Currently Chasing: the ability to see what I've been missing

You ever just go through life wanting all kinds of things and then one day wake up and realize, holy shit, I’ve got it; I’ve got it all?

Well I woke up today feeling exactly like that. I mean, I know that part of what people love about this blog is all the self loathing I do, and trust me when I say I’m sure there is more of that to come. But let’s look at the facts:

My day started out with a phone call from my daughter who just wanted to tell me good morning and that she loved me.

I woke up today in my bed, which sits in a room, which is part of a home that I own.

The first thing I decided to put on fit perfectly and looked great.

My hair behaved.

I didn’t forget to take out the trash, or grab the stuff I need to take to the dry cleaners and the post office.

I have money in the bank and a new car.

I have friends who adore me and a boyfriend who changes my air filters, fixes my vacuum cleaner and gets my tv back to working order after my daughter pushes a hundred buttons trying to turn on the Wii.

I currently work at what has always been my dream job, and I interviewed yesterday for another job that will allow me to grow in my career and secure my future.

I have a 401K and a good credit score.

SO WHAT AM I ABOUT TO DO TO SCREW IT ALL UP?       

I mean, that’s what always happens right? Things start going right, you don’t feel like you deserve it, you start thinking something is missing, when actually the only thing that’s missing is your willingness to accept that things are just – good.

All this chasing. Feels nice to pause and see what I’ve been missing.

Currently Chasing: a Cure for PTSD

This is a story of PTSD. Post. Tramatic. Stress. Disorder.
Not that I ever thought this was something fake or made up, but I just never thougtht that I would have it. But the other day when I almost ran me and my daughter off the road I realized, I do.
Now before you freak out, let's disect this diagnoses and get to the heart of my disorder.

While I was in Afghanistan I saw quite a few things. I saw men with missing limbs and heard stories from countless people who had witnessed those awful things as they happened. I saw injured women and children and endured sometimes daily rocket attacks. I traveled in a convoy through the city of Kandahar wondering if at any moment our vehicle would roll over an IED. However, none of these experiences can be blamed as the source for my PTSD. It is simply a sound. One sound that takes me right back to the middle of that shit storm (literally.) One sound that makes me want to punch a baby.

You see, the men in Afghanistan would sometimes make a sound with thier mouths when they saw an attractive woman. (and then let's face it, toward the middle of deployment the sound would be made for any woman walking by regardless of whether she was attractive or not.) It became a Pavlov's Dog scenario every time someone would make the sound. Heads would dart around the room or area searching for the woman. It wasn't harrassing because no one ever understood the sound and how it related to the look, except for a few of us 'insiders.'

For the most part the sound was simple. It was just a click of the tongue against the roof of the mouth causing a popping noise. Much like the sound of a bubble gum pop. But after six months that sound became ... excruciating. I don't even really know why. It became more of a joke than anything else and at some point lost all of its credibility. (one too many 'cry-wolf pops' and people stop bothering to look. And pretty soon no one even cared to look anymore. But still you would hear the occassional 'POP' ring out and it would make the select few of us who knew what it was supposed to mean cringe.

Fast forward to being home from deployment and embracing everything that is daily life. I'm on my way to the airport to pick up my daughter and it is going to be an incredible reunion! I see her, we hug, we kiss, we cry, we hug, I yell at her to stop stepping on my feet, and then we kiss some more. Awesome.

We get to the car and pack everything in and she's in the back seat...things are quiet. and then out of nowhere. 'POP!' My body tenses up. The hair on my arm stands at attention. My foot presses a bit harder on the gas peddle. My vision gets a tiny bit blurred. Then I shout. What the heck is that noise! Don't ever do that again!

My daughter is stunned. She has no idea why that noise is sending me over the edge. I calm down a bit, pull the car over, and look her in the eyes and say...that is a sound from the war. Her eyes are like full moons. She says she is sorry and that is that. For her at least. But for me it still took a few seconds before I was fully ... back to normal.

So the next day we board a flight to Florida on our way to our Disney Cruise. We meet up with a friend of mine who was deployed with me, and me and my daughter and her and her daughter are all driving to the hotel. I wanted to see if I was the only one who would have a reaction to that sound.

So I tell my daughter:

"Sweetie, make that noise one more time."
She said, "Mom, you told me never to make it again."
"I know," I said. "But just once more. I want my friend to hear it."
"Well, ok," she said.

Then a slight pause, and then.

"POP!"

My friend shot me a look. I shot it right back at her and said, "I know right!?"
She said, "My heart is racing."
I said, "I know exactly how you feel."
She said, "I hope I never hear that again."

I relayed that story to my BF and he said,
"Hmmm, the sound was only made around pretty girls?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then how did you even hear it?"

He's always there with words of encouragement.

Currently Chasing: A joke, perhaps. Perhaps not.

I love going on cruises. I’ve been on four. Two within the last two months. All you can eat. Sun and fun. Overly priced but very STRONG drinks. Life is good on the ship.

This trip was even more significant because I went with a man. Normally it’s me and one of my best friends floating around, getting drunk, singing Karaoke every night, dancing at the night club all night, stumbling to our cabins and then sleeping in the following day and doing everything over again. It’s a blast…but at some point we end up looking around and wishing we had a man to share it all with. Don’t get me wrong, we’d usually find a stand in! But we always figured a cruise with someone you really care about (and of the opposite sex) would really just make the experience.

So when I booked the cruise for me and my guy I was hopeful. Having spent the last nine months apart, I wasn’t sure how spending a solid week together was going to fare. We had spent five years on and off, learning everything about each other and I had hoped that at this point I could do the things I needed to do to prevent the parts of his personality I wasn’t so attached to from showing up.

But I failed before we even left Maryland.

You see, I planned the trip in January. We took the trip in April. Plenty of time for us to make sure we had sunscreen, bathing suits and even relatively flat tummies. I guess what I forgot to tell him was that in addition to those much needed items, he would also need one other thing.  A passport. Or at the very least, a birth certificate. I decided that telling him he needed these documents at the convenient time of, um, 11 pm the night before we were supposed to leave seemed ideal.

It wasn’t.

He was annoyed. And rightly so! I was annoyed too. Why had I not mentioned this? I mean WTF right? But why does this man not have his birth certificate? I mean, isn’t that a better question? Who knows. He did what any man does when he’s in trouble. He called his mother – a call she loved getting at 11:30 pm I’m sure – and asked if she knew where it was and if she could scan it and email it to him. Luckily, if his mother did know where it was (she didn’t) but if she did, she would have had the skills and technology necessary to do what he asked. Most mothers I know would not. So good on her.

Back to the story. No passport. No birth certificate. NO GO.

So he gets online and starts looking shit up, making phone calls, playing the active duty military guy who just wants to serve his country and do the right thing and POSSIBLY get on the cruise ship without a birth certificate? Not possible.

By this time it’s almost midnight. He is running up and down the stairs going through boxes of papers and really searching for that certificate, which tells me one thing. He loves me right? If he didn’t he would have said, fuck this trip. I’m not going. And you’re stupid, get out of my house.

But instead he was actively looking for a way to get on that ship with me. And he was doing something else as well. Trying to remain calm. He didn’t seemed pissed, just concerned that we weren’t going to be able to go on vacation. This was a different side of him than I had seen in the past. And I liked it. However, me appreciating his patience wasn’t getting us on the cruise any faster. So I did something I thought would help. Went to sleep. (on the couch.)

Somewhere in the night I went upstairs and climbed in the bed. He made room for me. Good sign. When the alarm went off at 6 a.m. I was surprised.

“Did you find your birth certificate last night?” I asked.

“No, but I have an expired passport and a military ID,” maybe that will work.

I decided it best to say nothing at that point. Just start getting ready for the flight that would take us to Miami for the cruise.

We spent most of the car ride to the airport and most of the plane ride in silence. I hoped that even if we couldn’t get on the ship, he would still want to spend a couple days in Miami. He had paid for the plane tickets and I had paid for the actual cruise. I didn’t get insurance on the cruise and the web site made it clear. If you do not have the proper documents to board, then you will NOT be getting on the cruise ship and you will NOT be getting a refund. Yikes. Not good odds.

Upon landing I went to the restroom to freshen up.

“How do I look?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It depends on whether or not we make it onto that ship today.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Then he said,

“You should still go if I can’t get on. You deserve a vacation. You can sleep in and lay out in the sun. It will be relaxing.”

“The whole point of going on the cruise is to get drunk and make out!” I said.

“You still can,” he said. “After all, you’ll be a single girl.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

So finally we are in line waiting to get through security. I hand them my passport, which aside from a god awful picture (which if I hadn’t known was me, even I might consider suspect) my passport was accepted. I’m a citizen. Yay me.

My guy handed the agent his expired passport then quickly shoved the active duty military card next to it and smiled his most pleading smile. I smiled a pleading smile too. The man looked at us both, looked down at the passport again then back at us and said,

“Enjoy your cruise.”

AWESOME! We made it on the cruise. And guess what, we had a great time.  We watched the shows, got sun raped, ate to our heart’s content and drank the days away. We played a lot of blackjack. By the end of the cruise I was up 100 and he was up almost 250.

And besides that second to last day at sea where in addition to my Mojitos I began eating the mint leaves that accompanied the drink, it was a good trip. I mean, do the math…10 drinks. An average of 5 leaves per drink. That’s about 50 leaves sitting in my stomach. Not to mention the alcohol. And then the steak and triple chocolate dessert. Needless to say I was in the bathroom the entire night and into the morning.  A very minty puke fest indeed.

But overall, the trip was a total win.

“How do I look?” I asked, as we were leaving the ship.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Like always.”

A joke? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

The one who loves the least

“Why do women always look so beautiful when they realize they aren’t sure about you?”

So true! A friend of mine and I were discussing her most recent dilemma. She had met two men online. They are both gentlemen, both attentive and both secure in their jobs and in life. She is excited about both of them. The only problem is one of them REALLY likes her, is available to date her often and always, lives close, talks a bit futuristically and compliments her constantly. The other one is slightly more reserved, is getting ready to deploy and has plans of moving to Texas upon his return. Oh and he lives in North Carolina. So which one do you think she is leaning toward?

The out-of-state, soon to be out-of-touch guy of course. Because she’s not sure about whether or not he likes her likes her. She knows the other guy likes her likes her and is willing to try out a relationship with her…so, all of a sudden he is a little less appealing. That and the fact that she thinks he sounds gay.

Not that he is gay. He isn’t. He just sometimes sounds gay when he says things like,

“I saw Tangled this weekend with my mother and I gotta tell ya, it’s a keeper. Buy it. You can get a coupon online.”

Or

“I went shopping with my sister this weekend. She says I’m like her gay best friend. We got mani/pedis.”

But bottom line, the guy is not gay, not unattractive, but still not standing a chance obviously.

There have been others willing to throw in the single towel for her. But there is apparently ALWAYS something wrong with the men who think there is nothing wrong with her.

For example, the last guy she dated was solid. Attractive, stable, good job and most importantly funny. So when I asked her how her visit with him went she had this to say:

“I went to his house and he had to use the bathroom. An hour or so later I had to use it. I noticed a lot of hair on the toilet seat, and what looked like skin. I didn’t feel like studying it, so I wiped the seat, squatted and peed. A few hours later he used the bathroom again, and again I used it after him. And AGAIN, hair and some sort of skin. Dandruff maybe? I mean, is his ass that hairy? Is he shedding? Is it ass Dandruff, these are questions I’m not going to wait around for answers to.”

And I don’t blame her. But when  does it stop being what is wrong with them and start becoming what is wrong with our idea of what shouldn’t be wrong with them?

I want her to be happy, I do. And I know that she wants to be happy. And if going out with Mr. North Carolina is going to make her happy, then I’m all for it. My only fear is that he is going to make it clear that he is in no position to get into a relationship; he is going to tell her it’s not fair to her to have to wait for him during deployment. He is going to talk her into believing that they need to cherish each and every moment that they have now. And then upon realizing that pursuing the relationship would be a total loss and a complete waste of time, she summarily determines that he is the man she is destined to marry.  It’s a painful cycle. One that I got stuck in. Spin, spin, spin. It never ends.

I just don’t think that we are ever going to find that guy who is athletic and smart. All knowing and humble. Sexy and cute. Funny and serious. Perfect teeth, perfect hair. Witty. Sarcastic. Hint of asshole. In the right age bracket. Right zip code. Not married. Not gay. Not an ax-murderer. Who understands how to say you’re sexy, without making you feel cheap. And who likes you likes you, without making it seem like he likes you likes you too much.

So until she finds this illusive big foot, she is stuck between a Carolina and a Rainbow.  Just pretend that the one you want is the one you don’t want…then it’s in the bag.

Currently Chasing: Direct Pressure

It’s been a long time coming for sure, but it came. A relationship. It’s not a relationship with someone I met online. It’s not a secret relationship that I’m not allowed to talk about. It’s not a one-sided relationship, with me being the only person actually thinking it’s a relationship. But it can’t by any stretch be labeled  a new relationship.  It’s not. I’ve been ‘dating’ this man since 2006. We’ve been around the block together. We’ve definitely had our ups and downs, and most have been painfully and painstakingly documented throughout the lifespan of this blog, but we are on an up now and I couldn’t be happier.

Well, I could be happier, but that would involve a very extensive foot massage and Fettuccine Alfredo from Olive Garden, separate of each other of course. But as far as loving and being loved in return, well, it’s happening. So on the relationship front, I’m feeling full and satisfied. It’s a feeling I’ve had here and there in the past…both with him and with others. But never to the point where I felt fully safe. Even during what felt like the best of relationships I could always tell when I was a conversation away from a breakup or worse yet, a total heartbreak. And that feeling is awful. And it hurts.

Most of the time I would end up falling in love with people who were no good for me, or not geographically near me, or not even available, mostly because I knew the relationship wouldn’t last and there would be a clear excuse I could give for why it didn’t.

“We broke up because he was on drugs and that wasn’t going to work for me,” I would say.

“But you knew he did drugs before you met him!” my friend would say.

“That’s irrelevant,” I would shoot back.

Or

“We broke up because he lives in California and it just isn’t going to work out,” I would say.

“But you started dating him knowing he lived in California,” my friend would say.

“That’s beside the point,” I would say.

Or

“We broke up because he was married,” I would say.

“But you started dating him knowing he was married,” my friend would say.

“Fuck you,” would be my general response.

The point is, I always knew the relationship I was getting ready to enter was horribly bad for my health and self esteem, but it didn’t stop me from diving head first under the umbrella that I was ‘taking a chance on love!” And that’s all bullshit. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to continually rip the scab off my heart and hand it over to someone with no bandaid.

And when I decided to give this on again off again relationship another shot after returning from Afghanistan, my first thought was … am I about to do it again? Am I about to dig my heart up only to have it buried again? I’ve cried over this guy already. Gone to therapy over him. Gone to that place where crazy girlfriends go. That place that makes them so desperate they become phone/email/computer checkers. Yes, I have been to that place with him, and here I was faced with the option … try it one more time, or head for the hills.

There are so many reasons to just jump ship. We’ve been down this road before right? People don’t actually change right? Eventually we will both get back to that place where we want something different and then we will break up right? Who knows, maybe that is right. Or just maybe we’ve done a lot of damage to each other and we are ready to heal those wounds for each other, instead of making other people pay for our mistakes. Maybe the direct pressure from someone who knows exactly where you’ve been and after it all is still willing to give it another go round is the only true way to stop the bleeding.

So I’m on board one more time. And this time I don’t already have an excuse for why it isn’t going to work. Which can only mean that maybe it will.