The end of summer is upon us...
Death to the frivolity, long live the frivolous!
Topics:
My week @ home.
I went home for my sister's wedding a couple weeks ago.
It was sweet and self-affirming in regards to my conceptions of the appropriateness of a traditional style wedding for me, which is to say not at all. It was definitely nice to see my sister going through the motions (after five years of dating the same dude, I was starting to lose hope that it would happen at all), but a lot of it did seem like an alien ceremony to me.
It was really special to witness my sister go through such a right of passage. I felt just a little twinge of internal oddity that it was happening to her first instead of me, a feeling exacerbated by two certain Cuban grandmas who kept making old maid comments in my general direction and pointing at their imaginary biological wristwatches. In retrospect I shouldn't have really so surprised because if I recall correctly my sister also had a boyfriend and her first kiss before I got around to either of those things.
I know I want to get married, eventually, just I am not in a hurry to think about that without first having someone in mind that I want to do it with. That just seems kinda creepy and a little bit desperate.
In fact, when the bouquet toss came around I was standing a little on the sidelines, I did make an honest go at it (and actually caught half of it from the floor, that I later relinquished to the other halfer) but I didn't really have my heart in it. By the way they did a re-toss and that same lady who had the other half when I caught it got elbowed in the eye when she dove for it the second time, brutal! I learned my lesson... and stayed away from the business of bride things.
Going back "home" has this effect on me in which I feel like nothing fits me right. It is awesome in some ways because I've grown and I feel really validated in my choices, my current place geographically and otherwise. On the flip side of the coin it constantly makes me wonder where the heck did I come from?!
My folk's home in Florida houses many of my old journals, scrapbooks, photos and otherwise precious archival Ivel materials. It is really neat to check in every year or so and chart my progress. It occurred to me on this visit that I have come a long way in terms of goals and recognizing my self worth, woo! Also I realized that there are many things that plague me currently have plagued me for many years. I guess that's alright, I am continually pushing at the boundaries of comfort and achievement. I think I returned with a renewed lens and a refreshed perspective.
I think it's good times in my life now, I have space for working on the neglected bits.
[anti] Romantic things
So, I don't usually go on about the details of any one particular date unless something of note occurs, you may recall the dapper fellow who commented on my "shade", but I had a date yesterday that might go down in the books as one of my most awkward and uncomfortable dates in Ivel history.
I guess I'll start with the precursor that it was a Tinder date. If you aren't familiar with Tinder, it's an app in which the user is presented with a picture and they can swipe left if not interested and right if they are. After two people swipe right, which is to say you find each other mutually physically appealing, a chat box opens up and you are able to converse.
There is a small space for a "bio" where you can write a little bit about yourself, but if my own experience tells me anything no one really looks at that until after you match.
Anyway, needless to say it's not exactly the breeding ground for meaningful relationships, but I am open minded and am giving it a chance.
I have had a few of experiences, so to speak, nothing has been too shabby and it's been even comparable to okCupid dating, especially because I tend to screen people beforehand with "what do you do?", "where are you from?", "what are you looking for?" kinds of questions. For example anyone who answers the latter with "PUSSY" gets discarded right away (true story).
But truly, it's not always the way it works out, because sometimes, late at night you are Tindering, and you just wanna go out, maybe not to hook up all the way per say, but maybe a little makeout time.
On one of said encounters, which started after ten pm (my usual my bed time) at a bar, I met this guy who I'll call Whitewater. I won't get too deep into details, because I don't want to relive them, but I did get clues fairly soon about the kind of person I was dealing with and that weren't all savory. Things like, "why did you move to Portland?" "for the whitewater" "excuse me?".
I don't know. I guess what this interaction makes clear to me is that I am not suited for some overly tattooed (I love tattoos, don't get me wrong, but this guy had a huge skull and paddles for crossbones across his belly with the words "Fire It Up" scrawled over it. Which, I later found out was a result of a loosing bet, and was meant to be much smaller except the guys at the shop goaded him into getting a bigger one) fellow who's life purpose is white water rafting. But beyond this it shows me that I need to be more faithful to my screening procedures and guttural responses.
SO to give you a little more nitty gritty on the mildly catastrophic second date that should have never happened itself, Whitewater was texting me in the morning about wanting to hang out, I was like, oh, I want to go to the art museum, but he was like lets go for a hike into some hot springs. After a little bit of internal deliberation, I decided that ok, I would go on a date outside, maybe to a hot spring, but I wouldn't get into any water. Summer is after all on it's way out, and I could potentially go to the museum on any rainy day.
Whitewater was hungover to begin with, which is a dubious position to start any activity in, let alone a date. We went on a pretty nice hike in the gorge. The discourse was lacking, slightly poignant, and likely indicative of an erroneous choice on my part. It seemed however, that he was really into it and was even trying to get saucy with me on the trail, advances which I dismissed resolutely.
Then we came back and had a late lunch at Pambiche (my favorite Cuban restaurant) and he wasn't feeling so great, but it was happy hour.
So I ordered a bunch of food thinking, oh, even if he doesn't eat much I will be able to take some of these tasty Cuban treats home for later consumption. He eats a little bit and sips his red beer and the whole meal he just goes on and on about how shitty he feels and how he doesn't understand how he could feel this way. I am getting really bad signals from all of this and at one moment he suggests going back to my house and laying down on the couch to watch a movie (he promises he won't "try anything") and I am like absolutely not. So I offer to take public transit home so that he can get "home" quicker and he is like, no of course he will give me a ride home.
We leave the restaurant and as we are walking to his car he makes that face people make when they are vomiting in their mouth, and then he just proceeds to projectile vomit all over the sidewalk. Like, serious upchuck all over the curb, people are looking at us and I am just shrugging like, "oh, kids you know.." looking at him, just unsure what to do, wanting to turn around and run as fast as I can, not spilling the contents of my tummy or the doggy bag.
At one point when I realize what is happening is real I start making my own gagging motions and think if I stay near this person, I am going to throw up! He is pulling it together leaning against his car and says "Has this put me into the permanent friend zone?? Wait, don't look, there is vomit on my shoe."
I just lose it.
No sir, this does not put you in the friend zone, this puts you in the "holy fucking shit, I can't believe I let this scene happen to me! I am never speaking to this person again let alone riding with them in their vomity, BO smelling car for a ride ANYWHERE" zone.
The only thing I can think to do, after I stopped gagging, was to say, I can't go home with you, this is really wrong, I do hope you feel better soon, and I just walk away. He calls to me something I can't distinguish, and I just shake my head and give him a thumbs up, and he yells at me again, "Your water bottle!!". I was like, oh, right, I went over to grab it and make a comment about how silly it was that I left it there and he tries again to convince me to get in the car with him. I was like, No Way.
I just walk away, to a cemetery with my leftovers in tow, and call one of my best friends and tell them the whole story as he laughs at me as the corpses rest silently with nothing to add after having lived all their most wretched moments, which far surpass any ridiculousness I have conjured in my existence to date.
Some lessons learned (in numerical order for ease of reading):
1. Do not date someone who refers to you as "some chick" when talking to their friend about who they are with.
2. Do not date someone who does not have a regular job, nor a proper place to live that includes a shower.
3. Do not date someone who refers to you as "dude" repeatedly.
To be clear on all of this debacle, it is not Whitewater's fault that he vomited. It is however, his responsibility as a grown man to know his limits and to speak up when a situation had gone far beyond his control. That is to say, I am not a babysitter! I could have been more sympathetic to his predicament, but the fellow in question did not inspire me to do so.
I am not one for faking things.
In short, lessons learned!!
And as always, me dear readers, expect great things!! (even if what you get sometimes is projectile vomiting)...
