to my radio family at Sirius/XM's The Virus. I know it's not exactly NPR, the WSJ or the FT. But, it's F'ing Funny. And sometimes that's just what a girl needs.

Witness their take on the recent Social Media Sensation that is/was Double Rainbow Guy:

Still Smitten - and other reasons I'm a bad blogger

I checked back at my stats today and realized - holy shit! I'm a bad blogger! Of course, given my recent "woe is me" storyline, probably few readers left. Still, I should have more of a work ethic, I suppose.

Anyway, there are various and sundry reasons I've neglected my humble little ranting forum of late.

First off - Girlfriend be in love. Sure, it's way too early to tell how this could work out with LRMan. But, damn, I could get used to this. Can you imagine me -- ME! -- enjoying having a man fall asleep on my couch and not hating that I am washing up dishes while he snores? Holy heck - call an intervention!

Second - massive work craziness. BREAKING NEWS: CBL is now CFBL - crazy former boss lady. As of last Thursday, I now report in to a Prima Donna Sales Guy who may be equally as bad. The move makes absolutely no sense unless they are trying to remove everyone possible out from under CBL while they eradicate her. But, in the meantime, things are pretty FUBAR. Stay tuned.

I was letting this distress me for awhile, but the weekend away really did wonders. Just being at Kripalu, seeing the shining faces, integrating the joy, witnessing the nature, receiving nourishment from the food, spending way too much money on the clothes/incence/jewelry (okay, maybe not that part) is healing in and of itself. Add to that yoga, meditation and restorative and Whoosh! massive insight.

Third, it's summer! My best friend and daughter, Ma Bell, have been up to visit. Fiesta and Fourth fireworks have been showered, I've been biking and hiking and all sorts of other outdoor activities. (BTW - will have to write an entire post on the "explosive laughter" that was the BF and MB visit. It's amazing that we're not banned from CVS for life...)

So, in short, I haven't been posting, but life has been full of joy and wonder.

What I realized in part this weekend is that I should share THOSE stories too. Not just what's wrong, but what isn't wrong.

We should concentrate more on that. N'est-ce pas?

Of Jumping, Parachutes and Trust

At the risk of TMI ... there is a man lying sound asleep in bed next to me. He's fairly passed out from a hard day's - fuck that, a hard week's, a hard life's - day of work.

He is not at all my image of the "man of my dreams." Hell, for all I ever knew, it could have always been a "woman of my dreams."

Nonetheless, he is here, beside me, paint caked fairly permanently onto his fingers, beer belly, grey hair, and absolutely, unbelievably attractive to me.

I adore him. To the point where I wrote a short story at which GoodBuddy called me out. "Wow kiddo. Borrowing pretty heavily from real world fantasies are we?" In fact, GoodBuddy and I were really honest about it. On a random night last year, when we'd actually gone out to party, we ran into (what shall we name him?) I owned up. "Um, let's dance, but let's keep it fairly clean. And make sure I come off hot. I want to impress that guy over there." No idea if GoodBuddy was offended or not, but there you have it.

Fast forward a bit. I'd put out all the signals. Let's meet for a drink, let's hang out. Nothing. Finally, I invited him out for Fiesta. And finally, a nibble. Or, more truly, a full on, hard core, smooch.

I finally got what I wanted.

And now, the wicked, stupid, eff'ing insecure demon in me is wondering if I coerced him, forced him, somehow manipulated him into my bed. And if he would be here if it where someone - nay anyone - instead.

All the indicators point to no. And, if I am to be honest, he's wicked smart and wise enough to stand on his own and own up if this were a fly by night thing.

So why, oh why, do I continue to doubt myself?

Years and years of therapy and it still all comes down to this. Am I lovable?

But writing this out, I realize yes. I am. And yes, if he doesn't already, we're moving in that direction. Not because I made him. But because we are. We do. We will.

Zero to 60

... or actually 52. But that's an inside joke.

So, after a long, ill-hidden chase, I finally lured the prey into my enchanted web of evil... by making him believe he was chasing me. It's a twisted thing, but we women are pretty derned good at it.

The problem of course, is that I've known for a long time that we would fit well together. And for his part, I think he does really like me and is enjoying the "courtship" stage.

That being said, this thing is moving fast. And that's where my insecurity comes in.

My M.O. is to get all caught up in the "gooey" phase and call it love waaaaay before it deserves the title. Then, by the time I realize it, it's three weeks late and a hundred short.

So, I'm trying to keep a handle on this one. But it's really hard. It's summer, the only AC in the apt is in my bedroom, and my roommate has practically moved into his girlfriend's house. So, how on Earth should we spend the evening...?

Just try telling a Leo to take it slow...

Know What's Amazing?

Having your tech guy make reference to one of your favorite movies under his breath.

Experiencing adventures in travel without stress or anxiety and then walking into a conference room of people who don't shake your hand but give you a hug.

Being called to ask for your "expert" opinion on choosing a new bike.

Finding two cats curled up and asleep on your bed, being far too cute.

Discovering your roommate's son finally feels comfortable enough in front of you to dance.

Having wonderful friends who can talk to you about deep things and silly things, emotions and cosmic reality, anime conventions and th Dresden Files and still not think you're a nutjob.

Staying in your jammies and robe all day and rejoicing about it, all while knowing that tomorrow you will wear well-ironed professional attire, will make your bed and will eat meals at a regular hour.

Getting weepy and sad but knowing that your life won't end.

Feeling disappointed but still knowing you can look forward to fiddlehead season.

Enjoying the smell of garlic and onions sauteeing in a pan.

Thinking it important that you can appreciate NPR and raunchy radio all at the same time.

Wondering at making a toddler smile in an elevator because she has a Disney Princesss ball and you have a Sleeping Beauty keychain.

Knowing that that little girl's mother was thankful fo the distraction because baby was being a brat.

Regretting that someone gave up a lot of potentially enjoyable experiences because he was too afraid to face confrontation.

Seeing a double rainbow and knowing that it meant The Universe would help you as you began a new chapter in your life.

Remembering how much fun I had in Seattle, wandering on my own, talking to strangers, marvelling at the Japanese gardens and walking home in a gentle rain.

Believing that moving to London is a pipe dream and a possibility all at the same time.

Being confident that I deserve love and respect and trust and the space, time and confidence to be comfortable in who I am and do the things that make me happy.

Establishing and supporting the Lady McHerb project.

Finally realizing, heart and soul and mind, that the Lady McHerb project is the most important thing I will ever do.

New Blossoms

It's been a complicated a couple of weeks.

I've had two pretty serious meltdowns. The first resulted in not so favorable circumstances, although I did get 13 hours of sleep.

The second resulted in exactly what I needed.

I've not been paying attention to what I need. I've been staying at work when I should be shutting down and going to yoga. I've been spending Sundays in front of the computer working on plans, budgets or communications.

I have in no way, shape or form been respecting who or what I am.

Add to that the fact that my family has been a basic shit and GoodBuddy shut me down because he couldn't handle admitting to me he'd found a new girlfriend.

In the midst of being constantly barraged by work, no rest and no support from the people I'd relied on to be my support and validation, I had a meltdown. Which resulted in me experiencing life in the emergency room and the psych ward.

Which would have been bad enough. But I kept being barraged by CBL (what part of I can't answer the phone because I'm in the hospital do you not understand?), kept being avoided by GoodBuddy and suffered unrelenting defensiveness and resistance from the parental units. Add one plus one plus one and you equal second nervous breakdown.

Luckily, this time was different. I was able to call on a friend who was nearby and accessible. Who not only could but was interested in making the journey to assist me. (Not to dismiss my other friends who stepped in during my first crisis. But there REALLY are time and distance obsticals.) Instead of being judged by a cold, distant triage bitch, I got held and comforted by a true friend. Instead of spending the night under an itchy, thin hospital blanket, I was held by someone who listened without judgement and fell asleep holding my hand.

More than that, we got to hang out the whole next day. No, it was not slam bang thank you ma'am, as nothing at all sexual happened. As if I was in any condition to deal with that. But I was made to feel no guilt or shame for the emotional firestorm of the meltdown. It was what it was, it was real and, hey, if there are still tears, let them come.

I have lots of thinking to do. I have lots of work I have to do to repair the damage I and others have done to my soul. I need to re-evaluate the role others have in my life and the expectations and hopes I have for them. And how I react if and/or when my personal projections are different than reality.

What I've realized more than anything is that I owe myself the respect of honoring myself. Whether that means taking a yoga class or admitting I need to work from home more than one day a week, or taking more walks around my island, has yet to be seen. But I know I need to disconnect and spend some more time teasing out the tangle of my thoughts and my feelings.

I don't want to run away. I don't want to disengage. I don't want to pretend that I have deep thoughts, a healthy perspective, or an introspective understanding. I want to live that truth. I've got a long way to go. But it's not an impossible path. Just one that takes commitment and belief.

What do YOU remember?

It's Easter Sunday and a I think I'm going to do little more to celebrate than eat a peanut butter egg. Hey, just because I'm not Christain doesn't mean I can't co-opt their chocolate rituals.

But here's the weird thing I associate with Easter: The Smurfs. Smurfette actually.

For some reason, my parents put a Smurfette figurine in my Easter basket one year. I'm not quite sure why - I've never been particularly girly or comfortable with my "feminine wiles." But, there, among the pink plastic grass, sat a little blue and blonde girl.

And, lo, I loved her! I carried her around with me the whole day. And so a tradition was born.

By the time I was in High School, I had entire shelves lined with little plastic dolls. Ballerina Smurfette, Smurfette sitting on a mushroom, cheerleader Smurfette, you name it.

I don't know what happened to those figurines. I assume that they're in a plastic bag somewhere - maybe the closet in my old bedroom or the attic. I guess it doesn't really matter where they are. Because they're really in my heart. And I guess that's where it's most important.

It's Not About the Bike

There are some things you can't argue with. Like if you stick your hand on a hot stove, you're going to get burned. There's other things you can argue with. Like whether the toilet paper should roll over or under. (Over, btw) And there are other things that part of your mind WANTS to argue with but another part - your mental big bully - won't let you argue with. It just slams any rationality or common sense up against the school locker and lets everyone know that these are HIS hallways.

That's kinda like what a manic episode is like. Except you only realize it after the fact. Usually after the Ativan kicks in.

Here's another thing you can't argue with. When you're averaging three hours of sleep a night, stressed out to the hilt, being barraged by a 48 year-0ld infant who can't survive without you, and dealing with the loss of a friend, your body will shut down. Somehow, someway, it's gonna find a way to crash and burn.

And that's all I'm gonna say about March 23.

Somewhere around 9:30 pm (I'd been asleep since about 6), I woke up and realized I was hungry. For a moment I thought abuout just rolling back over, closing my eyes, and falling back into the wonderful, sweet world of dreams. But I didn't. I padded down the hallway to the kitchenette and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I sat on a hard plastic chair and ate the world's most delicious sandwich ever.

When I read Lance Armstong's "It's Not About the Bike," one comment stuck with me. Everyday, during his entire cancer ordeal, he would get up and get on his bike. Sometimes he coould go ten miles, sometimes only one. But he said to himself each day, "As long as I can still get on this bike, I'm going to live."

A peanut butter sandwich is probably not as impressive as riding a bike ten miles while suffering through testicular cancer. But sometimes you gotta grasp whatever straw is in front of you.

Lessons Learned and Learning Lessons

Last night, YogaGirl called. She was technically calling me back about my anxiety over my new hire starting Monday. I hadn't slept a wink and dream land wasn't looking too promising. Fuck, it was the first time I'd managed someone, I don't have my MBA and I've been fucked over enough to know that a bad manager can screw an impressionable mind for a good long time.

I wound up listening to about 45 minutes of YogaGirl going off about her partner. Usually, she's really balanced about this stuff: "I have stuff to share, but you need me to listen to you, so go...' But last night she clearly had a lot of stuff to get off her chest. And, as a friend, I listened to it, openly and honestly.

And then I told her the cold, hard truth. I'd been listening to this same complaint for three years. And if I had a tape recorder, she would not sound like a woman in love. She would sound like a bitter, jaded old married woman. Relationships are hard, but they shouldn't be this hard. After three months of the same old argument - damn! shit or get off the pot.

And then tonight, I called her about my stress with GoodBuddy. He's been in a rough place rfecently, and really needing my validation. But our conversations tend to go like this: "Him. Him. Him. Him. Gotta Go, Bye,"

In case you haven't noticed, I've had a lot going on myself. On the road to recovery from bi-polar disorder. Managing a person, which essentially mean forming a department. Learning how to deal healthfully with CBL. Navigating the possibility of moving to London, Not to mention the big one ---- Re-integrating with the world around me.

And through all of this, GoodBuddy was for all intents and purposed MIA. He did a fair bit of apologizing and making amends tonight when I finally got him on the phone.

But still I realized an important truth when YogaGirl said this, "I know you had the best intentions when you told me this, and so I trust you will understand it when I say: "I've been hearing the same complaint over and over. Girlfriend, shit or get off the pot."

I know she's right. I know I'm right. But there is a large gap between knowing and acting. And that gap is called fear of being alone.

Spring is springing - or at least gusting

It's turn the clocks ahead one hour night. I usually hate this night. Because, while I love me some daylight, I also love me some sleep. When I was growing up as a kid, my dad and I had an inside joke. He would come to wake me up five minutes before I needed to get up. And when he did, I'd always beg for "magic minutes." Which was the low-tech version of the snooze alarm. But that's how much sleep meant to me - magic.

Now I'm older. But I still love sleep. And now that I've started having amazingly vivid dreams if and when I do sleep, I like it that much more.

But tonight, it seems that's not gonna happen. I've watched a movie, listened to old 80s tunes, cooked up some veggies that were about to spoil and even caught up on some overdue email. nd yet, here it is, almost 6 (but really five) and I'm wide awake wilson.

My new hire starts on Monday and I really must be on my A Game for that. Especially given all the specialness that has ensued and will likely continue to ensue over the coming weeks. So an all-nighter wasn't really in the cards. But, I guess you play the cards as the Universe deals them.

Did have a really solid interaction with the roommate though tonight. I think the problem is that 1) neither of us seems to be really good with confrontation and 2) we're both feeling a bit awkward about where we are in our lives. I'm in a period of recover after a massively long bout with all sorts of notwellness. Although I still have a long way to go - and not stopping at Kappys on the way home was a step in the right direction! - I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I can't speak for him, having little to no knowledg of his life or habits, much less his inner turmoil. But I suspect he's also dealing with some stuff. So maybe - and now's probably not the time to reach a hard and fast conclusion - but maybe it's worth he and I sitting down and having an actual conversation. Otherwise, the awkwardness might fester. And that's never a good thing...

Anyway, I digress. The topic at hand was sleep - or the lack thereof. I really really want to get some quality R&R. But how do you turn off the brain when it's churning like this? It's not like I'm suffering under any delusion that getting work done at 6 am on a Sunday will be of a high calibre. So, perhaps, I take a few deep breaths. Break out my notepad and make a PLAN for the work I'm going to accomplish tomorrow.

Once the Ambien wears off. If it ever kicks in.

Sheesh - this stuff killed Heath Ledger and it doesn't even touch me. I've either got way too much Anna's Taqueria Super Grlled Veggie in my system or I'm Batman. What do you think?

I love good advertising

Went out for a pedicure with a lost and found friend. I am so glad she is back in my life. She's wonderful and bright but we also can just be silly and frivolous. What my mother calls "having a sense of whimsy."

We went and got pedicures. We'd tried to get them last week, but there was a mix up at the spa. So we got them this week - for free. Ain't nothing better than someone pampering your feet and knowing it's not costing you a thing. They don't even expect a back-rub in return.

After the "hard work" was over, we had the important task of sitting under the polish dryer machine and flipping through magazines. If you've ever spent any time in a spa or salon, you know that most of the reading is not hi-brow. You won't be finding Dostoevsky here. What you will find is plenty of Us, People, and Entertainment Weekly. We paged through picture after picture of celebs being beautiful, being horrifying, hooking up, breaking up, and entering rehab. Also, lots of great ads. Most of them for things that would make you more beautiful, more sexy, more appealing, or less fat. And then there was this ad.

First thought - funny as all get out. Second thought - who are the market researchers who decided to pay for placement in this magazine. Seems a little ... odd. But, then again, I didn't remember one single underwear, perfume or makeup ad. And I blogged about this one. So I guess they earned their paycheck on this one.

Is there an antidote Dr Bruce Banner?

As a young kid, I was incomprehensibly afraid of The Incredible Hulk. The show starred a local hero, Lou Ferigno, who resided just outside of my hometown. For years, every time the show came on, I hid in fear. My father and brother took sadistic delight in tearing off their worn undershirts by flexing and growling, tearing the worn cotten into shreds while chasing me around the house. It threw me into panic attacks for years. Green giants hunted me in the night, ready to turn me into an abomination.

It was only recently, after a particurly intense energy session and a fortuitous watching of the remake of The Hulk (I do love me some Edward Norton), that I seemed to put a bunch of stuff togehter.

The basic premise of The Hulk is that he has all this stuff inside of him that, literally, is too big.

The basic premise of how my parents treated me as a kid is that I had all this stuff inside of me that was too big, too much, and couldn't be handled. Thus, mytemper tantrums. Thus my temper tantrums being subdued with a wooden spoon, a turn in the shower with a freezing cold spray, a hearty spanking or a faked heart attack. No one thinks at the time that they're abusing their child, but who pays for the therapy?

In many way, lately, I've felt like GoodBuddy felt the same way about me. He wasn't interested or couldn't hear what I had to say - he was just going to tell me the what's what. Because taking in my side of things was really just too much. Too big. Too intense. I honestly don't think that was his intention, but that was the result I walked away with. It's the difference between what is said and what is heard.

GB told me that I don't get to get upset at anything he says because I should know he unconditionally loves me. My response was to point out that when I mock his mumbling (he oftentimes speaks too quickly or too near/far from his cellphone and is unintelligable) he gets pissed. Wicked pissed. His mother used to mock him that way and it triggers his anger. So - HELLO - Mr Pot, please meet Ms Kettle. We all react to people in our lives the way we've been conditioned to from childhood. When he disregarded my feelings - valid or not - I flashed right back to being chased by an older brother embodying The Hulk or a father who wouldn't listen to my pleas as he grabbed the wooden spoon from th kitchen drawer. And, that, my dear readers, is some powerful recall.

As you can tell, I've been doing a lot of thinking about this. Thinking that maybe it was time for me - GB and I - to redefine our parts in one anothers' life. If I am trying to heal, to get centered, to become comfortable with who I am, does it make sense for me to be expending all this energy, all this love, on someone who can't seem to allow the reality of who I am to evolve...?

Then...

Tonight, I was leaving him a VM. It was nothing really. Watching a movie. Going to bed soon. Had a good day, hope you did too." In the midst of it, he beeped in. Somehow (technologically ignorant as I am) I managed to switch over.

"Just leaving you a message."

"I saw. Can we can call it a night?"

"Um, yea. Sure. Everything OK?"

"Yeah. I was getting some texts from someone and they really pissed me off and I'm raging and I don't wan't - should't - take this out on you. Cuz I'm fuckin angry and frustrated and I really don't want you to get caught up in that. And even if we try to talk normal, I'll bring it out on you. So, can we talk tomorrow or something?"

Wow. How decent. Seriously. How thoughtful and kind. Just when I really wanted to tell him to take along walk off a short pier, he reminds me of one of the reasons I love him. Of course, he spent a bunch of time in the water today and that probably helped a lot. But I'm wicked glad to see shadows of Dr. Jekyll in lieu of Mr. Hyde.

So, as many conclusions as I come to, alone in my bed on a Saturday night, maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't take any definitive action. Because our past isn't always our present, and definitely doesn't have to be our future. Maybe things - people - evolve.

Sweet dreams, good buddy. I'll think good thoughts.