Currently Chasing: Friday

There is a TGI Fridays in Afghanistan. The sign out front says, In here, it’s always Friday. But in Afghanistan, every day feels like the same day. So who gives a fuck if it feels like Friday in that damn place. I’ll tell you what it feels like in there to me. A rip off. In the states you can get three items for 12.99. Here you’ll pay 35 bucks for tough meat and crappy service. And why wouldn’t it be crappy…not only are you serving tables…but you’re in fucking Afghanistan.

TGI Fridays is located on what is known as the ‘boardwalk.’ It’s called that because it’s made of wood and you walk on it. Trust me, there is no one falling in love under it. There is a KFC on the boardwalk. They don’t serve popcorn chicken and they don’t serve biscuits…so they can close down for all I care.

The other day I walked over to another part of the base where I had to show my ID. Here is how the conversation went down.

Me (handing him my ID)

Him: Wow, brilliant smile. Then noticing the camera asks me what I do.

Me: I take pictures and write articles.

Him: How can you justify earning a wage for that?

Me: Didn’t you just check my ID? That doesn’t seem like a huge tasker either fuckwad.

Then we went on a ‘date’ later that night. On the boardwalk. I only went because he was British. And because he’s obviously an asshole.

Let me tell you something else weird about this place. They have diet Pepsi, but it is in tiny cans. AND IT HAS A CALORIE IN IT. What the fuck? It says right on the can, 1 calorie. Like they are proud of it or something. In the states, the can is bigger and there are no calories. I’m not exactly saying that the one calorie Pepsi is keeping me fat…but it’s not helping.

I was at the chow hall the other day and this guy looks at my collar device and says…what’s that anchor mean? I said, it means I’m a chief baby. Then I ask him what he is. He points to the bar in the middle of his shirt. I say, um…it means I’m a chief Sir. This place is crawling with Officers. It’s also crawling with civilians who wear basically nothing. WE ARE IN A WAR ZONE SLUTTIE! Cover it up. You’re not doing anyone any favors by advertising you nuggets…specially when they aren’t even available at KFC.

I’m not really sure what day it is because the days all run together. I sometimes know it’s Sunday…but only if I manage to take my birth control pills every day. Right now we are in the middle of a dust storm, which isn’t much different than any other day except that they added storm to the end.

I need to do my laundry. There is a place on base that will do it for you…but I don’t like the way it smells when it comes back to me. And I don’t like the fact that someone else is touching my panties. And I swear a pair is missing. In Diego Garcia my roommate and I used to have our room cleaned each week. The guy who cleaned it would always steal her underwear. She didn’t mind because he always undercharged us. Someone asked if I was offended that he never took mine? No, I’ve had plenty of people ask for it at inopportune times and I’ve never been a fan of giving it up.

I’m going to head to the gym, even though big bulky steroid freaks always act like I don’t belong there. Are you using this bench? No asshole, I’ve got my knee on it, and I’m currently doing an exercise, but no, I’m not using it. Feel free to grunt and sweat all over it. And then not wipe it down. Perfect.

Maybe I’ll go to the Canadian gym…although lately there has been a sign saying only Canadians between certain hours…and those hours seem to be all day every day except Friday. And it’s only ever Friday in that fucking place on the boardwalk.

Currently Chasing: The End of the Error

A friend of mine has finally ended her love affair with a married man. And not a moment too soon.

I’m not saying I haven’t traveled down the dusty, desperate path of wanting something someone else has, but it’s never done anything but leave me empty and ashamed.  And despite my advice and experience, she did what I begged her not to do. She fell for him.

Why do women sleep with married men? I think it’s because women think they won’t ever find themselves vulnerable with that man. Why would they? What’s the fear? Only that his wife will find out. But beyond that, there is no risk. He’s already taken. What’s he going to do? Cheat on you with another woman? He’s already cheating. You KNOW he’s already a cheater. That fear can be put to rest. You don’t really have to trust him, so it’s safe. Your heart will never really fully open and be swallowed and consumed with feelings of nervousness, insecurities and vulnerabilities because it’s not real. He already has that with someone else. There is a wife at home feeling all of those emotions and that saves you from having to feel anything except guilt. You know the relationship isn’t going anywhere, but you know as long as he can have you he isn’t going anywhere either. He’ll still come back to you. Kind of a sense of stability right? You’re not going to argue because there is nothing to argue about. No money to fight over, no kids. And you definitely won’t be complaining about the sex … chances are that’s all that is keeping you together. He’s going to want to fuck you all the time because you’re not his wife. He’s getting the 20 percent from you that his 80 percent wife isn’t giving him.

But she will tell me that he’s getting the 80 percent from her and his wife is only giving 20 percent. And you know what … I know her, and I know she’s a giver, so let’s go out on a limb and say that’s true. She’s giving him 80 percent and his wife is only giving him 20. That’s even WORSE. Cause while she’s giving everything he’s only giving 7 inches, which doesn’t even amount to 10 percent. What is he doing for you that is so god-damn great besides wanting you to talk dirty to him and tell him he’s the best, but not after 7 p.m. because that’s when he’s home with his wife.

Will he be there to wipe your son’s nose when he’s sick? Hell, will he even be there to wipe yours?  He can’t call you ever and he doesn’t like to text. And his wife may have cheated on him, and even be a horrible person, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not cheating on her because he wants to leave her. He’s cheating on her because he has the opportunity. If you take the opportunity away then nothing changes except that you aren’t in the picture. He isn’t going to cry himself to sleep at night. He isn’t going to sit by the phone hoping you’ll change your mind and he damn sure isn’t going to call and beg you back. He’s going to go home and take his kids to the Zoo.

Oh I’m sorry, he told you that he loved you…He does sweetie. What’s not to love? You’ve given him everything he wants and he doesn’t have to do anything in return. I’d love that too. I’m glad she wised up. I told her to come out here and get one of these “Out of Country” boys I’ve found. Canada, Britain, Australia … breaking up later because of distance is more acceptable than breaking up because he needs to get home to his family.

Currently Chasing: The Remote Control

Do you all remember the guy who stood me up on Valentine’s Day? He was a reporter for a local paper and I was giving him a chance despite my gut feeling that said “He’s not in your league?” He ended our acquaintanceship by saying, 'sorry, I can’t meet you today, I got laid last night.'
Let’s call him, The Reporter.

And do you remember the girl who let this guy email himself back into her life? Let’s call her … the Dumb Ass.

The first email from The Reporter was innocent enough. The subject line read: Are you back? The email read:

****Hey T –

I’m not looking to hang out or anything, but I did think about you yesterday and was curious if you are already home and if you had fun and got back safe.

Hope you’re well,

The Reporter.****

As soon as I saw his name in my inbox I rolled my eyes, but instead of hitting delete, I read the email, rolled my eyes again, and did what any normal person WOULD NOT do. I responded. And in Kind no less.

We exchanged a couple of emails about Thanksgiving and my career and his fundraising goals for Haiti and then he hits me with this:

****I’m not out of your league by the way. I made a mistake like a human being is apt to do. But I also admitted it and didn’t try and sleep with you just so I could ‘get a piece.’ The results may have been crappy. But I hope at least you can appreciate my Colbertesque truthiness. With that said I am not trying to butter you up or anything, that ship has sailed, but it is a really pretty ship. Be good!

-The Reporter ****

Did you see anything in that email that would make someone think there was buttering up going on? It was rude and it was WRONG. I immediately wrote back.

“Ok…..let’s not go back to that place. You didn’t sleep with me because … I didn’t let you! I made it clear that wasn’t going to happen…so you could have kept our date.”

To which he responds:

***You didn’t really make it clear – you had a few moments where you talked as though things could happen and you verbally said ‘never say never.’ It doesn’t matter whether you would have slept with me or not – I know I was being honest and not trying to play games. I’m not claiming you were interested in me, but our kiss at Bowie Town Center suggested you had interest. Not to mention our three-hour dinner. But that’s a moot point. I’m glad I have the opportunity to know you in whichever capacity.***

There is so much about this that is fucked up…let me assure you. I will admit, I did enjoy a meal with him, as my blog on February 15 (the day after he stood me up) details. And it did last three hours. We were talking and it was nice. It was the ONLY reason I thought maybe there was something there despite my lack of immediate attraction to him. But after the kiss that night, and yes, there was one, I KNEW there was nothing physical taking place there…ever again.

He said he was trying not to play games…but during our brief encounter in each other’s lives he would make plans to see me and then cancel them…or say he wanted to see but come up with a 100 reasons why he couldn’t meet up after all. It was strange, it was mysterious and it was … a game!

This goes back to my last blog about starting over. A friend said it best…sometimes we keep diving back into past relationships so we don’t have to replay the awkward get to know each other scenes. But I think I’m going to just fast forward to the part where I end my association with the reporter the mature way … by blogging about him and hoping he reads it.

Currently Chasing: A Fresh Start

I hate starting over. I also hate continuing to cry over things that I have the power to change, but fuck it…here we go!

Whether I’m writing an email and it mysteriously deletes before I send it or I’m updating a status message that refuses to upload.

I hate redoing something I’ve already done. I don’t even want to get old tattoos touched up. I went through the pain once. I’m NOT going to do it again.

I hate it even more when I have to redo something I hated doing in the first place. This is the constant case for two areas of my life: Dating and Weight Loss.

I love being in love. But I hate the process. This is usually why I tend to fall in love too fast. I just want to skip all of the beginning shit and get to the part that feels familiar. I don’t want to worry about every single thing I say…or if I’m going to talk too much and end up saying something that makes you rethink ‘us.’ Or talk too much about an ex, or talk too much about a future, or talk too much about my past. I’m tired of redoing the beginning of a relationship. I just want to move to the part where we’ve accepted everything about each other and now we are living together in happiness. And trust me, that part won’t feel like a redo, because I don’t think I’ve actually ever experienced it.

The other thing I hate redoing is losing weight. Before I came on this deployment I weighed about 160 pounds. As of last month I had gained about 11 pounds. So today when I weighed myself and I was at 166, you would think I would be happy. But I’m not. Because it’s still six pounds heavier than I was before I came here and I hate STARTING OVER. What’s even more sad is that my friend was afraid to tell me how much weight she’s lost since starting this deployment because she knew it would just depress me. She even tried to say she only lost weight this past week because she had to get a root canal. Poor girl, she’s trying to make excuses for her weight loss so I won’t feel bad that I shoved 20 frozen Reece’s Pieces down my throat.

Another friend tried to offer me some advice. He said, don’t look at it as starting over…just look at is as a continuation. Ok, well that’s fine, but I don’t like to ‘continue’ doing something I’ve already fucking done. It’s crazy that my goal weight is now the weight I was before I left, when before I left my goal weight was 10 pounds less than that.

Tomorrow cannot be a repeat of today. I need to mix it up.  I cannot continue to eat too much, fall too hard and complain too often. I don’t need to start over. Starting over would just lead to the same place I am right now. Instead maybe just restart.

Currently Chasing: A Real Man

So my friend finally broke up (for the 12^th time) with her boyfriend…and I think this may finally be it. Or we can hope. I told her to email details. So below are excerpts from her email. My responses are in parenthesis.

Email: He started talking about marriage. I told him that I thought he was just saying that to reel me back in, because he said he was planning on us getting engaged last year around Dec/Jan timeframe right after we stopped talking to each other.

(Response: I feel the same way...every time he thinks he’s losing you...or if he's lost you, he always throws up marriage. Like, I was JUST about to ask you to marry me. And then you bailed. I know I said I didn’t like your kids, but don’t act like this is my fault.)

Email: He said that he never stopped talking to me that he was "giving me time and space" because he knew I was so busy. 

(Response: Giving you time and space...are you a fucking treckie? You do not need time and space, you need love and respect. This guy is a total tool.)

Email: We were going to dinner and I waited forever for him to get there and it was freezing outside. He saw me walk out but didn’t bother driving up to meet me.

(Response: Give me a damn break. If you're going to drive the mile, what the fuck is wrong with driving the last inch. Geezus I hate this prick.)

Email: So, we drive to Chipotle and he holds the door open for another girl who was coming in after us, but waited until she got to the door, so it wasn't like she was RIGHT behind us. 

(Response: Holding the door open for the person behind you is one thing...holding the door open when it's freezing cold and causing everyone in the restaurant to get ice boogers under the umbrella of being a gentleman is a fucking douche move. And he's a prick.)

Email: So, we sit to eat and he was talking about going home for the weekend and so I took the opportunity to ask him about that girl that he slept with up there and if he was going to see her because THE DAY that we stopped talking, she was on his FB page AGAIN making all sorts of comments and saying how it was MY loss and he was a good man.

(Response: The fact that there is essentially one girl that you can't stand and he makes it a point to add her into his life the minute the two of you aren't talking drives me bat shit. That's just like me asking 'that man I was dating' not to sleep with anyone else, but especially not that 'one girl he used to date' and him going ahead and having lunch with her and then falling into her vagina.)

Email: But, he doesn't answer.  So, I asked again.  He finally said no that he was only going to see family and would not be seeing that girl.  So I asked why he didn’t just say that in the first place and he said it was a stupid question.   

(Response: I hate that he tells you your questions are stupid. His face is stupid.)

Email: I told him it wasn't stupid because he was the one who friended her again the day we stopped talking, and he was the first one to unfriend me. He's the one saying we are back together but he has yet to friend me on FB.

(Response: I really hate that we feel like we aren't really in a relationship until facebook tells us we are. In the future men are just going to invite us to some big fancy outing, tell us to dress nice, get on one knee, pull out their smart phone and ask if we'd like to change our status to engaged. "OH

MY GOD...YES, YES! He really loves me!")

Email: He didn't say anything.  I asked again and he just sat there ignoring me.  So, I was laughing inside telling myself this is just typical and thinking how funny it is that he's gone from ignoring me on the phone to ignoring me to my face!  

(Response: I hate being ignored. And I've mostly always hated that guy. And remember this wise advice I got from a man recently: Just because everything seems right, doesn't mean that nothing's wrong, which doesn't really apply to this situation where everything felt wrong but you occasionally still thought it was right, but it's wise advice you should remember.)

-Love me.

Currently Chasing: the unanswer

So the Canadian is a locked box. It’s funny. Usually you can ask people personal questions all day and they don’t seem to mind. My favorite phrase is “can I ask you a personal question?” And I never get turned down. In fact, when I was in high school my favorite thing to ask a boy was “Are you circumcised?” I don’t know why it mattered, and I didn’t really care for the answer. It just felt invigorating to ask a question so personal, and to get an answer.
So for years I’ve always went for shock value when asking questions to get to know someone. Never the standard, what is your favorite color? Always a completely inappropriate question like, “Did you marriage end because of that sore on your dick?”
If I got an answer to my question, then I’d ask another one … and sooner or later I’d realize either I’d asked enough question to know I was clearly not into someone, or I had asked enough to know there will never be enough questions. I’m a journalist after all. It’s my job to figure it all out.
But when I asked the Canadian at what age he lost his virginity, I didn’t expect that question to fall into an off limits category. But I was wrong.
“You don’t need to know that,” he responded, direct and strict.
It caught me off guard. I was speechless. At that point I only had one question left, and this time it was for me. Why did I feel like that was my business? Had I just grown so accustomed to people being as out and open with their information as I was? And was that really normal?
We sat there (in the cold) for a couple minutes while I tried to figure out how to change the subject. I realized then that my Canadian is not really into sharing anything personal unless there is a reason to share. And I respected that. I respected him.
Later on in the week he sends a quick text. It just asks how my day is going. I say it’s going fine and then I ask if he misses me. He doesn’t write back right away, but when he does it just says, ‘find out.’ Truth is he wouldn’t have written in the first place if he wasn’t thinking about me. So why did I feel the need to then ask him to repeat what he thought he was already making clear? Another question he wasn’t going to answer.
So the next time we were alone I took the opportunity to ask him yet another question.
“So how come you won’t tell me you miss me?” I asked.
“I don’t tell girls that,” he said.
“Is it because you don’t miss them, or because you don’t want to tell them you miss them?” I asked.
“It’s just something I don’t do,” he said matter of factly. “I also don’t tell them I love them.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I believe that if I say that to someone it is because I truly feel it. And if I say it to someone, it is because I feel like I could marry that person,” he said.
I thought about that for a moment.
I tell everyone I love them. I told the guy at the chow hall that I loved him because he brought out syrup for my pancakes.
“I am pretty free with the ‘I love you phrase,’” I told him.
“It’s ok,” he said. “Everyone seems to be.”
Not everyone obviously. Not him. I found out more about him when he didn’t answer my questions than I ever would have if he did. He wasn’t going to be written off as ‘just another guy.’
And at that point, there was no question in my mind; I liked this boy.

Currently Chasing: Life Support for a Dead Horse

I know people do not feel sorry for me when I tell stories about the food in Afghanistan, but just in case there is one empathetic ear out there, here it goes ... The other day we decided to go to TGI Fridays. TGI FRIDAYS - In Afghanistan? Trust me, I thought the same thing. But to be honest with you, offering these places that appeal to the eye, but make you sick to your stomach is just another form of torture. 

So we head out to the restaurant. It's located on the boardwalk in good ol' Afghanistan. There wasn't a wait like there usually is in the states. We walked right in and got a seat. I know the weapons in this photo look odd, but trust me...they are the only things that actually belong here. 

 I opened up the menu and was overwhelmed by the options. It was just like back in states and I had forgotten what it felt like to make a decision of that caliber. I couldn't decide. I kept going back and forth between the chicken strips and the pasta. Turns out I was worried for nothing. Neither one was available. And no hamburgers.  So I ordered a Strawberry shake but they only had chocolate shakes. FINE! Just bring me a menu with what you fucking have available next time. You can probably just write it on one of the KFC napkins. (Earlier in the week I had visited KFC and they were out of napkins. Now I see why.)

So I'm staring at the menu trying to find something else to order. I notice that the menu states that the theme of TGI Fridays was inspired by Banum and Bailey's Circus. Um, that would be Barnum. ... Maybe they
were thinking, ah shit - we fucked up on the menus - fuck it, send em to Afghanistan.

So I end up ordering the Ceaser Salad and calling it a day. My friend got the Salad as well, another friend got the Ribs and I forget what B got...but it was something equally awful I'm sure.  Our salads came out pretty fast. And no wonder...it doesn't take long to lather lettuce in mayonnaise and call it Ceaser. I'm not playing. It was soaked. It didn't just have a hint of mayonnaise; it was like someone dipped each leaf in a vat of that shit. Needlesstosay, I sucked down my chocolate shake and called it a meal.  We ended up waiting another 45 minutes before they brought out the Ribs.

My question is who did they take these ribs from? A Horse? As you can see, they were bigger than the person who ordered them.  They were the only thing at the table that was edible, so she shared with us all.
Thank you poor dead horse.  I wonder if this is the one I'm always beating.

Currently Chasing: Ice Cream Cake

So I’ve been, like always, working out and trying to lose weight. I can lose my ID and my room key daily, but I can’t lose weight to ‘literally’ save my life.

I got a hair cut the other day … It will look great in a couple of weeks when it has grown out a little. And I ordered a pink hoodie and am trying to get permission to wear it with my PT gear. And I got to thinking … why am I cutting my hair? Why do I wake up every day and apply eye makeup? Why do I want to wear a pink hoodie instead of my blue Navy hoodie? Why do I care if I weigh a couple of more pounds than I should. Who cares? Other women, that’s who.

Women do not dress up or care about their appearance to attract men. I mean, in this place I could look like a lagoon creature and still land a man. And for the most part we don’t dress up and care about our appearance for ourselves. (and I’m not talking basic grooming here.) Because for the most part, we should be happy with ourselves, as we are. Naked and with no makeup. We all truly accept ourselves EXACTLY the way we are right? Of course we do. So, if we are happy with ourselves just the way God made us, and men will like us even if we barely resemble a women, then why do we go out of our way, even in a war zone to be ‘pretty.’ Because other women are looking, that’s why.

The other day a girl walked out of the bathroom and didn’t wash her hands. Immediately we were all aware of the situation and thinking to ourselves…good GAWD, what is her problem? We didn’t want her to wash her hands for her, we wanted her to wash her hands for US!

I worked out the other day. I knew I didn’t have much time before I needed to get back to the office, and I probably wouldn’t have enough time to shower. It wasn’t a hard workout, and I didn’t sweat much. But I still felt ‘guilty’ for not having enough time to shower. Finally my roommate says, oh good Lord, you don’t have time, it’s no big deal. I won’t tell. And that’s all I needed to hear. (although I just told on myself.) I wasn’t going to take a shower for me. I was going to take a shower for HER. The minute I knew she wasn’t going to judge me, I was dressed and out the door.

When we look at magazines with celebrities and they are on the worst dressed list … it’s probably because they tried for once to dress for themselves. No makeup. Shit that doesn’t match … who cares right? They were happy with themselves. But being happy with yourself is overrated. The world needs to be happy with us or we get slaughtered.

Just like my Canadian friend said, “When you walk into a room, the room doesn’t come to a stand still because of your personality. You’ve got to wow them with your looks…and if you are wowing the women, then the men are putty in your hands.

Men however have more leeway. They can be slightly overweight. They can be going gray and they can even be very average looking. None of that matters if they have the one thing women are most attracted to. Power. Is your man someone? Do people look up to him? Does he fit in well with any group of people? Is he successful? Is he confident? Do people answer to him? Can he make you feel safe? Is he a provider? I can handle a fat ass if I tell myself that he’s not fat, he’s just ‘protective.’

We want to feel safe. And the more confident, successful and powerful your man is, the leaner, prettier and sexier you need to be. Not because he needs you to be, but because other women need you to be. If they think they are prettier, they will take a chance. How many times have you heard …

“He cheated on you with who? She’s not even attractive.”

Or you’ve heard a guy say

“Why is she with him? He’s not even that attractive.”

It’s because women are obsessed with looking better than other women…and most men don’t understand that going to the gym for a hundred hours isn’t going to make them a better father.

I guess what I’m trying to say is … I wanted ice cream cake earlier today, but I also found out that a friend of mine is seven pounds thinner than I am. And we can’t have that now, can we? … Either we are both fat, or no one is.

Currently Chasing: The reply button

“So what kind of guy are you?” I asked him.

“I’ve never given it much thought,” he said. “Simple reasoning is that most people won’t listen to start with.”

I was intrigued by this conversation. It was ironic to hear a guy say the same things I myself have said so many times over. That it doesn’t matter what kind of person you are, or even what kind of person you say you are. People have already made up their minds about you.

So I asked him, “Does it surprise you that I’m interested?”

He said, “No, not at all. I noticed that you couldn’t stop smiling when we spoke.”

I said, “Haven’t you noticed that I don’t stop smiling … ever.”

He said, “People who smile all the time are usually the ones constantly looking for a reason to smile.”

What a concept. I smile 24 hours a day, and spend just as long searching for something to actually smile about. That may explain why I’m not content. I’m always hoping something will come around that will actually make me happy, instead of just making me smile.

I decided not to write back right away. Turns out I didn’t need to. The empty inbox was enough to make him write again.

“Don’t run from my understanding of you,” he writes. “You are too old for that.”

I again decided not to write back.

But I couldn’t help but think about his statement. It reminded me of a conversation I had with a local Afghan boy just days prior. (And yes, I actually sat down with a very smart 11-year-old local and had a conversation with him. About, of all things, marriage!)

He said, Ma’am, are you married? I said no. He said, how old are you? I said 34. He said, wow, 34 and no marriage? You need marriage. I said, In America you don’t need marriage. He said, yes, you always need marriage. I said, are you going to marry me? He said, ma’am, you are big and I am small. No marriage for us. So then I asked him for his name and began to enter the letters in my iphone. He saw a picture of my daughter as my screensaver and said, who is that girl? I said, that’s my daughter. He said, you have daughter and no marriage? I said, I used to have marriage. He said, so your husband died? I thought about that statement for a minute. And although I didn’t want to lie to him, I was also embarrassed by the truth. In his culture Marriage is sacred. And in ours it’s disposable. So I said, yes. He seemed happy with that and left it alone.

My birthday is in a few days. Just a reminder that I’m older. Too old to run from people’s understanding of me, and too old to be running alone. I think maybe I should write him back.