To blog or not to blog

Where to begin? I am contemplating deleting this blog. Starting a new one called “Free Beer Tomorrow” or something light hearted. The topics would be easy on the head, funny and rather void of emotion. I suppose the issue with blogging about the infinite details of your pathologies is that you give people and insight into the neurotic chaos that is your mind. And as my friend emailed me the other day “you’re not a very nice person”. That resonated. Hard. And I realize that yes, given my actions it is probably fair to say that I am not a very nice person.
The other side of the coin is that this blog has been rather invaluable way to gauge my behaviour and actions as I progress through various trials and tribulations. Additionally, the act of writing is cathartic and it has helped me see (some) things more clearly than had I not expressed them at all.
So what now? I must say I am perplexed. One day I feel closer to knowing and understanding myself and the next day I realize I have no idea what I’m doing, that I’m careening through my life and it’s amazing that I have any friends left. Shall I continue to blog about my misdeeds and mistakes, or is it better to blog about, oh, say, the homeless guy that was arguing with my bus driver this morning? I don’t know.
I do know this: I have made mistakes. I am starting to learn from a greater proportion of them. I re-read my blog often and often I do not like what I see. I want to change that. I want to have guiltless, illuminating, positive blogs which are a reflection of my inner self. I need to work harder to get there.
This morning was a rather surprising one. I was supposed to go to B’s house for dinner tonight, but I sent him a lengthy email opting out, and telling him I needed to take some time to get my proverbial shit together. I was very honest in the email. He emailed back rather quickly and was kind and thoughtful. I realize that I judged him too harshly based on what happened earlier in the year and yes, I think my last blog (“Ownership”) is apt. Who am I to judge anyone? Look at me! I’ve been despicable and conceited. It is time to change that.
I’m limiting the users that can access this blog to those that have been with it since its inception. To those “lucky” few, I’d like to say thank you for your support and for not judging me and for being my friend. You probably know more about me then you ever dreamed that you would want to.
I have created a new blog (I can’t believe www.freebeertomorrow.blogspot.com was available) that will be accessible to all and I invite you all to read and comment on it.

Thanks, that was fun.

Duder

Ownership

After re-reading my last blog I realize what an asshole I am. I take responsibility for everything. I had an inkling of his personality going into this whole thing, and I should not be in the least surprised that the traits that I did not like about him are still there. Moreover, I was in essence "using" him and assuaging any pangs of guilt by telling myself that he deserved it because of the way he treated me earlier in the year. Yeah, that's totally the sign of a mature, self-aware, considerate person.
A final point would be that he could conceivably have a blog about me, and say all kinds of nasty things. I'm not perfect. I make all kinds of mistakes. There are definitely reams of things about my personality that he doesn't like. I'm sure there are many ladies out there that would trip over themselves to date him.
So there. I considered removing yesterday's blog because: a) it's unfair to him and, b) it makes me look like a jerk, but I guess I am a jerk and now it's evidenced for the world to see. Or for the four people that read my blog to see. Jerky!
I actually feel bad now. Pangs of remorse and regret. I'm a bad 'un. That was definitely a huge step back on the road to becoming a nice, zen-like person.
But dogs like me.

The whole old dog/new tricks conundrum

Yeah. So when was the last time I blogged? Where am I? Where are my pants? I think I might have sunstroke.
So Friday. Got together with B. Went for dinner, met up with Po and S for a drink at the 5 Point on Main Street. I do believe a good time was had by all. Ended up going back to B's place and he fed me coffee and mango in the morning. Love mango.
Saturday. Saturday I went to visit Michael at his place in North Van. I always bitch and moan that he's got nothing to eat when I go over there, but this time he was prepared. Like, uber-prepared. He had chicken, a plate of vegetables, a plate of fruit, corn, chips and dip, Gatorade, Diet Pepsi and sherbet. Yeah. I brought beer. Sat out on his deck for an inordinate amount of time, had a couple of beers (okay, I did) and shot the shit. It was fantastic. Then I made him watch some ATHF (I told you: if you are my friend I will make you watch this stuff). Then we watched Hot Fuzz. Awesome. Somehow it became 9:00 at night and I had to go to try and avoid the mass exodus from everywhere that is known as the Saturday night fireworks finale. As I was leaving I said, "Can we get back together now?". I mean, for the love of god. I get it. He's the one. There is no one better. I understand this. I have erred in my ways. All other men are inferior. He looks really good. I liked the dip. He said, "No. You're a shit head," or something to that effect. Okay. I'll try again later.
Today. Slept in, missed my 19k run: have to do it Monday now. Went to Pride with Big D. He said to me, "I was going to call you and tell you to wear a hat, but then I realized that you're a big girl,". Yeah. I totally should've worn a hat. I think I have sunstroke. Sunstroke accounts for all the spelling and grammatical errors in this blog. And all prior blogs. Ahem... So Pride was cool. The dykes on bikes were great, loved the drag queens, can't say I'm averse to a bunch of pretty boys gyrating in their underwear. Big D and I eventually left, grabbed a coffee in South Granville and I went to feed Po's cat. She's on a road trip with her lovah somewhere. I hope it's going well. They should go to Kitimat, do the Alcan tour. I hear all the cool kids are doing it.
B and I had made tentative plans to get together tonight and he came by. We cooked dinner together. It was fun. I kicked his ass at chess (again). And this is where the other flags started to go up. I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but bear with me:
- I'm not a good chess player, but I beat him when he was in town earlier in the year. And not just a little: I soundly trounced him. And I trounced him again tonight. He put his queen right in the line of fire and it was absurdly stupid. You know when you kind of scour the chessboard wondering if you've missed something? Well I was scouring. And I hadn't missed anything. He's just that bad.
- He referred to Ernest Hemingway as a "douchebag" because he said that Hemingway, apparently upon learning that seagulls mate for life, took to shooting one seagull that constituted a pair. I googled it (minimally), couldn't find anything to support this claim. I then said (as an aspiring writer and having read some of Hemingway's books) "so you cannot separate an artist from his actions?" to which he said, "no". It just seems kind of trite.
- When I was at Po and S's barbecue with him a few weeks ago a dog barked at him. Again, I know this is totally bizarre, but I'm an animal lover (uh, SPCA?) and have had dogs and cats all throughout my life. Animals are perceptive. The way that people treat animals I believe is indicative of their personality. The dog didn't bark at anyone but him.
- He frequently tells me that I'm "awesome" and that he's "fond" of me, but his actions don't support that. Michael used to tell me all the time that words are just words, it's what you do - how you treat someone - that matters. I didn't really get that implicitly until now.
So the evening draws to a close. We've had dinner, a couple of drinks, played chess, watched ATHF. I mention that someone will be swinging by around 11 in the morning. He makes mention of booking it. I leave it alone, we have some more conversation. It turns to how he hit "rock bottom" and how he discovered today that he doesn't "like himself" because of the way he treated me earlier in the year. He then mentions that I am kind of "distant" tonight. I reply, "You tell me that a lot. I'm not sure what to say except that I had a relationship with you earlier in the year that gives me a good reason to be distant". At this point he stops holding my hand. This boils down to: it's okay for him to admit being a douche bag, but I can't say anything negative about it. What the fuck is that about? So we talk a bit more, he makes more comments about leaving and I encourage him to stay, but he leaves. Oh - I totally look hot today, sunburned or not.
I'm not dumb. JupiterGirl: shut it. Here is why he left: he came over, I didn't exactly fawn over him; I whooped him at chess (again); I called him on his horrific treatment of me earlier in the year; I alluded to my busy and satisfying social schedule; I didn't pander to him as he waded through the pool of "woe is me" self pity.
Did I sense this coming as I sipped my first glass of Sauvignon Blanc with him over a month ago? Er, yeah. Was I hoping that he could just be some guy that I dragged out with me to perform "boyfriendly" duties for a duration of time of over the summer because I'm getting a little weary of being single? Absolutely. But I kind of expected him to put out tonight. It's funny: my place is a mess; I can't really cook; I do laundry and recycling sporadically; there are an inordinate amount of empties in my recycling bag; I'm athletic; I'm always up for a good time. Yup, I'm the quintessential male bachelor. Oh: but I LIKE Ernest Hemingway; I'm listening to Joni Mitchell as I write this blog; I deign to be fawned over; and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
I know. Why the fuck did I ever even contemplate this? Oh. Oh oh oh. I'm so tired. I am so done with this. Women. Easy. Men? Infinitely complicated and sensitive.
I think I am destined to be single for a very long time. You know what? That's GRAND. I would rather spend a night with Greg Iles and Hootie and the Blowfish then deal with this self-serving, aggrandizing, patronizing shit.
When I get my new furniture, you are all welcome to a party at my place. Please bring your single, non-retarded, socially adjusted male friends. Who are good looking. And are maybe doctors. That would be cool.

Shut up, ya yo-yos!

So things have been a little busy with me these days. I’ve had no down-time, just scraping by and ensuring I eat relatively healthy meals and trying to keep my apartment in some semblance of order.
C came over last night because I am making all my friends watch Aqua Teen with me. He also brought a little treat. Yay treats! Like me, he was tired and so for quite a while we sat very still and said very little. I wanted to be a more engaging hostess, but I also wanted a nap. We had some meaningful conversations about running. This is what we discussed (and yeah, it’s totally verbatim).
C: “I went running today and it took me an hour and twenty minutes, but it shouldn’t have taken me that long.”
Duder: “Where did you go?”
C: “Down to the…” Duder totally tunes out.
Duder: “Yeah, that’s like ten kilometers. It shouldn't’ve taken you over two hours.”
C: “It wasn’t 10k. It was between ten and fifteen.”
Duder: “So it was ten and a half. It still shouldn’t have taken you close to four hours.”
C: “Don’t you have that map thing that measures routes? Why don’t you map it out for me.”
Duder: “Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to map that route for me and let me know how far you ran.”
C: “Did I tell you how good you look in those shorts?”
Duder: “Oh, do you like them? I – nice try. You map it out. Put that on your to-do list and keep me updated.”
C: “Oh, so it’s like that, is it? I came over here for this shit? And hey, where’s your furniture?”
Duder: “Ouch. Oh man, I am totally having a party when I get my furniture. It’s going to be a modernist’s wet dream. You’re not on the list, you keep up with this. I am assigning you a task: you map that route and you get back to me.”
C: “ But-”
Duder: “Too late! It’s on your list! I need a status update!”
As you can see, it was totally illuminating. It really only degenerated from there. Then, before we knew it, it was 9:15! I’m not sure why (perhaps because I had run 11.3k and C had run 7.2k) but we were both kind of bagged so he left. I could have gone to bed. That would’ve been the prudent thing to do, but I didn’t. I listened to some music. The iTunes visualizations are vastly superior to the Windows Media visualizations in their psychedelic-ness. I contemplated more ATHF, but given the issues I had brushing my teeth and washing my face (How long have I been in here? My teeth feel so big! I’ve been in here for like an hour. Am I making too much noise? I wonder if I’m making too much noise. This toothpaste is gritty. I wonder if my face is clean yet.) I decided to call it a night.
This morning. Little cobwebby. A bit of an effort to ensure I caught the bus on the correct side of the street. Turned on my cell phone: there was a voice mail from B – he had called at 10:45. Who calls someone at 10:45?
I have the attention span of a gnat. Awesome.

Today's poem brought to you by my insulin fit

Timbit, my chocolate Timbit, you
increase my blood sugar during its afternoon dip;
effectively replacing what would, in other countries, be a siesta.
I relish your sweet, sugary, chocolaty goodness and ponder:
is there anything stuck in my teeth?
Someone suggested a healthier option, almonds perhaps? A sliver of cheese? An anjou pear?
"Eat me," I replied. And then I ate you.

Is it totally evident I'm screwing the pooch today? I'd feel bad except C emailed me yesterday around noon that he and his work were going to Nat Bailey to see a baseball game. My boss is at the gym. The CFO came in with a monstrous hangover and left to "work from home" around 11. Yeah. No regrets.

I'm doing it as hard as I can

My place is a mess. I need to stay home and clean it one day. Or get a maid. A man maid. Man made.

Went to the art gallery to see the Impessionists with Po last night. It was quite overwhelming. I felt very priviledged to be able to view the works of Manet, Monet, Rodin, Dali (what was that guy smoking?), Van Gogh and countless others. I love art. I don't understand or "get" it a lot of the time, but I appreciate it immensely and I like to be made to think. Unless I'm at work, and then I really just want to eat bagels and chat with co-workers. Getting pretty adept at that.

My "girls" are heading out of town with their respective "boys" this weekend. Stupid happy couples. Frick. It's okay. I still have Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I think that in the dim, murky subconscious of my tiny brain there are some cells that are pushing the spectacles up onto the bridge of their noses while mulling over Rodin's "The Thinker", whilst others are quoting the Mooninites from ATHF and saying things like, "you know, one person's waste is another person's soap" and things of that nature, while smoking lots of dope and eating Doritos. That could explain why I have a headache. And am hungry.

Hills today. Funtime hills. Love the hills. I like to run up them, and then run down them. Six times. In the beating sun. I love that I'm in great shape now, and nobody is interested in seeing me naked. Wait, wait, let me rephrase that. I love that I'm in great shape and no one is interested in spending a lot of quality time with me, stroking my hair, saying witty things in an effort to make me laugh, opening car doors for me, helping me on with my jacket, going for long walks on the beach, contemplating marrying me... and wanting to see me naked. Phew.

All I can say is that I'm doing it as hard as I can.