Gretchen Rutte Is Now In a Relationship

Yes, it's true. I am deeply committed. Rossi: 170 cms, a little more narrow-waisted than is fashionable, challenging and dynamic. After a first date with Rossi, I was hooked. We soared over slopes and ducked through the trees, much like Bella and dead-James-Dean guy in that most excellent Twilight series.

After a long period of abstinence, I have re-committed myself to skiing by purchasing a pair of sick skis. Rossignol s86, Naxo AT bindings so I can back-country and resort ski with the same set-up, adjustable Leki poles, G3 skins and the cutest little yellow Voile shovel. Ooooh, think I may have blown my cred with the last description, but it is the happiest little shovel you ever did see. I can whistle cheerily as I dig my friends out of avalanches, yay!

In other news, I took the whole damn Easter weekend off and skied and ate well and saw friends and easter egg hunted and lolled in bed and cleaned half-heartedly. At the start of the four-day holiday, I made a good list of things I should do, and sensibly set it aside for the rest of the weekend. Carpet cleaning can wait. Time to unplug and relax.

The 2nd annual easter brunch/egg hunt at my friend Marguerite's was terrific. None of the children present apperared ill, the food was high quality, the coffee more than decent and the rain held off till after the chocolates were collected. No one barfed or shat themselves forcefully, and there was only one child bloodied through face-plant. One little girl went into a shrieking fit, but the parents seemed like decent folks and she was at once scooped up and taken onto the deck until she reached the quiet shuddering stage. Awesome.

Taking time off made me realize that I need to take time off...but there's a reason I don't. While I'm no longer on my ten-hour winter sleep schedule thanks to the longer days, I find it very easy to do nothing for long periods of time, interspersed with one or two Important Tasks that take maybe five minutes but give me a sense of accomplishment. I am surprisingly easy to placate when in weekend mode. Favourite panties hand-washed and hung to dry: check. Favourite panties taken off line when light rain falls: check. Two important tasks down! Rock on! See, this might be dangerous territory to slide into.

This weekend was significant for my significant other, however. It may have been one long pantie wash and dry for yours truly, but he had to move the ex into town, study for a mean final exam today, mediate a work crisis and play host to two different sets of house-guests. I, on the other hand, had to get up slightly early on Sunday to make a fruit salad for brunch. Fair dinkum.

I'm bucking the trend of over-achieving women. This superwoman complex has to go. I'm going to use 50's husband as a prototype: home from work to gap out with a glass of scotch and a paper pre- and post-meal. This is slightly challenging as I work from home and have no adoring wife zonked on tranquilizers to serve me meatloaf and candied yams, but I do believe in compromise. I serve myself leftovers (delicious!) in an apron and listen most compassionately to stories of work woes. Have a drink, you poor dear. I don't know how you do it, you big strong thing.

I did fix up my bike last Good Friday (Jesus wants me to ride, oh Lord) and ride into town to vote at advance polls. I was like, democracy AND bike-riding on Earth Day: snap! I nailed it! (I still love snap! I'm hoping it's like rad--never really goes away. However, some expressions need to be put away for good. Case in point: "Whatever." What kind of Big Lebowski nihilist/morbidly horny 15-year old are you to concede a "Whatever"?)

Hmm, my little computer is near-dead. The hometeam has won game 7 of round 1 of the play-offs, which means people are getting drunk for a reason tonight. Woo-hoo! (Also please retire). I've got to be up disgracefully early for a number of disgracefully responsible reasons tomorrow, so good night!

Abruptly yours, G

PS Read Tina Fey's book over the weekend and laughed out loud several times. Best part was the Teat Nazis, hands down. Militant breast-feeders scare me too, Tina.

It Is What It Is, She Sez

To preface: I have no idea why Blogger formatting has gotten so fucking squirelly. My apologies, it's not me, it's the site.

Here's some of what our friend the Urban Dictionary has to say about the modern adage "It is what it is".

Def. 1: Used often in the business world, this incredibly versatile phrase can be literally translated as "fuck it."

Def. 2: A trite, overused and infuriatingly meaningless cliche that is utilized by provincials who think they are adding some deep, meaningful insight during a discussion when all they are offering is senseless, unwarranted repetitiveness to what would otherwise be a far better conversation had they not shown the shallowness of the gene pool they spawned from by using this asininely useless and redundant phrase to begin with.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=It+is+what+it+Is

(Ironically, I think the person providing Def. 2 is showing themself to disadvantage by their unrestrained rancour--"asininely useless" seems redundant in itself--but then again Urban Dictionary is enjoyable thanks to the general unrestrained rancour of its contributors.)

This existential phrase was recently mocked by no less a person than my very own X. He swooped through town on a swift, almost-surprise visit. Ostensibly this was to get away, see the dogs, hang out. It was also to see me. The visit proved to me that I had grown naive to the lasting effect I have had on my X, and his effect upon me.

Spending time with him was familiar and alien all at once. He was nervous at seeing me, which in turn made me uncomfortable. He made joking references to me taking him back. I made unjoking rebuttals that I hoped were both clear and not wholly unkind. I found myself being frank to the point of humourlessness, however, in part to excise any stirrings of leftover feelings I have for him.

It is hard, if not impossible, to love someone for many years and then let them go entirely. Especially when they are so terribly alone, and seemingly incapable of looking after themselves in a sane and sound manner.

He is also good-looking and incredibly smart, if not self-aware. Seeing this beautiful and gifted man, at once arrogant and fragile, did cause my heart to break just a little. This surprised me. I thought I'd done with that. After all, this visit coincided with our two year anniversary of official breakupdom. I was happy dating a wonderful man, albeit we were taking it slow. I've never been more financially or emotionally grounded, so to be side-swiped, gently, by feelings I thought were dead in the past was curious.

Sigh. I think he brings out my protective instincts. In a sick way, he also makes me feel special, as he has been unable to date. He finds other women lacking. This is discussed at dinner. Holding up one hand with thumb tucked under, he waggles his fingers at me.

"Four times. That's how many times I've left in the middle of a date."

"What do you mean? You mean you just go? You pretend to go to the bathroom or something and just leave?" I ask, half-smiling and half-incredulous.

"Well, I pay the bill before I go," he says in his own defense. "But yeah, I just have to get out...okay, the first one," he goes on, seeing my perplexed expression, "The first one was like, 22 or whatever, she starts talking about getting Botox and a boob job, and I'm like I'm outta here. The second one wouldn't stop talking about her past relationships. See ya. The third..." here he does have the decency to look abashed, "OK, the third one was on me, I admit it. I started drinking and beaking off and that was that. The fourth one wanted to go to this restaurant, and it turned out she knew everyone there and spent the whole time talking to a bunch of people, so I took off."

Later he said he was not planning on dating anyone until he got more settled in his finances and head-space. I said this was probably wise.

My own dating update was much more brief. It had been over 5 months since we had spoken at length.

"Gimme the beta," he demanded. "You got a boyfriend?"

"Yes". I said, thinking once again how much I dislike the word boyfriend. It really is innocuous to the point of vapidity.

"You love him?"

"Getting there." I replied, and gave him a lopsided smile to indicate that was about all I was going to say on the topic.

It is strange talking relationships with the X. We had assumed for so long that we were going to always be together. We could not even imagine what being with others would be like. I don't mean sex or casual dating--that can be very easy to imagine in a LTR, for anyone, and pretty easy to do once the LTR is terminated. No, I mean being with someone else as a partner. This is astonishing to the both of us, still. Two years has passed and we are no longer very close, but we spent almost nine years in close relationship to each other and it still pains us that we are no more.

We both think the other person broke our respective hearts. I think we're both right.

Anyway, although it was unsettling it was also instructive to see him with fresh eyes. While I could appreciate his handsome face and sharp mind, I could also see his recklessness and selfishness. His only criticism of me was that my humour seemed curtailed, and he'd been looking forward to me making him laugh.

As we were in a crowded restaurant in my hometown, I was trying to dial him down, admittedly. He's not the most restrained speaker, and many of his metaphors involve a) sex b) violence c) animals or d) all of the above. For example, on describing his work place culture: "It's like being ass-raped by a chimpanzee, every day." So yeah, call me a kill-joy but I'd rather not banter such phrases back and forth seated three feet away from an intent party of four.

He is a pathological liar, arrogant and flippant. He is tremendously vulnerable, smart and damaged. He also thinks he will never find another person who loved him like I did, and whom he loved to the best of his ability. Sigh again. He could do me a great deal of harm if I let him, so I don't. It is what it is, right?

Meanwhile, my new beau has his own X to deal with, except his mind-fuck has been more recent, and he shares a child with her. It is what it is.

In another sphere, a woman working for the company I currently consult to decided a board meeting was the appropriate place to announce unbidden that I'm paid too much, and that they should replace the execution of some of my duties "once things settle down" with an admin person to save money. I was not there, of course, as startled, I would have immediately kicked out several of her teeth before I could stop myself.

Why on earth a person who is almost wholly ignorant of what I do, and who does not pay me or face any kind of budget restrictions due to my pay (I generate all necessary revenues through my project, including money which allows for the growth of the overall company) should take it upon herself to make such a pronouncement is beyond my full comprehension. It would have been beyond my curiosity as well, except that it resulted in talk of me potentially working for less. I do not encourage such talk, especially when I have been very successful in my contract and made a lot of money for my client.

At any rate, a few days' reflection and advice from wise friends led me to see that this episode was useful. It forced me to assess what value I provided with my services. It reaffirmed my belief in working on contract and having my own business. It even made me see that this woman had only really done harm to herself through her actions. That it is what it is. Etcetera.

I'm happy to retire that phrase permanently. Taking a page from my X, I shall now be using the more colourful "That sucks donkey balls." Hopefully it will pick up and be firmly ensconced in the vernacular before long. Good night!

GR