Sunday, November 21, 2010

Timeless

"I'm taking the bus."
It was May 2010 & I saw him walking my way as I crossed the lawns of the quad.
It was officially my last day as a student at Texas A&M.

He smiled when our eyes met & that was the first thing he said, "I'm taking the bus."
It wasn't planned & it wasn't awkward.

Skywalker* didn't mention every thing that'd happened between us (or better yet, what didn't happen) but was just casual and took my arm in his.
"I just took my last exam," I told him.
"Wow, congrats! So this is your last day as an undergrad! Will you even be coming back on campus besides graduation day?"
I smiled, "No. I guess not. This is it, then."
"So this is your last walk on the A&M campus?"
I nodded.
"Well, I'm glad I get to be the one that walks you."
& everything about that moment was so perfect, I tried not to blush. It seemed like we got to the bus stop too quickly.
"Congrats again. Maybe I'll get to see you before I leave for my internship."
"I hope so." & I hugged him before he got on his bus.

That was Skywalker--he always knew the right thing to do & say & time had a funny way of speeding up whenever I was with him.

When I look back on my time at A&M, I think about him.
I think about sitting across from eachother in the library during finals week and laughing everytime we caught eachother's glance.
I think about the withered pink rose in my memory box; the one he left on my bird bath with a hand-written sonnet when he invited me on our first date.
I think about the nights we hung out watching foreign films & starwars.
& I still remember how it felt everytime I went to Greek events just hoping to see him. Or taking longer walks to my car just to catch a glimpse of him outside of the business school. (Okay, maybe that was creepy.)

Skywalker never missed an opportunity to tell me how beautiful he thought I was, to make me laugh, or even just text me good morning. & to this day, the most arbitrary things remind me of him.
For me, Skywalker will always be blue eyes, grape swisher sweets, bow ties, chivalry, & techno.
& he'll always be timeless.

Sometimes, it baffles me that Skywalker & I didn't work out.
I guess that's the thing about timing: it's pretty much everything.
But oh, what a beautiful time we had. :)

Climbing into my car, I felt my phone go off in my pocket.
It was a text from Skywalker, "I'm really glad I was the one to walk you your last day on campus."
That was Skywalker...classic.

*of course, Skywalker is NOT his real name. I can't just be putting anybody's business on my blog.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

The Time I Got a Divorce

Reader(s), I'd like to think that by the time I can throw a party without someone's gold fish dying, I'll be able to successfully raise children without losing or inadvertently handicapping one. (That gold fish story is one for the ages & one that is forth coming in the near future, but alas, one for another day.)
& fortunately, my kids will have a plethora of knowledge available to them based on all the stupid things I've done. That is right, future fruits of my womb, I've fucked up plenty of times so you don't have to.

That being said, one time I did something incredibly stupid & got a tattoo in a language I can neither write or speak.
& I think it's also worth mentioning that at the time I got this tattoo, I didn't know a single person who spoke/wrote/read the language.

Why did I choose Arabic?
I'm still not 100%. Probably because it's pretty to look at; officially because I was trying to be deep & "remind myself to do what I want because not every one can, especially not women in other countries."

Whatever. I choke back vomit every time I think about how profound I tried to be up until about a year ago when I realized I'm just a puddle.

But anyway. The word was freedom.
Doesn't my tattoo look so cool next to my ultra-ethnic earrings from Earthbound Trading Co.? #sarcasm

Anyway reader(s), you're all smart people, I'm sure. Or at least smart-ish.
You can guess where this is going.

I'll tell you anyway.

For about a week and a half after getting this tattoo, I kept having nightmares and day time anxiety about one day going to an Arab-speaking nation & finding that my tattoo actually said liver or heart disease or fish-monger.
Or was written backwards.
& I was stressed about it. So I went on to google translate & found out two things:
1. My tattoo is not written correctly; &
2. It did not say (and possibly still does not) say freedom.

Worth noting are several sets of facts that led to my infamous tattoo faux pas. First, when I decided on Arabic, I was at my house using my computer which was still relatively new, so it processed the Arabic languange a lot better than oh say, I don't know, a computer built in '98<--which is approximately how old the computer I printed my tattoo off of was.
See, before I got this tattoo, I went to my friend, Flor-Carl's, apartment and proceeded to use google translate on her computer. To compare the different ways of expressing freedom in Arabic, we copy & pasted the words off of google onto her Microsoft Office Word 1997 program.
So instead of the letters being connected like an actual word, what I have behind my right ear are individual letters.
Why didn't I just print off the tattoo at my house where it would have been correct? Don't know. Most likely it's because my printer was out of ink...
The second set of facts relevant to this scenario is that at the time Flor-Carl & I were looking at Arabic words on her computer, I was desperately trying to teach Flor-Carl about Jimi Hendrix & why his music transcends genres & is not just "stoner music" ( I know, at 21 I was just too profound for my own good). I proceeded in doing so by getting her drunk off of $16 tequila & a bottle of Godiva Chocolat Liquer I'd been storing for the winter, admittedly, I got myself drunk in the process.

So there we were, sitting in her dimly-lit room, blaring Jimi Hendrix (while I slurred through the lyrics of  Castles Made of Sand and The Wind Cries Mary) and also spilling cheap tequila and not so cheap liquer all over her carpet, using her very old computer to learn new languages that I would very soon be stamping into the skin behind my ear forever.

Good choices. So many good choices.

The last notable fact pattern is that for some reason, comparing words all at once on the same Word document was not good enough. There was a lot of deleting some words and repasting others. With neither of us speaking Arabic, no one noticed when a character got deleted off of the end of the word I ultimately chose.
That one letter difference changed "freedom" to "divorce."
And so for about three weeks, I walked around with "divorce" behind my ear.

Luckily for me, it was the character at the end of the word & there *just enough* room behind my ear to add it on when the artist who did my tattoo came back into town. He called it a "touch up" & didn't make me pay for it, but I still tipped him out $20.
To this day, every time someone asks to see the tattoo behind my ear, I still have to lift up the bottom of my lobe to show it in its entirety--that's how close I came to having a completely arbitrary word right by my face forever.
& that's my story.

About a month later, I took this "Women in History" course at  A&M just trying to get through some electives so I could graduate on time. As it were, the T.A. in that course was dissertating about the rights of women in the U.A.E. & asked me why I chose to get freedom behind my ear & why Arabic.
So I feel better.

But the T.A. was also Latino so there's still a very great potential risk that my tattoo is just a bunch of pretty Arabic scribble scrabble.
Either way, the way I look at it, that tattoo is just classic me. It's wholly indicative of my spontaneous spirit and propensity for making errors.
In fact, it would probably be more representative of me if it were  just scribble scrabble.

Friday, November 12, 2010

I guess you had to be there.

This is essentially the same post as "Whoa" but better because it comes with monotone cartoon gangsters.
Why are Nini & I black men standing in an alley talking about sperm?
I think it's just part of the vast majesty that is our universe.


I made this movie at Xtranormal; it was super easy & fun!!!

& in case the embedded link is acting crazy, you can watch it here!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Cutting Back on Expectations

Reader(s), before I jump into this one, I'd like to open with my infamous signature start: an apology for not being here in awhile. As it were, law school is really hard so I've got a lot less time for stuff.
That last statement, I feel, is a great way to get into tonight's post.

Maybe it's not an expectation, per se, but the way I've lived the better part of these 23 years is just winging it; it's pretty safe to say that most of what I do is just go with the flow--I let things happen & deal with the outcome in the same way.
Until now; law school does not fuck around. You can't go with the flow without drowning.
& in that respect, my expectations have changed--my expectations that I'd always be good at school without applying myself, my expectations to keep just floating through existence, and my expectations that Shakespeare would always have testicles.

Shakespeare's balls have like nothing to do with anything that was going on up there but I wasn't really sure how I was going to tie it all in.

So anyway...yes, Shakespeare's balls.
Before Shakespeare and I moved into an apartment, we never really had a problem. He knew our old house in College Station and never peed in it because it was he knew we lived there. After 3 months in our apartment, I'm not sure that Shakespeare realizes we are going to be here indefinitely...or at least for the next three years. What I'm getting at is he marks his territory Everywhere and although I've been fighting having to get him neutered, I'm also tired of scrubbing urine out of the carpet.

As a matter of fact, I've been so stressed out about Shakespeare's bad habits that I didn't take him with me when I went to see Mr. Flintstone this past weekend.
And speaking of expectations, Mr. Flintstone and I haven't fought in a really long time and I unrealistically expected (or hoped) to ride this good streak out forever.
But that's the thing about expectations.

We fought. And it's reasonably safe to say neither of us had ever been that angry with eachother.
I won't name the proximate cause of our argument (I'm not particularly in the mood to immortalize our worst moment online only to relive it every time I see this post) but it was big.
I actually stormed out for a whole 20 minutes. haha
And even though we patched things up before I left Monday morning, I couldn't stop thinking about the whole thing and wondering if I'd ever really move past it or whether, like every thing else in my life, I'd just indifferently let it slide by.
Monday at school, I talked to a lot of my friends and the one thing I heard the most was, "If you want to be with [Mr. Flintstone] you've got to learn to let some things go." & usually, the women followed up with, "Trust me, I've had to overlook a lot to be with (fill in boyfriend's name)."

Still thinking about it this morning, I realized that our argument was two people equally upset. It dawned on me at that moment that I might not be the only one letting things go--Mr. Flintstone has to overlook my behavior, as well.
And both of us have to deal with the fact that our expectations for our relationship are going to change as we learn more about each other. That's what happens.

But maybe that's what loving someone is about; learning, adapting, moving forward, and letting go of the things that are slowing you down.

In Shakespeare's case, his balls are what's slowing him down. (Possibly literally since he only weighs 5 pounds it's likely he'll be a lot lighter without them.)
& hopefully he's able to adapt and move forward.