Soulmates, The Ones, and Other Minor Infatuations Pt 2

To wrap up the silly boy business within 3 hours...

Last year saw a depression so great and palpable, that friends all around noticed the difference and worried that The Boy (the "one") had destroyed my spirit for good. It didn't help that he wouldn't let me go, wouldn't stop being my friend no matter how hard I tried to avoid him and cut myself off.

"You're one of my best friends out here in LA," he told me. "It's so much easier to talk to girls about stuff than guys. I don't want to lose your friendship." Selfish or sweet?

I pulled myself off of Yahoo messenger, made myself invisible or blocked him on other instant messaging formats so that I was less accessible, put away all the notes and cute drawings he gave me, and stopped initiating any contact. It helped for a bit but I had to relearn how to live life differently with him around. Soon The Boy met his "one" online and got engaged within 7 months of meeting the girl, and for all intents and purposes, I could at least put this chapter of life away. He no longer needed me as the girlfriend substitute.

As I mentioned earlier, I was starting to feel good again early this year, when out of the blue, Mr. DD happened. He was a friend who convinced me to take a chance again, and got me at just the right time and mindset. It was great for a brief shining optimistic moment until he panicked and blunderingly called it off.

You can't really break what's already broken. I wasn't so much devastated as I was extremely disappointed and at a loss of what was up, down, right, or wrong anymore. The hardest part of moving on as you can tell, is that there hasn't been anyone else worth making an effort for, and I see him EVERYDAY. I'm certainly mature enough not to smack him on the head when I get the urge, but the daily minute damage is hard to measure. Some days are fine. Other days, he's a reminder of failure. And dammit, it is extremely annoying when thoughts of him creep into my head at the most inopportune times.

I explained to Wavy that the only way to move on was 1) meet someone new, 2) distance or 3) time. Unfortunately, time is the default method of choice and it is the MOST excruciatingly slow and inefficient way to go about it.

I talk a tough game and can play flippant and normal to the average persons. (The Boy and Mr. DD will never know how much they dented my flimsy armor.) While I pretend to be over it and walk forward, my head is actually turned looking back the whole time, hoping for some kind of sign. I guess the good thing with this is that eventually, I'll walk far enough ahead that I won't be able to see what's behind me anymore.

Like a snail's pace, the recovery is getting there because really, what other choice do I have? The new year feels like a good time to stake a fresh start.

Soulmates, The Ones, and Other Minor Infatuations

Seeing that it is the end of the year and I'm in SUCH a pondering type of mood, I will continue to touch upon another thorn-at-my-side type issue I'd love to resolve. The Counterpart. Obviously, there are no delusions to resolve this within the next oh... 22 hours, but I also strive to make some sense or peace of it all.

I've met "a soulmate," I've met "a one" and like many girls out there I've had many heartachingly frustrating infatuations. I preface these people with an "a" because I have to believe that there is more than one out there. Or I could also admit that I was stupendously wrong and only thought I had met a soulmate and the one (two different people, strangely enough.)

I'll start by saying that in a tremendously low moment the other day, I actually fled the scene when I bumped into the boy I once believed to be a soulmate. He didn't see me, and it had been years since we'd talked or seen each other, but I felt blah and unfit for any human contact other than perfect strangers. At one point we were dear to each other and I truly thought he was a kindred spirit who also knew how to push my buttons for better and worse. It all sounds so silly now, but at the time, I took a chance on this friend and told him how I felt. Sadly it was not a storybook ending and the friendship deteriorated quickly after that. That was the first and last time I ever took a chance to tell someone I liked them.

"The one" on the other hand was a beautifully torturous life lesson. Full of denial, hope, massive weeping, more hope, heartache, unfailing faith that it would somehow work out in the end - so much so that I swore to UBBF that if ever I ended up with someone else, she alone would know he was number two, and finally painful acceptance that a person I cared for so much and would leave everything for, just didn't feel the same way about me. Not even a fraction of that. Despite all the time we spent together - the meals he cooked for me, picking each other up at airports, Xmas shopping together, attending dinners and parties together, and for a blissfully long time, knowing that we were the last person the other one spoke to before nodding off for bed. None of it meant a thing.

It was a reaffirmation that my so called gut instinct, continued to have shit for brains. (The same gut instinct that's told me it's fine to fall for the wrong people, and also had me initially disliking every single person that ended up being one of my closest friends.) It also taught the lesson that just because I had never felt that way about anyone before and felt so 100% confident that we'd end up together, red flags be damned, that Feeling can also mean nothing will come to fruition. No matter how hard you will it so.

Clearly it was a shellacking designed to make me stronger and wiser, to learn how to cut my losses earlier and recognize disinterest right off the bat. And it did in a way.

Unfortunately, the day after I triumphantly confessed to Turtle that after two years, I finally felt good again and optimistic about meeting someone new, in waltzed Mr. DD early this year to set me back a couple of steps.

To be continued and concluded...

Reflections In My Flannel Pajamas Pt 2

There's little over a day left in 2006 and I feel somewhat at peace about my friendships. The most important thing I've learned about friendships in the past year and a half, is learning to let go for my own peace of mind.

For most of my life, I operated under the notion that every friend I met was absolutely a friend for life. And I stayed in touch through decades and tried to be the best friend I could be with everyone, short of them shooing me away with a broom. It was exhausting and unnecessary.

It's sad to let go of people who are part of your history, who had a hand in shaping you and hold a piece of you with them at all times, whether they know it or not. They are irreplaceable. As old friends fall away, less and less people know the real you - the reasons behind the quirks, the because's behind all the why's, the original unjaded, noncynical and unbroken you.

But I know now that it's beyond any person's control why some friends stick and why others don't. Why some are nostalgic and loyal while others forge ahead alone or with a brand new crew. No guilt, no regret, and no more sadness for friends of yore. That is resolution number one for the new year.

Reflections In My Flannel Pajamas

It feels so decadent to pad around in flannel PJ's for several waking hours at a time. Here at my dear friend, "Turtle's" place, where she and her husband bend over backwards to make sure I'm not too cold, not too hot, not too hungry, nor ever in want of anything, the only time they leave me alone is late at night when they fall asleep. They say that you should always have a place you can escape to, and this is my place to recoup.

We joked about the title of "best friend" the other day - what it means, what it signifies, and the curse of bestowing that title on a person. I distinctly remember one afternoon about 2 decades ago, sitting in the car with my mother, driving home from a piano lesson, and asking her "when will I have a best friend?" She told me that not everyone has a "best friend." You might have several good friends and that should suffice.

I've been fortunate enough to have several great friends. And also blessed to have a best friend from junior high, one from high school, another from college and even one for after college. Each one critically important to me at that time in my life and then some. The first three are all up here in the bay area, and strangely enough, married to men who all share the same first name. The fourth one is migrating back up here next year, and perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to San Francisco and have fantasies of uprooting myself to live here for awhile.

Sadly, some of these friendships have naturally drifted apart as we grew in different directions and time and distance set in. Turtle is from high school, and somehow, in 17 years of friendship, we've only had one fight. Not even so much a fight, as in a period of just not hanging out together. Then, it passed.

She asked me why girls place such an emphasis on the title of best friend. It seems to have caused more petty squabbles and heartache amongst childhood friends than you'd think. Is it possession, a responsibility, or knowing that next to a spouse, you are the most important person and dearest to their heart?

I find it oddly parallel to searching for "the one." You may never find it. It may not even exist for certain people. Or for some, there are several "ones" out there or "one" for a certain time period in your life. All I know is that if I'm as blessed in finding "the one(s)" as I had in finding great friends, the future will indeed be bright.

Detox

Since the creation of Dreams In Blue, this is the longest I've gone without writing. I'm here and I am alive. I miss writing but I'm exhausted as we wrap up 2006. From the last busy week of work before Christmas vacation to staying at my parents' house for 5 straight days, to fleeing up to San Francisco less than 12 hours ago to hide out at a friend's house till the new year, there's been swirls of activity and much to reflect on before I succumb to the alluring waves of sleep every night.

I hope to sleep, read, write and unwind as much as possible now that I'm up here. It's been a week since I stepped foot in the workplace and only now are the work dreams starting to subside, the work people fading from my brain. The stress of what I should be doing versus what I want to be doing no longer looms at the forefront and strangles all enjoyment of life and living in the present out of me.

The morning I arrived at my parents' home, I cracked and wept for an hour. All because my family was inconsiderate enough to not wait for me for lunch. Again. For the third time in the past month. That was the first sign that I was not well. As I cried uncontrollably in my room and the despair of everything that was wrong with my life gripped me, the sadness felt so inconsolable. All I could do was nap it off, and spare myself the embarrassment of having to explain to my parents, my brother, and his girlfriend that sometimes, I just get sad for no reason and there's nothing they can do about it. It was better to let them think I was being childish and petulant, mad that they simply didn't wait for me.

It still scares me that despair can strike at the strangest times. I can go for months feeling great about life, baffled at how I could ever feel so low and without hope. Then a minor catalyst can set it off and I have to go about fixing myself in any way possible, whether it means sleeping, running, writing or simply reaching out to a good friend who will listen and console me, assuring me of the intactness of my sanity.

It's a tall order, but I hope to be at peace with myself by the end of the year. I have three more days to try.

Twas the Week Before Christmas...

And Whatchamacalit is all stressed out...
There are cards to write
and unwrapped presents strewn about.

Dinners were planned for the rest of the week
Dear friends to see and year end goals to meet!

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It's been busy. A good busy. But I do miss writing (thus the silly poem) and exercise and the routines of the rest of the year. December is special. The whole month is about the holidays and how many friends and loved ones you can cram in to see and gift before the year ends. Did I mention it's also about gluttony? Gluttony with food and money and gifts. It's almost shameful.

Work has become an annoyance, something that gets in the way of my holiday month. I want to smack my boss upside the head when he wastes my time with inane questions because he doesn't read emails clearly or think before speaking.

I want to sit at home, wrap gifts, sip tea, and watch movies. I want to sleep in, brunch with friends, catch up on years worth of letters, emails, and books. Most of all, I want to be with my family, stuff gifts under the Christmas tree, and sit around in flannel pajamas staring at the lights of the tree until I fall asleep.

Holiday Movies

When I was at the mouse-eared company, two other coworkers and I decided to form our own movie club. A movie club devoted to watching sappy romantic chick flicks so that we wouldn't have to drag unsuspecting victims, like boyfriends, to movies such as The Notebook or Save the Last Dance (our inaugural movie choice).

We don't get to meet up once a month anymore since some of us have moved on to different companies and have different hours. However, we'll still try to meet up for dinner monthly and pick a good movie to watch together at least once a year. Last weekend, it was The Holiday.

I knew it was a romantic comedy about two women swapping homes in England and LA to get away from the heartache of their their failed relationships but Wavy had given me a bit more of an in depth heads up. Apparently, when she watched the opening and listened to Kate Winslet's narration, she went "Whatchamacalit?! Is that you?"

Still, I was unprepared for just how much the writers got it. And how well Kate Winslet conveyed it. Without giving away too much of the movie, let's just say the pit of my stomach dropped out a couple of times and I wept throughout the movie. It was a swift kick to the gut in the best way possible. I wasn't so much crying from the sadness, it was more of the relief that someone else, and possibly many someone elses actually felt that way one time or another. My heart physically ached for her character and ached at the past experiences which made me feel like a sopping mess.

One of the girls I was with stifled a laugh and shook her head at me when the movie started. She too, had gone through the same experience with me years ago. We all loved the movie and had a wonderful time, but the best part was being able to cry and laugh about it with friends who understood why.

Last Concerts of the Year

Since we enjoyed the Hotel cafe tour so much, SLY and I decided to go to the Troubadour to see Brett Dennen on Friday and Josh Radin on Monday. I'm getting old and for mellow music like theirs, I prefer to sit. Instead of standing around in the main area, we sat in the back of the bar at the same table both times. The Troubadour is a tiny venue that feels like it's been around for decades, grunginess and all. So when we spotted Zach Braff and Donald Faison from the cast of Scrubs on Monday, right in front of us in the will call line, I had a feeling we'd spot them again.

Sure enough, Sarah Chalke from the show Scrubs also showed up, standing right in front of us, chatting up the other musicians like Priscilla Ahn and Cary Brothers. Zach Braff came over and bought a couple of beers for his group while SLY and I tried not to stare at the whole group 5 feet in front of us.

They were both great concerts, especially Josh Radin's on Monday when he invited his fellow musicians up on stage for various duets. Good music, celebrity sightings, it was a great way to cap off the last concert of the year. To celebrate, I'm buying tickets for another indie singer songwriter, Rhett Miller, at the Troubadour in January.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass...

In college, my roommates and I had too much time on our hands. One roommate was a big fan of the soap opera General Hospital while another one got hooked on Days of Our Lives with me when we met the cast for a question and answer session at school. Being the nerds that we are, we took it upon ourselves to chart out all the past and present relationships between the characters to keep them straight.

So when I recently found myself in an odd little scenario straight out of the soaps, my first instinct was to chart it out.



For one night, all in the same room for the same event and no one got hurt, no tears were shed, and smiles all around. Sometimes art does imitate life more than life imitates art.

Creepy Tunnel

Here's the creepy tunnel we ran through on Mile 13. It only took my phone 2 days to send it to my email account. Ain't technology grand?

All's Fair In Love and Parking

I wish I were meaner. Because if I were, I would have run over the girl's foot, which was unjustly in the way of my parking spot.

Wavy ran into the pizza place to order some dinner for me while I looked for a place to park. There was a prime spot right in front of the restaurant and a diminuitive college student standing in the prime spot, obviously holding the space for one of her friends. I started backing into the space and she waved her tiny hands at me, as if that would stop me. I glared at her, mouthed "no, you can't do that." and continued backing the car in. She kept smiling at me and waving her hands, refusing to budge. Another boy ran into the spot to support her, also smiling and waving his hands at me.

Fantastic. I can run over his feet too.

There was a standoff for a good two to three minutes, as I yelled at them and tried to keep reversing. We were causing a scene. People from the restaurant stared at us. For once, I longed for a cop to come by and do something good for a change, like yell at these kids for me. I debated about how close I could nick them with my car before it was considered a crime. Their punk friends finally showed up and drove straight into the spot, adding to my rage.

I realized that 1) I would have tried to save a parking spot for a friend by standing in it but 2) I would have chickened out and moved out of the way if someone tried to take the spot and yelled at me 3) I'm not mean enough to key someone's car or run over their foot but 4) I really wish I could. Maybe life would be a little bit better if my id ran loose every so often and people feared me as the "unhinged" one. I can only dream.

The Aftermath

Stumbled home after brunch, showered and fell asleep. The alarm clock went off at 4:30 again. Very much like 12 hours before, but this time the sun was still out. What a strange day. I went out briefly to visit some friends and their newborn, got some dinner, came home and slept some more. Today, I woke up briefly at 8am to email work and tell them I was too achy to go in, and continued to sleep until 10.

When I woke up, I called the friends with the newborn, offering to bring them lunch. And they replied "Oh my God, you sound as if you just woke up after partying all night and now you're hungover and just coming to."

The Final Run

The alarm clock went off at 4:30am. I had laid out everything I needed, knowing I would be half delirious. Somehow I managed to toast a PB & J sandwich, and stumble out the door by 5, feeling as if I was living some surreal dream. It was pitch black, no cars on the freeway, and all the skyscrapers of downtown were still lit up as I drove toward them. The clock said 5:05 but it could have been am or pm. I felt like I had gone mad.

I found the parking lot where we were meeting, and slowly the others trickled in after me. We all agreed it was a bit surreal, and the nine of us made our way toward the meeting point up the hill. It was still pitch black outside and a chilly 30 degrees. With wind.

We found the last two members of our group, and lined up for the shuttles that would take us to the starting point. It was still only 6am. Another hour and a half to go. I think I saw an old boss from my last job, but I really didn't care.

They unloaded us at the Travel Town Museum in Griffith Park, but we didn't want to get off the bus. It was only 6:30 and it was FREEZING outside. They booted us off anyway so we joined throngs of people milling about waiting for the start of the race. WHY DID WE NEED TO GET HERE AN HOUR EARLY? There was no shelter so we huddled together in a small circle to stay warm, kind of like the penguins in the documentary March of the Penguins.

Pre-race entertainment included chanting by a group of Native American performers, seeing how many guys ditched the porta potty lines to climb up the hillside to relieve themselves, and watching fellow racers in various fashion schemes (men in short shorts should never bend over and trash bags make for handy windbreakers). By the time the race was ready to start, we had been awake at least 3 hours and lost all feeling in our legs.

A Mile By Mile Breakdown of the Race:

Mile 1 - Feeling good! Still no feeling in my legs but I'm almost tempted to continue running even after our first walk cycle. I have never seen so many guys randomly peeing in the bushes along the path. And WHY is the woman mooning everybody? Gross.

Mile 2 - Ack, only one mile done?!!

Mile 4 - All right, we're heading outside of the park. Still feeling good and running too fast. I keep losing my group.

Mile 5 - Hmmm, I'm too far ahead of the group. I can't hear them yelling "Run!" or "Walk!" I can't believe I'm doing so well.

Mile 6 - CRAMP! We're running along the freeway now and the sun's out. Still a ways to go.

Mile 7 - Holy Mother of God, I'M IN PAIN.

Mile 8 - We're only a little over half way. I'm never going to make it. Every time we run, my stomach feels like it's going to explode.

Mile 9 - Half the group has caught up and ahead of me. Resorting to prayer and bargaining now to finish the race.

Mile 10 - I can't run anymore. It physically feels impossible. My knee is throbbing, my foot aches, and the cramps still come and go. Four people from the group run ahead and one of them stays with me to walk. Thank god for her. We seem to have lost three of them in the back. We're now without timer people. No one to tell us when to run and walk at our 2 minute/1 minute intervals. But no matter. If I run, I will fall over and die at this point.

Mile 11 - Bless all these wonderful kids and adult volunteers handing out drinks and cheering along the way. I taste Gatorade for the first time. I love sugar. My buddy convinces me to run for the downhill stretch of this mile when my cramps subside.

Mile 12 - Eureka! We're finally in downtown. We're almost done. I can't believe it. Will I have to keep all the promises I made when begging all the powers of above to help me finsh? My buddy is already calling her boyfriend to let her know we're almost done. I wonder if my parents will show up at the finish line.

Mile 13 - Walking through a creepy tunnel. Straight out of some sci-fi flick. Two more peeps from our group catch up with us since we've been walking much of the time. One of the members from our running group who lost us at mile 1 is done and coming back toward us to head home. "It's so close you can taste it!" he yells.

Mile 13.1 - The four of us decide to run toward the finish line, so that we at least look less pathetic for straggling in so late. Amazingly, we finished within 3 hours! And my parents are so cute! They are there too, taking pictures, giving me a Capri-sun, as if they were cheering me on as a little kid in little league (which we never did).

I can't believe we finished. That was one of the hardest things I've ever done and one of the most physically excruciating. I've gotta find more constructive and less painful ways to cope with frustration and sadness or else I'll be in a wheelchair by the time I'm 40.

One of the runners in our group said there are two types of people who do these things. One says "I will never do this again" and the other asks "when's the next one?" There is talk of the San Diego marathon in June and the 5K/10K Firecracker run in Chinatown in February. Good God, I just want to be able to walk normally again. And sleep in on Sundays. MAYBE the 10K in February. If something else is pissing me off next year.

Eve of the Big Run

Good lord, we have to meet at 5:15 tomorrow. That means even if I sleep right now at 10pm and wake up around 4, that's only 6 hours of sleep. That bites. I haven't slept at 10pm since I was eight years old. And waking up when it's still dark and cold out? Inhumane.

Spotted on the Freeway

A strange Oldsmobile tilted up at a 25 degree angle, the back wheels so close to the ground, I expected sparks to fly if the car hit a bump. Etched on the back of the car, the classy quote "Too low for you big hoes."