I am in love….

For those of you who read my last post and wondered where the hell I have been for the last 5 months, here I am!

So much has happened.

I met the Love of my Life, The Policeman. He took a little while to grow on me, but really it was my own fault. I wasn’t looking for something terribly deep at the time, but when I met him, it was just right. We’re moving in together in a couple of weeks to a duplex in Sacramento. It has a little yard for his dog, a one car garage and plenty of space for the dog, him, me, my two cats, and our lives. Our conversations lately have turned to questions of what kind of couches to buy, where to get area rugs and whether to buy a Costco membership. We’ve combined car insurance, bank accounts, and cell phone plans.

I am going to marry this man.

I’ve also gained about 10 pounds as a direct result of this man wooing me. The drinks and dinners out do come at a price. I’ve shrugged my shoulders in indifference and switched my summer wardrobe to include roomy sundresses. I’ve also joined Policeman’s martial arts classes and gym to help remedy this problem. I’m fitter, and happier than I have ever been.

A few of his friends seem to think I’m bad news, but the way he has expressed things, they are only angry that he was the social one who planned all the parties and get togethers, and he was only planning them to meet women….and now that he’s met one, he no longer needs to take charge of it. The sentiment is nice, but the heat sometimes gets to me. I genuinely liked a lot of these people, and to find out suddenly they were all talking about me behind my back eats at me. There are two women in particular that bothered me. “The Loon,” who’s purse also serves as a mobile pharmacy who thinks I have brainwashed him into submission and “The Felon,” who despite having one felony warrant and two misdemeanor warrants believes I am a bad person. Our theory is that they aren’t seeing their friend as often as they would like, to which he replies “They aren’t my friends.”

They are no big loss to me. I tried to be friendly and share common interests. Loon stresses me out and I’m kind of glad I don’t need to be around her, and Felon had such a false facade that In choose to not know her. Neither are welcome in my home.

In more positive news, I have signed up to run another marathon this year. I’m going to attempt the California International Marathon once again!

No more hot messes….

Chaste Hug Guy and I have called it quits.

I guess “calling it quits” the wrong term. We grew apart, He refused to bend to my need for a relationship and I refused to compete for attention against his eating disorder. Plus I’m kind of a whore, so there’s that. He wanted to be “single,” so there’s really no getting mad if I cooperate and am single as well.

I haven’t seen him in over a month, I last saw him right before his birthday, then went off to see a friend in San Francisco where I picked out a gift for him. It still sits, wrapped, on my desk. The e-mails back and forth quickly went from “I miss you” to “good luck with that.”I’m really not sure why, but I’m not dwelling on it.  I started seeing someone else. Getting a response seemed to be like pulling teeth, so I sent a final “I won’t bother you anymore.”

He broke Jamie’s Dating Law #29:
Handle your bizzness and break up with me if that’s what you’re going to do.

Don’t leave me hanging for a month. I now have to go beg the men’s department at Macy’s to let me return a gift for store credit because the receipt has expired. His failure to cowboy up has cost me $70.  I hereby revoke his man card.

But, as I’ve said, I’m seeing someone else. A couple of someones, actually. I’m seeing The Hawaiian (a friend of Chaste Hug Guy) and The Policeman. I guess I’m seeing The Policeman more than The Hawaiian, since we’ve been out a couple of times and have a standing date this week, but while he’s a nice guy and all so we’ll see.

I’ve been out with a few others this month…

I’ve been out with The Liar, who just broke up with his girlfriend and whom I caught trying to call her from the bathroom while we were at the bar and insists on sending me pictures of his penis.

I’ve tried to go out with The Flake, who’s called me to make plans twice but has flaked both times.  I held him in violation of rule #1: Failing to follow-through twice equals a missed opportunity.

New rule for the dating manifesto: #41: I’m done dating men who have more issues than strippers.

So I’ll see where things go with The Hawaiian and The Policeman, and the rest of my cast of characters.  I find The Hawaiian crazy attractive, but he’s leaving down soon, so I’ll get my licks in where I can.

C’est la vie.

I dont compete…

I have a very strict rule of non-competition when it comes to relationships. I won’t vie for your attention or try to out-do the competition. If you have a date, I’m not going to try to offer you a better time.

I will not try to “top” your last girlfriend. I will not exert myself out of self-doubt.

You see, you’re either into me or you aren’t. Asking me if I “have a better idea” than your current evening’s plans gives me the idea that maybe I should make better plans– plans that don’t involve you.

What are you asking me, really? Are you hoping to turn your slight chance of getting laid with your current girl into a sure thing with me? You won’t. If you wanted to see me, you would have called me first.

And yes, I am a sure thing. If I agree to go out with you, odds are you’re getting some. I’m very selective about the people I date and have sex with. If I don’t think I’m going to be fucking you, I won’t date you.

I’m fun as Hell and don’t have to prove it to you. I’m way too cool for that.

Prison? Or Temple?

“My body is a prison, and I’m trapped in here.”

I’ve heard that phrase uttered so many times from friends, people on TV and others who are struggling to change their lives.

My body is a temple.

Imagine a monk’s quarters. It is a single room with just the necessities, a bed, a book, a pair of shoes. This is his temple. Prison is no different. Both monks and prisoners find themselves in these rooms through the  natural progression of their behaviors. Both can tell you when they either “saw the light” or “went wrong.”

The circumstances are the same, but the mindset is very different.

Are you your own warden, or guru?

Ohm Shanti.

For once I am taking control of my own emotions and refusing to allow people to “make” me feel any way I do not wish to.

I’m opening the gates of my spirit and allowing all to enter, but not to leave a mess or take things that do not belong to them.

I’m learning, slowly, how to be a single person. It is difficult not to attempt to “schedule” this type of progress. I must let it happen. I will get there.

Still, I get lonely. I’d love nothing more than to see Chaste Hug Guy every day, but that’s not really feasible. I should instead be grateful for the time that I do have.

I feel that I’m completely over the end of my marriage, the man, and the division of a household, but acting like a married person is a hard habit to break.

It’s strange to me to come home late and not have anyone worried about me. The only one who gets mad at me anymore is my cat when I forget to feed him. I can play guitar at 6am and nobody is bothered. I can live off of Cliff Bars for a month and nobody says anything.

The freedom is often oppressive, and I don’t know what to do with my energy sometimes.

The answer of course is to spend this energy on myself.  I could go to the gym all day, take a class, make as much noise as I please and make impusive purchases that I don’t need to justify. I suppose the key is to find balance. My life is a pendulum of emotion right now, and eventually I will find my center.

Looking elsewhere…

So I haven’t seen Chaste Hug Guy in a couple of weeks.
I’m not sure if he’s just busy or maybe no longer interested, but it shouldn’t matter. I’m single and should act that way.
I’ve been too available. He hasn’t made a move to make any plans to see me, so I really need to relax and stop waiting until he does. Either he will, or he won’t, and the less I think about it, the better.
I briefly considered setting up an account at an Internet dating site, but have chosen instead to dip my toes in my ever expanding social circle.
And why not? I’m a catch!
I’ve got a great personality and curves that go on for miles.
It’s easier to breathe when I don’t hold my breath.

People treat you the way you allow them to treat you….

I had plans for New Year’s Eve with a friend, but he flaked and plans fell through.

I had plans with the same friend last night, but he canceled at the last minute in favor of a booty call. He texted me his cancelation as I was on my way out the door.

He doesn’t get a third strike. He’s done. I simply refuse to allow people to treat me this way. I am forced to refer him to dating rule #1. Besides, it’s just an immature thing to do when you make plans and something else comes up.

I don’t have time for this shit.

Why wish that 2010 is better?

I’ve been getting many well-wishes for the New Year. The people around me wish that next near be better for me, because apparently I’ve had a rough time in 2009.

Why?

I moved across the country and landed on my feet.

I found a job I love.

I bought a car.

I attempted a marathon.

I sorted out a lot of personal issues.

I got into a regular gym routine.

I reconnected with old friends.

I traveled.

I made many leaps of faith that seemed silly at the time, but ultimately worked out for the better.

So why are people wishing me  “better” year in 2010?

2009 was pretty awesome.

Another fucking dreidel?

It’s another year of being the The Token Jew at Christmas parties.

You know what that means, right? My gift being the only one wrapped in blue and white paper, constantly asking if certain foods are kosher, boxes of microwavable latkes for breakfast. My favorite is constantly being asked to give the “bread breaking prayer,” a traditional Hebrew prayer given before eating. I don’t speak Hebrew, I don’t know the prayer, and have no interest in learning. I don’t bother to learn it because I am so completely nonobservant that I might as well be Catholic. The only reason I’m aware that it is Hanukkah is because people constantly ask me which night of Hanukkah we are on. It’s like I’m some sort of magic Jew calendar.

A week or so ago I was given an menorah. The first time it was nice to receive one, but now that I have six or seven of them it is getting a little rediculous. This last one didn’t even make it out of the box. I gave it to Chaste Hug Guy within an hour or so of receiving it.

So tonight after being asked for the umpteenth time to recite a prayer I don’t know and after perhaps one too many glasses of wine (“It’s kosher!”) I gave the following blessing over the food;

“Dear God. Be a mensch. Bless this food and grant me the ability to be constantly aware of all the high Jewish holidays, and lose my tolerance for uncircumcized men. “

Merry Christmas!

Old pictures….

I was really cute in high school.

But nobody could have convinced me of that.

Looking back at old pictures, I realize that the butt that seemed to go for miles, the flabby abs, the double chin and the frizzy hair never actually existed.

I was actually kind of hot, but I didn’t believe it.

That was 10 years ago.

I’m a half-inch taller, I have less acne, I’ve developed some semblance of a personal style, have a more favorable body composition and weigh roughly five pounds less. Yet on the inside I’m still the girl who makes awkward jokes, talks badly about herself and seems hell-bent on convincing the world that yes, I am the fattest person alive.

So 10 years from now, will I be looking back on pictures of myself at 27 and wondering why I didn’t think I was cute as hell?  Will I shrink as I relive the mortifications of saying the wrong thing? Will my memories of my late 20s and early 30s be primarily of hating what I see in the mirror?

I hope not. 

When I was in high school I spent hours hating the dimples in my thighs, slamming my fists into pounds that weren’t there and bursting into tears when my size-11 jeans became snug. I starved myself for weeks at a time, destroying those jeans with scissors when they became loose enough to need the next size down.

I wore shorts to the pool out of self-consciousness. I was definately the bigger girl out of my friends, but I was by no means overweight. I declared a personal moratorium on pizza and ice cream, instead resorting to smelling my boyfriend’s pizza-scented fingers after we had “dinner” that I couldn’t eat.

My mother would alternate between telling me to stop eating and lecturing me on the dangers of eating disorders. I realize in hindsight that she thought I was too fat when she was losing weight, and that I was too thin when she was gaining.

I really need to let this shit go. I’ve created enough bad memories.

I lost about 7 pounds this week. Something in my brain tipped and suddenly I live every day in fear that I will wake up five pounds heavier. Intellectually, I know I won’t. I’m in the best shape of my life.

It’s also my birthday this week. Three different people are taking me out for meals between now and Wednesday. Two days later is Christmas. I have a function to attend on Christmas Eve. I’ve been invited to several New Year’s parties, and I haven’t decided which to go to.

I look at my crowded dayplanner and instantly the waistband of my jeans begin cutting into my skin, shouting “j’accuse!”

I realize there is more to life than hating my body. I realize that there is more to how I see myself than the little number on the tag inside my pants. I realize that my current bodily obsessions have absolutely nothing to do with my body.

I have many choices as to how I am going to function this next week or so. Surely, many pictures will be taken of me posing with family, friends, and coworkers. What kind of memories do I want to have these last few weeks of 2009? When I turn to face the camera, will I be able to resist the urge to hold someone’s baby or some object in front of myself? Will I be able to ignore the imaginary flesh that exists only when I close my eyes?

Or will I simply smile?

It is hard to say. My self esteem is on the floor this week. 

But, I really hope I can look back on those pictures and see myself for who I am; a vibrant, intelligent person who loves passionately and pursues life with wreckless abandon.

I just hope it doesn’t take another 10 years.