I'm not ready.

So I'm not as confident about approaching the object of my interest as I thought I was. It's personal. It's okay. I was driving today, or yesterday, and I realized the only standards I could think of were he shouldn't do drugs or hit me. Wow. I have more, I remember my co-worker & I built a large list of standards. Two white boards full of standards. See?

and

 

In case you can't see, I'll spell it out for you, as best I can. These are deal breakers, unless otherwise noted as a "must have":

1. Owns a cowboy hat.
2. Wears a hat during meals.
3. Grammer similar to the cast of "Axeman" or "American Loggers" or any similar show. *Deadliest Catch excluded.
4. A lisp.
5. Resemblance to a star of a sci-fi flick. I'm told this character "Jabba the Hut" isn't attractive.
6. Back Hair.
7. Kisses men.
8. Wears overalls.
9. Facial or below the belt piercings.
10. Owns a confederate flag.
11. LARPGer
12. Owns/wears anything from "Ed Hardy" or screen printed with an eagle/Native American theme/wilderness/bears/wolves.
13. Considers self to be a country/western musician or has the potential to "make it big"
14. Has hair longer than mine, wears a ponytail or braids.
15. Texts with "LOL" frequently.
16. Thinks it's his God given right to procreate, a lot, because he has a superior lineage.
17. Thinks the LDS church might be on to something.
18. Doesn't believe evolution is possible, asks to see the live dinosaurs in museums.
19. Has more tattoos & piercings than IQ points.
20. He needs to understand that Vanilla Ice is a Douche & Queen will forever rock, and be able to name the lead singer of Queen
21. Has a mullet.
22. FuManchu. Nuff said.
23. Can't spend his weekends in the bed of a pick-up hanging out with teenagers at Holland State Park.
24. Must know the difference between their/there/they're. (They're walking their dogs over there.)

 

So obviously, my standards aren't always high, reasonable, or non-negotiable. Sometimes it's just good to remind myself I have them.

 

I am

worth it.
ready for adventure.
resilient.
eventually going to build up the nerve to see if he is free for a drink or a coffee some evening.
going to be okay if he says no.

Go Back, then Return

It's 2003 and I'm going to walk across a stage at the Breslin Center on the campus of Michigan State University in a few months. I'm scared shitless. My closest friend walks with me for hours, in the dark and lets me talk. I make up stories about what life would be, if I could go back in time 4 years and start college all over again:

I would be a Studio Art major. A real possibility

I would be anorexic. Bulimic is more likely. Because I forget to eat on a regular schedule. It's something I still struggle with. Binge eat/work/sleep/drink/exercise, they are all part of my life, unfortunately. I'm still trying to grow up.

I'd be a slut. A far fetched possibility.

I would have been broke all the time, spending money on art supplies and beer. True. I think I dodged some bigger bullets like pot and prescription pain killers and who knows what by being an uptight Lyman Briggs student.

I would be in a sorority. Not likely. I would still probably move into a co-op house, probably my sophomore year instead of my senior year.

It helped. I don't know why, and I never really expected it to mean anything. I proceeded to go through the graduation ceremony, work and live at home that summer, then finished my classwork that fall with an internship in Montana. 

From there I substitute taught, worked for the Vermont Youth Conservation Corps, substitute taught some more, took a job zoo keeping in Oregon, went through a bit of purgatory with that, took a job that had me working in Colorado, and eventually was back in Oregon, working and taking studio art classes at the local community college.

2009 had me living in a one room cabin working at a construction camp.  I was painting and wandering and had good friends near me, my heart was resting. It had been battered and confused in the past 6 years. I didn't know I was resting at the time, but looking back, I'm thankful for the friends who were supportive through that phase.

Here's the part where I return to now.

I had a bit of clarity today.  I'm never going to be an 18 year old studio art major. In 1999 I would have been overwhelmed and quit.  Or in 2003 I would have become a pretentious bitch who thought she knew it all and would have not tried for much beyond monetary success. I think I needed to travel an unorthodox path to reach this point, where I'm finally finding clarity, where I'm starting to realize what I want to devote my life to.  And right now, this is what I think:

 I'm not the only one who doesn't fit the mold.  There are others who can learn from my experience.  I don't need to focus on sharing what I did and learned.  I should and can focus on encouraging others to cut their own path.  I can facilitate and encourage others to make their own way. 

This doesn't mean the fuse to my rocket was a dud, and I'm done with everything but making others dreams come true.  Today I am an artist.  I know how to do things.  I do things my own way because in many cases I don't know any other way.  I can show people how I do things. Then turn them loose to do their own thing.  Whatever they want to do and however they want to do it.

There are a variety of ways I can do this. The first is I'm going to keep creating what I feel compelled to.  I'm going to take it the extra step, and document as many projects from start to completion as possible, a completely unnecessary and narcissistic step, with the hope someone is inspired to try it themselves. I'm going to post this on my Tumblr page.

The second way I'm thinking about is with the Boys & Girls Club.  This week, I'm going to see what kind of connection & role I can have there.

Third is by spotlighting other artists, dead and alive, who create work I admire.  Once again on my Tumblr page.

I have an inkling what the fourth step should be, but I'm not there in my head yet, and I'm making more of a commitment just by writing this than I'm comfortable with.

The funny thing is, when I left Oregon, I needed to tell people I was leaving for a reason. So I told them I had a long term goal of opening my own studio where people, young people specifically, could have an opportunity to be artists, without taking the usual path.  People for who the typical or privileged opportunities were not afforded them. People like me.  It's funny, because I'm taking steps towards this goal 5 years sooner than I thought I would be.

The Pits

Am I allowed to have a crush at this age? On a younger man? Simply because he's cute and I like what he does for a living? It's more difficult than if he worked at a coffeeshop, or the smae place I do, because don't have a reason to bump into him everyday, or even once a week. Oh I'm a goofball, and he's adorable. He graduated with my sister, 4 years after I did. Ouch.

The Most Interesting Man in the World

I am "the friend." Admit it, you have one, a friend of the opposite sex that you swear there is nothing wrong with, you don't know why they're single, but they're not right for you.  The friend you turn to with problems, the date for functions you don't want to show up at alone.  The date for weekend nights you don't want the pressure of maintaining an image for a potential love interest. I am that "friend."

Over the past weeks I've had two male friends making regular withdrawals from the "friend" bank.  The friend bank is where I listen, give feedback, or *gag* advice.  About relationships. Which is totally absurd, because I'm not in a relationship. I have a horrible track record with relationships. My past relationships have been terrible. One sided or abusive or hopeless. In return I occasionally get a "date" out of it, or an ear when I go bat-shit crazy and ask for advice.

So this is my advice:
Be the most interesting (wo)man in the world.
Drink good beer.
Learn about wines.
Buy a lottery ticket, scheme about how you would spend the winnings, and work towards acheiving that without the lottery winnings.
Quit fretting & dwelling on what you can't have, or what might go wrong.
Focus on enjoying life. 
Enjoy your time in the relationship, or on creating new ones.
Go on a road trip.
Develop a skill. Learn to prepare 7 fabulous meals.
Learn to cook 7 easy meals.
Learn to dance well.
Create something.
Go back to school.
Do something that makes you a better person.
Focus on strengthening your faith/personal beliefs.
Visit museums and art galleries. Read books. 
Do anything that will take your mind off of what you cannot control. 
Quit being a prick/bitch.
Volunteer.
Call your parents.
Plan a day with your siblings.
Go to the gym or the pool.
Become proficient at yoga or pilates or a martial art.
Take a class.
Go hiking.
Create a personal guide of the 'best of" so you never sit around asking "what should we do?"
Try new things. Like sushi.
Become the kind of person your partner wants to be with.
Become the kind of person people want to be around.

That is my advice. Because I don't revel in your misery. I want you to be happy. Misery may love company, but this company doesn't love misery.

Confession:

I'm narcissistic to the core. I care about what I want to be doing, not about answering your phone call where you tell me I'm a good friend, and ask how I'm doing then interrupt to tell me how your relationship is going and rehash all the emotional turmoil you create for yourself (which is all bogus). 

Here's how it is. Believe it or not, my time is valuable.  I know I appear to be a laid back unreliable bum incapable of watching after small children or turning off the coffee pot but *shh* that is just an act so I don't have to take on responsibilities I don't give a shit about. 

I do care about you, and your well being. If you have an honest to goodness problem, holla. I will sit on the phone with you and listen for hours regardless of the time of day.  I will not offer advice or feed you a cliche. I will rephrase what you have told me, will offer feedback when asked, but advice comes only upon specific request.

I will walk miles beside you.  I will listen.

But after the 50th phone call where you babble the same inane shit that you create, when I know you're going to call you cousin or the next friend when we hang up, I draw the line. At this point I only answer the phone if it's been a month since your last call and your facebook posts don't show evidence of psychosis.

Because (this is where I give unwanted feedback) YOU'RE NOT DEALING WITH THE ISSUE. Real or a manifestation of a heart without an center of gravity, talking about the issue is not going to solve the issue. Unless you plan to take action and man up, or better yet, woman up, and deal with it, you're wasting my time. 

I've got shit to do.  I have a life list that is growing by the week, and I have projects that want my time, my attention. Those 8 hours a day I spend earning a paycheck? I'm brainstorming.  I have a world to conquer, a universe to create, potential to exploit.

So, if you need an ear, I'm here. But respect me enough to not waste my fucking time.