Trial & Error

I’m sure you’ve been on pins and needles wondering how my date went. Right?
Yeah, I didn’t think so, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.

That particular date, and the few that followed have gone extremely well. We met for drinks last Friday, talked non-stop, had dinner and drinks that Sunday, he cooked me a HelloFresh dinner on Wednesday, we went to the Greek Festival on Friday and we played with Baby goats at a local farm and tasted mead on Sunday. He’s very pleasant company… and extremely interesting. However, I’m just not that into him. ūüė¶

Side Note: I read that book a long time ago when “ghosting” first became the norm. Looking back, I can’t believe I thought I needed a book to help me crack the guy code. If they were any more transparent, they’d be windows.

Looking back on the lists I gave my matchmaker (the list of desirable qualities and the list of deal-breakers) I can totally understand why this guy was selected. He’s done some stuff. He’s lived. And he’s a RockStar at his very interesting and technical job (Drone Scientist). At 39, he’s been married, lived all over the country, has 3 kids, was a “Boylesque” (think male burlesque) dancer, a roller derby racer (evidently they let guys do that too in some places), does Crossfit and is excited about his upcoming participation in the Spartan Race. This seems to only be the tip of the iceberg. When I told her I wanted to meet someone “Interesting,” she hit the nail on the head.

Problem is, I’m starting to wonder how much of this crazy narrative is actually true.

Of course there’s more. I only find myself physically attracted to him after I’ve had a few cocktails. This is probably the biggest issue. And although I owe him nothing, I feel awful about it. While he sends me texts saying “I think you are amazing” I’m on the other end, full of doubt and fear.

Last night I told him he was sweet, because he is. This was his response, “Sweet is good… but what about sexy?” I froze. For a second I thought about what I found sexy… what people I found sexy and why. It occurred to me that when a guy referred to me as sexy, he clearly wanted to have sex with me. I was so far away from that thought, I had no idea how to respond.

I had a panic attack the day we’d planned to go to the Greek Festival. I felt suffocated and couldn’t slow my heartbeat no matter how I tried. But I let him pick me up regardless, because he was so excited to go.

I noticed that after I got in the car, when I said anything, he would either try to finish my sentences or talk over me. It was like he was so nervous around me that he needed Ritalin. It was exhausting and I’d already had a tiring week. I tried to explain what was going on in my head, but all that came out was, “Sometimes, you’re a bit much.” I immediately beat myself up internally for being such a bitch.

He sends me a thank you text after every date and wants to spend more time with me than I have. It isn’t long after one date ends that he starts asking for another. Then the panic sets in. It struck me that if I was as enthusiastic about him as he was about me, this wouldn’t be problematic.

It hasn’t been long, but after the first weekend, I began to question myself. I think it’s important when you’re uncomfortable in any situation to ask yourself why… and what you can do about it.

That first weekend, he texted me NON-STOP… so much so that everything I did was interrupted, if not spoiled by the constant messaging. I started to feel the walls closing in. By that Monday, I didn’t want to be around people at all. I told him “the constant texting is problematic.” He slowed it to a crawl. It was a few days before I felt comforable again.

I couldn’t sleep last night and today I’m having another panic attack. I’m finally hearing what my body is telling me. It always sucks when you know you’re going to hurt someone, but it’s always better to rip off the band-aid quickly and just be honest. Even though the message is unpleasant, the receiver will respect you more for being forthcoming.

In this process I asked myself the toughest question of all, “Is it me?” “Is there something wrong with me?” I’m sure the list is long, but most likely a lot shorter than most. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with me, and I think that’s the crux of it. I don’t need a guy. If I meet someone who complements or adds to my life, THAT‘s when I’ll know it’s right. It’s not selfish to do what you need to do for yourself.

So I will.

(to be continued)

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Another Journey Around the Sun

This past weekend I celebrated my birthday with friends old and new. Luckily, having so much going on, I had no time to think about myself actually growing older (and closer to my scary age… yes, everyone has one…)

Friday night I had a date. In an earlier post, I’d mentioned flinging myself back into the dating pool by way of matchmaker. It had been so long since I’d hired her, I’d begun to think she’d given up on finding anyone suitable in my area for me. Ironically, on the day she called to tell me she’d scheduled a date, I had just begun to look around online. It was mostly out of curiosity… and entertainment. But I also wanted to get a preview of what was out there. I found myself mostly swiping left, with very few exceptions.

The original matchmaker date never happened. She explained that as the time drew near, he began acting shady, so she canceled it. I was a little disappointed, but I didn’t take it too personally since he had no idea who I was.

In the meantime, I had this new app. And it was full off possibilities. (Yes, that was sarcasm) After a few conversations, I realized that the chances of meeting any of these guys in real life were slim. When one canceled our date almost immediately after scheduling it, I was beginning to get a complex. His excuse was that his father (who was 4 hours away) had an accident. I never heard from him again.

A few days later I opened the app to find several guys missing. One disappeared after I mentioned meeting in person. Another deleted his profile completely. One I’d spoken with the first day was gone. Lastly, one (who had been messaging constantly) told me that he was going to see things through with someone else. This honesty was refreshing.

One guy HAD to talk to me on the phone right away. He told me right off the bat that he preferred talking instead of text. I just figured he was old school. We met on Friday and had a great date. The next day he made a point of telling me that he had originally made a date with someone else for Sunday, but was going to cancel since he was so interested in me. The gravity of that gesture didn’t register right away.

He called me when he got home from our date. He called me the next morning when I was getting ready for goat yoga with my friends. He texted to see if I could talk when I was on my way home from brunch. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a person want to talk to me this much. I was starting to feel panicked and claustrophobic.

Contractors were in and out of my house working the entire weekend, which meant that a nap or alone time wasn’t going to happen. A friend brought me lunch. A few other friends asked where I’d be that night since they wanted to wish me a happy birthday. There were people around or communicating with me most of the day and on into the evening. Was there time for multiple phone calls just to talk? No way! Yet I found myself talking to him at least 4 times before going out that evening. I even missed one of his calls.

Although all the red flags, bells and alerts were flashing in my head, I found myself taking calls and making apologies. There I was again, making myself miserable in order to make someone else happy. At least this time I recognized it.

Sunday, I tried with zero success to relax as my house full of contractors sawed and hammered. That evening, my friend JD came by and helped me automate my home with a gift of smart bulbs. It took a while to get everything set up and working, so I ran out and got dinner for us. While we were eating, “first date guy” sent a “Sleep Well” text that buzzed on my Apple watch. My phone was charging in the back room and I was having dinner with JD, so I didn’t respond. ONLY TEN MINUTES LATER I received the following:

Patrick

I’m not sure why this surprised me. He had spent the entire weekend showing me who he was. It was my birthday. I was busy and surrounded by people the entire weekend, yet this asshat felt that there was nothing and no one more important than him. After no response from me, the next day, he texted an apology. I have no plans to respond.

On the other hand, it’s good to be reminded every once in a while what you don’t want. But it’s way more awesome to be reminded each year how much the people in your life love you.

Saturday when I was out catching a friend’s band perform, my ex boyfriend from the late 1990’s dropped in to wish me a happy birthday. He makes a point of remembering me every year.

I spent the evening with Erika (who incidentally has the exact same birthday) and Kat, listening to music, being complete goofballs, and running into half the population of our city. We ended the night at a gay bar, where Kat promptly stole my phone and left me with these little gems.

We ran into Bill, who instantly became our bodyguard and bouncer. Then we found the prettiest and most fabulous drag queen in the cabaret show.

Told ya.

The next day I received a text from my friend whose band we’d seen the previous night. He told me he was writing a duet for us. He’s a BRILLIANT singer and songwriter, so I’m over the moon that he’s so psyched to work with me. A few minutes later, my friend Allison (who lives 3 hours away) called and sang me Happy Birthday. Ending the evening nerding out with JD was exactly what I needed. I’m not sure he realizes exactly how much I appreciated the visit.

All things considered, it was a good birthday. I was surrounded by people who love me, look after me, and let me be me.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

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Doris Day & The Secret Perils of Children’s Books

Last night my parents took me to dinner for my birthday. We do this every year and they always ask if it can be early since I usually have a lot of activities planned with my friends on the actual day. This year we’re planning to do Goat Yoga.

After dinner, we went back to my parents’ house and they began regaling me with stories from my childhood. My parents are some of the greatest people on the planet. Dad is one of those “salt of the earth” guys who can build a house from the ground up… and has. He’s a retired fireman who goes to lunch every week with his friends who call themselves the ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out). He comes from a family of twelve in which he was the seventh and last son.

Mom is a retired government worker who spent a lot of time crunching numbers for the US Geological Survey, Department of Agriculture and various other government agencies. She’s one of those people who did exactly what she was told and never sought whatever lingered “outside the box.” She’ll fight you for a slice of cake or cream-filled doughnut and she’ll talk your ears off, sometimes repeating herself.

One day when Dad was picking Mom up from work, he took me to the mall beforehand. When we walked by K&K Toys, I saw a stuffed Saint Bernard complete with plastic brandy keg. I was a toddler, so he was GIGANTIC in relation to me, and is still the largest stuffed animal I’ve owned. I proceeded to wrap my arms around his neck and sit on the floor with him. When he saw that, Dad purchased him and on we went to pick up Mom with this “new pet” that dwarfed me. Mom didn’t quite know what to think.

Evidently, I had a habit of doing things like that. This is how my parents came to acquire Doris Day. Doris Day is a statue of a female Buddha. When my parents were out shopping for furniture to put in their new house, I wandered off and found this statue, wrapped my arms around it and exclaimed “DORIS DAY!” At the time, there was a TV show that starred Doris Day. In it she wore her hair on top of her head, much like the statue. Although the statue in no way actually resembled her, my parents thought that was so cute and funny that they purchased it. It is still in their formal dining room to this day.

Doris Day

Doris Day

Also in the formal dining room sits a doll that my Dad brought back from Korea. One of Mom’s co-workers had asked if he could bring back a doll for her child. Not truly comprehending that she wanted a toy baby doll, he came home with this…

The Scary Geisha Doll

The Scary Geisha Doll

For most of my childhood, this doll sat in my Mom’s sewing room. I didn’t think anything of it and hardly noticed it until…

As part of a program to encourage kids to read, we were given a catalog from which we could order books that we liked. Mom would give me the catalog and I would select a few books. For some reason, I chose a book that haunted me most of my formative years. It featured a Geisha who would grow long nails and kill people. The book was illustrated vibrantly and written for children (which is surprising given the whole death & killing thing). I have no idea what the name of the book was, but I clearly remember thinking after I’d read it that Mom’s doll was going to come to life, her fingernails would grow long and she’d kill us all. This “phase” in my life probably lasted a whole lot longer than it should.

Last night after seeing the doll again when I was checking out Doris Day, I told my parents. They were shocked. Mom thought she remembered the book, but had no idea the graphic content it contained. She also had no idea that I wasn’t fond of the doll and never wanted to be in the same room as it. Dad just chuckled.

SuperCon

So there I was in a line of the sweaty, costumed masses that stretched completely around the Raleigh Civic & Convention Center. My first thought was that I didn’t bring any sunscreen, my second was that I was going to be extremely close to some of my favorite celebrities and I didn’t want to look or smell like a sweaty mess and I didn’t have deodorant in my ridiculously large bag. I’d packed everything else I could possibly need (snacks, portable phone charger, zip up hoodie for warmth, water bottle, extra t-shirt, cash, memorabilia for signatures…) I’d never been to a convention of any type, but I was a damn-quick study.

A guy dressed as batman, driving a convertible replica of the Batmobile (and probably also sitting in a puddle of his own sweat from what I could imagine) pulled up just in time for a tiny joker to appear and leer at him from behind a telephone pole. I giggled and walked past. It was like I was walking through a film set… or perhaps Bizarroworld. Not typical by any stretch of the imagination, but this was MY typical Saturday.

Once inside I felt lost only for a moment, then, as if by magic I was found by multiple people who picked me out of the crowd. (I’ll admit, I wasn’t dressed in a costume of any sort and I wasn’t slogging around in a t-shirt and jeans so I was probably the sorest of all thumbs in the bunch. But THIS, I’m accustomed to.) After I made my way to a restroom, blotted any dew I’d accumulated and taken a few deep breaths to collect myself, I ran straight into my friend John, who in recent months had begun trying his hand at CosPlay photography. He’d been hired to take all the group shots at the SuperCon so although he was busy, he took a moment to show me how to get where I needed to be… I went straight to where the celebrities are.

I’ve always been most at home with them. I think that’s something I’ve always known. They’re just more interesting than normal people. And I’ve always been drawn to those who set themselves apart.

My list included: Gaten Matarazzo (Stranger Things), Jason Mewes (Clerks, Mallrats, Jay & Silent Bob), Emma Caulfield (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, TiMER), Brian O’Halloran (Clerks, Mallrats), and Joey Lauren Adams (Chasing Amy, Big Daddy, Dazed & Confused). I loved ALL of them. Some interactions were a little more rushed than others. Some remembered me and interacted with me throughout the convention. (I even got to hug Emma goodbye and wish her safe travels. She really is the sweetest! I told her about my friend Jenn who named her second son Xander. She said, “Now THAT’S dedication! And we laughed.)

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And Joey… I can’t say enough about Joey. The convention organizers placed Emma and Joey right next to each other and I can certainly understand why. They are both Sweetness and Light. During the View Askew panel while Jason was walking around being ADHD and Brian was being a comedian, Joey just sat back, calmly answered questions (no matter how off-color they were) and just glowed. She has an aura about her that is definitely old soul, but there’s a sweet vulnerability and a touch of “cool kid” that makes you want to hang out with her. In her Q&A, I asked her who was her role model. She responded without hesitation, Deborah Winger. Now I feel the need to watch more Deborah Winger movies.

But the best part was when I told her that ever since I’d watched Chasing Amy, I’d wanted her to be my best friend, she smiled and giggled and we chatted some more. She then took a stunning photo with me. What I hadn’t noticed was that she had personalized my DVD in response to our conversation. Now I’m the one who’s glowing.

When I first heard about the SuperCon, my friend Madeline had sent me a message last weekend when I went to see Kevin Smith at the comedy club. She told me that “Jay and Dante” would be there, which at the time were intriguing but not quite impressive enough for me to be completely convinced. When I saw that Joey was accompanying the boys, I clicked the purchase button immediately. As soon as I saw Emma was there, I knew my decision was a solid choice.

Madeline had a wedding to shoot in Virginia on Saturday, so I extended my ticket purchase to I could accompany her on Sunday. (Sunday was also Joey’s Q&A, so it was a win-win regardless) I got everything I wanted to do for myself done on Saturday so that I could relax and enjoy everything with Madeline on Sunday. It was the perfect plan.

I Am Ian Soap

In my house I have a few things that serve as I.Q. tests.

What do I mean by this?
Allow me to explain.

For instance, as long as I’ve owned my house, I’ve had a functioning doorbell. When someone coming to my house knocks without bothering to ring the bell, it occurs to me that our decision processes are not necessarily aligned.

If I’m faced with the decision of whether to ring or to knock, I always RING FIRST because the bell is there for a reason. If no one answers for an extended period of time and I don’t hear movement within the house (as if they’re attempting to get to the door because they heard the bell) I can then assume it’s broken and knock. But if it’s there, I have enough sense to ring it.

Said doorbell has been replaced a time or two, but I ended up replacing it most recently with a brightly lit doorbell so that there could be no question that it was in working order.

Don’t think I’m not taking note when a suitor doesn’t bother to ring it the first time he appears at my door.

Also the first time someone takes me out… I take note if they can’t find my house. I’m on a main road. It’s parallel to 2 other main roads. There’s a house number over my door and a house number on my mailbox. It’s 2017. Everyone has a cell phone or a GPS. If you’re too stupid to figure this out without calling me, you might be too stupid to date me.

I also noticed that ever since I purchased the fancy automatic hand soap dispenser, quite a few people went straight for the dish soap when washing their hands in my kitchen. Even though I placed the dispenser in what I’d thought was a conspicuous place, they STILL ALWAYS went straight for the dish soap. I found myself having to direct everyone… even multiple times. I was beginning to feel like a flight attendant.

So… I did what every annoying Type A girl does… I made signs… moreover labels (because who doesn’t own a fancy label maker these days?) and adhered them to the offending soaps. It’s been a few months since and the labels have worn off somewhat. Now the hand soap appears to have named itself. Meet Ian… Ian Soap.

I’m not sure exactly how that happened so strategically, but it made me laugh. (Who am I kidding… it makes me laugh every time I look at it.) And hopefully, after this batch of hand soap is done (and since that specific type of dispenser refill has become obsolete/too difficult to come by in normal shopping runs) I’m going to replace it with a dispenser that looks more like an actual hand soap dispenser. (Fingers crossed that the rest of the world will share my opinion on this.)

I’ll have to keep you posted to see if this alleviates the issue so that I don’t have to keep annoying my guests with signage. ūüôā

An Exercise In Duplicity

Last night I saw that a guy named Kevin Nguyen commented on an Instagram video I’d posted when I caught my dog watching cat videos with the concentration of a ninja. As it turns out, he’s part of this online video collaboration hub. Within seconds of my response, he emailed me a release form for the original video and told me he would let me know when it was posted. When he’s done editing, Quincy will be featured in one of these cute little compilations. Today I figured I would do a little more research and see exactly what Kevin and his company did.

First I googled his name. Ironically, I came across a post by the GQ Writer bearing the same name who had done the exact same thing. Of course, my next move was to go to the company website and see if he was listed. He wasn’t, but now I understand more about what I was getting myself (and my Aussie, Quincy) into.

Which leads me to my next point. Have you ever googled yourself?

Google Search

I learned some very important things about myself by performing this little experiment. First of all, I learned that Facebook is omnipotent.¬†It always seems to take over whenever you search for anyone on the internet. I also learned that no matter how many times I spell my name correctly, the second search result is adamant about placing that extraneous E at the end. Thirdly, I seem to be a professor at Cornell. Who knew I was such an academic? I’m sure she shrugs every time she sees my makeup business come up in search results, but oh well… “Loosen your bone Wilma!”

The fourth and fifth results are actually me. One is my Linked In profile (probably more advertising) and then my makeup business, a result which I surprisingly didn’t pay for. I also found this cool chick¬†and this one. Evidently a lot of REALLY¬†interesting people have my name. And all this time I thought it was so boring & commonplace.

Ever since I was asked my name in grade school, I’ve been ashamed of it because I thought it was so “Blah.” I’m grateful that I didn’t change or alter it in any way back then since the names I found most appealing in my youth sound more like exotic dancer names to me now.

I’m pleased to announce that there were no criminals or any other sorts of shady persons uncovered in this little exercise. Thus, I can only conclude that people with my name are honest, smart, and creative. They are business owners, public speakers, award winners, academics… Performing today’s activity has only made me more proud to be numbered among them.

Image Search

We’re not such a bad-lookin’ bunch! (And no… I’m not in there anywhere, but I didn’t scroll either.)

Your turn!

Define Perfect

You may not know it if you’ve been to my house lately, but I’m a perfectionist. I will correct your grammar, tuck in your visible clothing tags and offer to groom your crazy eyebrows. I’m fine with change, but I like knowing that if something has my mark on it, I’ve done my best. This is one reason my storage closets are where old beauty products and tools go to die. If something works better than what I’m currently using, I have to have it. This usually comes at the cost of the cluttered graveyard of all products that have gone before.

Yesterday I had my interim review. For the past few years I’ve been immersing myself in MS access and VBA while being given all of the broken databases to fix. I was never trained. I just jumped in and learned. Now people are asking me their Access questions. It’s a goal of mine to learn as many programming languages as I can, so I indicated that and my Manager agreed. My next project is in C#.

I’ll be honest. I was a Technical Writer for so long that I got caught in a loop. I had no idea how to grow from there. My boss at the time took notice when I was finding so many bugs in the applications I documented that he suggested I try writing code. Who would have thought I’d enjoy it?

It really changes your outlook on the world when you’re given an opportunity for growth like that… knowing that every day you come to work, you’ll be challenged and learn something new. I used to struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I was unchallenged and growing complacent. Most of my energy was spent on my side hustle(s). I managed and fronted a band for almost 4 years and I’ve been a freelance makeup artist since 1999.

I put myself through Esthetician School when I felt it was time to take a hiatus from playing music live. I was exhausted. All of the marketing, website, newsletter, booking, calendar, music distribution (MP3 and sheet music), rehearsal space… pretty much everything was being handled solely by me. I spent late nights drafting newsletters, downloading MP3s and searching for sheet music. I got up early send out invites, draft Facebook posts and update our website. By the end my health was suffering. Having school as an excuse to put the band on hiatus was exactly what I needed.

Even in Esthetician School, I worked full-time and was a full-time student. But it also re-ignited¬†that perfectionist fire in me. I graduated with straight A’s at the top of my class. I even got to wear an honor cord on my robe. To me, this brought out a lot of things that had been lying¬†dormant. I was excited to graduate. I was excited to pass the exam and hold a license. I became excited about everything.

My enthusiasm must have been detected by my Manager, as his comments on my review were so good I told him that when I read them I wanted to hug his neck, but I’d spare him. He laughed and told me that I’d been doing very well and that he was looking for ways to get me promoted. This, of course, only contributes to my growing enthusiasm. As I sit here waiting for the IT guy to load my new software, I can’t help but think how far I’ve come.

But having perfectionist tendencies doesn’t always serve one well. It’s nice to have the lofty daydream of what you’d like your life to be like, but at some point it needs to intersect with reality. As little girls we all dream of finding the perfect person, having a perfect wedding with all of our friends as attendants, living in the¬†perfect house… By¬†comparison reality seems like a cruel joke. It’s up to us whether we dwell, laugh it off, or bridge the gap between what we want and what we choose to accept.

Never settle.