Bleeding Fiction

Went to my folks' house to do my laundry yesterday, which is my typical Sunday-at-lunch activity. It's perhaps a little mercenary of me, but I get to fulfill my familial obligations and get my clothes clean at the same time, which is a pretty efficient way of going about things, you have to admit.

Driving down their street, though, really brought home to me the differences between where they live and where I grew up (which are, in fact, two seperate places) and where I live right now. Trees. Growing up and at their house now, there were trees everywhere. Maples, oaks, dogwoods. Trees. In Autumn, those leaves change to the most brilliant, vibrant colors for a little while and then blanket the ground before someone comes by and sweeps them into piles. And the piles were the best. I haven't jumped in a pile of leaves and I haven't had a leaf fight (except for a brief 30 seconds while visiting Dave and Bekah over Halloween) in years, but something about a pile of leaves, the solid softness of it, maybe, has always been a great comfort to me.

There are almost no trees in front of the houses on the street I live on now. And a good thing, too, since the road is really too narrow to have cars driving on it, cars parked along it and leaf piles, as well. But I miss them all the same. Maybe I'm romanticizing my childhood too much. God knows I would never want to be the person who had to rake his yard free of leaves and actually put them in the pile. But I like leaf piles all the same.

That said, while at my folks' house, I discovered that one of my aunts this week had asked my mother what the odds were of me getting married any time soon. Apparently, she's eager to go to the wedding of someone she knows and loves and figures I'm the next most likely cantidate, now what her children are both married. Yeesh. I told my mum to tell her that if it meant that much to her I'd ask her to be my date at the next wedding I went to. So Rob, Melissa - if either of you see me show up at either of your weddings with a sixty-something woman with greying hair who's under five feet tall, you'll know she decided to take me up on the offer.

Meanwhile my mother was thankfully quite understanding and explained to my aunt (before I had to even hear about this conversation) that she didn't think it was too likely, seeing as I'm not seeing anyone at the moment and am hoping to spend the next two or three years as a broke-ass graduate student. Good response from my mum. Much better than the time, a few years ago, when she was in the hospital and decided that as she had nothing better to do she would try to set me up with every last one of her nurses. (This little meddling of hers was made even worse by the fact that I was actually seeing someone at the time - though I guess that was more my fault than anyone else's, since I didn't see fit to mention to her that I was in a relationship.)

The trouble, of course, is that now the seed's been planted in her mind again. I can tell. So here it comes: I'm next. My mum won't ever pressure me to get married, no, but she'll certainly try to set me up with someone or start to mention how cute babies are or ask me if I'm seeing anyone or something. God help me.

The company's move downstairs went well, despite the construction not being finished yet (we keep tripping over workers who are installing molding or whatever). The new Camp USA office is particularly nice: it's spacious and has huge windows and seats all three of us campers close to each other for easy conversation. The one downside is that I don't have my proper desk yet, so I can't unpack any of my things. It'll likely come in while I'm gone.

Speaking of being gone, I leave for Russia tomorrow. I'll be gone for 11 days in total, and I'll be in Moscow first, then St. Petersburg. As it turns out, Lena'll be going to St. Pete's with me, so I get to spend basically my entire trip with her, which will be very cool, because Lena's very cool.

Also, there was an incident in Moscow early Tuesday, about a block from the hotel I'll be staying in. I feel as if I should be nervous, but I'm not, and I'm happy for that.

I've been pretty much unable to concentrate on things for longer than 30 minutes over the past two weeks, but I'm largely past that, and this trip should help even more, as I've got orientations and interviews to do. With that problem behind me, I'll be able to get back to writing. I'm juggling three short storys in my head right now, with the shadows of two or three more waiting in the wings. Depending on how the coming week goes I may try to write them or I may get back to work on my second draft. Or I may wait until I get home. We'll see. As a plus, though, I'll have a company laptop with me, so I'll be able to type instead of write long-hand.

And last: Ann. She and I've stopped talking. Or maybe I've stopped talking to her. It's hard to tell the difference. I won't go into the details here, which are private, but the short version has it like this: you don't get over someone when you still talk to them all the time, and I need to get over her now. I don't expect I'll ever talk to her again, but I guess I read even our friendship wrong and there's not much else for it. I really miss her, but I can't say I'm heartbroken. I made a mistake, I live, I move on.

Probably won't be any posting while I'm in Russia, but you never know what might happen. See you all when I get back.

Recorded for posterity, an explanation of my silence over the past several days, as well as the current state of affairs regards my troubling times:

I have a friend from Russia named Lena. I've mentioned her here once or twice here before. Without being too dramatic about it, the story of Lena and my friendship is a story of brief moments. We never have enough time to just be together, especially when we're not both too tired to think. So I was understandably excited when Lena wrote to me on Thursday and said she'd be flying to the States in about a week, to work in the office for one of our other programs. She was going to be working for all of June, hanging out for all of July. In other words, she was going to be here for a while. Finally.

I was excited, but when I told Gail (my boss) she got upset. Lena, you see, had been here in June two years before and trouble had followed for the Camp program. We had missed connections, missing participants and silence from the other side of the world. This is something Gail didn't want to see repeated this year. So, Gail wrote to Lena's boss and said "if you can, send someone else." Lena's boss was quiet on the issue - he just didn't respond to us. Lena, however, said that if she wasn't able to come in June, she probably wasn't going to be able to come at all.

I spent the past few work days arguing, and most of the weekend moping about, the situation. I just didn't know what was going on, and if there's one thing I really hate it's not knowing what's going on. Today came and went and Gail did not change her mind, so Lena's not coming in June. FUCK! Now, let me be fair here. Gail is a great person, a good friend and a wonderful boss. I agree with her completely in that I don't want to see a repeat of the problems we had two years ago, either. I don't think we would have, due to some very changed circumstances, but I accept that I'm biased. It also wasn't my decision.

Will Lena be able to come at all? She says she will, but I don't know when or for how long. In email, Lena's about as vague as Zach. She's at least cute about it, but that makes it only marginally less infuriating. Will we have more than brief moments? Who knows. At least now I know for sure she's not coming in June, and even though that's bad news, my mood's brightened tremendously.

Blog: Slightly wonked due to a hacker. Bastard. Host is cool, providing on-site visits and discussions of poetry. Also, she fixed the blog. Mostly. Last update along these lines lost to the digital ether. Good riddance, I say.

Vitaly: Got married recently. Yay! Nice wedding, very traditional, right down to the break-dancing-Brad-Pitt-look-alike rabbi.

Kiki: Now engaged. About damn time. She and Raphael have only been dating for eight and a half years.

Erin McKeown: Free show at South Street Seaport past Thursday. Excellent music, as always. Open air = poor acoustics but great breeze. Too much sitting, not enough dancing.

Visitations: Something Positive went pro; creator-dude Randy got mad donations and quit his job to do the comic. That's cool. Also, Bekah started a livejournal. Its bilingualness astounds me. Go be astounded too.

Lena: What I said I'd write: Everything she says about why she and I should not be together makes perfect sense. But my life bleeds fiction and makes no sense, so there. Plus, I love fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

Mother: In hospital for non-serious, non-diabetes problems. Yeesh.

Borges: My current reading. Witty and self-deprecating. Major images are mirrors, labyrinths and knife-fights. Very cool.

Saved: A movie. Pokes fun at very religious types. Funny as hell. Go see it. I want to see it again. And own it on DVD.

Work: Increasingly less busy. Or decreasingly busy. Whichever. Yay.

School: Registration papers to arrive... soon?

Writing: It's June. Leave me the fuck alone.

Back to a regular schedule presently.

Lena stayed over last night, as she has more or less once a week since we got back from our trip to Massachusetts. She's gone back to Seaside Heights today, to return again sometime next week and then stay from just-past-Labor Day until she flies home. Wonderful to see her, even if the time's too short and I accidentally pissed her off this morning. Oops! Still, all's well in the end.

Oh, and Zach? Live Vicariously.

This past Wednesday was my last day at work. It was hard for me to go, I won't pretend it wasn't. I worked an interesting job with excellent people that let me go to distant places and feel as if I was making the world a slightly better place. If I ever have another job as emotionally, experientially and spiritually rich as my job at InterExchange, I'll count myself a lucky man. But still, it was time to move on. My GRE scores were about to expire.

I've been silent here because I've spent every day from last Wednesday to now engaged in a decadent display of sybaritic crapulence. I was feted with wine and rare hallucinagenic slugs, I cavorted with pleasure queens from a dozen countries. It was a show of debauchery worthy of certain members of the French and Italian nobility. Or at least it might have been, if tales of those nobles' exploits had been wild exaggerations brought on by fever.

My now-former co-workers gave me a quiet sushi dinner with the closest of them, a nice card to remember them by and a few email addresses to keep in touch. Lena gave me the gift of her company over the past few days and the flu. When I said I wanted to spend my time in bed, I didn't mean crippled by fever. When I said I wanted to play doctor, I didn't mean I wanted Lena to bring me advil and tea.

Again, I exaggerate. Lena did give me a little cold and fever, an illness dredged up from the slimy deeps of Sleazeside, and it's slowed me down a little, but that's about all. The worst was that I missed hanging out with Aaron and crew on Saturday night, something I'll try to make up before I leave. Lena and I did the regular run of things, shopping and movie-watching and shooting pool and eating and such, and on Sunday evening I took her off to the airport for her flight home. When she left, she didn't take the flu with her.

I've got a few days of quietude left to me, days in which to pack my life into tiny boxes in preperation for transport to a far away place. In terms of steps, this is probably the biggest I've ever taken. I'm abandoning every element of security I've got in order to try something new and do something different. It's daunting, but exciting. Let's get packing.

I haven't made it any secret, either here or in personal conversation, that I'm in love. A few years ago I met this wonderful girl in Russia named Lena. We hit it off and became good friends. That friendship blossomed over time until this summer, when we had something very much like a relationship.

I've been pretty open about the fact that when she went home, when we left it off, we weren't dating. We'd agreed, more or less, to go back to being friends. That didn't stop me from being in love, it didn't stop me from feeling there was something more going on, it didn't stop me from hoping that Lena would change her mind. It didn't stop me from writhing in agony over the past month as I didn't hear from her at all or over the past two weeks as I waited to hear more details out of her brief, cryptic email which said only that something had happened that she never expected and it had changed her life.

Lena called me today. She's very much in love and it's not with me.

There are a thousand little things I could say, a thousand little things I said to Lena. I won't bother to repeat them. Anyone who's had a bitter-sweet, tender breakup knows what they are. I can sit here and do all of the miserable things that you do when you have a broken heart. But I've cried all day. I don't want to cry anymore. I'm not angry with Lena. I don't want revenge, I don't want to cause anyone pain or to beg or pray for her to change her mind. I want her to be happy, and I hope whoever she loves can do that for her. Me, I just want to kill the pain in my heart.

The trouble is that sometimes I don't know if I'm anything else but love. I always love. Sometimes I think it's the only thing I know how to do.

And that brings me to Ann. You remember her. She emailed me not long after I got to Seattle, on the grounds that we were now only two miles apart, and we've been having a little bit of back and forth. I told her I didn't want to talk to her only over email (that being one of the reasons we stopped talking last year). She told me what I said hurt. I told her I was sorry, I didn't mean to hurt her, but that I felt defensive because of everything that's gone between us before.

What I didn't talk about was this thing with Lena. What if I'm right? What if all I am is love? How do I keep myself from falling in love with Ann? How do I keep myself from the hurt of that? How is that good for me? How is that fair to Ann?

I wish I could learn how not to love.

I want to pause briefly to note that, when I cry, my nose bleeds. Profusely. That is all.

I've been thinking about Lena all day today. I haven't particularly wanted to, but today I just didn't have the strength to stop.

I don't want to make it sound like she's out of my life. She's not. We still talk. We're still friends and she's one of my best. And I'm glad of it. My life would be a much poorer thing if we didn't.

Which is not to say this thing has been easy for me. Not that I would expect it to be; love that's not returned is far more of a burden than a blessing. My heart breaks a little more every time I have a day like today, or really any time I think about her for too long. It's so hard. It hurts so much. But, you know, for all of that I still wouldn't give up our friendship. It's that important to me.

Beyond that hurt, though, there's something else here. Anyone who knows me well knows that if there's a situation I'm really bad at handling it's when I don't understand something. And I just don't understand why she doesn't love me.

Excuse me while I indulge in a bit of arrogance. I sorta need it right now. I'm smart, I'm funny, I'm attractive, I'm devoted, entertaining and all around good to be with. These are things that Lena herself has told me. In other words: what's not to love?

It's a stupid thing to say, I know. Even though I could tell you why I love Lena, I can't really tell you why I love Lena, if that makes any sense. I know it doesn't work that way. I know it's not something in your head. I know it's not really something to be understood.

But all the same, I really want to understand. Not being able to do that makes the whole thing harder.

Quick recap: When I got to Seattle I got an email from Ann, who I have a long and complex history with, welcoming me to the area. We swapped some emails back and forth and in one I said some stuff that hurt her. I didn't mean to hurt her. Quite the opposite, actually; I wanted to keep from hurting her. Well, I felt bad, of course, and sent an email to apologize. She didn't respond. That was about three weeks ago.

And then came tonight. I was walking into my local sushi establishment to procure some of the same and there was Ann, sitting with some friends. I was surprised, though I guess I shouldn't have been; she said she hangs in the area. Anyway, she saw me as I opened the door and called out my name. Tagged! So, I walked over and had what may have been the single most awkward conversation of my life.

It's not like I didn't want to talk to her or anything; she hurt me, yeah, but it was almost a year ago. I don't hold a grudge that long. At least not against people. It's just... well, what can I say? I feel like I was ignoring the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room. Ann and I have a lot of history, some of it very good, but I felt like I had to ignore that to avoid the bad. At the same time, it wasn't like I was meeting an entirely new person and getting to know them. So it was an awkward conversation, at least for me. No clue if Ann felt the same.

And now, of course, I feel this strange sense of... I dunno, obligation? I feel like I should write her an email or something to say hey, to say it was nice to bump into her or whatever. As if that would keep things from being awkward should I bump into her again. Not that that's my place. I apologized, she chose not to write me back. If she wants to talk to me, she'll write. If she doesn't, she won't and I can respect that.

But I still feel the need to be the damn good guy. Mostly, I feel like the good guy's the one who says, who does. But sometimes the good guy's the one who stays quiet and just let's things be. So, I'm going to be the good guy and just cope with the awkwardness should Ann and I bump into each other again.

Just got off the phone with my mum. We were talking about a few different things (current projected close date on the restaraunt: January 15th) and out of the blue my mum said "So do you want me to buy you a plane ticket for Christmas? I mean, you must be upset that you're not travelling this winter, so I thought maybe instead of coming here you might want to go visit your friends in Moscow."

The searing chest pain warred with my desire to scream "Yes please!" at the top of my lungs.

It's not really a Lena thing, this. Time has put a big enough cap on that that it's mostly bittersweet memory and nostaligia, at least from this distance, and if there's a pair of thing's I've grown really comfortable with over the past few years it's bittersweet memory and nostalgia.

No, this is more about travelling in general. I keep having moments, little flashes, where I think about something foreign. The exact blending of scents on the street triggers a memory of St. Petersburg, a passage in a paper reminds me of something I drank in Moscow, the view out a classroom window strikes me as, strangely, belonging in Budapest.

So I miss travel. Big shock there. I'll get back to it soon enough, in a year or so. But meantime I just figured everyone should know.

After my Buddha Nature class today I was accosted by one of my classmates. She wanted to talk to me about the reading assignments. And whether or not Museum Studies was interesting. And all of the places I'd travelled to. And her own travel experiences.

Also, she wanted to go for coffee.

The girl in question, for the curious, is an undergrad, not particularly cute and (because my life bleeds fiction) from Russia.

Why is it that when I display no interest in someone at all they, almost mystically, feel prompted to ask me out to a movie? I mean, really, what's the deal?

Given my less-than-perfect relationship history, my disdain of commercialism and my rampant hatred of the general mass of human stupidity, I figure I should really hate Valentine's Day.

I don't.

I really like it, actually. I like the idea that normally non-romantic people should be forced, every so often, to bust out and do something sweet. I like the idea that normally romantic people should take an opportunity to really go over the top. I like the way that the spirit of the day might just give someone the courage they need to talk to the object of their affections. I like the way it can promote, in those of us who're currently unattached, a good kind of nostalgia for past loves.

I like, most of all, the idea of a day set aside just for lovers. Because I believe that it truly is love that makes the world go 'round and that every story is, ultimately, a love story.

But just to keep you all from thinking that I'd stopped being a bitter, cynical diabetic, check out these, the original link to which the Ogre gave me about two years ago. They're fuckin' hilarious.

I thought I was done with this. I really did. I thought that, even if I still cared for Lena a whole helluva lot and would pretty much hook back up with her in a heartbeat, well, I'm still like that with most girls I've dated and, hell, at least I wasn't sitting around pining for her anymore. Hadn't done that in months.

So naturally today she told me she's sad because her boyfriend (who we'll remember is American) is away in New York to take care of his book that's being published.

WHAT THE FUCK!?!

I mean, really. WHAT THE FUCK!?!

Doubtless he also has long hair and a sarcastic sense of humor.

Excuse me while I boil with a mix of heartbreaking grief and incoherent rage.

You know, I was really enjoying the past few weeks...

UPDATE: Alright, apparently I was an ASS and the UMP has SHUNed me ('cause, you know, I made an assumption. Go Ogre and his witty phraseology!). The fellow in question is a photographer, not a writer. Which lessens the extremity of my reaction quite a bit. As does a full night of sleep.

Took my Japanese final yesterday, got the results back this morning (C-; overall course grade of B), asked my Japanese teacher out this afternoon. She said no (standard girl reason: "this isn't a good time for me"), but the look of surprise on her face was fucking priceless.

The problem, when flirting with the (incredibly cute) teller at your bank, is that she knows how much money you have. Or don't have.

It makes the process just a little bit strange.

Also, it makes the customers in line behind you grumpy.

Is it squicky for a 27 year old guy to date a girl who's 21 19?

I'm just, you know, curious.

So, I've got a date tomorrow. Nominally, that's a good thing. Only, you know, I haven't been on an actual date in upwards of five years. (Ironic, since I've basically been in two relationships in that time.) So I've got no clue what to do, where to go, etc.

So, please help! What do people actually do on dates? Where can we head that's more exciting than food? I need to call this girl sometime tonight to finalize the details, so the sooner the better.

(For the record, we're going out tomorrow afternoon, prior to the lady's going to work. That may limit our options some.)

My life has once again turned into an 80's movie. This time it's Pretty in Pink. I'm Andrew McCarthy.

I don't believe in Karma. At least, I don't believe in the sort of Hindu, Westernized version of the word, where being, say, a raper-of-puppies in a past life will come back to haunt you in this one, by you being reincarnated as a dog or something. In other words, while I believe that my actions have consequences, I don't much believe in principles of cosmic vengeance. But, sometimes, that leads me to the conclusion that the universe at large just delights in seeing me suffer.

Here's a story:

A guy meets a girl. The girl's witty, she's cute and the guy thinks, "what the hell? Why not?" and he asks her out. They're both nervous, but the date goes well; every topic that comes up, they've got plenty in common, but enough that's different to learn about, to talk. Repeat the process the next day, and on into the next morning and the one after that. Things are going amazingly well, surprisingly quickly. The guy and the girl are both very happy.

At which point one of the girl's friends, sparked to action by the girl's constantly talking about how wonderful the guy is, declares his undying love for her. The girl bites her lip; she doesn't know what to do. Because she's kind, because she's honest, because things are going well, she tells the guy. The guy wants to explode, but he doesn't want to lose the girl. So he talks to her about it; tells her its her decision, but that he would prefer she stuck with him. He resolves to keep showing her a good time, to keep her thinking about why things went so well with them to begin with.

It doesn't work. A little bit later, the girl turns to the guy and says "so," and that's pretty much the end of it. The guy says a few things, but mostly he just leaves; after all, you can't rationalize someone into loving you.

The End

I can deal with casual cruelty. I'm not bothered by the existence of sharks or bad things happening to good people or what-have-you. It's just that, sometimes, the things that happen to me are a little hard to believe, a little too complex, a little too pre-scripted. I meet a girl and things are going amazingly well? Well, of course she has a friend who's been carrying a torch for her. I'm trapped in a work of fiction, and the writer has it in for me.

So, because I'm stubborn, because I'm sometimes a jerk and because I really have absorbed entirely too many 80's movies I've been worrying at the little scab on my heart and realized why, aside from rejection issues in general, this particular situation bothers me so much. So, I decided to talk to the young lady (no longer) in question about it today after class.

"The thing that bothers me about this," I said, "is that you're into me. I mean, you're really into me." I then proceeded, rapid-fire, to list the ways that she's into me, the things she's said and done to show that she's into me. It was a big list.

Also, I smiled, or rather smirked, the whole time. I looked very much like Josh Lyman, only with more hair and not in a suit.

"You're right," she said. "But, even if I'm into you, it's... well, it's like when something's perfect on paper, and it should work. But, there's just something that's missing, too, and it's not missing with the other guy."

"Sure," says I, "but you're still totally into me."

That, however, was pretty much the end of that. I wished her the best of luck, but let her know that, while she might like us to be friends that was just not in the cards and, it sucked, but I wasn't going to be talking to her anymore; she's a decent girl and understands why this has to be the case. And there it ends.

But, yeah, she's totally into me. I don't know if that makes me more or less annoyed.

Feh. Best not to dwell on it; send women!

Despite failing, despite having given up on doing the actual work for now, I'm still going to Japanese class. I feel as if I have something to prove, though I'm not exactly sure what or to whom. I feel really awkward being in class, though. The teacher doesn't call on me anymore, which isn't so bad itself, but the way she pretty obviously skips over me makes me just feel put out.

Then there's the thing with Natalie (erm... The Young Lady No Longer In Question). Walking past her before or after class and not talking to her feels funny; it's a strange thing to cut someone out of your life, especially when you still have to see them every day. By rights, I shouldn't care about this so much; I only knew the girl for a week. But the point I've been making the past week's been that we just clicked; why should it be easy? Still, I'm thinking about it less than I used to. I'm sure I'll be fine by week's end.

In the meanwhile, and in the class I'm actually doing well in, my professor asked me to help him with a new exchange program with UW proposed by a new-style Japanese University. If it goes through, it'd be pretty cool for both schools, as well as me personally, as I'd get to build fun job contacts and resume material.

Anyway, I'm a bit under the weather today; my throat's raw and my teeth feel ill-fitting in my gums. I might've had a fever earlier, but I think it's gone now. I'll turn in early tonight and see what tomorrow brings.

I travel a lot less now than I used to, but in English that still translates to a fair bit of time on the road. The more complex travelling gets - especially in the holiday season, when travelling means checking in five minutes after your flight was due to leave, rushing through security and then dashing breathless down the concourse to reach the gate in time - the more I think that love is simple. I think love is as simple as someone waiting for you at the airport when your flight lands.

I had to take a shuttle bus home.

It was a good trip, all in all, though I couldn't help but feel... small... while I was away. School is part of that; the more time that goes on with me in school and unemployed, the more my relationships to people - my parents in particular, but most other people, too - shift back into the college frame of reference I thought I'd given up a few years ago. It's probably because I have the same lack of control over my ultimate fate now as I did then; I'm living in a microcosm of reality, cut off from what I view as the real world. It's not something that makes me happy.

To put it succinctly: The parents of a 27 year old guy should not reasonably expect that he'll call them to let him know his plane landed safely, nor should they reasonably expect that he'll go away on vacation with them. The guy should have his own money and schedule with which to go on vacation. He should have his own people to vacation with and should have other people to see that he landed safely. Which I guess touches on more than just school, but what can you do?

The other part of feeling small was that I told the same two stories over and over again while I was away; the story of my failing Japanese and trying to switch programs and the story of my failed relationship with Natalie. Leaving aside the little things, the day-to-day trials of a life lived, these are the only stories I had to tell. I feel bad about that; like I haven't done my part to keep my life fictional. Maybe I should take up decathalon sky-diving.

At least people responded well to my stories. I got wishes of luck on the former and mostly disbelieving laugher and teasing on the later; I guess dating a 19 year old wasn't as innocuous as I thought it would be. Which, it was pointed out to me as I was still struggling to understand what happened there, might be exactly the point. Tony East of Camp Winakuee told me Natalie's still young enough to be reading Cosmo and listening to the advice therein. Gailie Gail guessed that, due to our respective ages, Natalie and I were just looking for different things out of a relationship. I didn't really get it; I mean, I'm not looking for much more than a relationship that isn't screwed up.

It took Miriam to put it a way that made sense to me: at 19 years old a lot of people don't want to meet someone who's perfect for them. A lot of people, in fact, run away if they find that person. While most of my friends seem to thumb their noses at these "lot of people," I've seen what Miriam's talking about often enough not to discount it. This sounds more like the whinge of "why do girls always date jerks" than I'm strictly comfortable with; I've never liked that particular canard, and I can't remember a time when I seriously believed it. Still, it's broader in application and makes a bit more sense. So, in my mind at least, order triumphs over chaos.

What else can I say? Christmas and Chanukah are unimportant to me on a religious level and, related to things I discussed above (in paragraph 4), awkward for me on a present-receiving level. New Year's lost its luster when I began staying up until midnight as a matter of course and its placement in the middle of winter hardly makes anything seem new. Seeing friends is always good, except when I don't, as was the case with Doug, owing entirely to the fact that I'm a fuck up and can't wake up when I'm supposed to.

Classes start tomorrow, and I'm on the wait list for everything I want to take. Somehow, this seems perfectly fitting.

Sort of slacked off on talking about stuff, haven't I? Sorry 'bout that. Let's see, what's been going on...

I saw a show at Neumos on Thursday, which I realized I'd been to before, with The Delightful Jeni Garber. The first opening act was Smoosh, who are two 12 year old girls. I'm not joking. I missed their set, though, because I got lost. Second opening act was Viva Voce. Indie band with a rock sensibility; they use kazzoos and love the whammy bar.

Mates of State, my reason for going to the show, closed the night. Last time I saw them live was four years ago; they were good then, but they've gotten a lot better. It's weird to watch them, though. Most bands look at the audience every so often; not so, here. A husband/wife pair (on drums and keyboards, respectively), they spend pretty much their entire time on stage making eyes at each other. It's sweet, but sort of disgusting at the same time.

Speaking of relationships, my folks are apparently trying to set me up with someone. The idea is even sillier when you know that the girl lives in Jersey. It's like a double shot of parental manipulation; move back to Jersey and get set up. Christ. I think I'll just stay in Seattle; I won't stand for this shit.

In unrelated news, I saw Silent Hill on Friday. Highlights included Sean Bean surviving the movie and the main character wearing sturdy boots instead of shitty high heeled shoes. I wasn't so happy with the ending, though that may be more a reflection of my opinions on horror movies than on this movie in particular. Cool and well done, though, overall, but not as scary as I thought it'd be. Maybe a good thing, since I'm sort of a pansy when it comes to horror.

I think that about covers it. I'll check back in with something entertaining soon.

Foreign students at The Wash have tons of opportunities to get to know each other, the school and Seattle before classes start. Yesterday's came in the form of a boat cruise. I tagged along because the cruise (like most of these activities) was run by my friends at FIUTS (Foundation for International Understanding Through Students), who I got to know through my awesome job (which I keep meaning to talk more about).

The cruise itself was nothing special; a three-hour jaunt around Elliott Bay and out into Puget Sound, dinner included. But it made me feel like a kid again. I used to ride the Circle Line around Manhattan, out to the Statue of Liberty and back, with my summer camp or my folks. I loved that trip: the view of the city skyline, looking up at the Statue as you got close, the motion of the boat and the watery breeze, without that discomfitting sense of being too far from land. That all came back to me yesterday, and I spent the cruise chatting about it and a bunch of other things with friends from FIUTS and international students I met.

This afternoon, a friend of mine from work, Bill, came up to me and said "Can I ask you a personal question?" I agreed, and Bill said "how long have you been dating Alicia?"

I blinked. I said "Buh?" I explained to Bill that the first time I'd met Alicia was yesterday, on the cruise. Then I turned an interesting shade of pink. Here's the story: Bill is friends with one of the FIUTS people, who saw me and Alicia (also a FIUTS person) talking yesterday, jumped to a conclusion and related the whole thing to Bill. No clue where the idea came from; it's not like we were spooning on the foredeck or anything.

Don't get me wrong, Alicia's cool; fun, smart, very cute and with superb (though not quite perfect) taste in music. I wouldn't right now, as I expressed to Bill, mind dating Alicia. I also expressed that I didn't do much towards any sort of dating; I didn't get the girl's number, for example. It simply didn't occur to me to do so. Bill, for his part, expressed that Alicia may or may not be dating someone right now. Helpful, that.

Alicia is dating someone.

This fact did not stop her from saying "yeah, it's crazy, I've been going around telling everyone about this great guy I met and how we have the same taste in music and how awesome he is."

I am bitter and filled with hate.

Those of you who've been with us for a while know that two years ago I was with this girl named Lena. Those of you who've only joined us recently can read the full color commentary in the dating category, selectable at right. The short version has it that I was very much in love, things ended very badly due to Lena falling for another guy and I decided it was best to cut off contact with her. Which was like cutting off my own arm, because not only did I love her, but I also thought of her as (with one notable exception) my best and closest friend.

If you know me well, you'll know that I think about her on occasion, on my loneliest and most sleepless of nights, but by and large I don't pick at the scar. Three days ago, though, I'm out with some old work friends, minding my own business, when who should come out of the blue to smack me upside the head but her. Or at least reference to her - she wasn't actually there.

I found out that her father died. I think maybe 4 months back, I'm not sure.

Now I feel really weird. Lena was close to her father, and his dying will have hurt her to the core. She quit her job when it happened, but I imagine she'll still be hurting now. And I feel like I should do something. I feel like I should call and let her know I understand, or run over (pretty long run) and wrap her in my arms. Two years gone and I still feel like I know her better than anyone else could. That's what our friendship meant to me - not our relationship, our friendship.

On the other hand, I know that's arrogant of me to say. I know it's not necessarily true and, even if it were, she doesn't need me. We were close, but she's got other people to be close(r) to. She has her boyfriend to hold onto her, she has friends to talk to and support her. It's not my job to be any of those things for her anymore.

But I know her, or at least I used to, and she once meant the world to me (and, somewhere in the back of my heart, she still does), and so it feels really weird to know this horrible thing has happened to her and to not be able to do anything about it.

Or: oh, aren't I just feeling feeling clever tonight?

I know I said, exactly one month ago today, that I'd be posting regularly again. But something happened. That girl I've been seeing came to visit. Not that I was surprised or anything; she bought the ticket in mid-May, after all. But I was... distracted... while she was here. Which was for three weeks.

Still, she's gone now (gone for Norway, as of tomorrow morning, actually), so I've got time enough to do stuff like talk about her behind her back. And I figure I should, since we've been dating for almost seven months now. Which borders on the miraculous, given my history. So, since she deserves it, let's talk about Marie.

That's her name, by the way. Marie.

And here's her picture:

Right. So... How can I say this? How can I capture... Okay, got it. Marie has never seen Raiders of the Lost Ark. Never. Isn't interested in seeing it. Probably wouldn't even like it, really.

And I'm dating her anyway.

Sorta says something right there, doesn't it? It helps that we click in most other ways, I think. I'd go on, but I'd start gushing. Suffice to say I like her quite a bit and will miss her plenty while we're apart.

note: Due to 100+ comment-spams a day, I've had to restrict comments to those who've registered with TypeKey, at least for now. I'm sorry about that, but it's for the sake of my sanity and your enjoyment of the blog. I promise, though: TypeKey registration is painless.

Here's all that I can make come out right:

I miss Marie.

A lot.

There are few things crappier than waking up from a sad dream to the light of a grey sky. Especially when you were already in a crappy mood from the night before. This is silly, but it was Scrubs that did me in.

Last night, they played the episode where Turk is diagnosed with diabetes. When he finally admits this to Carla, who knew all along, she pops right out with "Turk's Diabetes Box," which has insulin and needles and snacks and low-sugar recipes and such.

A while back, when we hadn't been dating too long, Marie and I had a conversation about my mom's kidney disease, and the potential inheritability thereof. A day or so later, she hit in on my diet, encouraging me to eat this food or that food. "They're low sodium and good for your kidneys," she said. I asked if she'd been doing research for me and she smiled and said "of course." I really couldn't imagine anything that was more touching; that was probably the first day that I thought our relationship might last a while.

I do fine, most days. But sometimes a little thing creeps up and reminds me of something past. That's when I really miss Marie.

Playful couples are my favorite; those wonderful pairs who smile at each other through pot-shots, one-liners and snark. They're devil enough to make you wonder why they're together, until you read the love in their eyes as they make their cracks or get a glimpse of vulnerability behind the scenes.

Make the couple detectives and hard-drinking socialites and the sky's the limit.

I just got through watching The Thin Man, a 1930's murder mystery (based on a book by Dashiell Hammett), and its heroes, Nick & Nora Charles, pretty much define the type. Emma Peel & John Steed, Ralph & Sue Dibney, Laura Holt and Remmington Steele, Maddie Hayes and David Addison, even (to a degree) Rory & Lorelai Gilmore; they all draw their inspiration from these two.

I couldn't do the dialog justice without quoting reams of it, so you're better off just watching the film. It suffers from pacing that's about 70 years out of date for today, but every moment that Nick & Nora are on the screen is pure gold. I've written a rare few scenes like this pair get, and I treasure every one. I just wish that they had more time on screen together uninterrupted - fortunately, there's 5 sequels I can get a hold of.

Funny thing about watching the movie, though; I'd sort of seen it before and didn't remember until now. Lena and I saw it on, I guess, our second date. It was one of the movies they played on the big open-air screen in Bryant Park over the course of that summer, and we sat together on the steps and mostly talked as the movie played in the background. I remember that being a good night, but right now I'm just thinking that more towns need to do free movies and shows in their various public parks in the summer.

It would've been a year as of today. It should've been.

There would've been a bed & breakfast on the New England coast, and walking, huddled into warm coats, along the shore or in the woods. There would've been a meal cooked together, and wine. There would've been a necklace of silver and aquamarine. There would've been music. And the most wonderful, amazing, perfect thing that had ever happened to me in my life.

Instead there's just me, and Syracuse, and a bottle of vodka and doubt and fear. And a little bit of hope that that wonder might come back.

...and I don't feel any different.

Countdown: 59 days

I've been back in Seattle for the past two weeks, looking for a job, settling in to a new apartment, getting back to living my life.

With a furious vengeance.

Things had been so tame for so long that I'd almost forgotten how strange my life can actually be. No details here, but feel free to use your imaginations.