just checking

This one goes out to the one I love...

There are few things in this world I enjoy more than listening to the radio. I think it dates back to when I was in junior high and although I had to be in bed by a certain time, my parents couldn't stop me from listening to the "Top Ten @ 10" on my town's local Top 40 station. The cool thing to do back then was call in and request songs, which of course I did from the landline next to my bed since this was before everyone had cellular telephones and the Interweb. A couple years later when I entered high school and developed a crush on a particular boy, I would lie in bed night after night calling in to request the same song:

"F.M. 97, you're caller #4, what do you want to hear?!"

"Hi! I'd like to dedicate a song."

"Oh. Hi Jess. 'Love of a Lifetime' by Firehouse?"

"Yup. Going out to Tim from Jess."

"Yeah. I know. I will see if I can get it on for you."

It was all so fabulously pointless. If I had thought things through, I would have realized the chances of him ever hearing one of my pathetic little dedications were slim to none considering he was totally punk-rock and would've rather driven nails through his head than listen to a Top 40 station.

Fast forward...my tastes have changed a little. I'm mostly a 'talk radio' gal now and while I love tuning in to hear 'Car Talk' and 'This American Life', as well as the nut jobs that are on 'Coast to Coast A.M.' every night, I also have a soft spot for the simplicity and purity that is 'Delilah after Dark'. You can find her on your local soft-rock radio station from 7 until mid-night, fielding calls from trailer parks all across this great country. She listens to peoples' happy, sad, tragic and inspiring stories then offers some gentle wisdom while choosing the perfect easy-listening song to play for their situation. Finding the right song is not something to be taken lightly, nor is it always an easy task, yet Delilah makes it seem effortless. It's evident she takes her job as the self-appointed "Queen of sappy love songs" very seriously. If you listen often enough, you can start to guess what song she is going to play, depending on the story from the caller. (I feel like there is potential for a drinking game here...) For example: whenever anyone calls to dedicate a song to their kid, it is almost guaranteed she will throw a little 'Baby, Baby' by Amy Grant up on the turntable, at which point I will get pissed off and change the station because that song makes me want to kill people. But I digress...

As much as I enjoy making fun of this particular radio show, I have also found myself balling my eyes out on the drive home because of an especially tender love story, or one I can identify with for one reason or another. I'm currently sorting through some feelings about various people in my life and I'm not gonna lie--there is a part of me that wants to give Delilah a ring, spill my guts and see what gem she comes up with for me...

It's been awhile...

Time and our passage through it, has always confounded me. I remember as a kid, having to watch the movie Back to the Future at least three times before I was really able to wrap my brain around it. Granted, I was 8 years old, but still. I suppose everyone experiences this to some degree. When you're a kid and the summer seems to fly by in the blink of an eye, while the school year drags on for what seems like ions, much like weekends in relation to work weeks when you're older. My dad always used to say "Punkin, once you graduate high school, you won't believe how quickly the years go by. You will wake up one morning and be 30 years old and not have any idea how it happened." I of course scoffed at this, since he didn't know anything and I was 18 years old and knew it all. However, since things panned out exactly as he said they would, my grown-up self has since commended him on his prophetic wisdom.

At this point in my life, age has become somewhat irrelevant. Three of my closest girlfriends are 23, 29 and 41 years old respectively and yet the views on life and common ground we share is staggering. My ex was 10 years older than I and it was never really an issue, although he used to jokingly ask "Why couldn't I have met you in high school?", to which I would reply "Because I was in kindergarten."

I was looking through photo albums at my mom's house yesterday and long forgotten memories began flooding over me with such intensity, I had to stop. I found pictures I didn't know still existed, of my first serious boyfriend here in Colorado and our trip back East for him to meet my family, which I had forgotten occurred. I look so young in the pictures and we both look so happy. It's bizarre when you can look at a photograph and know exactly what you were feeling or thinking at the time, even though it was a decade ago. As I gazed at us sitting side by side on the sofa, our arms around each other, I thought "I once loved this man. He was my world." Then to re-enter the present and wonder how feelings that were once so poignant and palpable could cease to exist any more? Conceivably, he has some of these same photographs in his possession, wherever he is, and I wonder if he ever looks at them and has similar musings.

I found photos of the wedding of 2 good friends who are no longer married and who are no longer very good friends. The fact that I am old enough to know people who have been married, had a kid or two, gotten divorced and are now remarried, blows my mind. It doesn't seem possible and it makes me question what the hell I've been doing all this time...

A friend posted an old photo on his facebook page the other day, of himself, me and another friend, circa 1997. We were posing in front of my 1st apartment, trying to look bad-ass, I suspect, but really just looking silly. I almost didn't recognize myself with my bad, at-home dye-job, ill-fitting clothes and hint of baby fat still clinging to my naive little face. Yet, upon further contemplation, I realized at that point in time, most of my friends were off at college; I was working full-time and spinning my wheels around town; and I was completely, over-the-top in love with my friend in the picture, who's feelings were not reciprocal, making my life a miserable, endless span of days spent simultaneously longing for him and berating myself for longing for him. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I'd venture a guess it's worth at least twice that many feelings.

Should I stay or should I go...

As I've mentioned, I work in a restaurant. Restaurants, as a general rule, tend to employ a pretty transient portion of society. Hippies, felons and guys who are "taking a break from touring with their band", fill many a restaurant kitchen. The staff turnover tends to be high due to:

a.) People moving to another state/better restaurant.

b.) People getting arrested on drug charges/breaking parole.

c.) People being flat-out flaky and not showing up for their shift/showing up drunk and subsequently getting fired.

Last week, one of my co-workers (a cook) decided he was tired of living here, so he left a note and some cash for his roommate and hitch-hiked to Montana without any notice. My boss was understandably angry, but he couldn't possibly have been surprised. We're talking about a guy who rarely showered, thought he was a pirate and regularly slept under bridges and in parks when he was too drunk/tired to find a way home. He was a decent worker, but not exactly the model of reliability or trust, so the fact that he went thumbing off to another state, presumably to live in a tree and smoke pot all day, didn't shock me in the least. What it did do, was make me incredibly jealous.

There has always been a part of me, regardless of what my circumstances are at any given moment, that randomly fantasizes about taking off in the middle of the night without telling a soul where I am going. I have struggled with this for years; I am basically a walking paradox. There is one part of me (the responsible, common-sense loving Cancerian) that craves a home and all it's stability and creature comforts where I can establish roots and spend my time gardening and throwing dinner parties. Then there is the other part (the free-wheeling, devil-may-care adventurer) whose insatiable curiosity and wanderlust is so strong, it's practically crippling. I read a poem once called "The Double Life" that captured my plight perfectly. It spoke of "How very simple life would be, if only there were two of me...A restless me to drift and roam, a quiet me to stay at home...".

Whenever I visit my brother and his wife and see the great life they have cultivated for themselves, I find myself longing for something similar. He is 3 years younger than I, yet he has his shit waaaay more together than I do. He and his wife have "careers" and 401K plans; 2 beautiful little boys, and a dog. There is no white picket fence around their house, but I think that's only because their taste is slightly more modern. I like what they have together and witnessing it just drives home the realization that I am nowhere near where they are. I have a "job", 2 feline children and my 401K plan is to make it onto Jeopardy before I'm 40. What I do have, though, is the knowledge that because my life is simple and I'm not beholden to a husband or children, I have the freedom to go live in Spain for a year and work in a vineyard, or quit my job and back-pack across the country if I so choose. Having these options is liberating and I know no matter which part of me comes out on top, I will find a way to be happy with my choices just like I always have.

I always feel like, somebody's watching me...

When you are single and dating somewhat regularly, it's inevitable that you are going to run into an ex or a one-night stand at some point. In my experience, the one-nighters are usually spotted and subsequently avoided, at the same bar/club where I drunkenly picked them up in the first place. They are easy to dodge because often their memory of my face is as hazy as mine is of theirs. It helps that I am a bit of a chameleon--I tend to change my hair color and length fairly often and switch back and forth between glasses and contacts. This secret camouflaging superpower has come in handy more than once. However, no matter how many disguises and diversion tactics you employ, sooner or later you will be caught off guard.

Last year when I was waiting tables at a particular restaurant, I approached a table of 2 people in the usual manner, telling them my name and asking what they'd like to drink to start off. It was then I got a good look at them and realized they were on a date. It was also then, I realized I was pretty sure I had dated this guy, briefly, the previous summer. Awkward. I wasn't 100% certain though and although he wasn't really making eye contact with me (a dead giveaway, I assumed) he wasn't being impolite either. It was a complete mystery to me until finally, I brought them their bill and thankfully he paid with a credit card. The name on the card was not a name I knew.

A few weeks ago, my girl and I went out dancing for the first time in months. I like to compare us to a couple of beautiful tulips--we are dormant during the cold, winter months, yet once springs arrives with it's warmer temperatures, we emerge refreshed, with renewed vigor, ready to throw on our sassy dresses and heels and hit the club once more. Unfortunately, we had to vacate not 1, but 2 different bars due to not 1, but 2 different Creepers whom I had unwittingly spoken to/danced with many months ago and who were now lurking nearby giving me the eye. I ask you, is this any way to live? I am considering trying the "Twin Operative"...The next time one of them attempts to talk to me, I will say:

"Whoa, stop right there. You think I am Jess, don't you? I get this a lot, I'm actually her twin sister Becca. Guys are always coming up to me thinking I'm my sister--she sort of 'gets around' if you know what I mean, ha ha. Oh, no, don't be embarrassed, it's an honest mistake! You take care now!"

This could be the perfect plan, except I probably told half these goofballs that my name was Becca (or Monica, or Phoebe, or Miranda or Pam... I derive my cache of pseudonyms from whatever re-runs I happen to be watching on Hulu at the moment.) In any case, I shouldn't have to avoid anyone! I am always completely honest with people in every situation (except about my name, of course). If I go out with a guy and there's no spark, I tell him "Look, you're nice but I'm not feeling it. Good luck out there, and would you like me to pay for my half of dinner?" When guys ask for my number at the club, I tell them "No. I don't want you to call me and I am certainly not going to call you. Please go find someone else to dry-hump on the dance floor."

I guess I will have to deal with the ramifications of my past questionable decision making for awhile. Thankfully, I'm sure after a certain amount of time, most will simply become faces in the crowd and vague memories.

Ooh baby, it's a wild world...

When I was 26, I made the incredibly difficult decision to leave a somewhat abusive relationship with an alcoholic that I'd been involved with for over 3 years. I realized he was never going to change and unless I wanted to continue spending every night looking out the window, wondering when or if he was going to stumble home, I needed to call it quits and move on. I was young and had my whole life ahead of me and many oats to sow. Very shortly after, I started seeing someone who I thought was going to be an oat, but who turned into a 5 year relationship. When that didn't work out, something inside me clicked and I made the hasty, emotionally-driven and let's face it, cliched decision to swear off men completely. I actually found myself speaking the words: "I don't even like sex that much and I think I can live the rest of my life without having it anymore." Yes, at the ripe old age of 30, I was ready to embrace spinsterhood in all it's bitter, cat-collecting glory.

Then I went on an impromptu vacation to Vegas with some girlfriends. What began as a simple girls weekend involving spa treatments and lounging by the pool, turned into what is now fondly referred to as: "How Jess got her groove back." In the span of 2 hours, I went from crying into my champagne cocktail and complaining about my ex, to meeting a cute concert promoter in the casino and driving to the Hoover Dam to have sex in the back of his Mercedes. What was perhaps not the most intelligent decision in hindsight (since he could have been an axe murderer), nonetheless proved to be a catalyst toward owning my newfound freedom. When I returned from that fateful trip, it was with a renewed passion in my soul. I spent that first summer apart from my ex, sowing some long-suppressed oats and having the time of my life.

It was during this phase, however, that I discovered just how strange dudes can be.

Lesson 1.) Guys lie.

This is something that should have been obvious, but which I still find confounding, maybe because I don't lie. I heard things like: "My girlfriend and I broke up. It just wasn't working out and you are sooo awesome." The truth of course being: "My girlfriend is insane and I am an idiot. We break up every 3 days or so, and if she finds out you and I slept together, you might want to leave the country."

Lesson 2.) People misrepresent their intentions.

I'll never forget when I agreed to go to dinner with an old co-worker I hadn't seen in years, but who found me through the miracle of facebook. I was not attracted to him in any way, but thought it would be fun to catch up. I stated from the start that this was a "friend date" and nothing more, to which he agreed, yet he continually tried to kiss me over the course of the night. I don't like to be mean, but short of saying "If you try to stick your tongue in my mouth again, I WILL throw up on you", how could I have been more clear?

Lesson 3.) You never know what you're gonna get.

You meet a nice, attractive guy. You go out a few times and have a good time. Then you spend an entire afternoon cleaning and disinfecting your carpet because he is prone to sleep-walking and at 3 a.m. the previous night, he unconsciously thought your bedroom closet was the bathroom. Yes, it happened.

Dating is a gamble, and one I'm quickly losing energy and motivation for. It's experiences like these that make me want to expedite the process of moving to a cabin in the woods and becoming a recluse. Though if I did, I'm sure it would just be a matter of time before the grizzled old mountain man from the next cave over came knocking on my door with a jug of moonshine in his hand and a glimmer in his eye...

Too much information? Probably, but I don't care...

It's funny the things you have to consider when you start seeing someone after being single for a long time. Are my sheets clean? Is there anything weird lying around my apartment, like random tampons, or self-help books? Suddenly, thought needs to be given to your choice of underwear because someone besides yourself and your cats might be seeing it. Granny panties are no longer a viable option. You also have to think about your diet. Gone are the days of stuffing yourself full of pasta and garlic bread at dinner, unless you enjoy being very uncomfortable for the next 24 hours. Historically, I tend to lose about 10lbs when I start dating someone, simply from fear of eating anything offensive. My appetite, typically similar to that of a wildebeest, suddenly subsides when I realize I don't want to look 5 months pregnant later on during naked time. Last summer, I survived on a diet of wine, coffee and vitamin water for about 2 months. I looked great, but I was perpetually exhausted and sickly.

What's even funnier, in my experience, is once you are seeing someone for awhile, the opposite happens. When you get to a point in a relationship where you are comfy enough to fart in front of someone, all bets are off. When my ex and I first started dating, I was fairly uptight and prudish. I was also young and wholly uncomfortable with bodily functions. He on the other hand was older and had been married, so he'd seen it all and had no self-consciousness whatsoever about his body or anything it did. At first I was mortified by this, but after many a distressing morning of trying my best to wait until he left my apartment before I "took care of business", I broke down. I snuck into the bathroom, trying to be very quiet and stealthy, only to have him slip a note under the door a few minutes later that read:

"You are beautiful and so is your poop. :)"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both. I honestly feel as though being that relaxed with someone was a huge step toward an intimacy I hadn't experienced before. It made me realize that if we grew old together (like we planned to), he would genuinely be there for me through sickness and health. If we had a baby, he would be in the delivery room waiting to cut the cord. If I drank too much, he would be there holding back my hair as I threw up and if, god forbid, I ever became an incontinent vegetable, he would bathe me and change my adult diapers. It was a comforting and reassuring feeling and something I had never given much thought to until that point.

On the flip side, when you're that cozy, it's easy to let yourself go--gain a little weight, stop shaving etc. Plus, it's not super romantic to "dutch-oven" somebody, let's be honest. So it seems like a happy medium is what is needed and desired. I guess that's probably what everyone is looking for, really. Someone who understands and accepts you are human but who you still strive to look pretty for and act respectful to, especially with regard to personal space. (Please don't drop a deuce while I'm in the shower...Sure it gives us extra time to talk about our respective days, but it's just gross.)