I remember why I hate DC

Sorry folks (all of the two of you out there who read my blog!) for the silence. I tried to update with the times and go with wordpress, but I'm 90 and it takes too long for me to learn something new. And, it has created a complete writing block for me, so when nothing else in my life seems to stay the same for a second, I need this blog. I've lived in DC for the third time starting the end of October. I have rearranged my room three times. I just put an office in my closet. I've tried several different budget apps on my phone, and today reverted back to pen and paper and cash and envelopes. Poor Kitty Cash. He can't even find his litter box. Again.

What is this constant need to rearrange and evolve all to get back to the same freaking place we started? Why even try to mingle with friends of new friends who all lived on the same floor at some nerdy dorky college and don't even ask you ONE question about yourself because they are too busy dropping names of Senators who happened to walk past them in the hall?Oh, of course DC isn't the exception. It is the same feeling I get when I spend a weekend in NYC trying to pretend that I know which hipster band is cool that day and who designed the pair of shoes my friend is wearing. Who am I kidding? Maybe I just need to go back to the farm that I remember my grandmother describing as where all the hard hard times happened, but evidently from the far away look in her eyes, these were above all, simple, sweet, coveted times.

I loathe pretentiousness. I loathe close-mindedness. I'm not sure which type of thinking is more of a turn off to me. Actually, come to think of it, when you get down to it, it is all the same. Everyone just lives in their own world with their own circle of everyone who behaves and looks just like them and you know what? They love it. WE love it. I, yes, I admit it. I love it. Whatever this "it" is is the same reason why right now I want to be lying in the back of a pick-up truck looking at the stars and sweating my ass off in the Mississippi heat. At least the person next to me would most likely be thinking the same thing as me-nothing at all.

Oxytocin: The "Cuddle Drug"

"So when we talk about "attraction," "infatuation", or "following your heart" after meeting a potential partner, we're actually talking about reactions produced in our brain. These reactions made us feel more alive and excited than almost any other time in our lives. It's like the rush of adrenaline you might feel when skydiving or riding a roller coaster. Sometimes these feelings are so extreme that we become addicted to them, and move from relationship to relationship to recapture and sustain them." So, you mean like the feeling I get when I watch Super Kitty Cash run across the living room floor chasing after the neon colored mouse I bought him that moves on his own? "...oxytocin. Not only is this cuddle drug the same hormone secreted by nursing mothers and after orgasm by both partners, it is released in good and healthy relationships in the presence of our long-term partner. Oxytocin is what makes us feel connected and blissful just being with him/her."

Oh, THAT'S IT! That's what those women are talking about after shooting that 8 pound mass out of their own bodies after being controlled by it for nine months. Wow. That's a drug I want some more of. Was David Steel, author of Conscious Dating quoted previously, referring to the feeling I get when my current boy turns to me in a gay bar and asks, "Is this wrestling competition really on ESPN or do they always have something like this playing at Nellie's?" Is it the feeling I get riding in the car with him on the way home on Sunday morning when we both pause to take a moment to listen to the actual words coming out of that rapper's mouth and both blush and love it at the same time? Is this the feeling I get when we decide to take the night off from "exercising" and instead stay up talking about how cool he was in the 5th grade because he carried his books in a "satchel" instead of the more popular Jansport backpack? Is this funny to anyone else, because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like we are the only ones in our own little world who thinks these things are laughable or unique.

But isn't this what a friendship is? Are these different from the excited feelings I get when a new friend from an old familiar town is thinking the same thing when we pass someone on the street that reminds us of the famous Oxfordtonian? Because, let's face it, it's a toss up. The giddiness I feel with a new girl friend is the same or perhaps even deeper than that of a new boy because I can bear all and say what I feel and blurt out what my first true reaction to life is and they love me anyway because they are girls too! They GET me.

Two weeks ago I experienced my first meeting with a REAL LIVE shrink. He asked me, "Do you feel that your girl friend relationships are different than your relationships with men?" "Um. YES!" God, has he never seen one episode of Sex and the City? I knew I was taking a risk by breaking my rule of only seeing female doctors. They just don't get it. Or maybe they do. Would it really be that awful if I treated both relationships the same? Wouldn't it at least be honest? But what if my honest equals crazy. What if I tell him that when I ask him a question and he doesn't text back that I almost lose my freaking mind? Wouldn't he put on his best running shoes, plug "home" into his GPS under the setting "most direct route" and get a move on? No scenic drives here folks. Or, would he choose to take that longer drive even if it meant stumbling along the path and wanting to give up before he reaches the pot of gold filled with that drug, what was it again? Oxytocin? More important question, would I? Will I? Should I? Will I abandon myself on the way up and lean on him too much to get to the top all for something that lasts only a short time? Will I forget my self? This self that sits on the bathroom floor by her cat writing blogs and quoting dating books? Oh God. Perhaps the grass IS really greener over there. Really? Cat toys, blogs, and dating books vs. orgasms? Mmmmmmm. Oh, who cares if I lose all sense of self!

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."

Taxi Cab Driver

The last few days whatever I have felt, I have felt with EXTREME emotions. I can always figure out some way to blame my hormones, but try to remind myself that it is probably a bit real too. Like tonight when I was kissing the boy goodbye in the freezing cold and feeling totally sad that it is not like the old days when you could sit on a porch swing until your mom and dad went to bed. But, of course not before telling you it was time to say goodnight. At least you got to make out beside their old car underneath the basketball goal on a hot summer Mississippi night. Quite different from tonight. Not a second later after my beau had kissed me goodnight and I had sat down in the warm cab ready to allow my blissful warm and lovey thoughts of the evening fill my brain until 2726 Connecticut did the hooded cabbie ask me, "Why he not coming home with you?" He then proceed to tell me that he was too young for me, and although I looked like I was 23, I needed someone at least around the age of 35. Most people would have ignored this guy, but not me. I found myself disclosing all of the reservations I have not allowed myself to speak out loud to this complete stranger who was taking the long way home in order to take more of my cash. Perhaps not, though. I mean, he did end our $6.50 therapy session by showing me a picture of his mom with his wife and two daughters. This was right before he called me sweetie and told me that I looked at MOST 23. "You are a pretty lady." OK. Time to go! I know I should feel appalled and disturbed that someone providing a service that I pay good money for would invade my personal life. Oh, what the hell! I'm not sure if it was the cabbie or my three whiskey cocktails I had at the secret speakeasy tonight, but I am sleepy and smiley and sleepy.

The Perfect Relationship

I don't think I could love anything more than my cat. After all, he sure loves me. He doesn't care if I have yucky phlegm from my sinus infection that has lasted for more than ten days now and I have to keep blowing my nose and leave my tissues lying around all over the place. He doesn't care if I ignore him all weekend and only cries when I'm gone, according to my roommate. I guess he does play a little hard to get. When I laid down today for my Sunday nap, I had to BEG him to join me. But, in the end, he always assures me. He sniffed around and tiptoed up on the bed and after about ten minutes of him acting like he wasn't going to stay-he plopped right down and slept on my hand and didn't move until I woke up. The PERFECT codependent relationship. Later, when I had to get stuff done, he didn't mind. I mean, his loud snores coming from under the bed were a bit distracting, but if that's my only complaint, it could be worse right? OK-I do feel a bit guilty since it is probably my fault that he snores. According to all of my friends, he is massively obese. Maybe we should get him one of those breathing machines? Or maybe I should stop feeling guilty when I don't give him enough attention and stop feeding him treats to make up for it.

Lately, he's been doing this thing where if I walk by, he'll reach out his paw and give me a little love pat and then we'll chase each other around the room until he gets plum worn out from all of the exertion. AND, he's been fetching again. Well, by fetching, I mean, I throw his blue toy dog against the wall and he falls on top of it.

Yep. Perfect. He loves me the way I am and I love him. Except for one tiny thing: a few minutes ago when we had finished our nightly routine of me taking a bubble bath and him sitting outside of the bathroom door until I'm done, something happened. I was all nice and clean and walked over to put my towel away and-yuck! WHAT did I just step in? O.K., yes. I bought the cat litter yesterday but haven't changed it out yet. Who knew? Codependent Cash is a passive aggressive communicator! He left that little bit of cat s**t by the couch just to let me know that he doesn't appreciate this neglect.

Ok, I know. What is the lesson in all of this nonsense tonight?

#1: Communication is key. If he would have just told me that he doesn't feel loved and appreciated when I don't clean the litter, then we could have avoided me having to take two baths in less than 10 minutes and now my skin is as dry as a stick.

#2: Compromise. Sometimes, you gotta put up with a little bit of shit to get a whole lotta love.