Category: Datin’

*whimper*

Retrobruxist Friday 12/14/12

Today, my problems seem so small compared to those of the parents of 20 kindergarteners in Newtown, Connecticut. I thought about suspending Retrobruxist Friday for the day, but in case you need a distraction (it’s a coping skill — for real, I learned it in group therapy) from your grief/confusion/anger/what-have-you, I offer you a few of my silly blog posts.

Three years have passed, and I’m dealing with the same shallow and/or generic messages from online dating prospects. Look, here’s one from today:

I bet you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS you didn't enjoy reading my profile because, in order to enjoy reading it, you'd have had to read it.
I bet you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS you didn’t enjoy reading my profile because, in order to enjoy reading it, you’d have had to read it.

I wrote a story in five episodes two years ago. It spawned the Call Me Crazy category on the blog because, in it, I got kinda crazy about being crazy.

A year ago, I had writer’s block. History repeats itself — drought this week. Maybe the words will come rushing out with my menses. (Hark, the sound of people deleting Avid Bruxist from their RSS feeds!)

Come Here, You

When I first got baby Violet, my brother and sister-in-law drove an hour to my place to meet her. This was when I lived in that mill house in Hillsborough. Bruce is allergic to all things furry, so we decided to take the puppy for a walk — outside, he would be able to breathe at least a little bit. I put Violet’s tiny collar around her tiny neck and clipped her tiny leash to it (she weighed about 25 pounds).

On our stroll, she was, as puppies are, all over the place — zigging and zagging, chewing at the leash and getting under foot, too excited because of the smells! sights! air! life! to pee or poop. We were all delighting in the 100% present-in-the-moment-ness that is the life of a puppy. But as we headed back to the house, the tiny clip on her tiny collar popped open and she was free — FREE! — and she started to bolt.

I. freaked. out.

I’d had this dog for, what?, a day or two?, and already she was going to get lost in the woods across the road and starve or, worse, hit by a car? People drove so fast on my road! Panicking, I yelled, “Violet!” and ran after her. She thought that was pretty great and picked up her pace.

Behind me — histamine response be damned — my brother squatted, opened his arms wide, and said, “Come here, you!” in a decidedly silly-sweet tone. Violet’s head jerked around. She went bounding toward him, and he scratched her head, and she flopped on her back. And I walked to them and clipped her tiny collar back on.

I don’t know why my brain recalled this incident yesterday or then why it occurred to me that this, sweetness/silliness/arms wide open/”Come here, you!”, would be a much better approach to dating than the cynicism/fear/arms forming an X in front of my face/”Not this shit again” that is my current one. But it did.

So with that, despite the fact that I overdid it on Gluten Sunday yesterday thus I’m battling fatigue, and that I’m PMSing (bonus: pyimples!), I’m off to meet Mr. OBD.

Come here, you.

Retrobruxist Friday 12/7/12

I’m meeting Mr. One Big Duck next week. Like I said, it’s (with 95% certainty) a no-go, but I just have to. His message was/profile is so great, not to mention he’s real easy on the eyes — I just want to assure myself that prospects like him actually exist.

Plus, there’s that goddamn 5% chance that he’ll be so fantastic that I’ll overlook the duck.

Look at me, breaking my Don’t Write About the Good Ones policy. But it’s minimal and nebulous so it’s OK, right?

Speaking of OKCupid, I got fed up with it three years ago and posted a profile on Match.

**********

Two years ago, I over-indulged and wondered whether it was worth it. This continues to be a struggle. Nowadays I participate in a weekly event I like to call Gluten Sunday because Sunday means brunch, and you can tell me that an omelet or other eggy dish will do just as well but those are lies — LIES — because brunch means French toast and/or biscuits and/or pancakes and/or waffles. And I’m always groggy after, but it’s not so bad. As long as I can lay off the gluten the rest of the week. Which continues to be a struggle.

**********

Probably going to get somebody a flock of chicks again like I did a year ago but also a year of school. YEAR OF SCHOOL.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Oops! Belated Retrobruxist Friday 11/23/12

Holiday schedule! Totally forgot Retrobruxist Friday!

Three years ago, I wrote about the day I earned my freedom. I was just yesterday saying to somebody that, as much as I would like a partner and a family, I realize that going out to Geer Street Garden with my friends on a Wednesday evening — that’s what says freedom to me these days — is a function of being single and childless, and I do appreciate it.

I had one of my rare sex dreams two years ago. <shudder> <not in a good way>

A year ago, I told a parable. You should read it, for learning. But also for the comments afterward which were really funny.

ALSO, I started a tumblr because I know you were dying to know what things on the internet are good.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday (two days late), y’all.

 

Retrobruxist Friday 11/16/12

Redford was just a baby three years ago, and a lil’ goof-bucket. He’s still a goof-bucket, but giant, and an affection bully, busting into your embrace of another dog or another person ’cause what if your love runs out before you get to him? Man, I love that boy.

Some of you have become Dan NJ fans recently. I’ve been president of his fan club for a long time. Two years ago, I wrote about some advice he had given me back when we were roomies in Astoria, Queens. Excellent as the advice was, I extrapolated poorly from it and decided I needed to maintain a dog-shaped space in my house. 

Meh.

I mean, if you set them end to end, you can fit so many dogs into 747 square feet, right? (Yes, this means I’ll probably foster again soon. It’s seemed like there’s one too few pit bulls in my house lately.)

NOTE: There remains a man(or woman!)-shaped space in my bed, for which I’m still recruiting. However, I don’t want to date to do it. I don’t want to email or evaluate prospects. I don’t want to set up dates, go on dates, or follow up after dates. I don’t want any of that. Somebody just come over and get in my bed, for Christ’s sake.

Sometimes I like to think I’m old. About five years ago when I got my first gray pube, I figured life was pretty much in the wrapping-up stage. And a year ago, meeting a cute boy ten years my junior made me start counting my liver spots. 

But the fact is, saying it’s too late, I’m too old, is a racket I’ve been running since I was, like, 12. I think that’s when I decided I was too old to learn to ski.

It’s not too late, really for anything. My grandma started windsurfing when she was 58.

And I’m not actually old. If I start running that line of bullshit again, you have permission to tell me to STFU.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Liar

Depression lies.

Depression tells you that that one’s too young — he can’t possibly want what you want out of a relationship, so don’t even ask — and that other one, he’s too straight-laced — he’d bolt at the first sign of the real you.

And do you really want him anyway?

Depression says you’re too tired to walk the dogs, it’s too cold to walk the dogs. Then you’re an asshole for not walking the dogs.

God, you’re so fucking lazy.

Depression tells you that that thing you posted on your friend’s Facebook wall? She didn’t realize you were joking and now she thinks you’re mean. And it won’t stop saying it.

You’re mean.

Everyone thinks you’re mean.

Depression whispers that it won’t work out. It’ll never work out.

Depression says there’s something wrong with you. Like, fundamentally wrong with you. That’s why shit is so messed up.

It’s your fault. You caused it.

And depression? Depression is an excellent liar.

**********

I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s just, for the last couple weeks, I’ve been lied to a lot.

Crikey! I Almost Forgot Retrobruxist Friday 11/9/12

Note: For Avid Bruxistists who are resistant to change, I’m giving you a heads-up that this blog will be getting a makeover in the next week or two. Go ahead and do your pre-coping now.

This week in 2009, I got a phone call at in the middle of the night, and I was awake to take it! And it was for the best reason!

(Three years later, and no signs of slowing down. Pretty proud of myself.)

Two years ago, I wrote about a very special date. You remember it. It was very special.

I voted the crap out of this election, but a year ago, I elected to do something else on election day. Something real dumb. I got calls from a producer a few times after that, but I always dodged them. Here’s to making better choices this election cycle.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.