When Generations Collide

Last night I had the unique opportunity of having dinner with someone forty-eight years older than me and someone five years younger than me whose father and grandfather were both born in the 1800s only a few years apart. The one born in 1859, a famous geologist. The other, Clarence Oscar, was a one-arm chemical engineer turned inventor by necessity to survive. By survive I mean rigging up a lighting system on his car so that he could shift, drive, and signal at the same time using only one arm. How unique that I had had very frank conversations with the older about the wild nights with the younger and felt completely elated about both. How odd that I looked on with amazement and listened open-mouthed at the similarities between this 77 and 25 year old. I don't know if it was the vodka martini or the glass of wine or the beer I had before dinner, but it all gave me a warm blushing feeling on my cheeks. To share a moment with another old soul and two ACTUAL old souls was so comforting to me. I can't begin to describe my surprise at the love the older has given me just on the basis of friendship, not obligation. Even more, I can't believe the youngest one at the table thanked me later for inviting him to meet these special friends of mine and say how neat it was for me to have friends that age. Friends, not family. Nobody we HAD to spend all day with laughing at our inabilities to read a map, parallel park, and pretend that we don't hear the gas passed when the one of us stepped out of the car to pay the parking ticket. Yep. This is the same lady who has a pink cover for her phone and taught me how to experience a breathtaking piece of art and appreciate it in a way I never have.

On the ride home from dinner when my young friend and I were alone, he changed the station from opera to hip-hop and finally to old 1940s blues and jazz. The "1940s" that the oldest of this dinner party had described earlier the night by sharing the memory of one night hearing the same broadcast coming from every station and called to his father to ask what was the matter. World War II? Yes. I commented on how we are so spoiled today. Yes, we have war and poverty and recessions, but somehow it doesn't seem as big as it was then. We also talked about change. How much changes now in even three months, but back then three years could go by with everyone doing the same old thing.

This causes me to ask the question: were we happier then? I've heard my dad speak of the simple days. Is he right? Despite sickness, wars, no cures for disease (even my 77 year old friend's mother died of spinal meningitis when he was only four) were we happier then? Did we value life and not long for what we did not have? Are we truly this spoiled now? If so, how do we get back to the old ways? More realistically, how do we blend the old and new? Why do we only make friends with those in the same exact stage of life as us when we are missing so much from those a little bit older than us. A little bit slower. A little bit, yes, I'll say it: wiser. I mean, they've seen no less than, how many wars in their life time? They've lived through how many recessions (or depressions)? How lucky I feel tonight at the chance to see "old" friends, to share new friends with the "old" ones, and to understand and appreciate the sense of urgency to share more of these moments together soon.

Infatuation, Love, or Codependency?

To text, email, facebook, gchat, buzz or not to text, email, facebook, gchat, buzz: that is the question. After a long week of being bound in by the biggest snowfall D.C. has seen in years, I am contemplating my sanity. Normally..well, most of the time..O.K., some of the time.. I feel confident, interesting, witty, spontaneous, sexy, lovable, approachable, clever. NOT scared, vulnerable, analytical, sad, desperate, fat, restless. But, yep. You guessed it. Throw me one huge snow storm and I lose all sense of practical thinking. Well, one snow storm, another sinus infection, another snow storm, cramps, and another snow storm. I forget the order, but somewhere in the middle I became this lonely version of myself that I haven't seen in quite a while. Where does she come from? What triggers her to come out of hiding? Why, oh why, does she have to bring the tearful sobs with her that lasted this time no less than 24 hours?

OK, Crazy. It is now Valentine's Day and you have a new special friend who is going to cook you dinner. Flowers? Card? Who needs it when you have a boy that can make you spoon bread. Whatever that is. So, yes. It was a lovely date. Champagne, wine, chocolate covered strawberries. Yes! The confident Erin is BACK! Fast forward to this morning. Oh, wait. You have to go to work today even though your office is technically closed? Don't you want to lie here with me all day instead? I'm sorry. No ride home? Walk me to the metro? What is this? OK. Calm down Erin. Enjoy the moment. Be thankful for the time spent together. Enjoy the high that you are riding on when you remember the sweet things he said. You are not bored. You have a million important things to do on this day off like catch up on those hand-washables, apply to volunteer, take a nap with your cat, watch the olympics. Be cool.

3:00PM: Oh, he's on gchat. Wonder if I should gchat him. Wonder if he would want to see a movie later. Wonder if he got my group email (group, so not too personal) with the Fat Tuesday party idea? 4:00PM: Oprah. 5:00PM: News on snow. 5:43PM: Getting over embarrassment of writing this to the world and finally writing this to the world...or for the two of you folks that read my blog. Is this love? Is it post-Valentine's day hangover? Is it infatuation? I heard that infatuation usually lasts about three months and then you start thinking that what you thought was cute, like him wearing a robe in the mornings, is actually kind of grandpawish and annoying. Is it a reoccurrence of my past codependent life? I mean, what is wrong with wanting to spend every second with someone when you have been snowed in alone for days and have tried calling every possible friend-old or new-and they cancel because everyone but you seems to be living their loving relationship lives? Is it codependency when I try so hard to stay awake so I can look at his face just a bit longer? Is it codependency when I try to have a life, but would honestly just rather be hanging with him. I'm an extravert for God's sake! Isn't this normal? Is it because we haven't had "the talk"? What should I think about his vague response when I asked him to go to that wedding with me coming up in May? Did I let go too much when I mentioned that he must be in town for my birthday: May 21st? What does it mean that he isn't on gchat anymore? Will he want me to come over again tonight? Oh! How I want to! I know, I know. I should get out of the house. Go workout. Go meet some friends. Go live your life. But, aren't we all just trying to use our fabulous lives as a front and the honest-to- god truth is that we want him to call!?!

I'm exhausted. I can see your faces now. I can hear all of the different advice that you have given me on this subject before. I can re-read Codependent No More, Beyond Codependency, and even Conscious Dating, but none of it so far has been able to reverse this downward spiral of negative thinking. Maybe I need shock therapy. Maybe I need reassurance everyday that he likes me. Maybe I should be thinking of how thankful I should be to have someone in my life for this moment, for today, for right now.

Oh wait. I've got it! Thank God The Bachelor: On the Wings of Love comes on tonight. Now I will finally get the answers I have been looking for with their example of a real life relationship. Whew. And I thought I was going to have to go to the gym and leave my phone at home (on purpose) in hopes that this will will him to call. Oh. Wouldn't it be great to be 90 right now and not give a shit about any of this? I mean, by then I would have found someone who has stuck around or just be that crazy old lady that wears bright pink lipstick and dances to rap on her metro ride home and falls asleep every night to the sound of her snoring cat.

Taxi Cab Driver: The Sequel

For the record: I hate the snow. It's all pretty and nice and everything at first, but after around 50 inches or so, it becomes to be a big pain in my ass, not to mention the wear and tear on my mental stability. Four straight days of work cancelled, so by Friday, I was ready for an adventure, an outing. Hell, I was just ready to wake up before noon, get dressed, shove some people around on the metro, and face even the most annoying clients at work. BRING IT ON! Not even a derailed metro car on the line I use everyday could stop me from walking two miles home, hopping in the shower with 30 minutes to look fabulous, and back out again.

The snow has stopped and the sun has shone, so I'm thinking it won't be that bad. I'll be able to get a cab and meet my fabulous new friends at this fabulous trendy bar to eat some berries and fruit trip way into the night. After looking for a cab with no luck, I decided to just walk up to one and hop in regardless if they asked me where I was going. Yeah, that's the thing about D.C. cabs after our third blizzard this year: they may leave the light on for you, but they sure are picky about where they will take you in these icy conditions. Icy conditions is what I was wishing for after spending the next 45 minutes with this driver who I practically forced to agree to take me anywhere I needed to go. I'm beginning to learn the signs. As soon as they say, "Hi, how has your day been?" you might as well kiss your private quiet backseat ride away. I guess it is my Southern upbringing that will not allow me to mumble some one word answer so that they will get the hint that although I don't mind telling them about my day, I would rather sit in the back taking deep breaths while trying to focus on my texting. Not going to happen with this guy. By the end of the $15.00 ride, he had attacked me about not knowing what I thought about god at my age and for not knowing where my name came from. "Erin. Is that Jewish?" "No. It's Irish." "You're family from Ireland?" "I don't know. I asked my grandma once and she told me, 'Baby, I can't remember.'" "You don't know anything! You don't know 'bout god. You don't know 'bout family...oh, wait....this is my wife calling. Hello sweetie." He went on to give me a lesson on helping people until I asked him to take me straight to the bar instead of my friend's house because we took so long helping that frat guy and his girlfriend dig out of their parking space that I missed the pre-party. "You women. You always changing your mind! No! 12 and P. That is far as I take you. From there, you on your own." What about helping the girl that is paying you? Thankfully, he got a call from his wife whom he was probably telling in their native tongue about this selfish white girl that actually wanted to pay him to take her where she needed to go, but at least he was distracted and drove me right to 1301 9th street.

I'm a reflective person, so I decided to share this story with my friend to see if he thought it was just me or that this happens to all D.C. metro residents. Nope. Just me. As my previous boss said at one of my many jobs last year, "Erin. You always get the crazies."