Monday, February 27, 2012

Best Breakup Ever

I’m currently in the middle of teaching a 27 week sexuality education class to 20 middle-schoolers, as part of a small team of fine adults.  There’s a bit of looking down at shoes and squirrelly-ness on the part of the youth, and there’s a lot of letting the silence and squirrelly-ness be okay on the part of the adults, but overall, I feel honored to be part of an excellent program with such a thoughtful group of young people.  

The program offers the message that healthy relationships, which take many forms, are consensual, non-exploitive, safe, and based on trust and good communication.  It’s interesting to work with youth as they develop vocabulary and confidence to head towards that.  I hope it works.

As I think about relationships, though, a bit of me feels exhausted on their behalf for all that lays ahead. All of the broken hearts and disappointment they’ll undoubtedly experience in their lives.  As The Other R. says, it’s good to jump into the rock tumbler and get the jagged edges ground off, but sheesh. Anyway, this whole train of thought made me think fondly of the best breakup I’ve ever been in.  It was someone I hadn’t met, but we connected on the internet.  He wrote to me, I replied, and then, I never heard back.  

Aha, I thought.  Here’s my chance!  (Come on, you were thinking that too, right?)

So I wrote again, asking if we could just meet to break up.  “Here’s how it could go,” I outlined.

We’d chat for a few minutes, and then one of us (and sure, it could be you, I’m okay with that) says,  “We need to talk,” while looking down at your shoes. I’d look down at my shoes for a minute while I put on a brave face, and say “Uh, what’s on your mind?”

You’d do that speech, “Really, it’s not you at all, but, um, well, um, it turns out that I really need to focus on some other areas of my life.  Like my cat and stuff.  But don’t get me wrong, you’re terrific.”  And so on.  I’d be really cool about it all. For a brief moment, I’d try to win you back. “But think back to how great it was at the beginning,” I’d say. And you’d remind me that the beginning was only five minutes ago, and I’d put my game face on and be very mature about it all. There would be no sobbing, clinginess, or weird displays of anger.  
There are the obvious things make it a great break-up (such as: you haven’t gotten attached to a pet or child that you’ll never see again.  No one has left their favorite fleece jacket at the other one’s house, so there wouldn’t be that awkward, “I know I just dumped you, but I’d really like to get my coat back…” And of course, if there’s a formula saying that it takes half as long as the relationship actually lasted to get over it, we’d be completely ready to move on in 2-3 minutes.).  
But there’s a whole ‘nother benefit resulting from the arduous 25 miles between our abodes.  Here’s the deal: when you break up with the lovely gluten- and cruelty-free vegan woman in Wallingford with the ironically named fish, (who, I might add, would judge you for pouring milk on your mass-produced breakfast cereal), you run the chance of running into her at your favorite coffee shop when you’re on your next new date.  Awkward. 

Or worse yet, you’re sitting in your favorite bar with your MacBook, scanning OK Cupid, and she’s there on a date, and they look like they’re having tons of fun.  
No, actually, here’s what happens:  you drag yourself out of bed and toddle down to the store in your pajamas one evening to buy some Thera-flu.  You look like crap, and feel worse.  You haven’t bathed or shaved in days, and, in addition to the flu, you’ve got a bad case of adult acne.  Your pajamas are unbecoming.  Your slippers make you look elderly. And there she is, at the store with a handsome man in tow, buying red wine and condoms. You hope she doesn’t see you, but she does, and tosses you a breezy hello.  Anyway, this will never happen with us.

I concluded by saying I hope it didn’t seem unusual to have a random stranger ask to meet to break up, but I hoped it would be as good for him as it would be for me.

He replied with a correction on some of the details, noting that it’s not unusual at all; in fact, andom women call and write him all the time asking if it might be possible to break up well before he's met them.  And because it’s so common for him, he’d come to accept it as a service he can generously offer, in much the same way that way AOL handed out free CDs in the ‘90s. 

He clarifyied that the ex and her new guy weren't buying red wine and condoms, but rather, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, a can of whipping cream, and copy of the Sunday New York Times, but acknowledged the accuracy of the Theraflu and pajamas.

So he obliged me.  We met for a drink and a break-up, and I still think fondly of the whole relationship, which lasted, if you count the part I spent in traffic on the way there, about 2 hours.  (I don’t think I get to count the return trip, right?)



Wednesday, February 22, 2012

More horoscopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Today, the receptionist called me on the phone and said, "You have a delivery!  It's for you, you should come down right away!"  She said it in a cheery voice, so as I walked downstairs, I tried to think -- is it my birthday?  I bet it's flowers or chocolate!  Did I actually win the lottery or some other contest?  But when I got there, it was a skeevy process server.  Subpoenaed.  Court on Monday for some stupid project I never even worked on.  Grr.  That, my friend, is a lesson in not getting your hopes up too soon.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I realized today, as I was listening to a podcast that involved a granola throw down, that I'm so easily amused that, well, it actually is funny.  Who does that?  Who listens to a podcast of people sitting around talking about which granola and chewing?  It's come to this, Taurus.  See if you can liven things up.  Please.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): I have an ex that one of my friends calls, "The Outerwear Stalker," because he has shown up unexpectedly demanding pants, coats, and boots back that he gave loaned me for Christmas.  Let this be a lesson to you, Gemini -- wear clean, respectable underwear in case someone shows up demanding the pants you're wearing.  Don't be caught in a thong.  And while we're talking about the pants area, don't ever ask whether your pants make your butt look big.  Just be grateful you have pants.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  We're on Republican debate number 26 or something, and the thing I've been wondering about is whether any of the candidates been infected by Toxoplasmosis.  You've all read this by now, I'm sure, but in case you haven't, do it right away!  (I know, I've already confessed that I listen to podcasts about granola, but seriously, it's quite interesting.  I think Newt has the cat parasite.  That's my prophecy, Cancer.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  (Did you like how I called that a prophecy, Leo?  I know.)  Anyway, there's a bunch of stuff I know nothing about, but you do, like Downton Abbey or whatever it's called.  I have a TV, but sadly, the room that it's in is about 35.5 degrees, and ever since the damn government made us get the converter box, I haven't really known how to use it.  Am I missing anything, Leo?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Speaking of stuff I know nothing about, what's the deal with Pinterest?  I find it annoying, but maybe I should lighten up.  It seems like it's a convenient way for people to become corporations too, by shopping online for images and tagging them so they show up on your page.  Then other people can look at your page, and think things like, "wow, she likes some really cute boots!  Too bad she's always just schlepping around in Keens."  Anyway, on Pinterest, you tag pictures in  the same way that your 12-year-old self would cut grand houses and cute outfits out of magazines, but this is for grown-ups.  The reason that I was exploring it is because Mrs. Mitt Romney (I didn't name her that!), whom I stalk in a mild, 'keep your outerwear, Annie' way, has a page that involves uneventful recipes and "patriotic" things, which leads me on a few different rants.  One is, when did patriotism get reduced to red, white, and blue chex mix?  Seriously, can we call the Occupiers patriots, and chex mix a really inferior party snack for stoned people?  Okay, Virgo, I'll stop there.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Today (before the subpoena arrived) they announced that they will be announcing an undetermined number of layoffs at an undetermined time, but the jobs will definitely end on June 1.  It's super reassuring, but anyway, I was telling my boss that I've been beefing up my resume by always doing self-check at the store.  "I'll be adding 'grocery checkout' as a volunteer activity, which makes me pretty marketable, right?"  I started pantomiming scanning, including doing some produce.  "Wait," he stopped me, "what are you doing right now?  "That was an orange.  First I had to plug in the PLU, 3027, and then put it on the scanner to weigh."  "How do you learn all this stuff," he asked.  I know.  Anyway, if you know of any openings for someone like me, and by that, I mean the sort of person who listens to podcasts about granola and stuff, let me know.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Do you ever have that thing where you get an e-mail, "hey, was that your daughter on the news last night?" Yep.  The adorable one running alone in the middle of the night near the scene of a murder, saying, "I'm not really worried about it.  It happens."  That's my girl.  But Scorpio, live as if you're going to die, which we all are.  Just not right away.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I've been having little anxiety attacks lately where I wake up at night in a panic, imagining that someone has shown up in the dark, demanding articles of clothing back, and it's hard to take a deep breath after that, so I lie there doing that fake deep breath/yawn thing most of the night and listen to podcasts, not all of them about granola.  I'd like to recommend Too Much Information, which is described as, ""the sober hangover after the digital party has run out of memes, apps and schemes. Host Benjamen Walker finds out that, in a world where everyone overshares the truth 140 characters at a time, telling tales might be the most honest thing to do."  I have so many other podcasts to recommend, it may be a whole post one day.  Anyway, check out TMI.
My beer cap log

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): For a while, it seemed like every time I opened a Redhook ESB, which is most evenings, I'd get the forecaster guy on the underside of the bottle cap, which was pretty disappointing, because all I really want out of life is a little saying.  Is that so freakin' much to ask?  I don't want a silhouette of the forecaster guy.  I think it's Inversion IPA that says, "Bravely done!"  Which is great the first time, and then seems insincere, and we're not for that, Capricorn.  But back to my point:  It turns out I really don't get the forecaster guy.  Ever.  Capricorn, maybe things aren't really as annoying as they might seem.  Keep that.  And don't forget to breathe.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  The other day I went to talk to my boss about my suspicion that he's been infected with Toxoplasmosis.  "You're kind of paranoid, and you react slowly."  He also didn't seem to mind the smell of the cat pee pants, another diagnostic, but I didn't want to bring that up.  He looked kind of nervous, and said he had a cat that he got when it was two ("or maybe it was three") months old, but because of my difficulty understanding things lately, I thought he was telling me he got a cat when he was two or three months old.  We went around like that for a while until we stopped, but I think he might be on my side.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I stopped at Tolt-McDonald Park today to walk across the bridge and check out the flood, but alas, there was too much water to get to the bridge.  I spent a long time trying to decide whether I was sad or happy about that.  I know.  Really, Pisces, that's what's wrong with America.  Too much over-thinking.  But you kind of see my point, right?  I was excited that the flood was big enough, but also disappointed that I couldn't get to the bridge, and I really had no idea which was the bigger thing.  Don't do that, Pisces.  Just be.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Groundhog Scopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Ms. Pasta stopped me in the hall the other day.  "Could we trade shoes?  My feet are killing me."  Obedient me was all, "sure!"  Soon, my own feet were killing me, probably because the fashionable high-heeled boots aren't created in the shape of a human foot (unless you have a foot that's shape like an isosceles triangle.)  What did we learn here, Aries?  I'm not sure.  But focus on comfort this week, and if someone suggests you walk a mile in their shoes, take a look at the shoes first.  Empathy doesn't require an actual shoe swap.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I love Miranda July more than you know, because she's written a whole book about what she did when she was supposed to be writing, which offers that comforting bit of irony and fate that I wish would apply more to my life.  But that would require that I accomplish cool stuff while playing solitaire, and this planet isn't about that.  For Miranda, it's as if the writing has to come out of her and if she tries to avoid it by reading the PennySaver, well, the book will be about that, because there are words in her that will find a way out no matter what.  Inside me are red twos that need to be placed on black threes, and I'm not trying to whine here, but that is a little disappointing.  Anyway, Miranda finds the tender sweet bits in being annoyed and annoying, and writes about them so that you care more about her and everyone else.  Read it, Taurus.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Why are there flies in my kitchen in the middle of winter, Gemini?  Is it a sign?  Are they tiny little horrible spies for the other side wearing microphones, catching me saying stuff like, "R, make your own sandwich, will ya?"  Is there something dead somewhere, and if so, should I call someone?  Oh Gemini.  Fly paper?  Please advise.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Yay for Washington for legalizing same-sex marriage.  It's about time.  Cancer, see what you can legalize this week.  Could you start with something small, like driving with one headlight out?  Because I'm probably about to get pulled over for that, and I don't want to go to jail.  No I don't.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  N'3lvra is about to retire, because along with the slow down in housing starts, there's been a big downturn in the advice column industry.  Back in the day, she got a few letters every day, but people seem to be reducing, reusing, and recycling, and generally having fewer problems, and she's all for that, except for the other part.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Who's shooting all the sea lions in Puget Sound, Virgo?  Here in Shangri-latte, we're supposed to be ironically vegan (in a way that allows consumption of the occasional maple bar wrapped in bacon), and full of heart-centeredness.  Really, who could shoot one of those big slobbery whiskered guys?  I just hope Punxatwany Phil is okay.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I'm not worried about the short people, Libra, because they can go to the petite section of the store.  And I'm not worried about the tall people, because they can reach everything on the high shelves.  I'm worried about the mid-height people, and from now on, this blog is going to be devoted to them.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The news is confusing lately.  The Susan G. Komen foundation, the largest breast cancer organization, has stopped funding breast exams and mammograms conducted at planned parenthood.  Meanwhile, the "don't tread on me, we're the tea party and we're not about insider Washington" is about to nominate one of the biggest insiders around as their candidate.  Is it just me, Scorpio?

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I heard an interview with that woman who spent three unplanned nights in a snow cave on Mt. Rainier after planning to be out snowshoeing for just a few hours.  Of all the scary and arduous parts of her story, the one that really freaked me out is that they had to stay awake in the tent all night because they knew that if they went to sleep, they'd die.   Me, I hang out in my little cubicle all day, come home, have dinner and one beer, and if someone pronounced that I have to stay up until 10  o'clock or I will die, I wouldn't know how to pick.  Hmm, sleep or death... can I have a few minutes to think about it?  Sag, have another cup of coffee.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Does Mitt remind you of the Manchurian Candidate?  Even just a little? Anyway, I think there should be an "occupy Mitt" movement.  Oh wait.  Never mind.  Anyway, this train of thought reminds me of a secretary at a job I used to have who explained that if people aren't really showing up in their lives, there are aliens waiting to "walk in".  That was her term, and she was pretty sure her sister was a walk-in.  It gave new meaning to that sign you see at beauty salons, "walk ns welcome".  Yeah, they aren't so welcome here, Capricorn.  And don't occupy Mitt -- I was just kidding.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Starlee Kine went on a rant the other day about how the phrase "it is what it is" is just so wrong, and I have to agree, even though I say it on occasion, especially about my job.  Starlee said something about that being the mantra for complacency, and we're not for that, Aquarius.  Make what it used to be what it isn't anymore.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  We won $7 in the lottery this week.  The thought of splitting that 6 ways was causing my coworkers to get out their calculators, until we agreed to roll it right back into from whence it came.  I've been waiting all day to use the word "whence", so there it is.  Anyway, the sad truth of the matter is that when winning big is discussed, the topic immediately turns to taxes, and forming a corporation to accept the winnings, and so on.  I have this weird sense that that's not normal, and it might have something to do with cubicle fungus.  Is that an actual thing?

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...