Chicago, Dude

Today, a young lady sat down across from me while I was having lunch and asked if she could ask my opinion on a matter. I said sure. Then she launched into this story about how she met a guy and everything was perfect in the beginning and how he did everything right and right after she was head over heels he turned into a complete goof. Then she went on to say that this always seems to happen to her. Time and time again, she meets a guy, they hit it off, he’s does all the right things, and then after she’s in love, goof.

I thought about it for a second as I chewed on a french fry. After swallowing a large gulp of Pepsi, I cleared my thought and said, “Stop falling in love with waiters.”

Of course, I spent the next half hour explaining.

First, as claude says, if you experience the same problem everywhere you go, then the problem is you.

I figured this girl had the same behavior flaw that most women have when entering relationships - they tell men what they want. It’s the most asinine thing you could do at the start of a relationship. You tell the guy you like daisies, so he buys you daisies, then you fall for him. You say you like walks in the park, so he walks you through the park, and then you fall for him. You say you like yada yada yada, so he yada yada yadas, then you fall for him.

He’s a waiter.

He’s taking your orders and giving you exactly what you ordered. That’s why he’s so perfect in the beginning. Then you fall and so you stop telling him what you want because you think he knows you. More important, you think he’s into you. But he’s not, he’s a waiter. And left without orders, he can’t deliver. And now, you’re in love and he’s clueless.

So my advice to her was next time, shut up! Kick back and make him work. Let him notice things and try his luck. Let him goof a bit in the beginning when it doesn’t count. Take some time to find out if he’s really into you. This doesn’t mean say nothing or don’t share what you want out of life. But only do so after it’s clear that he’s interested in trying to get you what you want. Telling him you like daisies after he shows up with chrysanthemums is always more rewarding then saying you like daisies after he’s shown up several times with nothing or before he even had a chance to show up with chrysanthemums.

There is always time for telling a dude what you want, but not in the beginning. The beginning is meant for discovery and exploration and mistakes and small accomplishments.

And remember, as claude says, it takes the same amount of time to find out you like someone as it does to find out you don’t.

I never did finish my fries.

A woman came to my department seeking to have her engagement ring sized. Now, I get this often and usually the woman is happy, excited, and can’t wait to get the ring sized and on her finger. Not this one.

She accepted her proposal some three months ago and now, after much pressure from the future husband, she was getting the ring sized. I asked her why she waited so long and she replied, “Look at it.” And I did.

It was ugly.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

What do you do?

I was married once but I got married the old fashioned way. I got her pregnant. So, I have no engagement experience. I’ve seen engagements at basketball games and on television. I’ve heard from friends about their “crazy” engagements and I watched a friend of mine make her man propose to her. But in every situation, one thing was always right, the ring.

I saw Sex and the City, Season 4, Episode 60 when Aidan bought Carrie that bad ring, so I know that men buy bad rings. (And obviously, this particular guy didn’t see episode 60)

But what is a girl supposed to do?

This particular girl, despite hating the ring, accepted the engagement and the ring and then spent three months battling with her love for her man, her desire not to hurt his feelings, and the presence of a hideous ring. In my book, this makes her a caring, loving, b*tch.

I mean, he’s a man. He’s supposed to be able to control his feelings. And either way his feelings are going to get hurt. And what hurts more? Finding out the ring you bought sucks or finding out the woman you are going to marry lied to you and said she likes the ring when she doesn’t.

And, seriously, what kind of man buys an engagement ring for a woman without consulting her? That’s just stupid. With all the cuts, settings, metals, sizes of fingers and personal insanity that goes along with getting married, it’s just a stupid move to go commando with the engagement ring.

But I digress.

This girl chose to keep the ring and not hurt his feelings. So, for the next year the symbol of her new life will be an ugly engagement ring that she must look at daily; show her friends who will also see the ugliness, and worst, smile every time the ring or the engagement is mentioned.

I wished her good luck.

A woman came to my department seeking to have her engagement ring sized. Now, I get this often and usually the woman is happy, excited, and can’t wait to get the ring sized and on her finger. Not this one.

She accepted her proposal some three months ago and now, after much pressure from the future husband, she was getting the ring sized. I asked her why she waited so long and she replied, “Look at it.” And I did.

It was ugly.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

What do you do?

I was married once but I got married the old fashioned way. I got her pregnant. So, I have no engagement experience. I’ve seen engagements at basketball games and on television. I’ve heard from friends about their “crazy” engagements and I watched a friend of mine make her man propose to her. But in every situation, one thing was always right, the ring.

I saw Sex and the City, Season 4, Episode 60 when Aidan bought Carrie that bad ring, so I know that men buy bad rings. (And obviously, this particular guy didn’t see episode 60)

But what is a girl supposed to do?

This particular girl, despite hating the ring, accepted the engagement and the ring and then spent three months battling with her love for her man, her desire not to hurt his feelings, and the presence of a hideous ring. In my book, this makes her a caring, loving, b*tch.

I mean, he’s a man. He’s supposed to be able to control his feelings. And either way his feelings are going to get hurt. And what hurts more? Finding out the ring you bought sucks or finding out the woman you are going to marry lied to you and said she likes the ring when she doesn’t.

And, seriously, what kind of man buys an engagement ring for a woman without consulting her? That’s just stupid. With all the cuts, settings, metals, sizes of fingers and personal insanity that goes along with getting married, it’s just a stupid move to go commando with the engagement ring.

But I digress.

This girl chose to keep the ring and not hurt his feelings. So, for the next year the symbol of her new life will be an ugly engagement ring that she must look at daily; show her friends who will also see the ugliness, and worst, smile every time the ring or the engagement is mentioned.

I wished her good luck.

I told her that I wasn’t going to talk to her until yoga and now I’m being kept awake by thoughts of her. I am so in love with her that I can’t stay away though I must. Claude says that for personal freedom, I must be willing to hurt feelings. I have to resist the urge to call or text. I must not answer her calls or reply to texts. I can’t e-mail her or respond to her e-mails. Do I even read them?

This seems like such a painful endeavor. I used to claim that I could walk away in 30 seconds or less. I used to be able to. Not this time.

Of course, it’s the love. It’s the longing. It’s the void that is left from her absence. This one is going to take more time. More time than I want to spend hurting and healing.

Man, this sucks.

Time heals all wounds. At least that’s the rumor.

So, my time begins. I’m not exactly sure how easy this going to be. Actually, I know that it’s not going to be easy at all. I know I will pace back and forth with my phone in my hand thinking of something worth texting knowing there is nothing worth texting.

I’ll check my e-mail twenty times a day, hoping she doesn’t e-mail. Or worse, hoping that she does.

I will write countless unsent e-mails and it will take everything in me not to send.

Question is will I be able to stop talking about her?

Will I be able to stop thinking about her?

Will I ever not be in love with her?

Only time will tell.

There it is again.

Time.

Okay, the truth is I AM BETTER THAN YOU.

Look, all of us are born equal, but we do not all live equal. Am I a man like you are a man? Yes. Do you have what I have and I have what you have? Yes.

So, what makes me better than you?

Well, first we must define Better?

1. of superior quality or excellence: a better coat; a better speech.
2. Morally superior; more virtuous: They are no better than thieves.
3. of superior suitability, advisability, desirability, acceptableness, etc.; preferable: a better time for action.
4. Larger; greater: the better part of a lifetime.
5. improved in health; healthier than before.
6. Completely recovered in health.

Now when I say better, I am referring to definitions 1, 2, & possibly 3.

Now, I, by no means, think that being better than you gives me the right to not treat you like an equal. To do so would actually make us equal.

And we’re not equal.

I’m better than you.

Abraham Lincoln said that he tells the truth because it’s less for him to remember.

I listen to people when they talk to me and I always assume that they are telling the truth? Why? Because to assume they are lying sends me in a spiral of alternate possibilities of which I will never neither know nor ever be able to prove. The search for proof turns me into a detective and a sneak two things I would rather never be.

So, I assume you are telling the truth. But the liar never remembers. And in the second and third conversation about the instant in question the story changes and pieces of the truth leaks out. That’s when I know you’re lying. Because I listen.

But the process is painful. The discovery that a lie was in fact told. The piecing together of the half truths told leads to the whole truth which is formulated by assumptions and can never be confirmed because confirmation must come from the originator of the fib.

The liar.

It’s a dirty game.

I’d rather you never talk to me than to lie to me.

I hate the lies.

So, I signed up for a blog account because I thought it would be a good idea to blog. You know drain the brain. Anyone, who knows me, knows that I need to get as much out of head as possible.

So, I have this account and I got the t-shirt and the magnet for the fridge, but I totally slacked up on my blogging. So, slack that I received an e-mail that stated I have been shut down for lack of commitment.

Commitment.

I guess I didn’t really think of the commitment involved in signing up for a blog account. Then I got to thinking about how much I think about the commitment involved whenever I sign up for anything. I have a bass guitar collecting dust. A Brazilian drum I haven’t beaten in a long time. At least three book projects I’ve begun. And of course, there are my children.

I’ve started a lot of stuff I need to finish.

This was the question posed to me this morning by my big brother and I answered no, I don’t. After the call, I don’t know if I told the truth.

Looking back on my decisions in the past, I can say that I would have done different and probably should have done different. But, I didn’t do different.

I’ve always been conscious. I’ve always known karma to be real. I knew when I was doing right and I knew when I was doing wrong and I never blamed the devil or the people I wronged. It was me. I did it.

Claude says face the consequences of your actions with the same vigor as you had when you committed the action and I guess that’s why I don’t regret. I did what I did and now I live with the effects of my causes.
I’m happy with my pursuit of happiness.

I told my three year old that I would take her apple picking and now she asks to go every minute of every day though the trip isn’t for three weeks.

I realize that she has no sense of time and I began to wonder what joy that must.

I am so bound by time that I am constantly looking for the time. I look to my bedside clock, my watch, my phone, my microwave; I even glance occasionally to the lower right corner of my laptop to see the time.

I am a slave to this sixty second system.

I envy my daughter’s freedom. I long to be able to live each day to the fullest and not be concerned about the next one.

Maybe that is the goal in life. To break free from the bondage of time. Maybe.