How I'll Know II

I'll know he's the one when I'm not afraid to sing around him.

Second Review

When I was in 7th grade, I was informed that a girl in our grade had a crush on me.  I was surprised.  I didn't really like her.  And then I thought about it.  And I thought about it more.  And eventually I liked the idea of liking someone who liked me.  I dreamt up things I would do for her.  I thought how I would ask her out.  I wanted to buy her a ring with her birthstone on it: a perfect gift.  I walked into the hobby store downtown at least twice a week for a few months staring at the rings and wondering when her birthday was.  I used to believe that I could be for anyone, and anyone could be for me.

If your first date is 15 hours long, unplanned, and leaves you wanting more...how does your second date go?

(I suggest you first peruse each photo below, and then start clicking on things that look like links.  Get a feel for the future, and then find out how it all came to be.)

These little papers look and feel like endless opportunity.  Too bad this was the result...

He said his bladder sent sudden and dire messages.

We had witnesses.

This location would be romantic...maybe with someone more romantic.

I never did ask that girl out.  I wasn't driven enough to do it.  Didn't care so much about it.  Lucky for her; lucky for both of us.

"Home!  Goodnight!!"

...

...

...

Yesterday, I texted him a happy belated birthday.  He didn't respond.  Brotherhood hurts sometimes.  That doesn't mean you stop being brothers.  At least the feeling is mutual.

Can you think of when mutual feelings might not be a good thing?

How I'll Know

I'll know he's the one when he suggests we watch Up together, and we watch the whole thing, and I finally get to see the ending.

Sometimes, Socially, ----------

What can you achieve in 15 hours?

How far can you travel in 15 hours?

What can you build in 15 hours?

What can you earn in 15 hours?

What trouble can you get into in 15 hours?

How well can you get to know someone in 15 hours?

Not that you can tell.

Growing up and finding happiness, I believe, has a lot to do with listening to your body and mind.  You know what you like to eat because your taste buds tell you what they like.  You know what your favorite color is because your eyes tell you it's beautiful and comforting and will never hurt you no matter how good looking another guy is.  I have come to trust my intuition when it comes to reading people.  I can tell quite quickly whether or not I like someone's energy, and will subsequently get along with them.

How easily we forgive a pretty face.

I had 45 minutes to kill.  I wandered nearby the coffee shop a ways until I got to a place I used to work.  It was nice to be on my home turf.  It was nice to see my manager's familiar face.  It was nice to get to pause for a second...because I was feeling quite anxious over this first first meeting for the blog.  I was very open to suggestion, and my manager said this to me:

"Have fun."

And so I did.  On our first date.  For 15 hours.

---

When I view an OKCupid profile, I tend to trust my instincts.  For instance, if a guy starts out his profile saying that he's bad at filling out profiles, he's missing the point.  He's not ready to get to know me if he can't share who he is.  Dogs can smell fear; I can see insecurity.  A picture is worth a thousand words, and I'd love to wager that I know quite a bit about your personality from your picture!  (That knowledge grows exponentially with each additional picture too.)  So, I went into this date "knowing" a few things [that my near expert internet stalking skills didn't already tell me].

1. He's a good singer.  You don't put a photo of yourself in front of a microphone unless you are confident behind that microphone.

2. He's self conscious about his teeth.  God!  Who isn't?  He has a great smirk in every picture.  Dimples for the win.  Baby, it ain't no thang!

3. He gets complimented on his eyes ALL THE TIME.  They're blue and they're beautiful!  If I compliment him on his eyes, I will be one of many, nothing special.  ...but if I don't...am I rude?

4. This boy knows who he is.  This is the strongest argument in his favor.  He writes his profile confidently and has unique things to say.

"So!  What's next?"

"Well, we haven't gotten a drink together yet."

I have a hard time figuring out whether we had one long date or about five dates all in a row.  During the first date, I admitted that I was excited to be on a date.  On our second date, we geeked out harder than I thought possible in NYC, and he gave me gum.  On our third date, we worked together for the first time to decide what gelato flavors we wanted to share.  On our fourth date, we finally had a drink together, and I told him how my brain worked.  On our fifth date, we snuck into a building and he threatened my life.

"So, do you smoke?"

"I- "

"Cigarettes I mean!"

"I don't...do you?"

"Sometimes...a few times a week probably.  I don't really like doing it, though."

Honestly, throughout our almost embarrassing first 15 hours together, I couldn't tell if he was interesting or stupid.  Why can't he be both?  As long as he brings some good thoughts to the table and shows a genuine interest, he can be immature and pretty the rest of the time!  I'm all on board for that...I guess.

The fact is, it's strange that I couldn't pin him down completely, especially considering the time we spent together.  My relationship history follows a common thread: as long as I don't understand a guy, I'm interested in spending more time with him.  He's a mystery; I want to know more.  I want to understand.  Most people are easy.  I require someone different.

And I might have been in danger...

And then we said goodnight and parted ways.  Hey, if I'm the kind of lady to wait until the fifth date to kiss, I'm definitely the kind of lady to wait until at least the sixth date to go home with a boy.

We will see each other again soon, I hope.  I think he was mildly interested in me at least.  And as a great song says, "rule number one is that you gotta have fun," and I'm not done having fun with this one.

I mean, I HAVE to see if he'll actually kill me, right?

Brothers and Sisters

When I see a guy I think is cute, I immediately start a checklist in my head to determine whether or not he could be good enough for me.

- Are they gay?  How do they sit/stand? What are they wearing? Who are they with? How comfortable do they look in a white-man-hetero world?
- Are they ignorant?  Have they dated before? Are they out to their family? Are they over their inevitable, society-driven slutty phase?
- Are they crazy? Do they smell weird? Are they holding a weapon? Are they currently screaming about "that dumbass bitch?"
- Are they interested?  Are they looking in my direction?  Do they like what they see?  Are they walking over to me and making up some dumb excuse to talk, like maybe, I don't know, that he thinks I'm cute and wants to know more about me!?

Fuck.  I can barely survive this intense, though expertly created, list of requirements.  And yet it all leads to the same uneventful ending on that partially crowded subway car:

Because the internet needs one more picture of the subway

No, of course he doesn't walk over to me and make up some dumb excuse to talk like saying I'm cute and he wants to know more about me.  And you know what?

Neither do I.

---

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to grow up in the circus.  Old school, intense, family circus.  Your training starts YEARS before you realize that your life isn't the same as the rest of the world.  There's us and there's them: the troupe and the people who don't understand how we do the impossible.  Home isn't a concept of space; home is your own trailer, drawer, or sheet and pillow among family.

As you grow up, so does your family, your world.  The old get older, the young get better at flipping and balancing.  You work and you train, and your body doesn't know that it can't do anything.  Pain and discomfort is constant.  It's all relative.  Like speaking to someone you don't know on the phone, doing 20 more pushups, or walking up to someone you think is cute and asking for more about them.

---

When I walk around the city or ride the subway or shop for groceries, sometimes I wonder if anyone here is still a virgin.  People in this city are more brash, more honest.  They've seen more and lived more and lost and gained more than our Midwestern counterparts.  It's part of the culture.  Everything is more.  Everything is faster and multi-tasked.  We know something.  We walk with knowledge.  We are hotter and fiercer and more accomplished because being more accomplished is hot and fierce.  You are more attractive when you aren't trying to be; you are more attractive when you are putting your time into your own interests and self.

Imagine the circus again:

Training.  Pain.  Strength.  Bodies.  Muscles.  Neck.  Torso.  Balance.  Closeness.  Legs.  Muscles.  Laughing.  Intimacy.  Skin.  Muscles.  Arms.  Hair.  Pheromones.  Trust.  Muscles.  Understanding.  Communication.

Abs.

A circus is a family, literally and otherwise.  You trust each other with your lives.  You communicate non-verbally.  You rehearse again and again and again and again and again the same routines in close quarters with flexible, almost nude, sweaty bodies.

Alright: sex.  It must have happened.  It just had to have occurred all the time.  And don't tell me that birth control was a big thing for a group of vagabonds who have a counterculture all their own.  These people were hot and cocky and reckless and accomplished.  The things they could do with their bodies in the air or on the ground is breathtaking.  Hence THE CIRCUS.

I am afraid to even flirt with another body because of my expectation.  I am a hopeful person.  I see someone cute, and I want them to come to me, to want me.  My perspective is flawed.  I am flying through the air and I am reached for that other body to catch me, when really I should be focusing on my trick and my timing (trust me, that's how it works in the circus).

Focus, focus...

Let me break it down.  Instead of seeing prospective husbands on the subway, I should instead see fascinating Brothers and Sisters.  Everyone has something to say and something to add to the experience of life, not just the cute, male ones.  (Sadly, especially not the cute, male ones.)  And besides, everyone knows that the best relationships are grounded in friendship first.

Hey.

You're cute.  And you look like you have daily adventures that would be interesting to hear about.

What do you do?  What do you have to offer the world?  What makes you incredible?

The Beginning of the End

Tell me something you've never told anyone.

Tell me a secret, a private moment, something embarrassing to hear said out loud.  I want to hear something inconsequential.  I want to know what only you know.  I want to know together.

---

I love to type.  That's not a secret.  I like how you can get lost in the muscle memory.  I love how you trust your skill and create as quickly as you can think.  I love the challenge.  When I first learned to type --- and every time I would find myself around an idle keyboard, one that wouldn't record anything if pressed into --- I would type a ghost sentence:

These are the memories that best define a person; these are the facts worth telling, worth sharing, and worth hearing.

Tell me.  Share with me.  Let me hear.

---

For awhile, the sentence stopped there.  I knew that I would finish it when it was ready.  Maybe I would get to a place where I would say different things each time.  Little secrets of hope to myself and the angels who watch what I do.

It wasn't long, however, before I found the sentence complete.  It was a surprise to me, like discovering what your own likes and dislikes are.  Like playing The Sims and picking a person's life ambition.  Someone with control of my actions, monitoring my needs, watching me type ghost words, decided it for me.

Just for instance.

Here, I finish that sentence.