Eeyore's Birthday Party and an unexpected guest

It's been incredibly gorgeous the past few days. It's warm enough to swim but not so hot and humid that you're feeling like a damp washcloth slaps you in the face when you walk out your front door. There's a delightful breeze and there's less "tree sex" (pollen) floating around than earlier in the year. It's perfection and prime time to revel in your ourdoorsiness.

At least, I do. And since I can't run [can barely walk] due to my fucking foot, I'm going to get my sunshine by some other means, by whatever means necessary!

So, I headed to Eeyore's Birthday Party, this huge event not far from my place with a friend of mine and his dog. It's basically a huge party for hippies in a city park where the constables turn a blind eye to the doobies and bongs. It's an alternate reality. It's full of "dirty hippies," bongo drum circles, pot stinkiness, smoked turkey legs, beer, and the craziest costumes worn by people that probably shouldn't be wearing them, but bless them for doing so because it's So.darn.entertaining!

So who should I run into just as we arrive and take our respective places in the beer line?

Spoonman and friend.

What are the odds? Seriously. I've got this magnet that attracts exes. I don't have that many of them, but they come a-flockin' whenever I am out on the town.

I get this huge hug, the type that would be totally inappropriate had I been a stranger. He was right up against me. And it felt good.

Arg!! Setback.

Spoonman was friendly but I was pretty much stunned and shocked so my reactions were probably not so friendly, though, I did smile. I always smile. That's just me.

His friend was impressed that I remembered their secret handshake but what does it matter now? It doesn't.

My friend tells me as they awkwardly excuse themselves and are out of earshot, "Scarlett, if he's 30-somethin' and can't see what he has with an awesome, attractive girl such as yourself, then he really is an idiot." It did make me feel a little better. I hope he knows that he's an idiot for letting me go because damn it, I am awesome.

So, I did what any girl would do on this occasion: I drank beer, listened to drum bopping, scorched a pattern of my tank tops' straps into my shoulders, tried to fix my friend's dog up with any cute canine specimens, and documented festivities of stinky hippies for the remainder of the afternoon.

Not a bad Saturday afternoon in the least.

Anti-climatic.

Not unlike the last episode of Seinfeld, the Governor's Roundup is over and done with.

I wish I could admit to attempting to run some of it. But that would be a vast overstatement. My brash decision Thursday night to go running left me with incredibly sore feet. I'm pretty sure I need to get the one looked at. It's pretty uncomfortable. Coming from me, that means something. I just don't feel physical pain the same way most do.

And this is from walking.

The foot, I taped it, put an extra arch support and still, 3 blocks from my vehicle it starts the nagging twinge. By the time the race started, the foot was in full-blown martyrdom.

But! No complaining, I stepped light and deliberate through all 3.1 miles and it really was the fastest walk, short of a jog.

The hardest part of the entire thing was watching the 10K runners pass us up just past the 1.5 mile point. WOW. Inadequacy abounds. And then when it was over, that feeling of accomplishment? Lost.

Maybe it was the disappointment of walking, the testy week-long sinus headache, or the lack of decent sleep this week....I might do another one at some point. For now, I'm sticking to the training because that alone makes me feel a million times better than this morning did.

But I did it. And I guess "them's braggin' rights!"

In less than 10 hours....

I will be in the midst of my first 5K race.
I feel like I should be more nervous than I am. Because I'm not. Nervous. At. All.
All I really care about is finishing.

Part of me feels guilty. That's the ex-competitive swimmer and 100m dash sprinter. She's not mean, not like the PMS-chola, but she stresses me out because she's all about perfection, about being good enough. She went into a little funk when I got tendonitis in my foot last month and I stopped training to let it heal. This girl is somewhat ashamed that I am not pushing myself harder.

The other part of me, she's proud that I stuck to this. I'm not good at pacing myself, never have been. It's also easier to go home and nap rather than head down to the trails to run, bike, or to the pool to swim. I don't know that I've experienced the feeling I get after accomplishing a long run, swim, or bike ride. It's like nothing else. It's contentment and pride, exhaustion, but also a rush. I just like it. It's even better than winning a sprint!

And I like the results:
* Better coordination
* Better balance
* Less absentmindedness
* Less stress
* Better canoodleing (Well, it WAS better!)
* Toned body (I actually don't have skinny calves anymore!)

I'm going to go get some sleep in hopes that it's not pouring rain in the morning like it's threatening to do now.

The two sides of Mademoiselle Valentin?

"[S]he makes love to the duke.... [s]he swordfights the queen...." (Ah, Spoon!)


Yesterday I realized something profound about myself: I have P.M.S. and she’s a bitch.

Before, say, a year ago, I’d only had physical symptoms that were annoying, but largely trivial and didn’t require much gumption to ignore. But now, NOW, I’ve got this bitchy side and it’s really starting to piss me off.

You see, this alter-ego, this bitchy side, she’s NOT me but I can’t ignore her. She’s a mean one. Usually I just come across as moody, withdrawn on account that I don’t want to lash out at an innocent bystander. The last thing I want is to be outwardly mean, so it’s this all-out, unrestrained turmoil going on inside my head—between the sweet me and the bitchy one.

And as I was explaining this to my friend over the phone, she gained a voice.

Me: Man, I’m so moody today. It would be wise to avoid confrontation with others.

Bitchy me: Puta, I’ll cut joo! Don’t leave me all so-laaaa and sheet.
(Whore, I’ll cut you. Don’t leave me alone and shit.)

Me: But being mean and picking fights is just not me.

Bitchy me: Bajate su pinchi pedestal, ese. Joo better leesten to me or I’ll get my sancho on you.
(Get off your fucking pedestal, dude. You better listen or my man will get you.)

“Holy CRAP!” My friend delights in this, “Your alter-ego is a chola!”

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it’s border slang for a female gang member. I’m not sure how far-reaching this term is or isn’t, but I know it’s not just an area colloquialism as others have knowledge of the chola/cholo and its correct usage.

He’s right. She’s 100% street-wise, eyeliner-to-the-temples, black-lipliner-and-pink-lipstick, and black-bra-under-white-wifebeater-wearing-chola.

I laugh. If you knew me, you’d laugh too. I’m practically see-through and strawberry blonde hair with freckles don’t exactly fit the persona either.

So anyways, I want to name her. She’s going to have one of those cheesy names like “Smiley” or “Smile now, cry later” or “Pitufa” (that’s Smurf in Spanish.) All of the cholas at my high school had ironic names like that.

I’m up for suggestions. Have at it!

"The delicate place... the questions it raise...."

"Is this just your way of breaking my heart?? Everyone denies it but they just want to be told..." Spoon, The Delicate Place

Now that I am over the initial sting and pain... I'm fucking pissed off. [Excuse my language, but it fit!]

I got the most cop-out excuse ever. Sort of a twist on the "it's not you, it's me bit."

"I am dumb.... I feel SO, so DUMB," Spoonman repeats a few times interspersed. "Yeah," I think, "Wrong answer. You're supposed to say, 'I'm scared but so are you and it's worth it!" But somehow, those words never were mouthed.

So, you know how it's harder for us to fall for someone.... to really feel that excitement, the butterflies, and trust another with your heart after the first love goes awry? Yeah. He's still dealing with that and even he admitted that he's too old to be stuck on that.

Um.... you know what? Yeah. That makes him a bonafide wuss. I've had my heart ripped out of my chest cavity, squeezed, chewed on and spit out.... and I lived to tell. I'm more cautious, of course, but even with my first love, it took me YEARS to realize that I loved him. What can I say? I feel responsible for my own emotional actions.

I got over it, right? Like everyone else. I didn't jump right into another relationship... oh wait, yes I did. Big mistake. But then, I took a break and took care of me. It seems that Spoonman has had plenty of "him time" already and got really used to being selfish with his time. Because, yeah.... I like my free time too and I like to do with it what I want, without having to consult anyone else. So I can understand that much.

I wasn't asking for a relationship. You see, we don't know each other that well, even after nearly 3 months because we see each other an average of once a week for a few hours. And of those few hours, a good portion is spent, well, there's not exactly a lot of 'getting to know you' conversation going on in that time. But what I was asking for is for more time and effort to be put into it. And honestly, that goes for me too because I haven't exactly been Miss Open-Schedule-U.S.A.

Spoonman says, "I don't like giving up my free time and I don't want to be the jerk that doesn't call you on the weekends." I responded that I never asked him to choose between his friends and I, in fact, I actually really like his friends and wouldn't mind, you know, being invited to hang with the group every now and again. That is potential "get-to-know-you-time" and it's fun for all, right? So I ask if he is embarrassed of me. Emphatic no. Good answer, Spoonie. Even better, "My friends really like you."

Well now, what is the problem?

Why is it that guys assume that all girls (because I will admit there are some females that are downright evil) are conspiring to ensnare them in this sinewy web of relationship and/or marriage. They might as well run away screaming, "It's a trap, it's a trap!" Really, now.... it's not like that. At least not for me. I'm every bit as scared of commitment, but I also know that I have to be mature and deal with my issues accordingly. When the prospect of marriage came up with my ex, I think my heart skipped a couple of beats. No, not in the good way.

"Am I really OLD enough to get married?"
"Holy crap, I am 24... I guess so."
"Do I really want this?"
"I don't know... and that scares me."

So, yeah.... not all girls are revving up our engines to hop into the matrimony race. But eventually, should we (future significant male and I) decide to have children, then yes, that would be necessary. I am in no rush for either, despite sliding closer and closer to 30. 30 is the new 20, after all.

I'm also not one to put aside my busy schedule for someone, but I surprisingly found myself doing a little bit of that with Spoonman before I even realized that, yeah, I could like this guy. But still, family and friends came first for both he and I, no qualms.

A few weeks ago, I realized that I was going to have to mix him into some of my free time activities. The prospect scared me. My siblings and I are pretty much on the same level, humor wise, occasionally getting a bit punchy, silly, irritable, etc. But it's all in good fun. "Would he get that?" I wondered. "Sure, he has siblings as well." And I clenched a fist and asked him to join us for a couple of future outings.

He didn't flinch, but he also didn't go to one, opting instead to go to a friend's birthday celebration (how could I get upset with that?) and now, well, I'm not sure where we stand, exactly. But it's not where it was before. It's safe to say, he won't be accepting the other invitation.

"You'll be hearing from me," is all he said and laughed at the face I pulled. Damn animated face... damn you. "Oh, the face, " he coos, "Why do you have to be so cute?" [Maybe because I AM cute and you should hold onto this catch?!?! Just MAYBE?]

"That face, it was my 'yeah right face' and it was well deserved. I will believe it when it happens, Spoonie."

And with that, he kissed me twice, maybe thrice, I didn't count. I turned and didn't look back, walked back to my doorway, and sighed.

All of that and I still can't hold my breath.

It's back to just me. No worrying about potential dates. All guitar lessons, artistic ambition, odd-wheeling, Internet surfing, writing, and sleeping. All me: comforting and not, my duality. Me.

70% chance of staying put.

American Cities That Best Fit You:

70% Austin

65% Atlanta

65% Las Vegas

55% Denver

55% Miami

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

Austin’s been home for about 10 years, give or take. At first, it took time to get used to the vast differences between it and my hometown. But after 2 years, I fell in love and despite the wanderlust, I’ve managed to keep my roots in place. Austin’s tricky like that.

No one will tell you “It’s a trap!” Because you’d be hard pressed to find someone that doesn’t love at least one aspect of Austin; From the live music, to the warm climate, to the plethora of outdoors activities, to the array of multiple things to do every weekend- and every week night, to the educational and career opportunities in and around the area.

I would have to say the chances of me staying in Austin are much greater than 70%. Especially since all aspects of my life seem to be falling into place and that pesky quarter-life crisis has been overthrown and replaced with my very own ruling party. Life is good. It really is.

With this holiday weekend upon us and a gorgeous forecast, I can see lots of outdoors and sunshine in the immediate future and that makes this girl giddy. Happy Easter, celebrate as you see fit.

What's your forecast?

Sick and/or sick of waiting...

Imagine my surprise to receive an email one morning from Spoonman.

It's been a while since he has initiated email correspondence and it was in reference to "the talk": He wanted to meet up that night over drinks to discuss.

I agreed to. After all, it isn't everyday that a guy doesn't fret that sort of communication. And really, what is there to freak out about? It's talking about where we see this going, not a black hole, the Bermuda Triangle, or any such irreversible union.

Unfortunately, my body decided to revolt just hours before he was to come and pick me up. I was forced to cancel our plans. And really, I couldn't decide if the upset was more from the writhing pain or the disappointment of rescheduling. Perhaps both. There was no way I could concentrate on anything other than attempting a somewhat comfortable position- of which, there were none.

The irony is that certain 'extracurricular' activities between Spoonman and I had probably been a catalyst for my ailment. This is also not the first time that illness has gotten in the way of our important plans. Are bumps in the road such as this omens? Maybe I'm reading too much into this.

My guy informant says, "Quit worrying!" He says that most girls probably haven't lasted this long and besides he'd be crazy to let me go. Since this informant hasn't been around to know my entire track record, it could go either way, though I will say that many of my exes have stated they were dumb to have let me go or have tried to win me back. So maybe there's something to it?

All I know is that feelings cannot be forced and I can't be anyone but me and neither is terrible in the least.

"What are you changing?...

Who do you think you're changing?You can't change things, we're all stuck in our ways..." Jenny Lewis.

Spoonman and I have had two stellar dates since my return. It didn’t help the impending doom that is “the talk,” despite all my hopes.

You know, “the talk.” It’s called various names such as: “defining the relationship,” “the titles talk,” “the-are-we-exclusive/committed-talk?” Whatever you call it, it’s just no fun at all to be the one that brings it up.

“Will I seem clingy?” I think to myself, “Nah, I just would like to know where we stand. Are we supposed to be seeing others? And most importantly: is another girl getting the goods? Because, yeah. It’s something that needs to be known.”

My guy friends all agree that I need to be true to myself and ask. If he’s scared off by this, it’s not right in the first place. And really, what is it going to change? Nothing. We're already into each other and stuck in our ways.

And still, the lingering knot in my stomach.

It slipped out; and honestly, I hadn’t been thinking about it. It popped into my head and somehow it made sense to ask it. Such is a drowsy mind. As soon as it came out, I KNEW the timing was not so great. As it was, we were both late for work.

Now we both have time to think about what we may or may not be getting into. I’ve not dated someone that kept my interest like this and it confuses and terrifies me at the same time, yet I am not entirely satiated with the here and now.

As Wendy states, each of us has an inner dork. There’s no denying that. Deep down, there is a core of dork and somewhere out there, there is at least one someone that can bring that out. This is why we worry about the talk; we are part worst critic and most biased fan, part weakness and part strength, part dork and part cool.

The waiting game ensues. No one is alone in feeling as if the adult life is a series of waiting rooms:

Some are waiting for their life to take off. This is also known as the “Quarter-life Crisis Room.”

Some are waiting for things to be handed to them

Us self-proclaimed dorks that are pondering “the talk” are in a dimly-lit, stuffy room, sharing a flock of seafoam-green brocade armchairs with a few others; Waiting patiently [and impatiently] for a prognosis.

And sometimes what we don’t realize is that the person we are waiting on is across the room, simultaneously biting their cuticles or also just realizing what they have.

Spoonman: you’ve just entered that room, thanks to my big mouth this morning. I am partially sorry, but mostly hopeful that you are aware I also define awesomeness as much as you do.

And if you don’t know that, perhaps this dork is better suited for another.