Author: Melanie

In spite of my great desire for intimacy, I’ve always been a loner. Perhaps when the longing for connection is as strong as it is in me, when the desire is for something so deep and true, one knows better than to try. One sees that this is not the place for that.
— from Never Change, by Elizabeth Berg

I can’t write when I’m sad. Not here, anyway. I always want to, but then I realize I’m confusing my blog with my journal, and I think this shouldn’t be the first place I dump all the craziness. Part of me thinks I should get it out first, then edit it before it gets here. But doing that also feels inauthentic to me, like I’m holding something back from you guys, so you get posts like Memory Lane, Part 2. And then . . . I feel weird having shared so much, especially when it’s stuff that could change people’s opinions of me, or things that make me feel bad about myself so I assume you’ll think poorly of me, too. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s a fine line, and I haven’t yet perfected the walk.

I promise that you really do not want the details on what set me off this time. Your eye sockets could not take all the eyerolling that would ensue if I told you about my astounding ability to take one small thing (or even several small things) and blow up its significance to gargantuan proportions. Suffice it to say that, as usual, I was wrong about a boy. Maybe I won’t always be wrong about him, but for the moment, I am. My real problem is that I live in my head, where things happen the way they do in movies, instead of in the real world where men, no matter how much they like you when they meet you, sometimes already have girlfriends (or wives, apparently) to whom they are (and should be) faithful.

I don’t know anyone else who, when she hears “I have a girlfriend” from someone she feels connected to, also hears “And I want you to win me away from her,” who understands it as a challenge. That is not normal, it’s not fair to him, and it’s wildly unhealthy for me. Years ago, a friend of mine had an affair with a guy who was engaged, and I clearly remember asking her, “Why don’t you think you deserve a guy who only wants to be with you?” And yet, here I am: Karen asked me the same thing today.

I think the answer isn’t that I don’t believe I deserve it, it’s that this way is safer. This way, I don’t actually have to put myself on the line like I would if he was single and possibly interested. I don’t have to do any of the real, hard work that’s part of a relationship, I just have to be charming and pretty and funny for a couple hours at a time. And I get to be all of that in a totally non-threatening environment because I know he’s unavailable.

It’s never worked, of course, and I eventually get over the crush and am able to be just friends with the guy, which is great. But, I wish I could stop having to go through all of this crap to get to that point. I know someone out there is saying, “So just stop doing it,” but I don’t think it’s that simple for me. I must get something out of it, otherwise I wouldn’t do it, but I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe it’s a safe fantasy of a relationship, like playing house, or maybe it’s how good it feels to see him respond – because he does (everyone flirts, and everyone likes to be paid attention to), even if he doesn’t act on it.

Or maybe it’s just temporary balm for the deep loneliness that took up residence inside me a long time ago, and which now feels so huge that I think maybe nothing can ever fill it, so there’s no sense trying with someone who, although he might like me back and be available, will probably not have the fortitude to love someone as fundamentally flawed and needy and mad as I am.

When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.
— from Peter Pan, by James M. Barrie

This post is a bit late, but I didn’t get permission to post the pictures until today, so . . .

On January 10, at 4:51 am, my best friend Aimee and her husband Tim welcomed their first child (and my godson), Benjamin Walter. This giant baby arrived after only about 7 hours of labor and he came so fast Aimee wasn’t able to get an epidural. She is officially my hero, because Ben weighed in at 9 pounds, 10 ounces. Yowza.

Here he is just born:

And here are his little feet:

And here he is a few days ago, getting settled in at home in Texas:

Just before he was born, I booked my ticket out to Texas for next month, and I can’t wait to meet him! Plus, I haven’t seen Aimee since she and Tim moved to Texas in September, so this will be a great trip. I just wanted to share such a special thing with all of you; Aimee and Tim are over the moon, obviously, and I just am so happy for them!

Gotta make my plans so in case
I’ll be prepared when I see you smiling
— Des’ree, Feel So High

Ok, it’s not so much breaking news as I-found-out-Thursday-and-forgot-to-post-about-it-until-now, but who’s counting? The deal is this:

My co-worker, the one who referred me to the Dentist in the first place, had an appointment with him last Wednesday. Thursday morning at work, I stopped into his office and said, “So, how’s my boyfriend the Dentist?” (he knows I asked him out). He said, “Oh, you know what? He’s married.” I didn’t even get that sinking feeling in my gut right away because it was just so absurd it didn’t click with me. “What?” I asked. My co-worker said, “I was surprised too, but he said something about ‘my wife,’ and I said, ‘You never told me you were married,’ and he just said, ‘Yeah.'”.

My first thought was that he got married over the holidays to the someone he told me he was seeing when I asked him out in November, but it seems like he would have said as much to my co-worker, and that he would have told me he was engaged when I asked him out. I think it’s very suspect. If he’s been married for some time, why would he just tell me he’s “seeing someone”? And if it’s recent, why wouldn’t he say so when my co-worker expressed surprise at his being married (he’s been going to him for more than a year)? As usual, I’m overthinking things, but this is what I do.

I tried to plot a way to find out if this is true before I go back to see him next month, but I haven’t come up with anything stealthy enough. I don’t really want to just ask him outright at my next visit because a) I don’t want him to think I think he lied to me in November (because I don’t, at least not without more details), and b) I don’t want him to see the disappointment on my face if he says yes.

Hmmm. What to do, what to do. No, really, I’m asking: what to do?

And Man created the plastic bag and the tin and aluminum can and the cellophane wrapper and the paper plate, and this was good because Man could then take his automobile and buy all his food in one place and He could save that which was good to eat in the refrigerator and throw away that which had no further use. And soon the earth was covered with plastic bags and aluminum cans and paper plates and disposable bottles and there was nowhere to sit down or walk, and Man shook his head and cried: “Look at this Godawful mess.”
— Art Buchwald

Here’s the setup: My apartment complex runs a shuttle service to the Metro station every morning on the half hour between six and nine. At 7:00, 7:30, and 8:00, there are so many people waiting that often one bus can’t take them all. In the past, this meant that if you couldn’t get a seat on the shuttle, you had to make a run for the local bus, but you never knew for sure whether you’d be able to get a seat on the shuttle. After many complaints from residents, the complex apparently worked out a deal with the shuttle bus company that for those three times in the morning, the route would be serviced by two of the larger shuttle buses (which probably seat about 25-30 people each), one behind the other. The first bus would pick up until it was full and then head for the Metro; the second would catch the stragglers at the early stops and, usually, all the people at the last shuttle stop. This system has worked well for more than a month, and I thought everything was settled and going smoothly.

Then today, the first bus arrived in the form of a HUGE charter bus. I’m talking easily a 60-seater. This happened once before, prior to the 2-bus system. I assumed it would be the only bus today, as when all of the people at my stop (the second or third one on the route) got on, it was less than one-third full. But, instead of making the rest of the route (2 more stops), the driver made the first turn off to head to the Metro, which made no sense. Turns out there was the regular second bus behind him. I, who tend to be extra-conscious of the environmental impact of my actions, was quite distraught over this. I was sitting in the first seat of the bus, right behind the driver, and at the first stoplight, I inquired politely why we had such a big bus if we weren’t going to make the full route. Here’s what happened next:

Driver: Oh, well, y’all are usually all crowded together on the smaller bus. I thought I’d take the big bus today and let you have your space. [This is true, but only in the sense that all the seats are filled; it’s not like we’re packed in like sardines or anything]

Me: Ok, but this is such a waste —

Driver: No it’s not.

Me: Yes, it is. It’s a waste to drive this whole big bus that’s less than half-full when there are still other people to be picked up —

Driver: What do you care? Do you pay for it? Do you?

Me (stunned, not as quick on my feet as I would like): No, but —

Driver: Then what difference does it make? You don’t pay for it, it’s not a waste.

Me: Why are you jumping down my throat?

Driver: You people, somebody says something you don’t like, they’re jumping down your throat.

Me: No, when you interrupt me and don’t let me finish, then you’re jumping down my throat. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just bring the regular bus.

Driver: What do you care?

Me: I live in the world; I care because this is a waste of gas to take two buses.

Driver: No, it’s not, don’t worry about it.

[By this time, the light has turned green, and the driver has started moving forward through the intersection]

Me: But it is; there’s no reason to take two buses when this one’s not anywhere close to full. We could pick up all those people and still be only half-full.

Driver: [STOPS THE BUS, LIKE HE’S MY MOTHER OR SOMETHING] Do you want to get off? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to ride. You can get off the bus. Do you want to get off the bus?

Me (shocked into silence for a moment, then): Are you kidding me? Are you serious with this? No, I don’t want to get off. Like I want you take an even less full bus to the Metro.

Driver: Alright then. It’s not a waste. I just take the bus they tell me to take. If you got a problem with it, take it up with the company.

Me: I will, you can be sure of that, and I will also take your attitude up with them.

Driver: I don’t know what you’re talking about, attitude, but you do what you got to do.

[Someone else chimes in, I think in my defense, but I can’t be sure]

Driver: We take two buses every day, and we’re taking two buses today, what’s the difference?

Me: At least one bus is full on the other days when you take two normal-sized buses.

Driver: Whatever. I take the bus they tell me to take. You don’t like it, you call them.

Me: I will.

[We head down the road, the Driver, as usual not obeying basic laws and rules of traffic; towards the end of the ride, he nearly rearends the car in front of us and lays on the horn]

Me (who admittedly should have kept my mouth shut at this point, but didn’t): What good will that do?

Driver: You got something you want to say to me?

Me: Yes I do, but I will talk to you about it at the station.

Driver: I’m not interested in talking you at the station. You got any talking to do, you call the company.

Me: Well, tell me: first you say you picked the big bus so we could have more room, then you say you just take the bus they give you – which is it? [I’m not a lawyer for nothing!]

Driver: I’m done talking to you. You don’t pay for this so what do you care?

Me: I do pay for this, because I pay rent. I asked you a simple question, and I think I’m entitled to an answer.

Driver: You want an answer, call the apartment people, call my company. I take the bus they tell me to take.

Me: Fine. I’ll call them, don’t worry.

[We arrive at the station. He stops the bus, we line up, me first, waiting for him to open the door. He does. I take one step and my foot slips. I land on my ass – hard – on the bottom step.]

Me (out loud, but to myself): That’s just perfect. [I gather my things, get off the bus, and don’t look back]

S’posed to be some kinda irony, or something.

“I think I need a root canal. I definitely need a long, slow root canal.”
— Arthur Denton, Little Shop of Horrors

Dear Person Who Found My Blog By Searching “I’m in love with my dentist crush marry” Seven Times:

Me too! Gosh, I hope we don’t have the same dentist. That would be awkward. Good luck to you!

Love,
Mel