Barb’s Burblings

Growing up, we always called our parents’ friends by their last names–Mr. and Mrs. Whoever. A few years ago, the wife of my dad’s best friend passed away. In a couple of months, my dad and I are going to go to an O’s game with his best friend and the best friend’s new lady friend. And I just realized that it’s going to be strange–not only meeting her, but…what do I call her?

The best friend will always be Mr. Best Friend to me. There’s no way I could call him by his first name. I can’t change after 31 years of calling him Mr. Best Friend. But I’m an adult now, and generally, when meeting other adults–even adults my parents’ age–I call them by their first names. I guess once you go to work and start having coworkers whose ages run the gamut, you kind of get out of the habit of the formal “Mister” or “Missus” or “Miss” or “Ms”. (Yes, obviously, there are times when I do still use “Mister” or whatever. Hmm, and I guess if I were to meet the parents of a future beau, I’d probably use “Mister” and “Missus” in that situation, too. But for the most part, it’s first names.) (I mean, really, a lot of my coworkers are near my parents’ age. Ditto people in my tap class.)

But I can’t imagine being able to call Best Friend’s Girlfriend by her first name. So I think I’m going to do what one does in this situation…just never address her directly as anything. Make eye contact when talking so I never have to figure out whether it’s “Girl” or “Miss Friend.”

I was excited when I read that Crumbs, a New York-based cupcake shop, was going to be opening up some shops in the DC area. After all, you can never have too many cupcakes! But after reading the article in today’s WaPo about it, my enthusiasm has lessened, thanks to these quotes from co-founder Jason Bauer:

“When we come into the market, people are going to realize what a real cupcake is all about,” boasted Bauer, 40, who opened the first Crumbs on New York City’s Upper West Side with his wife, Mia, in 2003.

“We came down to that market four months ago and did a complete tour and hit every cupcake place,” Bauer said. “Quite honestly, we weren’t impressed with anybody’s product.”

Dude. Not cool. I certainly haven’t hit every cupcake place around here (though I dream of it), and though I don’t like all the ones I have hit, there certainly are some really good shops here–I’m particularly fond of Red Velvet, Fancy Cakes by Leslie (though I wish they’d go back having more varities of cupcake–not “decorate your own cupcake”), and Georgetown Cupcake. And so even though it looks like there’s going to be a Crumbs in an area of downtown that I frequent–as well as one in Rockville–I’m less inclined to check it out than I would be if Jason had just been like, “DC has shown that it loves cupcakes, and we’re eager to compete!” or something similarly inoffensive.

I love advice columns. Love reading them, love reading the comments people make about them. One of my favorites is Carolyn Hax, who writes for the Washington Post. She has new columns three times a week, and does a lengthy weekly chat, which is always enjoyable. She uses the four days a week without a totally new column to expand on questions from the chat–like in today’s column.

Ah yes, advice for the singletons. (Well, one very bitter singleton. Who’s only 4 years older than me! When I did I get so old???) And I agree with Carolyn’s advice here. And then comes this:

If talking up strangers feels forced, then find communal activities that suit your strengths, and start joining. Not only does it beat dwelling on what hasn’t worked — your ex, online socializing, men, your friends, the married guy — but it also pretty well defines “connecting the old-fashioned way.” And, it has the advantage of being the recipe for a life well-lived vs. a plan for getting a man.

And, from the comments:

Carolyn’s advice about a well-lived life is great. A hobby or volunteer work you are passionate about will make you happier and more fulfilled, and you might also find a like-minded man.

And just when I gave up on dating and said… I think I will just live life and see what comes my way…. I met my current husband. I went way out of my way to pick a language partner that was NOT interested in romance and was not attractive (at least according to their photo). And yet… we clicked.

Stop “looking for” a mate. Just do the things you like to do, and let things happen as they will. I met my husband at a theater audition - wasn’t looking for a husband, wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, wasn’t even looking to get laid. We met, we conversed, we spent time together, we learned about each other, we found ourselves connecting on more and more levels. Love happened.

ARGH.

It’s frustrating to reach a point in your life and try to figure out how you wound up there. How do I find a guy to fall in love with? Online dating? Done it, off and on, for years. Activities? Volunteer? Maybe I’m just doing the wrong volunteering or taking the wrong classes.

I do a lot with my life, and I am happy with it. I choose things to do based on whether I think I’ll enjoy them–and I do. But please, please stop telling me that the way to meet a guy is by doing what I love. Doing what I love has led to me doing some fun things, and meeting a lot of great people…which I appreciate, which has made my life a good one. But it hasn’t led to a husband.

And honestly, if I die single, it’s not the end of the world. I have a lot of great friends and family and feel like I’m making a positive (if fairly minor) impact on the world. But having a boyfriend, at least, would be nice.

Admittedly, there was also some interesting stuff in the comments, too–and stuff that I felt relate to my own situation. (And, trust me, I’ve spent plenty of time psychoanalyzing myself about this.) But these cliches drive me up a fricking wall.

Seriously, don’t get me started on “Stop looking–that’s when you’ll find The One!” Right. It’s not like I spend every moment of every day looking for a husband, but you get to a point where, if you meet a guy, you check for a ring, you listen for whether he mentions a girlfriend. It’s not because you went out that day On a Search For a Man, but it really becomes second nature. Even having spent the past couple of years not really thinking about guys (except David Tennant), I’d still notice whether a nice guy I was talking to was single or not.

And for the record? David Tennant isn’t single. Sigh.

I love the Winter Olympics. LOVE them. WAY more than the Summer Olympics. Track and field, cycling…eh. Doesn’t hold my interest that much. But the Winter Olympics? Holy crap. I could watch ANY event. Ice dance compulsories? Fascinating! Curling? What’s NOT intriguing about curling?! Hockey? Luge? Snowboarding? Biathalon? Sign me up! I could watch the full two weeks straight! Olympic fever? I have it!

Which makes me so sad that these piles of snow being heaped on the DC area are coming this week. Why couldn’t it have waited until next week? I could be spending all of these hours watching the Olympics! It’s just not fair!

Because I’m still chilly, some 2.5 hours after coming inside and despite adding layers, I’ve decided to distract myself by thinking of baseball. It’s almost February, which means that it’s almost time for pitchers and catchers to report! Spring training, yay! Not that I’m going this year, unfortunately. But still, baseball makes me happy. Now I’m just going to pretend that it’s July, and I’m sitting at Camden Yards, and it’s hot…

Also, happiness that O’s FanFest was last weekend, and thus the return of the “Barb in the O’s dugout” series:

I meant to take the bus this morning. I had already driven to work three times this week (though I only had to pay twice, since yesterday I went downtown after work and so didn’t have to pay) and am trying to watch my spending. The bus is supposed to come around 8:08; it usually ranges anytime between then and 8:15–which is crazy, because I’m, like, the third stop on this route. And if there’s a traffic jam that would impede the bus’s progress, I’d be able to see it.

So I left my apartment at 8:05, dropped off my trash and recycling, and went to the bus stop. Now, even while going to the dumpster, I can still see whether the bus goes by. And it didn’t. So I’m standing outside. In the 20 degree weather. And the wind. And I stand. And I stand.

8:15 comes and I say, “Screw it” and drive to work.

Now, there are times when I can get behind the bus being a bit early. But today is not a day when someone is going to get to the bus stop early. Who wants to stand in the windy, 20-degree weather longer than they absolutely need to? (Not me, I’ll tell you that. It took me like 3 hours to warm up from those 10 minutes of standing outside.)

Not a happy way to begin the day. Well, except that I did get to drive to work in my warm car. That was a bonus. But still, Ride On, you owe me $6.75.

I was having a good day. Plans with a friend fell through, which sucked, but I managed to finish the work I had brought home and update my photo album. (Yes, I still have physical photo albums.) I watched some tv, I played some Wii; I was having a good day, following a good weekend. I was in a cheery frame of mind.

And then night fell. And I went from being like, “I have so many things to keep me occupied!” to “Everything’s so boring.” Sunday Night Syndrome had struck. Belatedly, of course, but that’s what happens on 3-day weekends.

Sunday nights are the worst. You go from the joy and freedom of the weekend to contemplating the return to work. And I like my job. I just prefer sitting around at home, apparently. It comes from school days, when Sunday nights were the time you had to sit down and do your homework. It’s not really an issue now, but that weight remains. It was much worse when I was younger; I remember going to a Broadway show and getting sad because the next day was Sunday, and then I’d have to go to school. Of course, this was a couple months into a new school after we moved, but that same sort of feeling has stuck with me.

So I’m trying to combat it by treating tonight like a normal Monday night. I’m going to go to the gym and then grab dinner and watch How I Met Your Mother and The Big Bang Theory. The only difference will be that I’m more well-rested than a typical Monday evening. Ah, television. Thank you for having new shows tonight; it helps.

I’ve been amused reading the latest entries on Pamie’s blog. She’s been posting letters she wrote when she was 15 to boys she liked/dated. (It seems like there may have been a relationship, though not the undying love the 15-year-old Pamie believed it to be.) It reminds me of when Wing posted chapters from the novel she wrote as a teenager–now available for sale. (It’s pretty darn amusing. I say this as someone who has her own writing from a similar period in life squirreled away somewhere.)

Anyway, in that vein, I pulled out my own old diary, just to see. And oh, good times. For example, this, from when I was 14:

After trudging through the day, I realized something: last night, I gave [Boy] my heart.

This was written the day after a party I went to, in which Boy and I (and a bunch of other people) chatted and he talked about how depressed he was that his friends all had girlfriends but he didn’t. This was, quite possibly, the most I ever talked to this boy, with whom I had one class.

All day (even now) I feel this empty, gnawing feeling where my heart should be. I think about him all the time. Sometimes I take out old yearbooks and just stare at him. I don’t even know what I see in him. All I know is that I stare at him in Geometry all the time,

And I wonder why I did so poorly in that class!

I veg out thinking of him, and picturing him helps me to sleep at night.

Mind you, the next entry, dated two weeks later, starts

I took back my heart. I still have a crush on [Boy], but I took my heart back.

Well, that’s encouraging. And I somehow managed to be WAY less melodramatic about my next crush, with whom I had an actual relationship. Not a romantic relationship, mind you, but we were friends. Actual friends. We talked on the phone. We hung out. I believe he’s now a priest.

But to give you even more of an insight into my mind, we have this:

I might have a crush on [Yet Another Boy]. I’m not sure yet. I hope not; he’s only in 8th grade.

I was in 10th at the time.

But he is taller than me.

There was possibly more to the attraction than that, but I’m not going to swear on it.

In some ways, I wish I were more different from the me of 1993 than I am–looking at my life, I can see myself developing crushes, and it not being THAT different. But the main thing is, I REALIZE that it’s just a crush. Not whatever I thought these infatuations were.

There are times when it’s WAY easier being 31 than 15. Also, you can have ice cream for dinner and nobody cares.

It’s 11:15 on a Friday night and instead of doing something fun, like seeing a movie or playing Super Mario Bros. or watching John Oliver’s stand-up show, I’m working. (Or, you know, taking a break from working.) I have a freelance project that’s due Monday. I’ve had this to work on since December 22. So there I was with a choice: Work on it over the holidays, when I theoretically had more time, or wait until now.

Naturally I waited. I’m a procrastinator at heart, but this was less a case of just putting it off and more making a conscious decision to not worry about it until this week. I had a busy week off–dentist appointment, trip to the Newseum, gathering with friends, cleaning. I wound up with really not much time to sit around and do nothing, and I grabbed at that chance. I spent last Sunday watching a 6-hour documentary about Monty Python, laying on my couch in my pajamas. It was so worth it.

But it is a trade-off. I was asked to take on another project. I could definitely use the money, but I had such an incredibly busy December that I figured my sanity was worth it. I needed some time without work hanging over my head like that. But it’s a hard decision to make, because it really is gratifying getting that check. (The work itself isn’t too bad, either. Generally.)

Similarly, I also need to finish Anna Karenina for my book club on Monday. I have a good 300 pages to go. Plus this project. Plus volunteering both tomorrow AND Sunday. And then I went and got a ticket to see The Fantasticks tomorrow night. A little crazy? Sure. But I want to see it and it closes this weekend. And this way, I have a good 3-hour window in which to read between finishing at Ford’s and heading to Arena. There’s a method to my madness.

But again, having fun tomorrow means focusing tonight. And break’s over.

A lot of times after a vacation, part of me looks forward to going back to work. I enjoy routines. For all that I joke about winning the lottery and quitting my job, I know that even if I didn’t have a job, I would need to find some sort of routine by which to live. So after some time away, on a random schedule, the prospect of heading back to work is usually not a bad one. After all, I like my job, I like my coworkers.

I could go for a longer break now, though. I’ve been off for almost two weeks (since December 23), but I haven’t been home a ton, and don’t feel like I’ve had time to just lounge around and not do anything. I’ve been doing fun things–dinner with friends, going to the Newseum, having an open house and hanging out with people–but I haven’t had enough lounging-around-in-my-pajamas time. And next weekend I have Ford’s and Smithsonian, so it’s not like I have free time then. But hey, at least Martin Luther King Day is coming up…

I’ve spent most of this break preoccupied. I think I’m going to go to the movies tomorrow, maybe check out Up in the Air. While I’d have to get out of my pajamas, it might help me get out of my head a bit.