I had a really good time last night, and was delivered back to my parents before midnight.
The star gazing, chocolate cigars and company were excellent, but I don’t think I even touched my drink. I did touch quite a few of them at dinner, however.
That is all.
Thanks, Doctor.
In a clear sign that I think too much about everything, and I do mean everything, here is a little story. A story which someone with better judgement might keep to herself, but the blog must be fed.
People who read me have probably figured out that I love words. I love reading them and writing them. Sometimes when I am under duress I will even speak them aloud.
It would probably not surprise anyone that the one game I play on a regular basis is “Words With Friends.” I am pretty good at it. Not great, but good. For those of you who don’t play, it’s a clone of Scrabble that you play online.
When it’s my turn, my phone very helpfully pops up a notification that says:
“Your move with xxxxx”
The other morning getting ready for work I saw this notification, and for some reason I didn’t immediately interpret it in the context of the actual game. For some reason, my thought was “no, I already made a move, and you can make the next one, buddy!”
Yes, for a second I thought I was getting romantic back talk from an App notification. I talked myself down immediately.
Sometimes I also react to the words people play against me. Does anyone else sometimes take the words a little too personally?
Mean, thaw, hard, twit, pissy, dick
I mean, those are just words for points…right? Words With Friends doesn’t really hate me. I know this. If someone plays the word “dumb” they aren’t talking about me. It’s just a way to get a U off the board so no one with a Q can use it, and bonus for using a couple of 4 point letters. Right? Right!
I knew that.
Then of course I started thinking about games and dating and all of that horrific crap that makes me an insane person, because (over)thinking is what I do. No, I do NOT think the overthinking and insanity are related, and shut up. There are a lot of games that go into this whole social interaction thing, and it strikes me as silly. It’s a biological imperative, it shouldn’t be that difficult. It’s mating. Animals with brains the size of peas manage it.
Don’t answer a text right away…
Don’t admit you don’t have plans..
If he doesn’t text you, don’t text him..
Let them know you’re interested…
Play hard to get…
Don’t seem like you are too interested…
Social role playing.
The younger women might have an easier time of it–they certainly seem more bold about communicating than I ever was.
Girls with selfies just throw it right out there..but is that right?
Bold or reticent?
Here is what Frances McDormand has to say about meeting her husband:
I’d only brought one book to read to Austin, Texas, where we were filming, and I asked him if there was anything he’d recommend. He brought me a box of James M. Cain and Raymond Chandler paperbacks, and I said, “Which one should I start with?” And he said, “The Postman Always Rings Twice.” I read it, and it was one of the sexiest fuckin’ books I’ve ever read. A couple of nights later, I said, “Would you like to come over and discuss the book?” That did it. He seduced me with literature. And then we discussed books and drank hot chocolate for several evenings. It was fuckin’ hot. Keep it across the room for as long as you can—that’s a very important element.
And the idea of keeping it across the room does have a certain appeal…but so does the idea of grabbing a guy and dragging him into a corner cave woman style.
It’s not either of those things that I object to, it’s the idea of an expectation that I have to act a certain way or I won’t get a man.
I am not so sure that being myself is the answer. For one thing, if the other person isn’t also being himself, it gets all weird. If the other person isn’t showing their game cards, you don’t even know if you’re in the same game at all.
So.
For the next several weeks, I am just going to go to some football games and hang out on Tequila Hill, drink wine and keep laughing.
If you need me, I’ll be over here arguing with Words With Friends.
Let me know if you need me, burro.
On my way to work, a song lyric hooked into me. I got an idea for something to write, and I reached for my phone to take a picture of my stereo so I would remember the song in case I wanted to write something later.
I do this very frequently. I listen to music and think when I drive. Then I have ideas. If I don’t capture an idea immediately, it disappears. I think of my compulsion to stop what I am doing and make notes as a charming quirk. I also do it during random conversations, at football games, in meetings at work and in bars. If I do it when I am out with you, then be flattered because you probably said something that made me think. Or made me happy. Or maybe it pissed me off, or made me sad. Either way, you may end up seeing it here.
You may have noticed that it gets personal around the blog sometimes.
Anyway, as I reached for my phone, I remembered that Paddy yelled at me the other day for using electronic devices while driving, and I told myself I would be safe for once, and NOT try to take a picture or write a note while driving through the Terwilliger Curves. I would make sure to remember what the song was and write it down as soon as I got to work.
Then a P!nk song came on, so I had to sing. I did not remember to remember whatever it was that has been noteworthy a few seconds before.
At lunch time, I scrolled back on my iPod to see what song it might have been.
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby? It could have been.
don’t you weep pretty babe
she’s long gone with her red shoes on
gonna need another loving babe
It’s true that I do a fair amount of crying, and my love of red shoes runs very deep. Maybe I wanted to talk about being gone..
Wild Night? Maybe.
And you walk wet streets
Tryin’ to remember
All the wild night breezes
In your memory ever
Memory? Remembering? Ironic in retrospect, isn’t it?
It was such a good idea, too, and now it’s gone. Of course, I can make it anything I want it to be now. Remembering is funny that way.
Memory is a fickle thing. I can remember exactly what I did at 3:30 on Halloween of 1977, but not what I was thinking about just a few hours ago. I can remember my Dad buying us tiny little cans of beer when we had barbecues when I was about five, but not that I needed to call a plumber. I remember my phone number from when we lived on Glacier drive, but not that I need to call and cancel my land line. I remember finding Rocky under my deck one morning, and how he asked me if I’d seen Kyle but not that I need to stop and get coffee on the way home from work. I even remember getting stitches in my thumb, which shouldn’t be possible because I was a toddler, but I don’t remember what month is was that I had laryngitis last year. I remember the first time my Mom realized that I knew how to read.
49 years ago is easy. Last month is hard.
Last month is probably a bad example. I had a really good August. Will I ever forget the beach trip with Goddess Diane and the Ruined Mothers? I hope not. Stargazing with Kyle and Rocky? Chocolate cigars? Dinners on Tequila Hill? Flying Aliens and ballooning?
I hope I wrote enough of it down to remember it even if I start to forget.
Fuck. That reminds me of the Notebook. Is all of this going to be how I remember who I was, and who all of the people I loved were when I am in the extended care facility? Because if it is, I am going to have to get way more specific!
Damn it, Paddy!
You….you…sigh…you know I love you in spite of the Notebook and your mania for safety.
Bastard.
I take it back, I am glad I forgot to remember what I was originally thinking about because I got to think about what a great time I have been having lately.
Thanks, Paddy.
And thanks to all of my partners in hijinks and shenanigans for being the best people I could ever hope to have in my life.
And Chelle and Rick for making sure I didn’t stay at home alone.
And Ken and Nic for all the fun weekends I will be having for the next 3 months. And Ma and Little L for putting up with me through countless Eugene trips. And all of the tailgating crew.
Diane, Kelly, Rocky and Kyle for making the trip to the beach on of the best weekends ever.
I feel like I am at the Oscars giving a speech, and no one can cut me off if I thank too many people.
Thanks for whoever made sure that I have so many people who I love that I can’t even come close to writing them all down!
How did this go from forgetting to remembering to gratitude?
Oh well. Gratitude is always a good place to leave things.
Thank you, everyone.
For everything.