From the Inside Out

So, being 20 years behind in the dating game is incredibly hard. I am most literally up a creek without a schema. Until recently, I’ve never had a romantic relationship. I’ve had potential relationships, usually one date and we, either/or, decide that nah, we’ll move on. I’ve had a few online relationships--which are just basically a lot of texting. But those usually end with a disappearing act or him going back to his ex. Oh, and then there are the guys who send random penis pictures and trust me, I do not request them! I also have a knack for setting potential suitors on the path to their “real true love of their life”. It seems just by meeting me for coffee, I set the fates in motion. I am a powerful woman!

In May of this year, I’ll be 43 years old. To have had one, solitary, all too brief relationship in the span of over 20 years of adulthood is a little abnormal, let’s face it. It’s also a little depressing.

There are times that these facts fill me with regret, but then I remember that all of our experiences throughout life, good or bad, make us who we are. And who we are is important. I have some not my finest moments moments. Things of which I am definitely not proud, but overall I believe I am a strong, loving, kind and resilient person. I’m creative, I believe in my talent and my tenacity. Most of all, I like my brain, even when it replays the things that I regret over and over in an effort to keep me up at night.

Having said that, I am UBER-HYPER-SUPER AWARE of every one of my thousands of flaws and shortcomings. That in itself is a shortcoming when you are trying to become an us. 
But that's who I am. Very self-aware, most of the time.

I’ve spent most of my life just observing people. The upside to observing as opposed to participating in life is that I think I have a deeper understanding of what’s important in life and to me than a lot of people. For instance, I see couples arguing all the time about who should’ve emptied the garbage, who loaded the dishwasher wrong, who forgot to pay the bills. Yes, bills need to be paid and dishes need to get done, but stop bitching at each other about it... SERIOUSLY! Do the dishes yourself (both of you) and don’t complain if they aren’t done the way you’d do them. Be done with it, it's not important!

In my last relationship, my significant other took the garbage out for me. We didn’t live together, he had just come over to see me, so this definitely wasn’t his responsibility. He hadn’t contributed to any of the garbage in the bag. But when he took it out, I didn’t ask-he just did it, I almost jumped up and down. No one had ever taken out the garbage for me. EVER. I seriously appreciated it so much that I wanted to do something, anything for him. Not because I wanted to pay him back, but just because he had been so thoughtful.

It seems simple to just appreciate each other. Look for any little thing each day for which to say thank you. Don’t get lost in the stress and chaos of everyday life and lose those little moments that you’ll never forget. Trust me.

Here’s the thing... Until 7 months ago, I had no idea what it even felt like to sit on the couch with someone and snuggle through a movie. Now I do. Now that my relationship is over, it’s actually a little painful to think of those moments, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Those moments made me feel real, they made me feel loved. And that is something that made my life whole.

My analogy is this... when you're blind, sound, smell, touch become amplified. They say that your other senses compensate for the lack of sight. Lack of touch and belonging are kind of the same thing... When you go 15 years without touch, touch becomes more intense. Almost overwhelming at times. Your heart leaps with joy when someone simply holds your hand. You belong.

For the most part, this is a blessing. I have learned to appreciate the kindness and joy that defines you when someone hugs or snuggles with you. I don’t care what kind of car you have or job you do. I’m just happy. In fact my heart thumps with joy at those little things.

But it’s also a curse. It’s a curse because a lot of people, those in my dating age range in particular don’t really feel the same way. These gestures have become routine, casual, almost absent-minded. They are anything but that to me.

My first relationship has ended and I haven’t completely worked through the grief of that. I have to admit, its hit me like Thor’s hammer. I cared deeply for this person for many reasons. Loved him with all my heart, in fact. At this point, I can only hope that someday I will be able to move on. Frankly, I’m not sure anyone will ever compare to him. It’s not that he was perfect. He had just as many flaws as me, I just didn’t care. None of them bothered me. He was the first person I truly wanted to let in. The first person I would kick Hairy off the bed for.

But I will continue to hope that I can move on eventually. I’m mostly hoping that I can move on before I hit my sixties, because let’s face it, it’s all fun and games until someone breaks a hip!

But when I am ready, I would like him to know this:

• If you don’t think I’m “the one” within a few weeks, you never will, so please let me go, do it in face-to-face and try to be kind about it.
  
• Be patient with me. I still don’t really know how these things are supposed to work and it’s so hard not to be terribly insecure about that.
  
• Tell me when I’m over-compensating. I know it can seem a little smothery, but I can't help it.
  
• Carry something for me without asking. If you ask, I will say “I got it”, and usually do, but the truth is that I would do anything for a little help.
  
• Don’t call me honey or hug me, or make any romantic gestures until and unless you mean it. I will think you mean it and I will be terribly confused when you yell “psych! I just wanna be friends!”
  
• Send flowers and only to me... unless it’s your mom or sis or niece. You get the idea.
  
• Kiss me hello every time you see me!
  
• Kiss me goodnight when we're together.  If we're not, tell me goodnight instead.
  
• Just kiss me... a lot... if you’re taller than me, lean down. Standing on your tippy toes is awkward and I’m a clutz. I'm likely to kiss the bottom of your chin and then I'll feel like a dork and over-compensate some more. Also, I'm an awkward hugger, just saying.
  
• Hold me when I’m upset.
  
• Most of all, talk to me. Talk to me about anything, but especially when something is wrong. Please. Talk to me instead of just walking away.
  
• Please don’t take me for granted. I’ll put up with it longer than I should, but then I won’t...
  
• Don’t say “I love you” unless you mean it forever.

Creepy Vans & Perfect Hair

Now that I'm older and wiser, I am the big FOUR-OH, I thought I'd share a couple of the rules I live by.  I'm going to share them because I think they are incredibly observant and important. And finally, I know these are sound rules simply because I know of one exception to each, and of course an exception proves the rule.

The first rule is...

Anyone who drives a full size van is a potential serial killer.
I know. It sounds radical right? But I totally believe it. The probability of it being true goes up, the fewer the windows in the van. I'll say this again, the fewer the windows, the more likely the driver is a serial killer... or has the potential to be. Unless the van has lots of windows and accompanying window shades or blinds. Window shades = "danger Will Robinson".  Don't you watch TV? This is always true. It's the perfect vehicle for n'er do wells. For instance, I have some neighbors, the creepy McCreepersons, have 2 full size vans in their driveway. They also give me the willies like you can't believe. Not even my dog trusts them. I'm thoroughly convinced that there may be bodies in their backyard already, but I can't see over the fence, so I can't say for sure one way or the other. But if you watch shows like Criminal Minds, CSI or even Law & Order SVU, you know that the perp will always be the guy in the van! So, there's nothing wrong with being cautious. Just keep your eyes peeled for crazies in full size vans.  My exception that proves this rule is actually a fictional character, but nevertheless, it's still an exception. Dexter the fictional television serial killer. Dexter drives an SUV, enough said. I also have a friend who drives a full size van and he is definitely not a serial killer. Double proof of the validity of this rule.

Never trust a man with perfect hair. Yep, men with perfect hair aren't trustworthy.
Women are different. Women are supposed to obsess over their hair. It's encoded on the x chromosome. I don't really want to be friends with most women who have perfect hair. We just don't really have anything in common. Even though I obsess about mine a lot, my hair is never perfect. During conversations with perfect-haired women, all I can think about is how many of my own hairs are out of place or are the wrong color or that my cut has been neglected for too long... but that's not to say they can't be trusted.

However, a man who obsesses over his hair is a completely different duck. It's just not quite natural. It doesn't have anything to do with orientation or looks really. I think it has to do with vanity. We expect women to be at least a little vain. This isn't a disparaging remark, it just is. Women and men are judged by their looks, but men have a wider range of acceptable looks. You've heard the adage that "men only get better looking with age", right? For women, the range is much narrower, thus we get a bit more neurotic about our hair... our ankles... our noses... and the sizes of our butts. A man with perfect hair is just... wrong. Not wrong as in good or bad... wrong as in askew. (I’ve been dying to use that word in a blog.) It just doesn't jive. And when something is amiss like that, well, I spot it. It's like a painting that’s slightly crooked. For me, it stands out like a sore thumb! Men shouldn't have perfect hair. If they do, their intentions just can't be good. Now, the reason I know this is a rule is again because of it's exception. I've met countless men with perfect hair but only one that is completely trustworthy. His name is Howard and thus proves the rule.

Now, I know that these sound like odd rules and not exactly based on cutting edge science. But trust me on this, they will serve you well. Keep them in mind and do your own research if necessary. You'll thank me later.

Pickles & Prohibition are for the Birds

 

I’m blessed to have known my grandparents on my mother’s side. I’ve probably spent more time with them than with anyone else in my life. My grandpa passed away several years ago, but my grandma, who is now in her 80’s is a regular part of my life. I learned a lot about life from the two of them, but in this post, I’m going to concentrate on my grandma. My grandpa deserves a post he can call his own.

First, my grandma is a great cook. She’s made several tons of comfort food throughout her life, feeding anyone who would eat. Even feeding me when I didn’t want or need to eat. It’s her way of showing people they’re loved. It can be a little frustrating, especially if you’re round like me, but it’s also really lovely. There’s nothing like a good bowl of homemade clam chowder with real cream and butter and a freshly baked loaf of bread to make you feel like someone cares. Even though she’s good at making just about anything, my grandma is actually famous for her dill pickles. I call them “poignant pickles” because they're a mixture of so many things.

She gives a jar to random strangers when she feels like it and of course always shares with her family. I can’t tell you how many times someone has said to me, “I ate that entire quart jar of pickles in one sitting, they were excellent.” or “Can you get me some more of those pickles.” Our family attorney has even settled the bill in pickles... they have to be good right?

I’m not going to share the recipe here even though my grandma would say it wouldn’t make any difference. She says her pickles are special because of the water she uses. It’s well water from the place her and my grandpa built together in 1967. She still lives there and swears that the well water is full of the right combination of minerals which in turn affects the flavor and crispness of the pickles. She’s shared the recipe with others and they never have the same result, so she could be right about the water. However, I prefer to think my grandma’s secret ingredient is a little magic. She puts a lot of love into everything she makes and I think that's what makes the pickles so special.

My grandma is also a little quirky. Sometimes... a LOT quirky, okay? She’s scared to death that I will quit my job to be a full time artist because the job means security. But my grandma risked everything in the early 1960’s to start her own beauty salon. In fact, she had a successful business for 43 years and finally retired when she was 78 years old. She also encouraged my grandpa to take risks. Before video rental was the norm, she suggested they think about starting a video store. He declined. She also suggested he buy a truck and do water-hauling for outlying communities operating cisterns, this would have also been a very good business in our area. But, he declined. Here’s the paradox: my grandpa never took a risk but always encouraged me to do what made me happy no matter what it was, even art. My grandma always took risks and doesn’t want me to leave my steady paycheck. Now you know why I’m confused most of the time.

My grandma also uses quirky turns of phrase. Anytime we were considering adopting a new dog or cat, she would say we should check the “pond” not the pound. I’m honestly not sure where that came from, probably just pronunciation, but it makes me laugh every time I hear it. When we’d watch the news together about someone who committed a crime and was getting probation, she would refer to it as “prohibition”. “He’ll probably only get prohibition...”, she would say.  Also not sure where that came from, but hilarious. It’s the little things that people do that make you love them.

And finally, my grandma loves the birds. She’s an honest to goodness “mother nature” figure even though she still wears bright pink lip stick and dyes her hair platinum blonde.  She’s in her 80‘s now. Like me, she loves to plant things, to dig in the dirt and sit in the yard and watch the birds. This connection or similarity I have to her was something I didn’t fully appreciate until the last year or so. It’s because of her that I love these things as well. Don’t get me wrong, my grandma can be “scary hell on wheels” and stubborn as a goat, but she can also be gentle and kind and full of heart. I’ve watched her nurse kittens with eyedroppers and hold broken birds tenderly in her hands. She looks at flowers like she can actually see God in them.  And she can grow nearly anything. And even though she fought with my grandpa over almost everything, she loved him with all her heart. And he loved her back.

Some time after he passed, we were talking about her “ladies”, her friends and customers from the beauty shop. She said a lot of them were on the look out for boyfriends at the senior center. First of all, they were all ages 70 and above and I thought this was adorable. In fact, I thought “maybe there’s hope for me yet!” But I wondered if she was trying to covertly ask permission to date maybe thinking it would offend her daughters or grandchildren. I told her that if she wanted to find a companion that it was her business and that no one should hold that against her. That I wouldn’t hold it against her. It was only natural and she deserved to be happy. She said something that I will never forget. “Why would I want a boyfriend? I had my love. That’s all I need.” Yes, grandma, it turns out, that’s something else I got from you.

I Think I Sprained My Uvula

Now, don’t get me wrong, I can chatty Cathy with the best of them, I really can, but there’s a point in time when I prefer to not talk. In fact, there are times when useless chatter sets my teeth on edge (low-hanging pun, couldn’t resist). My point is that they say Silence is Golden for a reason. I did a little research into that phrase, and by little I mean I Googled it and looked at one of the results, this isn’t a dissertation. (Sidenote: you know you've made it when people start using your company name as a verb.) Evidently, the first example of "Silence is Golden" in the English language is from a poet named Thomas Carlyle, which is a little ironic if you think about it. But it may have even been used in ancient Egypt as well... also ironic considering the recent vocal uprising.

My point is that a lot can be said with silence. In fact, I didn’t realize how much I could actually talk (verbose would have been a shorter way to say this) until I tried to teach a 4-hour class immediately after a wisdom tooth extraction... three wisdom teeth to be exact. Besides the embarrassing drooling, my speech was as illegible as a drunkard's handwriting. So, I resorted to writing out what I had to say on the available marker board in the classroom. Let’s just say, all of my talking made me high as a kite. It also made me consider my words more carefully and it definitely made me admire those who use an economy of phrase communication style. To this day, I worship the monosyllabic! Something I am really not capable of.

Another interesting turn of phrase is A picture is worth 1,000 words. We’ve all heard this one, right? I love this one. Is it because words are cheap and art is expensive? I don’t think so. I think it has to do with the amount of bull you can put into a picture as opposed to a sentence. Quite frankly, I can only speak for the US here, but we talk too much. We talk so much that we quit actually saying anything about 15 years ago. I blame marketing experts. A great example of this is modern business lingo. Have you noticed that all the great “management/business/leadership/training experts” basically say the same thing, just with different words. They take an old idea, re-brand it so they can copyright it, and then they sell it. I guess everyone needs to make a living, but when I see things like this, I just want to scream “EMPORER’S NEW CLOTHES!! EMPORER’S NEW CLOTHES!!!”

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I’m also not a fan of filling awkward silences with useless chatter. Don’t get me wrong, I do this. It’s awkward and I’m co-dependent, so I like to fix things. But it’s still annoying. It’s taken me a long time to realize that some people communicate s-l-o-w-e-r. They need time to digest the conversation as they go along. This is a good thing... I mean actually thinking about what we’re going to say before we spew meaningless jibber-jabber on our conversational partner is generally appreciated by said partner.

 Coming soon to www.naughtyviking.com

And finally, in silence, you can hear. Okay, I know that sounds like a leap in logic, but silence gives you moments to listen with your ears and your everything else. Have you noticed that intuitive people tend to be more quiet while “sales” people tend to chatter? It’s because intuitive people are listening, they are absorbing. Sales people, on the other hand, are trying to convince you of something. Remember that real communication is primarily non-verbal. Some experts estimate that up to 80% of what we say isn’t in the actual words we use. It’s in the cues we get or give. If we’re constantly chattering, we miss all the good stuff. I’m talking about the crinkle of the eyes, the fidgeting, the smile or frown, the nod etc. In the non-verbal, we can connect. And ultimately, this is what we’re so desperate to do right now. Unfortunately, this desperation is actually the trigger of some of the jibber jabber. It’s a vicious cycle isn’t it? So, the advice for myself and if you agree with me, for you, is “when in doubt, shut up”. I could have made this more elegant, but it would have taken more words.
L

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