Two Little Red Birds

This morning, on a Sunday early in spring, as I was taking my coffee and thinking of life as I often do, I spotted two little red cardinals outside my living room window. This window overlooks a courtyard, and the view beholds a couple of leafless trees; though make no mistake: there shall be green leaves, and lush, in no time at all. But my window, in this moment, is ajar, and I can smell the fresh spring air, and hear the sounds of tiny and happily uttered cheaps.

It is the little red birds that say cheap cheap, as they dance and fly and play with one another. What they offer to me in so doing, is an upgraded view outside my window: rapid flashes of red, one in concise succession after the next. All the while, the sound of cheap cheap, not unlike what you would expect to hear from a nest of newly hatched little mouths to feed. Do their wings get tired? How long do they jest in the courtyard before they bore of the backdrop, and heed a pursuit for more?  

What they say might be cheap, but what I hear is priceless. Spring has finally arrived, it's true. 

But Clinging on is Just No Good

Previously, I wrote a rather lengthy bit justifying that reaching out to an ex can be fine and acceptable. I'm not taking that assertion off the table. But recently, after observing some friends, I came to realize a new truth: It can't really do much good, can it? 

Say this girl named Leah dates this guy, Joe. She likes him, but he likes her more. He's a bit too 'man's man' for her taste. This means that he plays a hell of a lot of video games, and he loves porn and strip clubs, and he eats awful shitty food, and talks about his past sexual exploits as if they were triumphs or chores that he completed, as opposed to tender memories that ultimately made him a more feeling person. 

He hangs out with his man friends and gets wasted into the wee hours of night; he does this very often. And when Leah suggests that she and Joe do something cultural, be it watch the symphony or visit a museum, he kind of sighs and puts it off and makes excuses. In general, when she gets emotional for whatever reasons, even if she cries because she is happy or moved, he asks her why she is crying, and tells her that it makes him uncomfortable. 

Leah gets fed up with all of this. And though she realized from the beginning that Joe was just not right for her, because she likes him, and because she likes having him around every now and again, she struggles with cutting it off. But one night, late in December, she does just that. They have an emotionally charged 'chat' in her car, which is replete with lots of tears (on her part, heaven forbid on his; a real man doesn't cry, right?). 

Months pass. She begins to miss him. Not that she wants him back, but she has an impulse to see him. She wants to talk to him and laugh with him, and give him a hug. So she calls him. But he doesn't return her call. This hurts her, but she understands. Soon after, she runs into him at the bar where she works. He will not look at her.

She approaches him and asks if they can talk after she gets off work, if only for a few minutes. He says that he's not up for it. This hurts her too, but she understands. Later that night, he sends her a text message to apologize for his reserved behavior; he says that he hopes she understands. The next day, they talk on the phone for a couple of hours. This is depressing for Leah, however. Depressing because 1) she realizes that whatever spark existed between them (though minor), is now completely dead. 2) Joe thinks Leah is crazy. He even states this.

Suddenly, during this call, as she fights back tears, Leah questions her decision to contact Joe, and her erstwhile desire to keep up any type of discourse with him. What's the point? It was over months ago, why bring out the dead? Why go looking for a love that just wasn't meant to be? 

Sure, in certain situations, people in relationships can end the relationships, and then remain friends afterwards. But sometimes it's just not possible. And the point is, if you know that, I don't see why you'd fight it. Move on...and don't look back. 

By the way, it's officially spring now. Time for new beginnings. 

I Vote 'No' to Proposition Dating Rule: 'No Stalk'

I superiorly wish someone could explain how exactly these bullshit rules and terms ignited regarding the infuriating and heartbreaking world we call dating. Like waiting two days to call someone after obtaining their number? What? Not taking leftovers home from a first-date dinner? Um, no. No stalking unless you're a stalker? Fat chance. And oh! Okay okay, one of my favorites: don't, under any circumstances, call a person after you have been 'dumped' by this someone, because that's desperate, and yes, stalkerish; and of course it violates one of aforementioned rules of ridiculousness. But we'll talk about the latter of these two: the ends of things. 

Before we all get happy and clear, let's review the term 'dumped'. Wow, what a racket. This is such a horseshit way to describe the end of a relationship. It implies that the one person took the other person and, quite like that wonderful image in 'Slumdog Millionaire,' hoisted this other person into a pond of straight up fecal matter (actually in the movie, the boy fell into it, he wasn't hoisted, but the image was nasty either way). Unfortunately, society doesn't account for the fact that it's not exactly easy to 'break-up' with a person, and that sometimes ending a relationship can be just as hard for the person that's ending things as it is for the person who's being ended upon, if not harder. 

For the record, I would never sling someone that I cared about into a pile of excrement, or trash, or anything that wasn't pleasant to land in. The truth is, I care deeply about the people that I date. That's because I'm not an ignorant asshole and I try to consider others; and I actually put a bit of thought into choosing my flavor of the quarter or season or year or whatever you want (Depends on how good they are in bed. I'm kidding! Kind of).

But who cares right? That's just a silly way to explain a transpiring of events: being dumped. The bigger picture is, we tend to be trapped in these stupid boxes about how we perceive what's sane 'etiquette' when we take the plunge and let another person into our intimate little lives. The other night while I was having a bar chat as I often do (being a bartender not an alcoholic), a friend said that it wasn't 'healthy' that I thought nearly every day about a guy from my past. Not healthy? What the fuck is healthy? 

Correct me if I'm wrong, but if I can say I'm happy, and kinda mean it, I think I might be kinda healthy. It's natural to think about people who have impacted our lives. Also, I imagine that typically we don't fall in love, like the real kind of in love that we can't shake, but a couple times in a lifetime. And let's not forget that I'm among one of the few hopeful (not hopeless) romantics who still abound in this depressing world. Who knows, maybe after all of the fantastical masturbation fodder this person has offered me, he'll like show up at my door out of nowhere and offer to service me in real life. Of course I mean that I think about him in a rational, concerned sense, and not (always) necessarily a sexual sense. But now the tangents are just becoming tentacles on an octopus. 

Stalker behavior, as people see it, typically in women, is when women want to stay connected to a man. So, of course, they beg and plead and message upon message and show up at doors and cry and cry some more. Why is it usually the women and not the men? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm a woman, and I'm telling you I get it: there are some crazy bitches out there. These are the types of women who need filing cabinets for their emotions. I get all of that. And men: You have to deal with them, and I am quite sorry for that. Better you than me. 

But let me step up to the plate for my gender. Nobody had an individual say in how the great power of all the lands decided to divvy up the emotions and logics. Women got the short end of the stick with emotions (because they are judged for expressing them in volatile ways) and men got fucked when it comes to needing to, well, get fucked. It's nobody's fault. Let's just all get along. Let women stalk a bit and sometimes just chalk it up to: she cares about me, and she's a complicated individual. By the way, why must men always get all machismo when another dude starts up fighting shit in public, typically around drinking? I'm here to say: that's AS big of a turn OFF as stalking. 

What men might not realize is that it sucks for women to deal with men and their inability to express emotions. Like if you feel a way about something, why not just say it in a diplomatic way? Why fucking ignore it (the problem), or ignore her (the woman who cares what you have to say)? Emotion good. Emotion part of man and of woman. Emotion don't mean any harm. I mean come on. 

Men might not have been conditioned to express emotions, lest they look like faggoty fools, but jump into the new millennium, guys. Check out what's gaining stead with the ladies: that's right fellas, a realized man. A man who isn't afraid to cry (at the very least during a break-up, fuck it's hard, how bruised must you be to avoid tears during that??), or watch an intensely love-infested movie, or articulate calmly and admit being wrong, or listen even if you don't get it, or hell, I don't know. All of it's good. Better than ignoring issues and women who challenge you altogether. Shite, again the tentacles of tangents. 

I'm just saying I find it interesting that people judge my stay-in-contact impetus (through my thoughts or through my actions) as unhealthy, 'stalker' behavior. Though frankly, I've spent a lot of time perfecting my ability to not give a fuck what other people think of me. I'm an exception to many rules. My parents have been divorced for some 27 odd years, and yet they are best friends. 

So if I want to call a guy out of nowhere, regardless of whether or not I broke up with him or he broke up with me, it's potaytoe potahtoe, who cares? We're just two people in this wacky universe, and at the end of the day, we're all starving for connection. We all die to have someone ask us how we are. If I think about someone and I want to know how they are, I don't consider these shitty dating laws, I call them (or text or email or telegram them) and ask them. What's stalkerish about that? Isn't that like, I dunno, compassionate? I ain't scared of no pesky emotions.

Of course there's a flip side to that (isn't there fucking always?), which is: unfortunately many people don't take break-ups too well. Rightly so. They suck. And to be on the receiving end of them, can tend to, let's say, suck. So good; or not so good as it would go. Anyway the past several days, I've been thinking about a guy that I was with not long ago. We dated for a few months. He was hot, but not the kind of hot that you think of in terms of a life partner. It happens. 

Anyway, this guy, we'll call him Justin, was more into me than I was into him. That happens too. And make sure you understand: I do have a seed of humility; I'm not one of those heartless bitches who takes pride in saying 'he was all up in my shit'; it happens. In fact, my heart was pummeled into tiny little fragments, like baby platelets of glass that would feel absolutely smashing to digest, not too long ago by a different guy named, um, Rex, so check mate on my ass regarding that one. 

So I got to the point where I felt it was unfair for Justin that I hem and haw about where we were. After what I had learned from having my own heart broken, I knew it was a better idea to stop seeing each other; to make it easier on me because I needed space, but also on him because I was simply being a flake, and who deserves that? 

But the problem is, feelings don't go away. So I was thinking about this Justin; three months or so have passed give or take, and I decided to call him. So I texted him and asked if I could get together with him. No response. So I called him and left him a message because a real man (or woman) will actually CALL and not simply email or text, telling him I was thinking of him and blah and blah. I said that I understood where he was, but if he should change his mind about talking to me...blah and blah. No response.

Hmm. I feel his pain, I do. I'm sorry, I want to support that break-ups are hard. But being closed off to another person, with good intentions, opening up to you, I feel, can only impact you in a negative way in the future. But c'est la vie. Some people like Justin have more of a fatalistic view on things. Some people like him hate women who break up with them, and never want to talk to them again. Fair enough. Potaytoe potahtoe. 

For my part, however, I can't imagine ever not responding to someone that I once upon a time cared about. And so this all got me to thinking. So I reached out to another one of my exes to ask how he was doing; you know, the one who smashed my heart to baby platelets of inedible glass. Don't worry I'm over it. He hasn't responded either. HA! 

Stalker behavior? Do I give a fuck? I have a good heart, and I think that's all that matters. I'm out to hurt nobody; and in the end, the only person who really has the ability to hurt us is the I in us that makes us us. I say screw rules and ill-placed little dating terms. Happy spring romance! May you not deal with many break-ups and feel a new need to stalk. 

More on screwing...and screwing the economy and marriage

And so right, I'm saying the problem is that marriage doesn't work that way. We can't just be married some seasons, and not married others. What I'm proposing--I brought the idea up to my parents; my dad laughed, probably mostly because he understood my wish; my mom simply listened, probably hoping, like she always does, that I'll just get on board with the idea of 'commitment'--is that we are only married, like on a schedule. You know, like college courses. The schedule would read MWF: 'married', or TTr: 'not married'. 

Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for instance, I'd have a husband. We'd live together. We would talk. We would laugh and share and fight and have good sex and awful sex. He'd wash my hair in the shower, I'd wish to god he didn't snore. I'd put on my fucking headphones to drown out the sound, but not be able to sleep on account of the earpeace digging into my ear while my head was pressed into the pillow. He'd wonder why I did yoga first thing in the morning. I'd wish he wasn't such a slob in the bathroom, and wonder why he didn't do the dishes as quickly as I would (meaning why does he leave them stacked up for days?). So on and so forth. 

Ah, but then, the dawn would set (or the dusk, depending on how much 'in love' we felt on any given day), and the next day would come. The 'not married' day. Say it was a Tuesday. He would go back to his cave, or apartment, or fancy condo or shack, and I would be SINGLE and alone and independent and free. Free from worrying about him. Free from confrontation. Free from having to cook for two. Free from compromise. Free from the sound of the television if I weren't the one to turn it on. Free from having our things mixed up in the closet. Free free free. Everything in the apartment mine mine mine.

You might say to me: But Jinnene, it already happens this way, it's called dating, being in a committed realtionship without kids. Fine, call it what you want. But are we really committed if we're not married? And what if we want to have kids? I guess that's an entirely different topic altogether. My parents would tell me--that's where my little fantasy remains what it is: mere fantasy. To have children, we all probably agree, man AND wife need to be around MWF, TTr, and even on SaSu. That adds up to all the fucking days in the week! Good grief.

So about the economy. We talk about how shabby it is and I talk about how I'm tired of hearing about it. I'm tired of seeing everyone in this constant state of depression. I mean I understand it, but it's still, well, depressing. So what does this have to do with sex and marriage? Well I guess it doesn't have anything to do with it, other than the fact that it-the shitty economy-is a contemporary concept. It's a 'today' thing. But there's another 'today' thing, which is: there are a hell of a lot of women like me, who don't know if they need to get married and have sex all the time with one man...like...ever.

But this poses a problem. If we stop marrying because women are unsure they should keep marrying just for the sake of it, then our economy continues to tank because we're not perpetuating households and putting windfalls of cash back into the market. Furthermore, we're not bringing up responsible, educated families. The very fabric of our society: our family values, are being smashed to smitherines. And I, me, in my selfish regard to keep the TTr schedule, or the TTrSaSu schedule of being all about me me me and not all about man man sex sex compromise, am contributing to this crumbling of household.

Alas, what can be done? My dad would agree with me, and god bless him for doing so, that I or we or anyone, can't just 'couple' simply because it's good for the economy or society. We have to do what's good for us. What's good for me is holding out for true love, if it even exists. God I hope it does. In the meantime, I guess I'll keep my M-Su schedule, that is--M-Su: 'married', participating parties: me and my invisible husband called myself. Hmm, yeah, I think that's what I'll do. May our dear, frail little economy find the mend. 

Oh and by the way: now there are only 14 days until spring, and it's daylight savings time tonight. Hail hayzoose, the winter is about to shrivel up and die...or at least for another two months until next winter as it goes in Chicago. Hugs and happy flowers. 

I Love the Funny Little UPS Guy

So last week, I received a rather large package from UPS. If you're interested, it beheld a small black table I painstakingly assembled and put under a mirror in my hallway. I'm trying to be more and more 'upper-crusty suzie-homemaker' regarding my decorating capabilities. But that's neither here nor there. 

So Thursday night, it was raining really hard. I was expecting said package. I'm not sure what I was doing while I was expecting it; perhaps I was playing with my new Hello Kitty toys recently received from a slew of my students. Or writing something bizarre. WHO knows. The buzzer sounded. I ran downstairs, careful not to trip on my baggy 'lounging' pants in my excited, fumbly haste. 

'Hello,' the cute little uniformed Asian man said to me as I opened the door. 'You're Miss Foster?' 'Yep,' I said through a smile, politely taking his automated signature tablet, scrawling something on it that moderately resembled my name. But then I felt bad. The package was huge, and as he was fumbling for it, I suddenly wanted him to get out of the rain. 'Do you...want to come in...or something?' And I meant it, but not only until I actually asked it did I realize how absurd it sounded. Of course I just meant would he like to step in the entryway while we worked it (the transaction) all out. I mean the poor little man was drenched. 

But then he said something that I'll never forget. He said something that made me love UPS. He said, quite dryly: 'I could...but what would Mr. Foster say?' 

Frankly, I love anyone who makes me laugh...but it's little Asian men that make me laugh unexpectedly while it's pouring rain in winter that really get me. I love UPS, I really freakin' do. 

It's Spring--Screw the Economy

All I'm saying is: isn't the talk of our ratty economy getting tired? And fine, I'm lying in this title. It's not technically spring, I get it. But in 16 days, it will be. And what do we think about when spring rolls around? That's right: sex. Well, it's what I think about anyway. Some bar friends used to tell me that I talked so much about sex while I was bartending because I wasn't getting any. But I think in essence, I talked about it because it's sex, and it's interesting.

I just really wish I could take a poll. I wonder if people have sex less during the winter. I stayed holed up in my lair this winter. I did a lot of reading and a lot of writing, and very little sexing. I really can't say I missed it. But now I kind of do. And with this said, I don't think marriage is very practical if you ask me. If I only miss having sex during certain seasons, I'm hell fire to make shit of a wife. 

'Honey, I'm really needing it.' 

'Is that right? Stick it out until March, we'll talk then.' 

'But honey, it's like December 15th.' 

'Oh, maybe we should break up and try to get back together when I'm fired up for sex again.' 

Sigh. If only.

More on all this soon...