Waiting for Good

I guess you're all growed up when funny is just a bad word substituting for ironic. Or wry. Or whatever. They all point the same wicked finger in the same general, silly direction. My mind feels like I stood my body upside down and willed myself to think straight. Sounds like a potentially illuminating yoga pose, but not really.

Here come the holidays, the flood. I have grandiose plans for realizing the glorious mundane. Will it happen? Is it my destiny this season to be happy and sentimental? I certainly fucking hope so. Food will be prepared in my house, my bathroom will be scrubbed in preparation for guests. And me, well I'll stand in the kitchen doorway like a goofy sentinel with bad posture, awaiting my friends and family with spatula in-hand. They'll all say that they're happy to see me, with or without an apron on, and I will know that it is the truth. Follow your bliss, however unorthodox.

Trippin' the Light Fantastick

I am not into most of the stupid relationship crap that gets published, but it would be untrue to say that the subject of human male-female relations doesn't start me up sometimes. Especially when it concerns me directly.

Take a situation I found myself in yesterday evening. A gentleman (he's not particularly gentleman-like, so I'll use this term veeery loosely. But he is nice--to me. He's discouraged me from vouching for him with anyone else) who I have spent some recent time getting to know socially, asked me to take the Briggs-Meyer personality test. I usually avoid that sort of thing, preferring to grow my self-knowledge using other means. Plus, I didn't think we were quite there, yet, but okay, I did it. What the hell. I was in a rush and it seemed like a decent way to maintain my m.o. of being late to everything.

Afterwards, I boldly e-mailed the results to aforementioned man, returned my trigger finger to its holster, and blithely went off to see...aforementioned person. Let's call him Tree from now on. Mostly because it's shorter than "aforementioned man," but also because I like trees and they seem to like me back well enough, and that is pretty similar to the situation I now find myself in with Tree.

So Tree and I hang out for about fifteen minutes before he brings up the test results. He's like, "Soooooo.....you're an EOMF (or something like that)." He had to explain what in God's name he was talking about because, like I said, I normally dodge this type of shit. Um, note here: I give propers to the field of psychology. It's the personality test that I have a problem with. Even though I've never had an on-the-couch relationship with a shrink, I value the idea of a talking cure over the self-serve method of psychoanalysis. Back to the story. Earlier in the evening, Tree had told me that he thought we'd come out with the same test results. Turns out we didn't. For me, that was pretty much the end of it. Still, I got the sense that Tree was nonplussed by our differences--differences according to the test, that is.

Results be damned, Tree and I had spent the evening playing "I'll show you mine if..." games. Always a barrel of laughs, those games. It seems as though, in the end, that physicality always wins.