Episode 58: Reflections of the Dance Floor

No particular event...rather I've lived this multiple times. 

Even if I close my eyes I still see all the bright lights and flashing colors.  My whole body is absorbed into the pulsing rhythm but for a few seconds I'm reliant on sensation. 

Humans don't have the senses some animals do, cats for example, but I can feel the people around me.  The sweat, body heat, and the movement of the air as people move closer, winding together and splitting apart.  There's a girl with her back to me just a few inches away, her hair brushes me as she turns. Her gentle touch on my arm forces my eyes open and my head whips around. 

Eye contact. It's rare. Generally I'm looking distractedly beyond my partner or at a body rather than a face. There's a need to follow physical cues that eyes just won't give.  Sometimes, with a good partner who is clear, or who one knows well—one can stare up into their eyes and let things proceed as they will.  Usually though, I have to make sure my shoes aren't getting stomped on. 

But now, my eyes lock with this stranger and register the call for help. It's a subtle cue, for all it is obvious to me. Her eyes widen and her head jerks infinitesimally towards the man behind her. A sardonic smile flits briefly across my face as I notice the overeager aggression in his dancing. 

There's no time for a verbal or physical cue to the other people near me--including the man I'm ostensibly dancing with—in times like this it's intervene first, answer questions later. He's got an arm around her waist and while she's following him, it won't take much to break his lead. Time for me to move in.

I grab her arm, pulling her forward and right up against me.  She's eager to follow, even to a strange girl several inches shorter than she is and no definitive protection from the creep she's getting away from. We're both banking on the potential that guys like to watch women dance together but not indefinitely. Immediately we turn so our sides face her former dance partner—he's now faced with two shoulders that aren't attached to the same body.  And those shoulders have arms and long, fast moving, well manicured nails.  This is a little harder to grind to than a single front or back.

Still moving quickly to try and prevent any recurrence of the pairing, I throw my own head in his direction, allowing my hair to snap out.  It's a cheap trick but people tend to stay out of the way of long ponytails flying and it gives me a second to find the shirt of my most recent partner.  Ah, there—vision blurs up to make eye contact even as I'm already reaching for him. 

It's the best that can be hoped for—he's not oblivious to what I've just done and why and realizes he was not the issue. Having comprehended all of that, it's not hard to insert him in between us, even as we continue a circular dance step. 

Now my back is to the creep and I'm full flush against my former partner, looking over his shoulder to the other girl.  She and I effectively sandwich my partner for a few seconds and then –then she's three feet away, headed for the bar and a drink.

My partner hasn't let go of me and I won't move away from him—which is good because the other guy is now in search of a new target.  But I will close my eyes and listen to the music, now twenty-five seconds further into the song. 

Episode 57: Strike a Pose

I'm working with a new photographer. Well, he's not new, but working with him is for me.

It had been a couple of years since I'd done anything like a formal shoot and to describe myself as nervous would be to put it mildly. I didn't expect it to go badly--I photograph well and I take direction--but would it be what he wanted, would we be able to get it to work?

I ended up first in the dress I wore for my senior recital, the floor length silver number that makes only a token spaghetti string of elastic towards covering my back. It's a different version of sexy--one that doesn't call for too much bosom or legs. Which was the near opposite of the other outfit for the shoot. Do you remember that night you and I went out in the City with some of the girlz and ended up controlling a not-very-big-dance floor for a few hours? The night I'd figured out that I could do the entire dance break from Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied." while in 4" heels? I'd been wearing a black tunic style shirt and jeans. Rather than going tunic-top, we opted to pull the hemline down a little more and skip the pants for the shoot--in essence what I see most girls at clubs wearing these days. Also, I was wearing the shoes from your wedding. My make up was simple, scrounged from my different bathroom drawers and shoved together at the last minute. Once I have a day or two that doesn't involve running hither and yon, the goal is to get over to Sephora and get a new foundation and some blush. I don't wear either much--preferring a sheer creme to powder, a bit of eyeliner and eye shadow and calling it a day.

The worst of it was that my hair had decided it wasn't cooperating. I'd done everything I knew how to get it to work with me, but the latest reformulation of Pantene* has been turning my hair slowly to straw and that night it had just given up the ghost. We left it pinned up in a bun, only eventually pulling it to a pony tail that looks a lot better in pictures that I felt it looked in real life. I've switched to Aussie for now and it's already looking much better. 

And for three hours we worked. Apparently he took over 500 pictures, which surprised me. I had estimated more in the 200-300 range. It doesn't seem like a particularly tiring task. Stand, turn, smile, look up, look down, cheat left, turn your head, look at the camera, pull your right shoulder--no, sorry,--your left shoulder, tighten your back. It was the end of an already long day though and by the time we finished, I was wiped.

Last night I finally got to see the first round cut and discuss a few things. He somewhat prefers the left side of my face, though he's not totally locked in on that statement. There were a few pictures that really popped and a few that I hope never see the light of anything other than his computer screen. We quibbled over whether or not seeing the thigh line on hosiery was sexy.

You could see the exhaustion in my face in some of the pictures. Not many, but occasionally when I wasn't posing or attempting to infuse my face with any particular emotion, tired took over and my eyes went bleak. Those shots bothered me--though they're probably some of the most realistic. It is hard to not want to look one's best before the lens and best rarely equals blank exhaustion.

And, by the time we'd finished chatting, we'd set up two more shoots. So I think we can say this has been successful. Now if we can just find a time to shoot when I don't have to get up the next day...

*So, part of moving back to a major city means that when I start griping about things like my shampoo, a friend of mine will chirp up and say that they know someone in that lab. We found out that there were a lot of unnecessary chemicals in Pantene and they've actually stripped the product down. Unfortunately though, this makes it useless to me. 14ish years of loyalty--down the drain.

Episode 56: A Matter of Time

I unsuccessfully attempted to shake loose one of the boys I have been dating. I made the mistake of telling him the truth: it's a time issue.

As we've chatted about, I have three pressing time sucks in my life at present:

Work (including freelance)
Friends
Dating

Work is not really optional. And for the for most part I don't resent the time it takes.  There will be times that I will, but for right now it's still a lot of learning, getting up to speed and balancing what I will and won't take home. My freelance work hasn't been too crazy for the past few months, for which I'm very grateful. That too is going to change in a couple of months pending a client's anticipated funding. I'm excited and hoping to put a big dent in the student loans and save up for a newer car. Also, I just heard that one of my clients that I've been begging to migrate has started training on their new system. I'm so happy for them--it's definitely time, even if it means I lose them as a client.

Friends are not something I'm willing to give up. I spent too long isolated, too far from all of you. Granted, you're still a bit of a plane ride, but now it's two and a half hours. Not an eight hour day of transit. In theory I could leave after work on Friday, catch the last flight and be there in time to still go out in the city. My friends are smart interesting people. We wouldn't be friends at this late of date if we weren't. So I want to spend time with them. I want to arrange gatherings of them and see what think tank type things spill out of us. 

And then there is dating. Culturally I'm supposed to be doing it. I don't have anything particularly against it. But it takes time.

I know I probably went about it the wrong way, flinging myself back into the dating scene and spreading myself a little too thin over the month of January. If it meant that my SAD was under control, I was all for it. But now I find myself resenting the time it takes. These are not friends with whom I can meet for an hour and a cup of coffee and move on to the next thing. These are not people willing to wander around Home Depot with me for hours as I discuss the meaning of life and which entryway carpeting I want and how choosing a particular shade of brown will influence everything in my life and apartment. 

Dating means running home from work, changing clothes, reapplying makeup, and abandoning my cat for four hours of awkward conversation. Dating is allowing a man to talk about himself for several hours and then finding out that he thinks you two have bonded because you're acting as his own personal therapist for the evening. Dating is realizing that during that goodnight kiss, you were planning a grocery list for next week and wondering if you'll be absolutely useless at work the next day if you go to the 24 hr laundromat as soon as you get home.

And so comes the resentment of realizing that I've given up a quiet evening that I really needed to sit in a crowded restaurant wondering if he's really that oblivious.

On a late phone chat with a friend we talked about what amount of time I was willing to put into things and the obvious split. I am perfectly happy to drop my to do lists in the interest of a late night drink, an unexpected dinner invitation, a crisis etc. but that I have trouble allocating time for dating. Maybe it's the guys I've met so far? Maybe it's just me?

However, in the interest of sanity and figuring out how not to resent the time and effort, I will pull back.  I'm sure there are decent guys out there with whom I might bond but so far I haven't found one where an invitation for something beyond the first date hasn't sparked a twinge of resignation. One should not go into a second date because of obligation and with a garnish of slight frustration. Such is to say I am entirely abandoning dating, but the selectivity parameters are getting more restrictive.

Episode 55: In Which There is Hair Drama....

They've changed Pantene and I'm not happy about it. 

I knew they were redoing the formula again. I'd seen some television ads and they'd changed the labels on the bottles for the umpteenth time since I began. I don't believe in running out of shampoo and conditioner ever though, so I had a pretty decent sized stash of "old formula" that I was using up prior to the move.

Only, now I've run out and pulled out the new bottle of conditioner. Okay, I didn't actually run out, but I switched to the stock of new formula. Running out would have just meant a very late night run up to the 24 hour Walgreens.  Either way, the result would have been the same.

I lathered, I rinsed, I reached for the conditioner. I squeezed the bottle and immediately I noticed something.

It smelled wrong.

I've been using Pantene since I was a junior in high school and figured out that it's conditioners made my waist length hair manageable. Over college, grad school, and beyond, I've found many many other women often with shoulder-length or longer hair who use Pantene. It's a sisterhood of sorts, and it was one you could identify by scent. I have, on occasion, walked past a girl and been able to tell that she used Pantene. When you smell it every day for years, it's a familiar combination of chemically scents. To me, it was one of the "clean" scents in my olfactory vocabulary.

Now...it smells sweeter. As though they decided that a shampoo and conditioner that many women use couldn't just smell clean but also had to have a sugary overtone to match with all of other super-sugary bath products that are thrown at us. I don't mind a sugar scrub or a sweeter body wash, but leave my shampoo out of it!!

Worst of all, I think the formula change might not be working with my hair. I'm not sure if it's just a winter and wind issue or a shampoo and conditioner issue. I  might have to test a bottle of something else.

Call you from the shampoo aisle for suggestions...

Episode 54: Your Words are My Words

I'm nearly relocated. And it's been forever. Sorry. :)

Isn't it interesting how other people's specific words creep into your vocabulary? I listen to myself and hear not only the books I've read but very specific words and phrases that just...aren't mine.  It makes me wonder what other people have picked up from me.

From the Blonde: Dude. Everything and everyone became a dude.

From you: "Here's the Thing, the thing is this...."  And here is how we began most of our explanatory sentences for two or three years....possibly eight or ten. 

From E: "Seriously?" It was her catch-all on her podcast. It was a statement, a question, and admonition, a command. And I listened to enough of her episodes that it became mine as well.

From M: "Thank you so much." I think it's a Georgia thing. One doesn't just say thank you, one must pull out the whole phrase. And surprisingly I've found it pretty effective here in the colder northern regions. 

I'll have to think what else has sneaked in when I wasn't listening.  From whom have you borrowed?

Episode 53: You're Not Doing It Correctly

It's Labor Day Monday and I've spent most of the last three days snoring, cat snuggling, or somewhere in the depths of a book.  As usual, great plans were made for the weekend and while some things got done, others have not--at least not as yet. I'll be up til wee hours tonight, I always flip back to nocturnal at times like this and there are things I still want to do.

Over the past week I've watched as my professional colleagues have tackled, yet again, the illusion of job availability being promoted in various places, the reality of job cuts, the frustration from lack of clarity of what constitutes professional work, arguments of elitism, and other things that seem to cycle through our discussions on a regular basis. There's a lot of I-didn't-sign-up-for-this and get-over-yourself and polite name calling going on. I've mostly stayed out of the fray, partially to keep from throwing another keg of gasoline on the fire and partially because I'd like to see what other answers come out before I try and formulate something too haphazard.

Ultimately I keep hearing the refrain "If Ur not XYZ, Ur Doin' It Wrong." It's everywhere in my profession. This could be in reference to the fact that I'm not regularly getting recruited from my current position, that I'm not getting 100% return on applications sent out, I'm not getting calls from professional publishers every week, not leading all the top presentations...

It spills over into personal life, crafts and hobbies too. If I'm not dating three men at once or in a long term serious relationship with a man I well believe could be "the one," if I'm not churning out excessive amounts of sweaters and lace weekly, not spinning and crocheting and weaving in addition to my knitting obsession, if I'm not blogging every single event of my week and turning out a best selling memoir on moving from two major cities to a town of 50,000 and what it's like to feel utterly friendless in the depths of winter isolation.

We're so focused on the negative, it's exhausting. So ready to cut each other down, render efforts wrong or perceive lack of rockstardom as laziness. If only, everything seems to suggest, if only we would put ourselves out there a little more, submit three more applications, one more article idea, take on six more tasks.  Then! Then we would be worthy of being called excellent, being called a rock star, one of the worthy.  I haven't figured out what magic level one hits to reach that, but then, I've never been much of one for video games.

I suppose I'm just suffering from whiplash from the condescension and struggling to keep up. Attempting to put myself out there in the  most positive of ways and having just enough success that I seem to be getting regularly smacked with the why-aren't-you-doing-abc stick. 

No particular ending to this...just getting the stream of conscious out and wondering if perhaps by writing it down, I'll find a path out. In the interim, I've a to do list to tackle.

Back to the grind. 

Episode 52: I Could Do This Better in Heels

One of my well known shoe rules is that I have to be able to run in them. That includes the 4" heels because I'm going to have to run to keep up with you or one of the other 6'+ men in my life or make a mad dash for a train, which inevitably involves at least one flight of stairs. There's method in the ankle-strap madness.


Two days ago I sucked up my various favorite excuses, pulled on sneakers, yoga pants, and a top designated for exercise and actually hit the bike path/walking trail behind my house with the intention of starting Couch to 5K. 

Twenty minutes, combination of walking and running. I let me new Fuze choose music based on the genre designation of "Pop" and headed down the trail.

Explain this to me. That trail is usually empty when I head out with a podcast for a walk. I can go all the way to the Mexican restaurant at the end and back and see a half dozen people total. Why on earth were there 4,000,000 people on the trail then when I went out to alternate between walking and running? 

Anyway, while I excel at the 4" heel, wearing a skirt, half tipsy mad dash for the train, actually jogging in sneakers while trying to keep my headphones in--seriously I must have the wrong fit on those things--was less than incredible. But I did it.  About 11 minutes down the trail (3.5 ish songs) I turned back. I probably didn't have enough jogging in my ratio of walk to jog for Ct5K but I jogged. 

Then I came home and lay down on the floor with my feet over my head and griped at the cat about the back of my legs hurting. I need to do more yoga.  I like the 20 minutes and done then though.

Now then, I have to do it again today.  Wish me luck and fewer people on the walking trail.