1 55 am pdt [ bring me a tree ]
I would like a man to bring me a tree on our first
date, instead of flowers, one day. [Yes, I am pre-supposing, once again,
that I will be dating again at some point. Indulge me, for the sake of
argument...]
I was going to write my guide to overwhelming men. I
was going to begin with bringing them flowers. Most men have never had a
woman bring them flowers, and even those that have still get surprised.
The reason I am so good at shocking the pants off a man is that I
thoroughly enjoy it. Life is all about the surprises, isn't it?
Once I told Matthew's mom that when we were first dating, Matthew was very vocal
about the fact that he didn't want a girlfriend, blah blah blah. I told
his mom that I never worried about it, I never thought about the future, I
lived in the now. But somehow I held back the hope for the future tingles
and now I find that the holding back mentality creeps out from time to
time. I have no idea if any of this is true. I think it is. Sometimes I
come up with really logical rationalizations for things, but I'm never
quite sure if they are correct.
In lieu of writing a guide to bringing immense joy to
men, I will tell you about a goofy guy I met today (while I fantasize
about some male who brings me a tree on our first date). I looked clean.
There's really no other way to describe it. I normally look either
frazzled or like I just don't care (because I don't), but I was all
freshly showered, hair finely brushed, and wearing perfect flowy cool
clothes.
"They're cute." I heard some guy say behind me as I
was putting change in the meter at my parking spot in Venice.
I turned around to discover that he was indeed talking
to me. He was specifically talking about my pants, I was to glean. He
later told me that he knew the company that made the material. Men say
strange things. I wished him a nice day and turned the corner. The
secret is to walk fast, though sometimes that doesn't work. Sometimes
they'll run to catch up. One day at Berkeley a guy drove the wrong way down a one
way street to ask for my number. That tickled me pink but I never went
out with him because when I called he told me he would be hungry enough to
have brunch with me because he would smoke a lot of pot early in the
morning. I am proud of myself for listening to my inner voice and flat
out telling him that I had a bad feeling about the whole thing...
I am one of those women who would look much better if I
wore make-up. [I know that seems like a non-sequitur, but it is following
a long train of thought.] I can admit this. I would look better with
whatever you call the cover-up stuff. Is that the same as foundation?
I might consider wearing make-up if I knew how to apply it, but I don't, and
I have yet to find someone who will teach me... My main physical
detractor is my acne, which I have had since I was twelve (woo hoo, that
makes it a decade). Yes, it sucks, especially since some people feel it
is their right to bring it up and offer suggestions for solution. [As I
think I have said before,] I feel bad for my brother because he has it
even worse than I do. In high school I had an string of dermatologists
and an even longer string of medications, both topical and internal. None
of them helped. I gave up easily, as I had not been very invested in the
effort to begin with. My brother is on Acutaine, which is the strongest
anti-acne medication one can take (women on it have to have periodic
pregnancy tests because it causes birth defects). My brother took the
prescribed maximum dosage, and it still didn't fix the problem, so he has
had to go back on the medication. I think that's stinky.
I was resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to have
any breasts, and it was quite the (pleasant) surprise when I developed
them. I was more determined to never have wrinkles or cellulite. I was
certain that they could be avoided through clean living. Of course, it is
instantly obvious that this was an incorrect belief.
Matthew
told me that he though I would look older if I trimmed my eyebrows. [Bear
with me; I know this jumps around, but I think I can tie it all together
eventually.] Said idea had never occurred to me. Could eyebrows effect
appearance that much? I pushed the idea out of my head for a while, and
then one evening (on a whim) I set to pruning. Now I am obsessed with the
triangle of flesh above my nose. My eyebrows have turned out to be less
exciting than I though, but I like the idea that they are a work of art
waiting to be sculpted with a pair of tweezers. My left eyebrow is higher
than my right, which gives me the appearance of questioning everything. I
love that!
But back to my overnose skin... Here is where I am
developing one large wrinkly crease in my face. I love the sculpted look
of my smile lines, but the vertical line slightly to the left of center
between my eyebrows is a product of me giving my confused look and
squinting. Now my confused look is an integral part of my conversations.
I'm sure I also make my overnose wrinkle when I make my concerned look and
countless other expressions. But the squinting thing just has to go. I
think I gave myself a headache today concentrating on not making that
wrinkle unnecessarily.
Don't go thinking I'm all left-centric. My right
overnose area has its own uniqueness too. I have one large and one small
chicken pox scar. I love my scars. There is a chicken pox vaccination
now, so my simple scars brand me as being a member of a generation -- of
an era -- that has gone. I have been vaccinated for Hepatitis (C, I
believe) and my mom was telling me the other day that Polio is supposed to
be completely wiped out by 2002. My mom has a friend who had polio as a
child. When he was paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair, his
respiratory system was paralyzed too. He doesn't breathe by automatic
function, but rather by having to consciously remember to breathe in and
out all day long. When he sleeps, he has to use a respirator. I can't
even imagine such a thing. Anyway, my long winded point was that he has
trouble keeping up his respirator because the companies that manufacture
and repair them are almost all out of business, because so few people are
still alive who have been afflicted by polio.
It is one hour and one minute since I started writing
this, and rather than going on, I think I am going to go to bed. Sweet
dreams...
