emjayne

Live and Learn

I met this couple at a mixer this past weekend.  They were wonderful.  I instantly made friends with the both of them.  They told me the adorable story of how they met and rode city transportation home together.  Then they asked me to tell them about some of my first date stories. 

I've had a series of unproductive first dates in the past few months.  One man told me that his main goal was to have a wife by year's end.  Another man gave me his business card and it had a different name on it because he simply had made up a name when we met - his "club name," as he called it.  Then there was the hot, successful divorcee who just happened to inhale Tanqueray tonics faster than I could count. He was actually drunk before dinner even arrived on the table. Later he came back from the restroom and sat on the same side of the booth as me, squishing me into the corner and wrapping his arm around me.  (Help me, God.  Help me, Biaggio waitress.)  As it has been seven years since I've been part of the dating scene (even still it's quite different in college) I've mostly seen the first dates as 'practice.'

Several weeks ago I started communicating by e-mail with a guy living on the other side of Wisconsin. I didn't think much of it.  I was really busy at the time and he was six hours away.  But he had some qualities that intrigued (or entertained) me, so I kept up the conversations.  Then he came into Minneapolis on business, so we spent the better part of a day together.  Conversation was sweet, and easy, and smooth.  It was relaxing.  On the spur of the moment we signed up to drive golf balls, and when he hit his balls, his tongue curled out over the top of his lip.

I saw that little tongue curl and my heart did a little skip.

Crap, Emily, I told myself, you cannot like a guy right now.  This is supposed to be practice.  This is supposed to be for fun. You are coming out of a seven year relationship.  Enjoy this time for yourself. 

And what the heck, buddy - you're supposed to talk about your mother excessively or make me feel like you might dump my body in a dumpster.  But nooo.  You paid for dinner, you're a great listener, and you haven't checked out one other woman since being in my presence.

This sucks.  So much for practice.  This doesn't feel like practice.   

I did my best to ignore any signs of a crush developing and finished out the date politely.   No first kiss, just a hug, and a promise to talk soon again.

But as I drove away I felt like I was navigating dangerous territory with him. 

My marriage almost destroyed me.  He broke me down repeatedly until I simply didn't even try to get up anymore.  Finally I was able to establish my life on my own, away from him, and a new me emerged.  Stronger.  Confident.  Beautiful.  I bloomed.  And I made a promise to myself that I would never let that happen to me again.

When I was nannying, I was able to drive a brand new, fully-loaded Passatt.  I parked that car in the back of the lot, no matter where I went.  I didn't want a single dent or scratch on a door. 

In terms of dating, I'm still wanting to park my car in the back of the lot.  I don't want any more dents or dings.

Its a difficult exercise to learn to discern between 1) actions and thoughts that protect my own heart and 2) actions and thoughts that outright assume another person wants to hurt or use me. 

It's not fun to assume that others will hurt you and use you. So I've since decided that some risks are worth taking, and it's best to just proceed slowly and with caution.  If things work out, they will.  But as I was learning this lesson with him as my guinea pig, I fear I might have made myself out to be quite the hard-ass, grilling him with every possible question under the sun.  Hopefully he'll forgive me for this and maybe even understand.

And in the future maybe I can go golfing with him and his tongue again.   

It's a Barnum and Bailey World

Esquire Magazine voted Nye's Polanaise room the best bar in America in 2006.  The best bar.  I had never been.  It's this funky little dive right over the bridge from Downtown Minneapolis.  So last night, when Kev was in town, we headed over there.

And we ended up singing karaoke at the piano bar.

"I want to sing," I said while paging through a song book and chewing a prime rib bite covered in horseradish.  Our waitress, a real gem of a gal (she looked like she was a "lifer" server and was the perfect definition of Minnesota Nice), explained to us how the piano bar worked.  We were seated in gold, glittery booths and listening to an elderly lady croon.  I mean croon. 

"This place is three-quarters empty," I negotiated with Kev. "If I ever have the courage to do karaoke, it's tonight."

"You realize it's different singing with a piano man than a television screen," he explained.  But I knew he was going soft on me.  He would sing.  I picked out a couple of songs and we moved our winter coats up to the piano.

My first song was Paper Moon by Frank Sinatra.  Kev kept pushing the microphone in front of my face, but I didn't care if that thing was 10 feet from my face.  I was just doing it for fun.  A couple regulars followed me up, then Kev sang a terrific, terrific rendition of "500 Miles."  The woman sitting next to me eyed him up a couple of times.  Oh, Frank in the day must have made women melt all around him.  Crazy.  A man sings a song and a woman stares. 

And then I sang "Leaving on a Jet Plane".  This time the regulars weren't that interested in my mediocre singing, and they got a little fidgety as I sang.  And I suddenly became aware of the fact I was singing, in front of people. Nerves fizzled up inside me.  I forgot the "just for fun" mantra for a moment.  I faltered off a bit, when Kev leaned in just close enough for me to hear.

"You're nailin' it," he said.

And all the fun returned.

Kev puts the fun back into any situation.

Sometimes life can be so good.  On a Tuesday night.  At 11:00 p.m.  With a bald man named Mike struggling to play Scotch and Soda on the piano.  And a young man next to you hitting every note like butter.  And your heart is still singing because you actually had the balls to do karaoke for once.

And I nailed it.

Overheard at Walgreens

A grandmother, mother, and son are waiting behind me at Walgreens.  The son is pre-teen, almost taller than his mother.  While the mother and grandmother are engaged in conversation, the son moves in very closely on his mother, almost to embrace, but not quite. 

Then I hear, "Stop it now, you've got to quit smelling my neck in public."

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you breastfeed your children too long.

Rejuvenatin' in the North Woods

This was my home for the past weekend.

Eleven friends joined me in a drive 4 hours north of the Twin Cities. We piled into this gorgeous home on Lake Vermillion.  When the sun rose over the lake on the first morning, I almost had tears running down my cheeks it was so beautiful.

I'd say I'm getting stronger, but that's a lie.  I am strong.  These two years have proved that.

It's just that winter is thawing out in my life and things are finally starting to bloom.

We sat in a hot tub that overlooked the lake.  Deep fried two turkeys and had a spectacular dinner to go with it (including home made ice cream). Hiked around the lake and went ice fishing. Played Jenga for hours. And hours. Told stories around candlelight.  Burned old letters. Enjoyed heated tile floors. Pushed cars out of snowbanks in the driveway time and time again.

There's so much more and I'll tell you soon.  But for now, I just want to say it was good for my soul, it was good to be with family.  It was good to get my car stuck in the driveway in the middle of the night, pray for a little help, and realize how truly bright the stars are when it's dark outside.  Cold air can feel so good in the lungs. 

"Why don't more people share meals anymore?"

"Let's have a funeral themed dinner," I said, thinking of the dozen Lutheran funeral meals I've had in my life.  A group of about nine of us get together for monthly theme dinners.  "But NO ham salad." 

"That's a great idea - who do we have to wait to die?" the A-Man said, smiling, taking a bite of his delicious venison meatballs. 

"We don't have to wait," his beautiful wife said.  And she was right.  We don't have to wait.  We don't really need a reason to get together anymore.  One person makes a call, then another, then another - and next thing you know we're all gathered around a table laughing.  Sharing a meal with friends who are family will always be one of my favorite things to do. 

The Anti-Christmas Carol

This year Target sold approximately 12 gift cards every second of business hours during the week of Christmas. This holiday is one heck of a commercial animal. It was nice this year that instead of rushing to hit the post-holiday sales, I cozied up with some post-holiday theater.

We checked out the "Santaland Diaries" show at Bryant Lake Bowl tonight.  The play is based off of essays written by David Sedaris, recalling his experiences working as an elf for Macy's. We can be horrible people when we think no one is watching, but it turns out David was watching.  Closely.  He mocks himself, he mocks us, and we all laugh together.  The intermission guitarist sounded more like Slash vs. Bing Crosby, and I couldn't be more thankful.  If I heard that quasi-Christmas song about a kid wanting to get new shoes for his about-to-kick-the-bucket mother before she goes to meet Jesus I think I might have punched someone in the noggin.

And I enjoyed Pacifico while chilling out during the whole thing.  Our waiter was so mellow even though he was bustin' butt (and ducking constantly) to serve the entire theater.  Cheers to you, buddy.  Nice work. 

Being tucked away in that little theater behind the bowling alley reminded me that underneath all the wrapping paper and glitzy bows, we are all just a bunch of fruitcakes. Humans are silly creatures. There was the herd of suburban trophy wives with the acrylic nails, Tiffany necklaces, and implants and cleavage galore. A pregnant woman looked highly uncomfortable in the theater seats, yet warm and content next to her partner. A set of parents herded their teenage iPod-toting son into the theater for a 'family event.' And then there was us: two teachers, a bankruptcy paralegal, a nurse, and whatever I am. I'm sure we annoyed someone, or made someone smile, or connected somehow to those around us. It's the Bryant Lake Bowl, afterall. A fishbowl of the human race, watching something on stage to get a sense that we somehow connect with what's outside of us.

Afterwards we trudged through the slush down the street (Lake and Lyndale) to the La Bodega Tapas Bar. I am not a martini girl, but I convinced myself I could handle a Washington Apple Martini after consuming my weight in sugar cookies and chocolate the past couple of days. We ate tiramasu while talking about everything from war to vacationing in Mexico to the death of Pakistan's Bhutto. It's just good to breathe easy with good people, you know?  Plus I love the color orange, and I was surrounded by it.  Posh.  Very posh. And half empty.  We had most of the bar to ourselves. 

For just a moment I forgot that my mom announced my divorce in her mass Christmas form letter.

And we even forgot about the fact that two of us got our halls decked (I mean cars decked) with snow emergency parking tickets and received the gift of two tow trips (for two cars) to the Minneapolis impound lot today. 

Home Sweet Home

Santa brought me a cordless drill.  I had a snowball fight and tackled a teenager in the snow.  I went to Christmas Eve mass and listened to a homily by a priest with a heavy Korean accent.  I ate shrimp, sugar cookies, wild rice, deep fried turkey, ribs, potato skins, mushroom caps, cheesy potatoes, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, caramels, chili (I have to stop - I can't even comprehend what the inside of my gut looks like now).  I scraped my car, washed my car, filled it up with gas twice, and spilled powder sugar all over the backseat.  I won a game of Life by ending with $2,620,000.  I watched the movie "Christmas Story", oh, I don't know -- 42 times.  I smiled when a father/son combo hunted down a jar of cherries in the grocery store, smiled when a little girl asked me to keep an eye out for Santa before she went to bed, and smiled when I watched snowmobilers whizz through the ditches of my hometown this afternoon in freshly accumulated powder.  I wore fuzzy white socks, cozy red boots, and impractical black high heels (ever tried to step over a mound of ice in a Minneapolis street in open toed heels?  Seriously, Emily?).

But now I am home.  And I don't want to be any other place in the world.  Home sweet home, I love it.  I hope everyone had a feliz navidad.   

The Coolest Cousins Let You Consume a Bowl Full of Sugar

My two youngest cousins, Spencer and Bennett, had the joy of Christmas exploding in their bodies like a Mexican jumping bean trapped in a little box.  Bennett, on the far left, has had stitches/staples in his face three times over the past three weeks.

"Bennett, what happened to your head the last time you got stitches?" I asked.

He stopped running for a moment and said, "I ran into glass."  Bennett will be four.

The boys took a break from playing with their new air rifles to color with me. You never quite fully appreciate the gift of eyesight until a sugar-hyped four-year-old waves an Nerf air rifle in front of your face, screaming, "How does this work?!" and randomly pulling the trigger.  Anyway, while coloring, they calmly snuck away to get a treat: Lik-A-Maid packets.

I have loved Lik-A-Maid for as long as I can remember.  Pure sugar, flavored cherry and grape, with a ambiguously flavored white candy stick to lick and dip into the sugar.  So when the boys brought the packets back to me with huge smiles on their faces, I could only support their artificially-flavored-refined-sugar adventure.

They poured it into bowls and spent 3-4 minutes dipping in the candy sticks or sucking it off their fingers...

And then Bennett cocked the bowl right up to his face when my head was turned and literally dumped a cup of sugar straight into his stomach.

To me, the most wonderful thing about Christmas is that you can find the kid in you again.  You start to remember that you aren't the tired, jaded, reserved adult you think you are, and that a green mouth once in a while is a perfectly wonderful thing to have.