Merry belated Christmas to you all, and I hope you spent it in whatever manner you found enjoyable. Christmas is an interesting time for a multitude of reasons. Somewhere between the traditional holiday drinks and the intensive meals and the tinseling, underlying pathologies bubble to the surface. Or so they say. In my family, a hybrid family tradition is emerging that is quite fun all in itself.
First off, we celebrate the 24th, not the 25th. The kids all open the presents on the morning of the 25th, but the big feast and wearing of red occurs on the 24th. We eat fish, not turkey, so there is considerably less fartiness and loginess following our big meal. My Czech-Canadian brother in law has brought his dad's tradition of double Manhattans into our family, so needless to say we all managed to get nice and sauced. This was quite hilarious, as we're not big drinkers in my family and haven't all been drunk together in over ten years since my sister's wedding. I staggered off to bed and have no recollection of taking out my contacts, changing into pjs, etc. I just remember having a spirited conversation with my sister one moment, and then passing out in a stupor on the couch in the next.
The next morning we all looked a little worse for wear. Much festive popping of ye olde Advil, my sister retching in the bathroom, much careful sipping of water and slow making of coffee. I was mostly fine, that is until I broke through the jungle gym at the park later that day and sprained my arm. Ow. That's the risk one runs as a childless woman in a playground, I suppose. My lack of recent experience showed in the cavalier way I climbed. Heedless fool!
At the indignity of incurring a jungle gym injury, I retreated back to the couch to nap and read in a desultory fashion and send texts to my dear gentleman caller. Our communications are carefully but surely growing affectionate. We allude to missing one another, contain our excitement about the fun we are envisioning as we plan a weekend Date in the city in the new year, and hasten to objectify the other sexually lest we fear we are growing too sentimental for what we still cling to as "the Arrangement". Both of us are still distasteful of the trappings of a Relationship, but admittedly we are going that way with our long conversations and solicitous check-ins and compliments, etc. As long as the sex is mandatory at our meetings, goes the thinking, we're okay. Fair dinkum.
Anyway, this is a nice obligation in my books. Most obligations are not, and increasingly I grow intolerant of the tension arising from a misplaced sense of duty and attendant flakiness. Case in point: my mother's boyfriend and his 20-year old son were supposed to join us for Christmas.. The son revolted at the last minute, however, and refused to come as he did not feel comfortable. As his mother is playing him an extended mind-fuck as only a Polack mother of a single boychild can do, it is understandable.
His father went into a veritable tizzy about it, while on my side of the family, there was a collective shrug. (Greedily, I at once realized there likely would be leftover prawns resulting from our diminished numbers, and rejoiced accordingly). We are becoming more philosophical as a family unit, perhaps, as we've seens divorces and awkwardness and family secrets come and go. We are not in any rush to have them come again. The kids are older and becoming real humans, I'm no longer coupled to a headcase, and we're all doing pretty well financially and emotionally and physically. Let's celebrate with a good meal and too many drinks in fancy clothes, and by god, let's not have any obligations at the table. Causes indigestion, and who wants to spend precious down-time breaking emotional wind?
With the goal of avoiding emotional gassiness, both mine and that of others, I look forward to the next several days of skiing and working a bit and organizing my physical surroundings so I can enter the new year all shiny and sharp. Enjoy the season! And know that you are under no obligation to check in with me in the new year.
Merrily yours, G
PS Oh, I did have a lovely sleepover with Guyfriend last weekend. Long conversation till the wee hours looking out onto Robson St from our fancy hotel room, eating sandwiches and salad; sleeping together as cosy as cousins in a giant bed, and the usual breakkie and walkabout the next day before he departed for the Interior. Yes, it was bemusing as well, to find myself wishing I had the hotel room with my gentleman caller. To find myself not even attracted to a man I'd once pined for sexually. To find a solid friendship more solid than ever due to this lack of attraction, and be pleased about it while at the same time a tiny bit mournful. The romance between us was delirious when it lasted, but unhealthy and even toxic (much like double Manhattans). Mostly though, I'm pleased as punch to find my twinship intact after the dust has settled, and to be intrigued by this Other Thing.
26 December 2010
18 December 2010
In Praise of Single Dads
Seasons greetings (or gretchings, as you see fit.) Christmas is growing on me, is it growing on you? As long as I can dodge its more maudlin elements and block out childhood memories of family meals past, this seems like a nice enough time.
I like the growing trend of adults not giving each other presents, or limiting themselves to useful items like wine and books. I'm colluding with my sister to get my mum a new sleep set, however, as she has the rattiest looking duvet and sheets to go with her collection of hideous flannel nighties. The latter I consider her boyfriend's problem, not mine.
Honestly, ladies. I know some of you who look smashing in day-time apparel, but who retreat into grannynighties and enormous pyjama sets and sweat pants (!) with the setting of the sun. Good lord, what's wrong with you? It IS effective birth control, I suppose, unless your mate has a geriatric fetish, but I personally find it disheartening. Is there not a way you can be both "cozy" and sexy? Think more Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, less Bea Arthur in Maude. And let's all get rid of the damn yoga pants already, except for yoga? Camel toes are so 2009.
Anyway, I am here to praise, not censure. I'm digging 30-something single daddies these days. First, an update or a recap, depending when last we met.
The fuckbuddy has graduated to gentleman-caller, and I'm quite gratified to report all is quite good on the sex and conversation fronts. On the emotional front, however, he seems skittish. I think this healthy considering he has not long been divorced. Being easily prone to startling also means I can have a bit 'o' fun with him. Wicked Gretchie can't helping yanking a clanking chain at times, like pretending to be crazy (turning innocent texts into accusations of him calling me fat) or telling him we're getting Facebook-married. I don't do it that much, just enough to keep him pleasantly unsettled.
Why, you ask, would you be so cruel, dear Gretchie? Well, first of all, it's funny (luckily, he shares a deviant sense of humour with me). Second of all, I am irked by the underlying assumption that in the story called At This Age, the He should be skeptical and the She should be pining for a Real Relationship. A reverse chase, of sorts.
I can't really be too harsh, as it does seem to be true in many cases. Usually women my age are wishing for Prince Charming 2.0 to come riding along and ask for directions. Okay, dare to dream. (Maybe not with such determination and level of detail, though, as it is rather terrifying when love is treated with the same joyless zeal as a home-reno project).
On the flipside, I know a few guys recently liberated from LTRs that are celebrating just getting out with their testes intact. I prefer to take a page from their book. I'm still grateful to be a) out of it b) having a personal sexual renaissance and c) conscious of my good fortune. Anyway, I'm happy to not be in love with anyone but pleasantly beguiled for the time being.
So why the praise of the single dad? Well, they are not squeamish, for one thing. Single childless men can be easily grossed out, which is off-putting. My X could not abide creepy-crawlies and never cleaned up after his own dog even once, or deigned to mop up his own dirty toilet. Note 1: I'll never be with another princess-man.
Single dads are not usually easily embarrassed. Once you've had your 9-month old defecate so forcefully in Starbucks that poo comes squirting out from under the collar of her onesie, you become inured to public shaming. If you're wise, you are thunderstruck with awe at the vigour of your child. Dads are more apt to take such small wonders in stride.
Dads have more likely learned to comfort others. They are more comfortable with physical contact meant to soothe and reassure. They are better listeners and generally more attuned to their surroundings.
Most of all, the dads I know (single and otherwise) are grateful for the small people in their lives. They are tickled to find themselves liking being dads, liking the teaching of small and big things, liking spending time with a pint-sized half-version of themselves with the manners of a mostly jolly, sometimes irate drunkard. It can be pretty funny if you're not in a rush, I gather.
I enjoy the company of children more and more these days as well. I'm bemused to find myself being told I'm good with kids, by parents with raised eyebrows and obviously low expectations. Ha! They are likely also surprised by my flashes of sternness. Adults have the authority to reasonably admonish children not their own in my world, which is an old-fashioned attitude. Not for silly stuff, but when it comes to manners I find myself occasionally dropping the goofy schtick and admonishing like some proper old Auntie May. Oh well, hopefully my friends will forgive me in light of my story-reading skills.
I shall be writing on Christmas so wish you a calm and fruitful week for now. I'm en route to the city to see my dear Guyfriend for a platonic sleepover at a fancy hotel and breakfast at my favourite morning joint. This is yet another way I'm asserting my non-clinginess, I suppose: by putting myself in potentially sexual situations. Ha!
Luckily, my period has just arrived with her usual fervour so we're all safe for the time being, not to mention Guyfriend and I have had a few practice runs with the platonic sleepovers. It's still nice to feel a little sneaky, though. In your face, Relationship assumptions!
More soon,
G
I like the growing trend of adults not giving each other presents, or limiting themselves to useful items like wine and books. I'm colluding with my sister to get my mum a new sleep set, however, as she has the rattiest looking duvet and sheets to go with her collection of hideous flannel nighties. The latter I consider her boyfriend's problem, not mine.
Honestly, ladies. I know some of you who look smashing in day-time apparel, but who retreat into grannynighties and enormous pyjama sets and sweat pants (!) with the setting of the sun. Good lord, what's wrong with you? It IS effective birth control, I suppose, unless your mate has a geriatric fetish, but I personally find it disheartening. Is there not a way you can be both "cozy" and sexy? Think more Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, less Bea Arthur in Maude. And let's all get rid of the damn yoga pants already, except for yoga? Camel toes are so 2009.
Anyway, I am here to praise, not censure. I'm digging 30-something single daddies these days. First, an update or a recap, depending when last we met.
The fuckbuddy has graduated to gentleman-caller, and I'm quite gratified to report all is quite good on the sex and conversation fronts. On the emotional front, however, he seems skittish. I think this healthy considering he has not long been divorced. Being easily prone to startling also means I can have a bit 'o' fun with him. Wicked Gretchie can't helping yanking a clanking chain at times, like pretending to be crazy (turning innocent texts into accusations of him calling me fat) or telling him we're getting Facebook-married. I don't do it that much, just enough to keep him pleasantly unsettled.
Why, you ask, would you be so cruel, dear Gretchie? Well, first of all, it's funny (luckily, he shares a deviant sense of humour with me). Second of all, I am irked by the underlying assumption that in the story called At This Age, the He should be skeptical and the She should be pining for a Real Relationship. A reverse chase, of sorts.
I can't really be too harsh, as it does seem to be true in many cases. Usually women my age are wishing for Prince Charming 2.0 to come riding along and ask for directions. Okay, dare to dream. (Maybe not with such determination and level of detail, though, as it is rather terrifying when love is treated with the same joyless zeal as a home-reno project).
On the flipside, I know a few guys recently liberated from LTRs that are celebrating just getting out with their testes intact. I prefer to take a page from their book. I'm still grateful to be a) out of it b) having a personal sexual renaissance and c) conscious of my good fortune. Anyway, I'm happy to not be in love with anyone but pleasantly beguiled for the time being.
So why the praise of the single dad? Well, they are not squeamish, for one thing. Single childless men can be easily grossed out, which is off-putting. My X could not abide creepy-crawlies and never cleaned up after his own dog even once, or deigned to mop up his own dirty toilet. Note 1: I'll never be with another princess-man.
Single dads are not usually easily embarrassed. Once you've had your 9-month old defecate so forcefully in Starbucks that poo comes squirting out from under the collar of her onesie, you become inured to public shaming. If you're wise, you are thunderstruck with awe at the vigour of your child. Dads are more apt to take such small wonders in stride.
Dads have more likely learned to comfort others. They are more comfortable with physical contact meant to soothe and reassure. They are better listeners and generally more attuned to their surroundings.
Most of all, the dads I know (single and otherwise) are grateful for the small people in their lives. They are tickled to find themselves liking being dads, liking the teaching of small and big things, liking spending time with a pint-sized half-version of themselves with the manners of a mostly jolly, sometimes irate drunkard. It can be pretty funny if you're not in a rush, I gather.
I enjoy the company of children more and more these days as well. I'm bemused to find myself being told I'm good with kids, by parents with raised eyebrows and obviously low expectations. Ha! They are likely also surprised by my flashes of sternness. Adults have the authority to reasonably admonish children not their own in my world, which is an old-fashioned attitude. Not for silly stuff, but when it comes to manners I find myself occasionally dropping the goofy schtick and admonishing like some proper old Auntie May. Oh well, hopefully my friends will forgive me in light of my story-reading skills.
I shall be writing on Christmas so wish you a calm and fruitful week for now. I'm en route to the city to see my dear Guyfriend for a platonic sleepover at a fancy hotel and breakfast at my favourite morning joint. This is yet another way I'm asserting my non-clinginess, I suppose: by putting myself in potentially sexual situations. Ha!
Luckily, my period has just arrived with her usual fervour so we're all safe for the time being, not to mention Guyfriend and I have had a few practice runs with the platonic sleepovers. It's still nice to feel a little sneaky, though. In your face, Relationship assumptions!
More soon,
G
12 December 2010
In Defense of the Dilettante and the Reluctant Romantic
Good evening,
Gosh, it's been a while. I've been (mostly) happily busy with the new work. In the intervals, I try to squeeze in seeing friends and family and kickboxing and household chores and catching the occasional show amid the time set aside for leisure.
A few thoughts on leisure. Leisure is devalued, or perhaps misunderstood these days. Some people pack their leisure hours with activities, with seems ironic when taken to the extreme. These people do not know how to do nothing, and I do believe if you gave them an entire day without a plan they would get twitchy. My dear mum is like this, though she is learning to thoroughly chew at least a few bites of unoccupied time before bolting the rest.
The twin manias for self-improvement or experience are not ones I consciously pursue. I have a healthy curiosity and occasionally pursue what seem like promising scenarios, but mainly I like being surprised by the sporadic stuff that just happens and my reactions. This is my experience. Maybe I'm placid by nature, or easily amused.
As for mental self-improvement, I like to expose myself to new information to see if it will take. However, pursuing self-improvement without passion for the act or pleasure in the process of learning strikes me as joyless as engaging in intercourse to procreate. Oh, I should do this; or learn that, or I'm obligated to know XYZ. Is there any way to make the pursuit of knowledge more dreary than by making it mandatory?
I'm not talking about life skills, such as basic math or learning to read. These are basics we should learn if we hope to engage in being citizens, as are ethics and etiquette. One should learn how to stifle a large belch on the bus, for example, and know not to park in the handicapped space (though disabled washroom stalls are fair game in my world, strangely enough).
Please note I do not advocate on behalf of those who announce they are "trying to learn how to be a better person". This strikes me as wholly disingenous, not to mention vague. Just be a better person. Begin by not making self-satisfied statements for achievements or behaviour not yet accomplished or even begun, but that are in the dubious state of trying to be learned. You'll be at least more likable, if not better, if you remain zipped on this lofty goal.
Nope, by voluntary knowledge I'm referring to the quirky extras, the inter alia we happen upon and for some reason find fascinating and want more information on. For example, I find nutrition an interesting subject, and the first British foray into 19th century Afghanistan, and Finnish architecture. Etc. I'm not expert on these subjects, or any subject outside my daily experience, but am attracted to intellectual flotsam and jetsam. Dilettantes unite!
I make sure to spend at least an hour or two each night being desultory, i.e. not obligated to do anything or beholden to anyone. Weekends are preferably filled with swathes of scheduled pleasures and satisfying household tasks, interspersed with large chunks of nothingness in which to fill or vacate my mind, as I see fit.
I may read about Zen practise in North American women, or loll in the bath drinking French apple brandy for over an hour, draining and re-heating the water and sending salacious texts. These things seem like good uses of my time, if only for the pleasure they afford me of doing exactly what I want to do plus what is possible given my circumstances at that moment. Like I said, perhaps my disposition (or ego) lends itself to being easily gratified by my own company.
That said, I recognize I'm quite demanding when it comes to the company of others. In this regard I recognize a penchant for intolerance. While never bored by myself, I get bored in the presence of others if it is all required to be too nice. Once my smile feels like an effort I make as quick an exit as possible.
That said, I've never been more grateful for the variety of interesting people I know and get to spend time with on occasion. Friendship is a privilege (especially with family members) and I do remind myself of this frequently.
This extends to romantic friendships as well. I'm delighted, if a little startled, to announce my most recent friendship is exceeding my expectations. My delight is tempered with caution. I think it wise not to allow expectations to swell to unmanageable proportions, or grow giddy on future speculation. This way I can be pleasantly surprised if things turn out better than expected, and at least have the comfort of being mentally prepared if they don't pan out.
This may seem guarded to you, dear Reader. You might recall I prefer the term 'prudent'. Low expectations kept in the present allows for the development of genuine, unforced emotions, for what could be more genuine than growing fond of someone when you had no plans or motivations to do so? Loving in spite of oneself strikes me as infinitely more romantic than announcing one is now ready for a Relationship.
Such declarations are to be dreaded. Usually remarked by someone scanning the crowd with an appraising eye, like an Albertan at auction looking for breedstock. If you're sane and single, this statement or its twin "I'm ready to get back Out There!" should have you sidling for the door. (Maintain a polite, frozen smile and eye contact until a safe distance is reached, otherwise the prey response may be triggered and a chase will ensue. The Relationship-ready are notoriously swift, too, though like black bears I'm not sure on their ability to scale trees. Playing emotionally dead may or may not work, either.)
Anyway, in light of these reluctant feelings in early development I've decided it is no longer appropriate to refer to having a fuckbuddy. While I am hopeful that both fucking and buddery are still the distinguishing features moving ahead, it would be dishonest of me to claim that it's just sex (though that's like saying oh, that's just god).
I've thought about this in my leisurely moments, and have come up with the term "gentleman caller" for him and "ladyfriend" for myself. I'm tickled by the courtliness of these terms in contrast to the word fuckbuddy, as we transition to a mysterious "something else" or fall into a sudden void.
In the meantime, I remain your faithful correspondent from the present,
G
Gosh, it's been a while. I've been (mostly) happily busy with the new work. In the intervals, I try to squeeze in seeing friends and family and kickboxing and household chores and catching the occasional show amid the time set aside for leisure.
A few thoughts on leisure. Leisure is devalued, or perhaps misunderstood these days. Some people pack their leisure hours with activities, with seems ironic when taken to the extreme. These people do not know how to do nothing, and I do believe if you gave them an entire day without a plan they would get twitchy. My dear mum is like this, though she is learning to thoroughly chew at least a few bites of unoccupied time before bolting the rest.
The twin manias for self-improvement or experience are not ones I consciously pursue. I have a healthy curiosity and occasionally pursue what seem like promising scenarios, but mainly I like being surprised by the sporadic stuff that just happens and my reactions. This is my experience. Maybe I'm placid by nature, or easily amused.
As for mental self-improvement, I like to expose myself to new information to see if it will take. However, pursuing self-improvement without passion for the act or pleasure in the process of learning strikes me as joyless as engaging in intercourse to procreate. Oh, I should do this; or learn that, or I'm obligated to know XYZ. Is there any way to make the pursuit of knowledge more dreary than by making it mandatory?
I'm not talking about life skills, such as basic math or learning to read. These are basics we should learn if we hope to engage in being citizens, as are ethics and etiquette. One should learn how to stifle a large belch on the bus, for example, and know not to park in the handicapped space (though disabled washroom stalls are fair game in my world, strangely enough).
Please note I do not advocate on behalf of those who announce they are "trying to learn how to be a better person". This strikes me as wholly disingenous, not to mention vague. Just be a better person. Begin by not making self-satisfied statements for achievements or behaviour not yet accomplished or even begun, but that are in the dubious state of trying to be learned. You'll be at least more likable, if not better, if you remain zipped on this lofty goal.
Nope, by voluntary knowledge I'm referring to the quirky extras, the inter alia we happen upon and for some reason find fascinating and want more information on. For example, I find nutrition an interesting subject, and the first British foray into 19th century Afghanistan, and Finnish architecture. Etc. I'm not expert on these subjects, or any subject outside my daily experience, but am attracted to intellectual flotsam and jetsam. Dilettantes unite!
I make sure to spend at least an hour or two each night being desultory, i.e. not obligated to do anything or beholden to anyone. Weekends are preferably filled with swathes of scheduled pleasures and satisfying household tasks, interspersed with large chunks of nothingness in which to fill or vacate my mind, as I see fit.
I may read about Zen practise in North American women, or loll in the bath drinking French apple brandy for over an hour, draining and re-heating the water and sending salacious texts. These things seem like good uses of my time, if only for the pleasure they afford me of doing exactly what I want to do plus what is possible given my circumstances at that moment. Like I said, perhaps my disposition (or ego) lends itself to being easily gratified by my own company.
That said, I recognize I'm quite demanding when it comes to the company of others. In this regard I recognize a penchant for intolerance. While never bored by myself, I get bored in the presence of others if it is all required to be too nice. Once my smile feels like an effort I make as quick an exit as possible.
That said, I've never been more grateful for the variety of interesting people I know and get to spend time with on occasion. Friendship is a privilege (especially with family members) and I do remind myself of this frequently.
This extends to romantic friendships as well. I'm delighted, if a little startled, to announce my most recent friendship is exceeding my expectations. My delight is tempered with caution. I think it wise not to allow expectations to swell to unmanageable proportions, or grow giddy on future speculation. This way I can be pleasantly surprised if things turn out better than expected, and at least have the comfort of being mentally prepared if they don't pan out.
This may seem guarded to you, dear Reader. You might recall I prefer the term 'prudent'. Low expectations kept in the present allows for the development of genuine, unforced emotions, for what could be more genuine than growing fond of someone when you had no plans or motivations to do so? Loving in spite of oneself strikes me as infinitely more romantic than announcing one is now ready for a Relationship.
Such declarations are to be dreaded. Usually remarked by someone scanning the crowd with an appraising eye, like an Albertan at auction looking for breedstock. If you're sane and single, this statement or its twin "I'm ready to get back Out There!" should have you sidling for the door. (Maintain a polite, frozen smile and eye contact until a safe distance is reached, otherwise the prey response may be triggered and a chase will ensue. The Relationship-ready are notoriously swift, too, though like black bears I'm not sure on their ability to scale trees. Playing emotionally dead may or may not work, either.)
Anyway, in light of these reluctant feelings in early development I've decided it is no longer appropriate to refer to having a fuckbuddy. While I am hopeful that both fucking and buddery are still the distinguishing features moving ahead, it would be dishonest of me to claim that it's just sex (though that's like saying oh, that's just god).
I've thought about this in my leisurely moments, and have come up with the term "gentleman caller" for him and "ladyfriend" for myself. I'm tickled by the courtliness of these terms in contrast to the word fuckbuddy, as we transition to a mysterious "something else" or fall into a sudden void.
In the meantime, I remain your faithful correspondent from the present,
G
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