I'll sleep when I'm dead.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead" came to mind at 3:30 am as I tried to subside my rage at what I imagined to be a harmless immigrant collecting glass and plastic from the recyclables and hauling them noisily to the neighboring building to reduce, reuse, repeat in their blue bin. When what I imagined to be his black durable garbage bag began to fill too close to the brim, he proceeded to drag the clanging trash back to his car (in the alley of my building), start the engine, let it lull, and then drive away. I don't mean to sound devoid of emotion for a fellow human being having to collect trash before sunrise...everyone knows once the sun rises it's anyone's game...capitalism for god's sake...but for my sake, this may have been the first night I would have had two uninterrupted REM cycles in the past three weeks.

The quote "I'll sleep when I'm dead" was conceived by Warren Zevon, a rock and roll musician, whose prime came in the 70's and 80's and who, unlike me, had more of a problem with booze and FOMO (fear of missing out) than loud, flamboyant gays, construction workers, car alarms, and obnoxious neighbors. For him, there was "so much to do... on the farm"; for me, there is too much noise on the farm. I didn't discover the origins of this famously repeated phrase until this morning when I tried to make sense of the last three weeks.

Until yesterday, I had crows outside my window beginning my morning wake up at 6:30. For weeks I had been subjected to their "Koww, koww, koww, koww" (if you ever meet me in person, I would be more than happy to mimic the sound as I have it down pat). Morning, after endless morning, I believed the groundhog had seen its shadow and Bill Murray was lying in bed with me. "I got you babe" would play in the form of crow music and I unfortunately did not have an alarm clock to smash... or love interest to effortlessly charm with my knowledge of the previous day. I WAS ANGRY. FURIOUS even. But maddening as these ominous birds were, I knew there was a reason for their incessant nagging. Sunday morning I woke up (at 6:30 am) from a rather pleasant dream where my current crush has left her significant other and finally found her way to my arms. Of course the crows were chirping and as I lay there, enthralled by my night's reverie, I accepted those crows and all their shortcomings, because "if you can’t beat them, join them" and I knew it was time. I told my roomie about this Sunday morning catharsis and she replied with Discovery Channel-esque information that fascinated me in that moment and stunned me the next day- crows feed off energy. And sure enough, my energy toward them had been negative. They have an uncanny ability to recognize human faces and transmit information about "bad" humans by squawking.

Come Monday morning I woke up on my own accord, at 6:45, a natural habit at this point, to discover a caw-free air. I rested there, eyes open, eyes close, listening for my friends and their morning musings. However, by 7:10 I couldn't help but smile and pray that that smile wouldn't jinx the whole situation. Fingers crossed, it hasn't thus far.

My acceptance of what was, lead to the disappearance of what had been. Simple philosophy, hard to put to practice, but worth it if you do...  And if all else fails, i.e. this morning's trash-capade, get a prescription for Ambien CR and say "fuck you" Edgar Allan Poe and your "Nevermore".

 

 

Whose Vows Are These, Anyway?

For some reason, by the age of five, girls are already planning their weddings. The idea of the event at that age usually involves nothing more than a fluffy white dress and the presence of some faceless groom. By the age of twelve we are beginning to put a face on that groom and it is usually that of our newest, most exciting crush. By fifteen we’re probably discussing with friends our time frame for marriage and childbearing. For me, it was married by 24, first child by 26. Seeing as how my 24th birthday is a mere two months away and one of the farthest things from my mind is a committed relationship, much less marriage, I’m going to go ahead and admit that my predictions were a little inaccurate.

My predicted time frame is becoming less common as women continue to gain power positions in their chosen professions, but it still exists for many young women, or as I continue to refer to myself and those my age, girls. It didn’t occur to me however, how off I really was until I turned 22 and realized that the best part about my life was how single I was. I say it like that because there are certainly degrees of being single and I was most definitely the most single a girl could be. Doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with whom I wanted and there was no one at the other end of a text message wondering about any of those W’s. I knew I was happy to be single, but it was a temporary situation and when the right guy came along surely things would change.

It wasn’t until my next birthday that I began to have the thought that blew my mind. It blew my mind more than any thought I had had before because it wasn’t so much a realization of the world around me, as it was a realization of myself and the possible outcomes of my own life. It’s like reading a choose your own adventure book and thinking you chose exactly the right path to end up with all the gold at the end only to find as you turn the last page that you made a fatal mistake on page 9 that inevitably landed you in the tar pit. I realized that while it was possible that marriage would not occur until later in my life, it was also just as possible that marriage not occur at all. What if I never marry?

Perhaps this thought had never crossed my mind because society likes to lead us into monogamous lifelong partnership, but most likely it was due to the fact that I was the product of a highly successful marriage which resulted in a happy, functional family. A rare thing these days, admittedly, but so strong in my life that I had never imagined my own family would turn out any other way. Everyone talks about the times in their lives when they realized that they were adults and their parents were simply other adults coexisting in the adult world. For me, this was it. Yes, it was true that my parents had chosen the path of a wonderfully healthy nuclear family with a mom and a dad and two kids. But they were just people, like me. Not necessarily predictions of how my own life would turn out. And it was possible that I, as an adult, would choose my own path different from my parents’ choice.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t bitter. This was not a decision that I made at 23, choosing to remain single. But the mere thought that it was a possibility turned my world upside down. All of a sudden it was as if the pressure was off. I was going to be a bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding in a few short months (a cousin who had shared my marital musings as a child), a position I had been promised some time in high school when we were planning out the next ten years of our love lives. She managed to stick to her plan. I realized my need for revisions. There was something about that realization that, for the first time, was miraculously okay.

Now here I am a year later, about to turn the age at which I’m supposed to wed (according to my sophomoric self), nowhere near where I thought I’d be. But after a year of telling myself that it’s possible I won’t wed at all, the pressure’s off. And that lack of pressure seems to have led me to have one of the most enjoyable first dates I’ve ever had.


So where’s that fluffy white dress?

Being 24 means drinking Bloody Mary’s.

Being 24 means drinking bloody Mary’s on the flight home for your mom’s birthday.  

Being 24 means you can’t afford the second single shot of Sky Vodka but the flight attendant recognizes a sweet smile and friendly face and gives it to you anyway, wishing you a happy birthday.  

Being 24 means you look at the nutrition facts, get excited that a serving size of Mr. and Mrs. T’s Bloody Mary Mix is only 70 calories and that serving size is ONE WHOLE CAN!   

Being 24 means you are no longer 5, 10, 13, 16, 18, or 21 and selfishness is an extremely unattractive character trait.   

Being 24 means you sleep with someone, they ditch you the next day, and you move on.   

Being 24 means you know who holds weight in your life; those who don’t, you give 12-48 hours of your attention and expect nothing more and nothing less from them.   

Being 24 means you are one step closer to 25 but it doesn’t fucking matter because a number is a number is a number and in the end that number is just a convention.   

Being 24 means you have no idea what this life has to offer, no clue which road to take, no beginning, middle or end in sight, but try to accept the vastness with an open heart and mind. 

Being 24 means I am in charge of my own destiny and it’s going to be a good one.     

Being 24 means....

The Standard

In relationships, we must all find a way to get what we want but continue to be accommodating enough to be able to compromise with our partner. We must decide what is most important to us, what cannot be changed, and in which areas we are willing to meet half-way. For instance, although I am a social person and feel more comfortable around others than alone, if my partner prefers to fly solo to social events in his circle, or needs to be apart most nights of the week, I am happy to accommodate. However, if his need to be alone turns into a suspicious guessing game of his whereabouts, I’m out. Donezos. I don’t tolerate lying (and yes, to all you infidels, omitting the truth is a form of lying), but I am happy to adjust my social rhythms in order to ease the comfort of my significant other.

Over the years, through various failed relationships, or what I like to call learning experiences, I have discovered a number of things about myself, including what my needs are. I have learned what I absolutely can’t live without (or with). And, most importantly, I have learned which of my own habits and expectations are absurd and would drive anyone up a wall or just simply away. Learning experiences are important. They allow us not to make the same mistake twice and when we see an all too familiar situation coming our way we can dodge it like WeHo boys dodge balls (in the WeHo dodgeball league, that is ). It is from our learning experiences that we are able to set our standards.

I’ve heard tell that once a single lady hits her 30s and starts to hear her biological clock ticking (if that is a clock she cares about) her standards may start to relax as she realizes she has built her “Mr. Right” into a Mr. Doesn’t-Exist-Anywhere-But-In-Her-Head-And-In-The-Movies. However, I’m NOT 30. I’m not even half a decade away from 30. And yet, I have begun to wonder, are my standards too high? This question used to pertain solely to romantic relationships, but more often these days I am caused to wonder if my standards for all people are too high? Am I expecting something no one is able to give? Am I actually treating people the same way they treat me and just not realizing it? Why has it become the norm to blow people off?

Just a couple weeks ago, my fellow Bell shared with you the evening she was forced to replace her booty call with a bottle of wine. As we sat together yesterday contemplating our past and current endeavors in love and friendship, we nearly simultaneously realized that very currently, we were being blown off. No call, no show. In the professional world, a “no call/no show” equals no job. So giving my personal life as much weight as a minimum wage job (which I think is more than fair) a no call/no show should equal a “no time for you” dismissal. But were I to stick to that rule consistently throughout my life, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have any friends left. Or maybe I’d have five. Not enough to count on two hands, that’s for sure.

I once thought that perhaps I needed to tare my personal scale of acceptance and expectation in order for my love life to be more successful. I have recently realized, however, that my love life is not the only thing out of whack. My entire social life is a series of let-downs and frustrations and because I am not pushing 30, I refuse to believe it is a sign that I need to lower my standards.

For now, I maintain that my desire for communication and mutual respect is not asking too much, so I will leave this one open for discussion. When my boss has gone through 27 employees in 3 months, my roommate has been used and abused by consecutive love interests and I can’t even get an hour long time commitment from a dear old friend, I have to wonder: is it just me, or are social behavioral standards lowering at an exponential rate?

It's all just a big ole chess board.

I can't say I know how to play chess.

But I think if I was told the rules I’d be a damn fine player.

what am i doing?

what are we all doing?

these questions surface and no answer for restitution.

it doesn't even matter the subject. 

you can apply those two questions to anything.

what am i doing enjoying this persons company when they are in a committed relationship?

what are we all doing pretending to enjoy an evening at a bar when in fact we are all lonely human beings looking for the next person to fill our void.

paul simon was WRONG. we are not rocks nor island. we are nerves carrying reverse signals to arteries...and somehow FEEL things. ISNT THAT CRAZY?

we feel things. 

i think we forget that we feel. 

if i were to take a minute with myself, sitting here at this computer at 12:17 at night, tears streaming down my face, i would realize i'm just human. 

Census Report

According to the 2000 Census (this information is almost out of date, however, so make sure to fill out your 2010 Census forms, everybody!) my neighborhood has a male to female ratio higher than that of the county at large. 1.12 to 1. Statistically, it is not a particularly young neighborhood, but that is really only due to the fact that a mere 6.4% of residents are 19 and younger (read: single people don’t have kids). Half of the population clock in between 25 and 44 and more than a quarter are between the ages of 25 and 34, quite a desirable range, if I do say so. These stats are looking pretty good for a single gal in her twenties! I read on to find that not only are the residents, young, male and single (an average household size of 1.53 versus the national average of 3.14), but smart as well! Only 8.8% of the residents didn’t finish high school, versus the 30% of the rest of the county. This information is getting increasingly exciting, but after reading a little bit further I will find that a whopping 41% of my city’s population identify as gay or bisexual men. Womp Womp.

I am constantly surrounded by young men who care how they look and what they eat, who are good to their bodies, know how to dress, can party like it’s 1999 all the time (even Tuesday nights!), who drive nice cars, who are generally outgoing and friendly and who don’t even notice me walk into a room. This is like straight girl purgatory. Every time I want to go out somewhere in the neighborhood (because one great thing about my location is how much is within walking distance), I find myself being almost uncomfortably over-looked.

I am by no means cocky about my appearance, but I know I am a relatively good-looking girl. That, along with the fact that straight men have a tendency to “check out” any female who passes them by, means I am used to a certain amount of male attention (wanted or unwanted).

I feel like I’m in the twilight zone around here. Everywhere I go I realize that no man has taken stock of my presence. This can be a liberating feeling, especially when out dancing. Who doesn’t do their best dancing when they think no one is watching (i.e. alone in your room with your favorite guilty-pleasure pop tune blasting)? Eventually, though, it gets a little frustrating. I can’t catch anyone’s eye. Gay men and straight girls make great friends to each other, but no one at this bar is looking for a friend. If there’s something gay men do more than their lesbian or straight counterparts, it’s cruise. And guaranteed, in my part of town, no one is cruising me.

If there is one thing living here is teaching me, it’s to enjoy this time as a single female. If at first these nights out in Boytown were exciting, and then rather frustrating, they must now become a reminder to continue to focus on myself. No one, male or female, has ever gotten anywhere without a whole lot of self-love. Who needs validation from the opposite (or same) sex? Well, we all do, sometimes. But more importantly I need: a) a job; b) to further my career c); to maintain good health and a fit body; d) strong friendships and familial relationships. After all that, who has time for sex and love? One day I will, but for now I’m happy to be surrounded by potential tennis partners.