new misadventures

I believe my friends have tired of reading about my misadventures in dating. I don't blame them since the most interesting person I've gone out with of late has been food allergies man-- no story there.

My new version of looking for trouble will be my experiments in hanging out in bars. After advice on this from Keen and Gurt who volunteered to sponsor future expediditions, I was trying to warm up to this last night by doing the early shift at Blondies. I'm really hoping to run into the bar prophet again for more life advice, but my oracle was missing last night. I chatted with Olive and the bartenders. The guy who wanted to buy me a drink was a good 20 years older and not very talkative. I was driven by seeing Australia- beautiful movie with gorgeous cowboy. What more could you want than a movie that could be described as Out of Africa meets The Man from Snowy River? It will make you want to meet cowboys and quit your desk job.

Prairie style

The problem with reading Loving Frank is that it gives me nightmares. It's not a thriller. It's a love story about a married woman who fell in love with Frank Lloyd Wright, felt liberated by his love, and then became a slave to his dreams and chaos. She gave up her children, freedom and friends for him. This is more terrifying than Patricia Cornwell. I had nightmares of being pregnant and stuck marrying someone with bad grammar who I didn't want to introduce to my friends and who wanted to sell my cabin house to buy an RV to travel around the country fishing.

make it work

It takes a good friend to tell you, "really I think those jeans could be doing more for your butt." I had the great fortune yesterday of Metro's willingness to be my own personal Tim Gunn. She's very good. Kind but direct just like the man. Boxy sweaters were ruled out, jean selection went down 2 sizes, and I now have elongating boots with heels. Concession to my tendancy towards thick sweaters-- "there is a place to wear that--maybe a ballgame." I heard that enough times to realize Metro imagines I go to games on something like a weekly basis. She is my fashion hero. And we now having matching berets.

Stories I'm watching

This morning I was writing to Roommate and Me Gusto, thanking them for letting me witness a miraculous year in their lives. It was their year of decision about whether to risk everything on each other. How did I get chosen to be the spectator of this?

Other stories I'm watching are still in tension building stages- Tea deciding to change her life, Olive the conquerer, Metro who decides it will be different this time, Prof Doom finding he is a professor, Pony wondering what to do with the voice she found. I hope like with Roommate I get to see winter thaw into spring.

Wedding like Cana

I was ready to declare a moratorium on wedding reception attendance, but I was reminded at roommates's wedding that the Random Heart people know how to live well- that they've met the Jesus in Cana who showed up with large quantities of good wine. There was abundant alcohol, whooping, and dancing. Good personal stories. Latin dancing. A groom who danced with me, the grandmothers, and refused to let me leave until he made his friend dance with me.

It's been a week of walking on thin ice in relationships with men. I needed the time with the solid, strong, kind men of bootcamp-- PJ, Craig, Morgan, and Goose. Even a small amount of their presence helps restore my faith.

On a separate note, Prof. Doom contributed new blog vocabulary today. Check out: http://jculv.blogspot.com/

Liberal arts disadvantaged

It's Friday night and getting ready to leave the house I was once again confronted by the disadvantage of my liberal arts education. I've reaped the benefits of my years at Calvin. I understand basic theology and the reformed world view. Grad school was an academically painless downhill ride. I know where to find good clogs, coffee, and music. I can make homemade granola and bread. I'm comfortable with a range of literature and classical music. Public television and radio are my friends.

My lack arises when it's a Friday night and time to "go out." At Calvin we went out to the library, the Meijer, the coffee house, and the sled hill. None of these events involved cleavage. Ever.

Now that the Bar Prophet has spoken, I feel like I should attempt making appearances at bars. My wardrobe is no help here. Nothing high, tight, or low enough.

I started understanding this liberal arts problem when my brother left the fraternity land of Baylor with its pink oxfords and fake nails to settle into law school at Notre Dame. He swore off dating for 3 years complaining that, "as soon as it snows the girls here put on sweats and wear them ALL winter." He was appalled. He would be better than I am at putting together the "going out" wardrobe I need. I am lost here.

the big house

The dean today commented that he hasn't seen such a crazy pre-holiday week since working in an institution. Looking around the window-less white cinder block walls awash in fluorescent light, I didn't think it was a huge stretch.

This week my angriest kids tried to gouge out another kids eye with his knuckle. I found 2 of my unmotivated skipping class because they told me they had been watching girls walk by for the last hour (they thought this was an entirely legitimate excuse- "Ms. Cade, have you seen the girls here?" "Well guys, never through your eyes"). Then today I got a call from an angry dad who said his daughter got hit in the face at school. A boy stole her purse and the teacher said she could hit him once as payback. The boy hit back.

Serving as a human dartboard this week for the comments angry cellmates, I believe the best course of action for tomorrow is to walk around continually muttering, "you're right, of course you're right." White Glue is coping by asking for a taser for Christmas.

internship

There are a few situations right now in my life I would love to control. The role reversal in a relationship that I think would make things more fun. The email sent without a question mark that I want to create an answer for (which might sap all of the comfort out of it). Trying not to be a control freak is taking an incredible amount of self-observance. It is not like me at all to keep slinking through open doors instead of knocking on closed ones.

I think I need to become someone's intern who is good at living this way. Wanted: someone stalker tolerant to teach type B personality traits. Must love strangers and remember to smile at them and their dogs and children. Sexy, yet modest dresser. Goes to bars, dances and drinks without looking like the fool they are. Non-reactive but nicely and gently honest. I could make them coffee and take their clothes to the dry cleaners. Sound fair?

p.s. I took The Office personality test and came out closest to Ryan.

civil discourse

I grew up in a very waspish family- English mother and Scottish father. There were a lot of rules. One was that it was impolite to discuss politics at dinner parties. I've noticed that no such rule exists in Colorado. I myself have broken the rule before but now try to show more English restraint.

I was at a party last night, opinion bombs were thrown, and the air got sucked right out of the room. I'm struck lately by the aggression of persuasion- the presumption that others would rather give money to support a friend's favorite causes rather than their own, emails from a friend suggesting how I should vote, assumptions that all Christians are adamently opposed to government assistance, abortion and the rights of gay people. It's my own independent streak that resists all of this.

Right here I'm harping on my own cause--restraint.

Bar Prophet

I went to a bar alone last night- something totally out of character. It was Olive's bar, and I knew I would at least see a friendly face and enjoy people watching. I was looking my absolute worst after a concession night- hair coming out of pony tail, baggiest butt jeans, big sweat shirt. I definitely expecting to be left alone. Then the prophet approached.

So this older guy walks up, guarantees he's not trying to pick me up, and gazes deeply into my eyes. I step back and smile politely. But he's a See-er and can read me. The stranger knows everything and reveals it like a mirror. He starts telling me how vulnerable and closed off I am. What isn't working in my relationships. Beauty hidden by dressing badly. Burning out on giving relationships where I can hide and not be open.

His solutions involve sex-- and he's not propositioning me. Then he kisses my hand and disappears. Very odd but very good. You never meet prophets like that in church.

I'm heading to the mall to buy better clothes.

impulsive

I wanted to do something impulsive tonight. I thought I should check my judgement with a friend. I called White Glue- no answer. Swung by Olive's house- empty. Called Keen- no answer. Having covered these bases, I felt I had the green light for crazy. Hopefully I'll feel the same way tomorrow.

new toy

A girl walks into the hardware store and buys a hatchet...

This is not the first line to a joke or a thriller (I hope!). Initially when I went to Ace and asked for a hatchet I was reminded that Halloween was over. Fortunately, Ace sales guys are wonderful and helpful. I learned that I can cut up wood without swinging an ax over my head and minimal risk to my digits.

Prof. Doom requested to hear about my best date ever. I immediately thought back to October my freshman year of college. Jeremiah King was a new friend and the most sophisticated and intelligent male I had ever met in my age bracket. After months of being walked back to my dorm and staying up all hours of the night talking, he asked me out. It wasn't a big event. We went to the market to pick out pumpkins and brought them back to the dorm. We listened to classical music, carved pumpkins and drank tea. There was a full moon and he was looking at me with all this love in his eyes. I would pick reliving that night any time over steaks, wine, and pearls. I didn't know that night that he would later start drinking heavily, I would start dating someone bad and have my first of major heartbreaks, and we would be closest of friends again over the next 7 years.

xo Indian Summer

I think of holidays I've celebrated this year, Time Change Indian Summer Weekend may be my favorite. It's been the loungiest, carried out with live music, time outside, runs through crunchy leaves, easy conversation, great food, a crime novel, and a donut I bought this morning to eat half and keep the rest in my car because I like the way it smells. Metro gave me a reason to try on ridiculously expensive jewelry and held up a mirror to what actually makes me smile. Tonight is a Scrabble tourney. I have done absolutely no shopping except for wedding gifts. I want to re-live this every month and set Neil Young's, Harvest Moon as the soundtrack.