Whatever I Want

This is a lady's blog and sooner or later this issue would come up. Ugh. Bodies.

I should start by saying that bodies are, I think, one of the most fascinating things about the world. Muscles that stretch and contract to help us accomplish difficult tasks and minute things that we don't even notice. Blood that doesn't stop moving and is waiting to rush to where it's needed the most. Bones that, despite all the weird stuff I do, haven't given up, yet. Then there's nerves, brains, guts, sleep, fingernails. Skin! Gorgeous, beautiful skin. There's the way that once the body starts to wear out and all you have to do is shower or eat or nap and you'll be fine. The way that the smallest, lightest, tiniest touch can effect all of those things. I got a splinter in my heel yesterday and was rendered useless until it was removed. And, oh, the things you'll do to remove it.

But, and there's always a but. Or a butt (or in my case, not a whole lot of a butt). See where we're going? Body image, yikes. You should just leave, now, really.

But, anyway, there was a recent study done by Nutrisystems about this subject. A thousand and one people were surveyed and about half of all women said that they would rather give up sex for a summer than gain ten pounds. That doesn't shock me too much since it's kind of a stereotype (albeit an unrealistic one) that women aren't that interested in sex in the first place. But 25% of men said that they'd give up the sex. Now, that does surprise me (again, based on unrealistic stereotypes). And it bothers me. It's not like these people are going to lose a hypothetical ten pounds--they're just not gaining any. And maybe I'm just thinking optimistically, but if you spend a summer having sex I'll bet you for sure won't gain ten pounds. It's too hot to gain any weight anyway. We're all eating eating ice cream ev

eryday but not much else. Not to mention the sweating--oh the sweating. It's so hot. Sex can only help.

I know that ten pounds to one person can be a lot and to someone else it might not be as noticeable. I've lost thirty pounds in the past six months and I don't look any different that I can remember (I feel incredible--don't get me wrong). But, then again, six months ago was a lot of months ago. So it's taking a really long time--big deal, it's happening. But I digress. The point is that I can understand that ten pounds can be a lot of pounds (and it can take a long time to shed) but is it? I hope this comes out right--I can't think of another way to phrase it: but what's the point? It's like, look but don't touch. You can maintain your pristine weight and have a nice looking body and all for what? So people can look at it. People are different, I understand but with every ten pounds I lose, believe me, I would welcome a little ass grabbing.

I think the other point is that people would rather give something up for a determined amount of time than actually work for what they want. That might be the part that seems most frustrating. Especially since I know how nice it can be to work for it. It sounds really trite to say but anything worth having is worth working hard for. I truly believe that. I hope we're seeing the metaphor by now. Weight is an example. If it just falls right off, it will come back. If you expect to find the woman of your dreams by showing up and her throwing herself at you--I'm here to say that she's not going to stay (and if she does, she will be an insane person). If you fall right into the perfect job without a whole lot of effort--I hope you learn to develop some. I guess I just like the idea of taking an ownership in your life and you can do that. It's why I don't mind that it's taken six months to lose thirty pounds. Mostly because I think that the interior workings are more fascinating than the stuff that everyone else can see--all of that stuff I talked about in the beginning. It blows my mind. I didn't decide to start losong to look better. It's nice--I can't wait to see what happens but that's a side-note. I just wanted my stuff to work better. By the time next summer comes around I won't choose between sex and weight and it bugs me that anyone would. Why choose one thing over another when you could have everything you want?

http://www.usatoday.com/news/health/weightloss/2010-08-12-weightorsex11_ST_N.htm

Bless You for Following This Bunny Trail

"But the people on the street,
Out on buses or on feet,
We all got the same blood flow."

I'm doing so many things that I never thought I'd do. I don't mean stuff like, "I never thought that I'd actually do X,Y, or Z." What I mean is that I have never ever considered most of the things I've been doing lately. Granted, I'm also doing a lot of things that I have imagined myself doing. I don't know if it's a usual thing to think about but I remember being in college and laying on my bed in the daytime and fantasizing about going grocery shopping and picking up things like half-gallons of milk and toilet bowl cleaner and filling prescriptions and stopping at the liquor store for a bottle of white wine and bringing it all home and putting these things into their places in my home. And I'll probably be coming down from the idea of having my own home to myself for a really long time--but those are the things that I used to think about. I used to think about sending in stories to publishers and getting rejection letters in the mail. And those things are happening and I'm thrilled to see things that I always saw myself doing coming into fruition. Even if they are simple, basic desires. They're still what I want and what I'm doing and it's so... does it sound overly dramatic or trite to use the phrase "infinitely human?" Because that's what it feels like. I like feeling human. I like feeling ordinary and like my body is just one of millions and how it works and operates and what it requires in order to complete basic tasks is miraculous and by the exact same token, completely hum-drum.

I can't wait until I stop being amazed by the fact that I'm one of millions and start being amazed by the fact that I'm one of millions. The way I'm wrapped up in it right now feels pretty self-involved. I can be so in love with myself, I think you should know. It's one of those things about humanity that you have to accept and you have to ignore at the same time. Aside from our mass collection and the way our bodies work--that's fascinating, sure, but then there are things that you have to pile on like feelings and attitudes and perspective and personalities. It's amazing that any two people can stand to be in the same room with one another. I mean, doesn't it just blow your mind? That even two people on the planet could be considered compatible--and on top of that, there are legions. Even people who don't have any friends have someone who loves them even if it's their moms (and sometimes, honestly, that's the most surprising of all).

I suppose that's how life goes, though. No one imagines the real-life stuff the way that it actually turns out. For example, earlier this week I walked into some random church basement and sat and watched very old men play banjos and fiddles like they were teenagers, calling each other out and making the very old ladies holler. Everyone in that place was seventeen. Only when you're seventeen, you're concerned with visible panty line. When you're in your eighties, let me tell you, you're not concerned about your visible diaper pudge (of which there is plenty to go around). And it's great. When would I have ever encountered this scene on my own? Even if I had ever wondered about it--I assure you, I have never, I couldn't have imagined it the way that it actually manifested itself. Oh the things you learn just by living life in the most basic ways.

Every day I do something that I didn't see myself doing, the day before. Even if it's routine, when I was younger I never imagined my most boring days. Some days are indeed, quite boring but you never think about that when you're imagining pouring wine for your classy friends. Maybe one day I'll have actual wine glasses. But for now I'm quite--inexpressibly happy with what I have.

Welcome Home

I certainly did not expect to be faced with the question of where I want to spend the next year of my life--not today anyway. Today was a day of fun and productivity. I have a load of laundry started and I'm three pages in on a story that I'm certain could turn into a novel if I allow it to do so. And then I checked my mail and what do I see but a letter from my landlord.

So, I'm holding in my hands a lease extension agreement and I can't really help but think of what was the original plan. McPherson was a temporary solution to a temporary problem and a pit-stop on my journey toward Colorado to live with my friends. I was going to spend just a little time getting to know Miss Niece and Mr. Nephew so that they would know who I was and then I'd be off and start my real life.

But then some other things happened in the course of only a year. A year does not take very long and in a year a lot of things can change. Also, in other ways, nothing has changed at all. But today, July 24, 2010 is so very different than July 24, 2009 was. Nothing is different but everything has changed. For example, I have five and a half more family members than I did a year ago.

I didn't try very hard to organize my house the way that I wanted it. I have, honestly, never cleaned my bedroom. Everything was so temporary and I didn't want to put in too much effort. It took me a long time to even try to make any friends. I didn't want to get all invested and then leave. But, whether you want to or not, people come around and some people are interesting and some people are more interesting than you'd originally anticipated and other people like you and, well, you just go with it. So I'm going with it. Not only that, but I have a job that I actually like and I don't want to leave that just because of Plan A.

I guess what I'm saying is that I've had a lot of temporary stops in life and I've officially been here for longer than I've ever been anywhere and it feels really, really good. It feels like home and I'm going to renew that lease and paint the trim in the livingroom.

My Coffee Mug

I have many cups in which to contain my beverages and I have my favorites. When I'm drinking milk, I like to go for the olive green on, I like the contrast in color. When I'm drinking tea, it's almost always the navy blue one for reasons I have yet to invent. When it's coffee, I like to use that new squatty, blue and white striped one that I actually paid full price for at The Cook's Nook. I have a huge, glass tumbler that makes ice water a thousand times more refreshing than any other vessel.

When it comes to a to-go option, though, I really don't like anything in my cupboard. I have three in my collection, so I can't really justify buying a new one (but for the record, I'd really like a this http://tinyurl.com/2az2fap). So since I have three from which to choose, I go through them and list the qualities.

There's the Einstein Brother's mug that has a broken seal and never fits in a cup holder. I should chuck it but I just can't yet.

Then, there's the other Einstein one that doesn't hold as much as it would seem, and also it was obviously created for right-handed drinkers. It frustrates me and I end up spilling it every time.

So, there's no other choice. I have to go with this coffee mug. This coffee mug is perfect in nearly every way. It keeps my beverage of choice piping hot for quite a long time. The internal capacity far surpasses that of the others. All of the seals are in tact and it's lack of handle makes it easy to grip and ambidextrous. So what's wrong with this seemingly perfect chalice? Memories. Let me tell you about how I acquired this coffee mug.

In my last few weeks at MidAmerica, I was beginning to feel pretty nostalgic. I'd fostered and expertly honed a strong sense of cynicism during my tenure but when the end was in sight, I allowed it to fall away a little--always keeping it in my back pocket. I'd walk through the mall with my shoes off and feel the silky grass that can only be found on that specific spot on campus and think of all the good times. Oh, it was breezy and light and loverly. A good time for everyone.

I'd decided that maybe I did learn life-lessons that they were trying to teach me. Maybe I was being too hard on them* and maybe they weren't as conservative, sexist, offensive (etc...) as I'd always been quick to assume them* to be.

*I don't know who "them" are and I didn't at the time. I suffered from misdirected angst.

And so I walked into the practice for graduation. Everyone had their assigned seats and I was stuck between someone I'd never met and an RA that I had, ironically, very recently met half-passed out at a bar in one of the pool-playing-establishments in town. I didn't know or like these people but who could possibly care? I was flying. I was in love but not with a person. I had a life ahead of me and as soon as these minor details were taken care of, then we could have a party and then move along. So I'm sitting there at graduation practice whoever it was that read the names was practicing reading all of the names. And that was getting a little boring but what can you do? Then we prayed a lot and sang some hymns and I was starting to get a smidge testy, bored, anxious. And then just as my wits were just about to their fraying points the guy in charge says, "Alright I think that's about it--oh, wait. No. Not yet." So-and-so (who is, oddly enough, only one person) from the alumni association wanted to present us with a gift.

She stood up there for what seemed like days talking about these travel coffee mugs. They are a lovely shade of brown, they hold some ounces of liquid, and they are a metaphor for your life. You see because sometimes people refer to their "lot in life" as their "cup". See how that works out? See how that metaphor was obviously an afterthought? Yeah. So my patience is already running thin when she says something to the effect of, "this cup will come in so handy, fellows, when you're running off to the office or, ladies, when you're driving the kids to their doctor appointments or whathave you."

Internal dialog: Oh, yeah, because men are the only ones who have real jobs and women just exist to produce and cart around children. Libby, cool it. Sometimes in life, men will go to an office and women will drive children to places. Just calm down.

Alumni Lady: Or, girls, sometimes after a long afternoon you just want a treat. So you can make yourself a cup of coffee and then vacuum the floor.

Somewhat-Internal dialog: Vacuum the floor? Vacuum the floor?! "Oh, Jesus Christ!"

So, I decided that I was finished listening to the glories of a travel coffee mug, and I stood up and collected my things. Humiliation? Check. Cynicism still there? In full force. A sliver of dignity? We'll see, I mean I did just use the lord's name in vain right before the closing prayer. And I dismissed myself. On the way out, I grabbed a coffee mug because, hey, I didn't have a coffee mug.

All that to say that every time that I use this coffee mug, I think of how I don't own a vacuum.

Those Heavy Vines

Even in a small town it’s impossible to take a quiet walk. So, you’re here. There was a wedding here, today. You could tell because of the green little benches that were still set up nice and neatly in a semi-circle surrounding the gazebo. That’s nice. If nothing else, you hoped that they had a good day and didn’t look stupid in their photographs.

You knew a handful of people who got married here. A person never thinks that the end of the relationship will be landmarked by the wedding date but that’s how at least one of them went. You still feel immeasurably sad when you consider it and so you do not consider it often.

Your little sister got married in the very same spot early in the spring in the awnings, when the vines were still brown. There were kids running around, between legs and underneath benches and there was something sweet about it all but you couldn’t help but think of the others who said those same things in that same spot. And so there was something that tasted a little over-ripe about it all. But for her, it’s starting to feel quite nice and safe right about now.

Here in the height of summer, the vines are so full of leaves and fruit and mysterious stickiness that they hang down low and get caught in your hair when you walk through them. But it is perpetual shade and it stays so cool. If it weren’t for the mosquitoes, it would be quite a nice place to lure a boy come dusk--under those heavy vines.

When you lived in South Dakota, there were these gardens. These acres and acres of flowers and plants and trees and miscellany wildlife. Around some corners and through some tunnels, there were these hedges and awnings and vines and little nooks sculpted out of the plants and inside of each, there was a small swing built for two. You imagined that the city planners envisioned a fair share of engagements happening in these secluded places but probably didn’t take into account the teen pregnancy rate. If there’s one place that a tenth grade boy can convince a tenth grade girl to lose it, McCrory Gardens is the place for such a persuasion. Tucked between lilac bushes and a spread of morning glories in the view from the dirt floor, you can’t blame them. It sure beats the hell out of the backseat of a Datsun.

You don’t know how you ended up here in this park full of weddings and little kids in a sand pit. Even in a small town it’s impossible to take a quiet walk and so you went to an internal spot, far from the extra-wide streets. You found the middle of that place and you sat and you listened to sad songs and couldn’t help but feel a little cynical about those poor kids who, you imagine, were probably too young to be getting married in the first place. You wish you could just believe that people who get married will always stay married and will always love one another and treat one another with mutual admiration. But you’re pretty certain that most of it is bullshit wrapped up in taffeta and you will feel that way until every single married couple you know gives you a teeny-tiny sign that tells you that they mean it.

You have a pair of friends who got married a few autumns ago. You remember specifically sitting down with her at lunch a few weeks into the engagement and telling her straight forward that you did not think that she should do it. You did not believe that he loved her the right way. (What would that “right way” be, anyhow? You didn’t know but you were feeling pretty self-righteous at the time.) She didn’t love him the right way either and they should not get married. She accepted what you had to say, she even agreed with parts. She still married him and she still wanted you to stand next to her when she did so and today you have no doubts. You believe that while you have no idea what the standard for “the right way” is, you see it in there somewhere and that’s enough. Sometimes that’s enough. But every time you find it you take it as the exception.

You have a lot of ideas about the ideal relationship. You could write a book on the way that a man should treat a woman and the way that a woman should treat a man and you wouldn’t have to research anywhere but your own brain. Unfortunately, your theories have barely been tested and those that have, have all mostly failed. One day, not today, you’ll sit back and realize that you haven’t got the foggiest notion about most things--let alone matters of this caliber. That will happen sometime--but not tonight. There’s so much more to take in tonight. Not now. You just want to calm everything down a little bit but even in a small town it’s impossible to take a quiet walk.

http://libbymparker.blogspot.com/

Now, you say something.

I like to verbally process things for the most part. And without a companion for an actual conversation at the ready, I'm taking it to the blog and looking for input.

Ordinarily when I write, I type a bunch of stuff that I think and then say "There, you, read it and like it." But today will you just talk back to me a little bit?

So I was watching Paper Heart this afternoon. I know you don't all know about this movie so I'll give you some brief context:

So the thing is that Charlyne doesn't believe in love. But everyone else in the whole world, obviously, does. Clearly though, she starts dating Michael Cera and as an audience we're thinking that this relationship will change her thoughts on the love situation. But she maintains that she's not in love with him. He makes her happy. She misses him when he's away. She feels sad when he leaves on semi-uncomfortable terms. He loves her. And yet she maintains that she does not love him. And, I have to tell you, it's not presented in a hostile sort of way. She almost seems apologetic about it. She seems sorry that she can't give him what he wants--which is to be alone with her and for her to just love him.

Most of me thinks that the only reason that Charlyne doesn't "love" Michael is because she's always said for so long that she wouldn't love anyone that now that push comes to shove, she's just being stubborn. I mean--they're clearly in a very happy relationship.

Throughout, she goes and talks to lots of people about love and what it is for them--it seemed like everyone had something different to say. Some people were high school sweethearts, others just like hot wings.

But I'm just wondering, RE your personal definition and in this romantic relation context:

1. What's love, even?

2. Is there a difference between loving someone and being in love with them?

3. Is the being "in love" part pivotal to a happy, maintaining relationship?

4. Have you ever been "in love"? How many times?

5. How did you know?

6. Are you in love now? Would you like to be?

You go first. I'll go in a minute.

So, it's Father's Day.

"Your stitches are all out but your scars are healing wrong."

Okay it's officially, undeniably Father's Day. I've been able to ignore it for the better part of a decade until today. I'm not ordinarily sentimental. I'm not the type to set aside time on specific days and focus on "my loss". I can't say that he doesn't cross my mind, even now, about six thousand times a day but I can't dwell on it. I can't live that way. I don't intentionally avoid it--I just haven't been faced with Father's Day in a really long time. I've been living in my very own, isolated, little bubble for the past decade and haven't been all that forced to look at other people. But I work at WalMart now and all I saw were daddies and little girls and balloons. And, for the most part (about 89%) I felt really good for them that they got to hang out today.

I took a psychology class my senior year and we spent a really long time discussing grief and how to deal with it. Professor Waddle talked about how often times we work hard to push it behind us. But the problem with that is that inevitably you will be faced with something (a memory, an obligation, a conversation) and it pops out and you're caught off guard and maybe take a sick-day or three to pull yourself together.

You can't live with it at the forefront of your mind, either because that becomes your identity and you become a weirdo. I knew a person who, after the death of an immediate family member, completely identified herself by her loss. It was one of the first things that she would tell people when she met them. All of her profile pictures in various interweb venues are photographs of her and her late loved-one. I'm not saying that her grief isn't real or is, perhaps, dramatized. I believe that she lives with cutting, aching pain everyday. And that is unfortunate. I remember when I first started to feel guilty about getting on with my life after my dad died, I honestly was afraid that if I kept going, then I'd forget about him. But so far that hasn't happened.

Apparently the "healthy" way to deal with grief is to take it with you but not to let it define you. If it's next to me--if I let the idea of my dad walk around with me (rather than pushing it to the back or keeping it way ahead of me), then when it seems to come on really strong, it's not so scary.

And I guess I say that, but we all have our moments, right? I mean, we can't all practice perfection one hundred percent of the time. In light of that, let me take you back to this Friday. So I woke up, showered, Facebooked, dressed and then went to the coffee shop before work. I like this one girl who works behind the counter--I don't know what her name is but her amaretto lattes have this healing quality about them. I was hoping for her but instead got Chippy McChipperson. I wasn't going to take my chances with her skills so I just ordered a very big regular coffee that I could ruin all by myself.

Before Chippy rang up my order she said, "Sunday is Father's Day!!"

"Yyyup."

"If you haven't gotten a great card yet, we have a great selection. I can wait to ring you up until you've picked out a card, if you want."

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?? Have you bought a Father's Day card yet?" Her chipperness was intensifying with every statement.

"Uh, no. But it'll just be the coffee for me, today." She started to swipe my card.

"Well, if you don't want to be a good daughter..." She said with a wink and a nudge.

At this point, I was no longer in control of my responses to her. My eyes started to well and I just stared at her until the first tear fell and then I just sort of whispered, "he died" and then I couldn't stop it. I was openly and awkwardly weeping in public.

Her eyes got huge and she said "I'm sorry" about forty-five times.

I tried to be convincing but saying, "It's really not a big deal, it was nine years ago" through sobs just doesn't drive home the truth of the matter. The truth being that it really isn't a big deal. I'm used to people just assuming that I have a dad but usually they don't push so hard.

She just caught me on the right kind of a morning, in the right sort of mood to make me the saddest that I could possibly be. And it's not like I was suddenly sad that Dad wasn't alive anymore. I was mad that she wouldn't let up and that I knew that once she found out, she was going to feel absolutely horrible. And that frustration is sometimes way too much to handle. I still don't know how to tell people that my dad died. I try to avoid telling them for as long as possible because it just makes everyone feel weird for some reason.

She threw in a muffin and I ate it on my way to work but my makeup was officially ruined and I had red-nose all day. Thanks, coffee shop girl. I think she probably learned a valuable lesson about pitching a sale that day, though. So that's good.