Who Started This?

Chicken - egg situation:

woman: "I'm not in a dating space right now"

man: 'There's no way she means me.'

Was it women? Saying things they don't mean in order to guard their actual feelings? Were they trying to play a game and see if it would stick? Or are men to blame for somehow assuming they're ALL the exception to the rule? I find this behavior quite curious and terribly frustrating. Yes, you could boil it down and simplify it to the act of "just another man not listening to a woman", but I am not sure it is so blatantly sexist. I don't know that men even know that they're doing this. I'm not saying that makes it okay, because - and let me be clear - 

IT

DOESN'T.

If it were just a simple misunderstanding;

man: "...Oh, you didn't mean other ppl? You meant me, too? Oh. Shit. Sorry 'bout that, then."

That would be one thing. But it never is. Or at least certainly hasn't been in my case. Don't get me wrong; this is a relatively new discovery for me, and as such am keeping the typical open mind about it until I can do proper research on it (for what it's worth, I would trade facts in a heartbeat to just never have to go through this again). To quote Austin Powers: "Having said all that, I do have some thoughts..."

So far, I have made it abundantly clear that I am, in fact, not dating right now. I shouldn't. It won't be quality/my best self and I refuse to waste my time with anything less anymore. There's just no reason. I know I only have so much resolve when it comes to actual physical contact in that way, and as such am trying to break the news to everyone to better protect them and myself. I have told women, I have definitely told men; all of my friends. Most of them are probably sick of hearing me say this. That's fair - but clearly enough-to-get-sick-of is still not enough when it comes to the male ego. 

Surely not all men are like this. I don't like getting grouped in with all 20-somethings, all people of my generation, all women etc... and it would be illogical to assume that one man could speak on behalf of all of them. Those men are an exception to this blog. To the kind of male and overall arrogant attitude/thinking process I am now assertively against. But they are still not an exception to my rule of "not being ready to date right now". You could be the man of my dreams and I would still be relieved to know you had someone else you were going after. And if by the time I'm ready to date you are married to said other person? Fair. My loss. I'm not going to pout about it because it is not sensible to wait for me and the whole prospect of a man doing so at this point would prove to be incredibly stressful to me. It's not personal. Which, by the way, surely proves moreover that I am not ready to date. To quote Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail: "...It ought to begin by being personal."

I am a logical, yet understanding and sensitive person. I am patient. I am sensible. I don't feel as though I am asking for too much to just be single - and not hassled - while I am sorting some things out. And even if I was asking for too much by expecting this; trust me. I am doing you a favor by denying a relationship with you at this point in time. 

I have never in my life assumed that someone of the opposite sex is sexually interested in me simply because they are being polite to me. Because they are laughing at my jokes. Because they are taking the time to talk/listen to me about my day. Because I can relate to them. Because they asked me how I was doing, or even remembered something about me. Some people love others. Some people treat their friends with respect and love. Some people just fucking care. And I refuse to not care. So I guess this is the price I pay for not compromising that principle. You wanna know why people get bitter about relationships/the opposite sex? Haven't the foggiest, old chap.

Autumn and After

I pulled out and freshened up my cozy sweaters, readied my boots and queued up the Fleet Foxes. I even swapped my typical iced Americano for that of a toasty hot one.

Then I went outside for a smoke after 4pm.

Jesus.

It's fucking cold already. I knew it was coming! I have been (and continue) trying to keep up with the weather, prepare for the outdoors with my layers of sensibly thick purchases from the thrift store and refuse to skip a meal or a wink of sleep in a feeble attempt to keep sickness at bay. I am likely more prepared this year than ever before, but still it was not enough to shield my body from the shock of Autumn. 

You can spin me tales of long walks, seasonal lattes & pumpkin carving, but I would forgo it all just to stay comfortably warm. I am getting older. Soon the only weather I will be able to stand is that of a "real scorcher" as I begin to trace migration patterns; southbound, with the other white-feathered birds. Perhaps I will surprise everyone and land somewhere in Texas. Go Cowboys.

I love driving, and the pending cold weather does its best to destroy the joy ride. That goes at least double for the casual jog or race walk. You can no longer throw something on and go. I think that might be it. I think that the minute I have to plan something to death, the fun gets sucked right out of it. Where are we going? Is there parking close to the building? Is it more up or down hill? Are we staying until dusk? Later? What's the forecast? And then, of course, you have to factor in the usual questions that let you know whether or not to wear heels, a dress, eat before you go, bring a bottle of wine, champagne or infused teas.

AND IF! By the end of this ordeal your spouse/friend/family member you are attending with somehow can stand you long enough to get in the car and get to this event, something inevitably will go wrong. Be it the weather ("Wow, colder than I thought..."), the timing ("...Storm should've passed by now") or the usual stuff (i.e. transportation, uncomfortable outfit/shoes) that is absolutely made immediately so much worse with the added effect of freezing your little ass off. 

Halloween should be fun, though.

Food-Piphany

I think I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
I know I used to suffer something awful from a sensory disorder. (No I haven't gone to a doctor for this, but sometimes you just don't have to.)

One of the symptoms of OCD is that you may have a strange relationship with cleaning, orderliness (that's an actual word?? Whoa) as well as guilt. A person suffering from sensory issues may hold issue with foods of certain quality and/or strange texture. I recently was able to change my relationship with the food that I eat by going vegan! It has been over a year now, and never have I ever been so damned comfortable with grocery shopping, prepping, cooking or eating food. Furthermore, it is so easy to take care of my dishes - there's nothing dodgy to me about veggies, rice and legumes!

I used to have a strenuous relationship with the food going into my body and the food I cleaned from a plate. Sometimes it was the rubbery texture of a chicken patty, sometimes it was the astounding amount of cheese someone had decided to litter my pizza with, and it always was absolutely horrifying to touch any of the food on a plate that had already been eaten off of. Naturally this was seen as an attempt at dodging my chores, but I can assure you that was not the case.

Meat was always creepy - sure, less so when it was in the form of a strip or giant pepperoni-esque circle, made just for sandwiches, but if I ever saw the chicken breast before my mother cooked it, I would be completely disgusted. So that was fairly easy to give up. Dairy used to weird me out something fierce - the thought of the process, the texture of most of it, the fact that if you left it un-refrigerated it would immediately turn to garbage. Once I learned that the Diary industry is the stuff of nightmares, I quickly decided to venture into veganism - and I'm so glad I did.

In addition to the "cleaner-living" aspect to this lifestyle/diet, I have no guilt over what I am eating, as it never had a face/nothing with a face had to suffer for it. It is terribly difficult to cook vegan food incorrectly, as most of it is perfectly edible in its raw form, so there goes the pressure of feeling as though you might get sick/get someone else sick from your cooking. And if you're eating whole food, you have no reason to fear the odd texture of processed "food" (basically just don't eat moldy fruit and you'll be kosher).

I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to make the correlation, but I am ever so glad that I did. I'm not afraid of food anymore. I enjoy myself when I am eating. One less thing to worry about in a day (especially for a busy Obsessive Compulsive mind) is one big step toward happiness and contentment.

The Sixties

It is as if I have been transported to the sixties.

I feel partially responsible, of course, this being the only decade that I have ever yearned for. Not in exchange for my own, of course, just for a visit. Mostly for the fashion and the music.

I work my small business, locally-owned office job in my pencil skirt and Italian-inspired loafers with the pointed toe, look completed by a white, tucked-in oxford and mod haircut. Half way through my shift I walk outside and before I can light my cigarette, I notice the sidewalk is rife with political signs being held and waved by a group of older people who have assembled in their frustration for the "way things are going". Cars that speed down the one-way occasionally honk. I hear the murmur of the people; something about health care. Something else about the elderly. Something else about the Republican party. I pay no mind. I snub out my cigarette and throw it in a nearby bin - I was taught not to litter.

Once back inside said office job's building, the discussion on the local broadcast raises in volume. My male boss - sweating from manual man-labor - curses under his breath. Something about women's rights. Something else about women's rights. I tune my own dial to the freeing sounds of the Kinks.

I suppose that something like this has always happened around this time of year; voting time, I mean. Maybe it's been just long enough since the last go-round that I have forgotten the details. Maybe I'm just noticing it because I am finally in the thick of things, downtown, in it. Or maybe it's never been this obvious. This wild. Maybe it's just a matter of time until we commence mandatory drills, heads under our desks.