yesterday was my birthday.
it was awesome.
i have more to say about that. but not just right now.
i have the best friends.
and i am super lucky to have them.
if you have friends, and i hope you do…let them know they’re appreciated.
seriously. do it. you may not get another chance. because tomorrow never knows.
I try very hard to live my life with no regrets. I’m happy to say that I have largely succeeded.
However.
When I was 6, I started taking guitar lessons. I still remember begging my parents to make that happen. I went through several guitar instructors, entered some competitions (which I won) until the ripe old age of 10, at which point I told my parents I was done, for reasons I won’t go into right now. I’ve never really regretted my decision, since I have worked hard to continue to have music play a large role in my life.
There was one teacher in particular who to this day, I will never forget. He lived in a grand house with sweeping staircases, and we would have lessons in his library. His library was an actual room with BOOKS in it. He was very sweet and kind, and encouraged me to branch out into other musical pursuits, such as the violin and hawaiian style or slide guitar. I thought he was the best thing ever. My parents let me practice violin for a week, at which point my violin career ended.
So the other night, it suddenly occurred to me that I wish I had insisted to my parents that I wanted to continue branching out my musical training to other instruments like the violin. And I also wish my guitar teacher who encouraged that hadn’t died of a stroke so soon after I began training with him. I think my life would be very different now had he lived longer.
I think I’ll dust off my saxaphone.
Autumn sunshine and autumn leaves conspire to wrap my vision in blazing colors, filling the day with warmth like that of a roaring fire, a cozy wool scarf, a creamy mug of hot cocoa. As if to say yes, the heat of summer is leaving, but there is warmth in winter too. And oh by the way, here is summer’s Grand Finale! I pronounce my requisite oohs and aahs, and shop for pretty big mugs, and contemplate knitting with alpaca.
Welcome, autumn.
I love Portland a heck of a lot. As such, I try really hard to be a good Portlander. Using some highly scientific analysis (counting the number of tattooed folk in the wait line outside Pine State Biscuits on a Saturday morning) I have determined that Portland has the highest ratio of tattooed people per capita. And since I have not gotten a bona fide tattoo in nearly 17 years, I figured I was GREATLY overdue. So I called up my pal @camikaos, who is something of an expert on the local tattoo talent, for an artist recommendation. She sent me to Jesse at BlackBird Tattoo on Killingsworth.
Now, I’m not one to get just any tattoo. My tattoos must have meaning. Notice how I bolded that. Because it’s important. So after much deliberation, I got a sun on one arm and a moon on the other. The sun goes on the right arm, the positive side, the action side. The moon goes on the left, the negative side, the side of restraint. These are somewhat Kabbalistic attributes. Therefore, the words, in Hebrew, the language of Kabbalah: tshuka, passion, on the sun. Izun, balance, on the moon.
The final product:
izun:balance
tshuka:passion
Two of the most important things to have in your life. Without passion, life is empty. Without balance, life is chaos.
Dating sucks.
No really, it does. I know, I’ve been doing it a little over two years now.
It. Sucks. Ass.
Oh sure, you get to meet cool people. Sure, there’s the prospect of that exciting first kiss, the quickening of breath, hearts racing and all that. It still sucks, and I just don’t quite know why, or why I continue to do it. I certainly don’t remember it being like this the last time I was single. True, that was about 8 years ago, but still. Maybe its the particular age group I’m dealing with now. Maybe all the sane, stable, un-fucked up ones are taken. Maybe I have old-fashioned ideas about dating. Maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places. Maybe “things are just done differently now”. Whatever the case may be, I’m not Livin’ La Vida Loca, that’s for damn sure. Dating seems to boil down to one thing: playing head games.
That is the one game that I really REALLY hate with a boiling passion am not fond of.
But what the hell. Sign me up for that emotional roller coaster ride! Yes, I ENJOY using my heart as a metal ball in the Dating Pinball machine. If you’re not jaded and disillusioned, then you’re doin it wrong! Hello, MultiBall!
Meh. Meh, I say.
A friend of mine told me that relationships are overrated. That if hers ended, she’d just date and be single and happy for the rest of her life. She also told me she’s heard of lots of couples splitting up recently.
Well for her, and all the people thinking the grass is greener on the single side, here’s what I’ve learned after two years. A few tips, you might say. Or words of warning. Take them how you will.
But seriously, internets. Dating just seems to bring out the ugly side of people, myself included. I can’t tell you how many people have reached out to me on the various dating sites, and I take one look at the picture and delete the message with a shudder. That makes me feel shallow and cruel – but I know what I’m looking for, and they have not met my standards. I’m sure I’d like those people. I bet we’d be great friends. I’m sure I have a lot I could learn from them; I believe that of most anyone. But I don’t claim to be looking for friendship on these sites. My mission is clear and focused. Find people I’d like to date, and date them. If we click a little, have fun. If we click a lot, explore that potential.
Even more worrisome is that this casual hookup society I find myself in has truly shaken my faith in love. I view it as a force , as a meta-force if you will; most forces can be described in terms of love or attraction. I have faith in its inevitability, its power, its universal application. But the fact that my experiences in the past two years are casting shreds of doubt in that faith shakes me down to my very core. It scares me more than anything I’ve ever been scared of. It threatens my foundations.
So think again before you throw in your towel and decide to become a hunter again . It is not for the faint or the weak. As another friend of mine told me, encouraging me to just spend more time with my friends instead: “Dating sucks! We’re way more fun!”
“But Morgan!” you say. “This post was called ‘In Defense of Dating’! Not ‘Dating Sucks’!”
Yes, well. I know, I sound a bit jaded and bitter. I’m just doing a bit of dredging. Believe me, I still hold out hope, internets. I’m a very hopeful type. Perhaps one of you can convince me that there’s value in this twisted dance? That there are people who don’t view relationships as a sport, to be won at any cost?
Here’s hopin’.
Thanks to my good friend Aaron, who brought his prodigious experience to bear on this topic, and to Michelle and her amazing Miracle in July for the Apture suggestion. You both rock my world.
There’s this girl named Jessica. She cooks me homemade lunches once a week, and delivers it to me on her bike. It comes in a cute little homemade lunch bag, in repurposed glass containers with actual silverware and a soft cotton napkin. She tucks sweet little thoughts on a piece of paper in my lunch.
No, she’s not my new girlfriend. She runs a little business called Yummy Box Lunches by Jessica.
I’d post her info, but…I might get jealous. I mean, there’s only so much room in her little bike trailer, right?
Here’s my lunch from last week. Try not to drool on the screen, ok?
Green salad w/blue cheese stuffed chicken breast & honey mustard dressing, polenta cakes w/parmesan & truffle oil, hazelnut & candied ginger chew.
What did I say about not drooling? Get your own Yummy Box Lunch!
Hi internets. How are you doing? Good? Great.
I’m actually not writing this blog post at home. Which by itself is not so strange, although it has been a while since I wrote a post away from home. What is strange, however, is that I’m writing this blog post ON MY IPHONE. I know, huh? I mean can you picture me, out and about, doin my thang and writing posts on the fly? On the train? While out drinking with my pals? Spelunking through the woods? Hanging out at a geeky blogging conference?
Ahem.
Yeah ok, I’m at a WordPress camp, and learned about an awesome wordpress iPhone app. If you really must know.
And I can even take pics on my phone, and stick them right in my blog post without even skipping a beat. Or a talk. Or a beer. Or a dirty gin martini. VERY dirty.
The potential for awesome is endless, right? Yeah, I think so too.
By the way, this is where I am right now. So you can really visualize it. I’m all about sharing, you know.
They say the Eskimos have 50 different words for snow. Well here in the PacNW, we have quite a few words for rain. In the interest of enlightening those who don’t have the damn good luck to live here, I thought I’d share some of them, along with the approximate time it would take for an average human in average clothes to get an average soaking. I will be using a highly scientific method to calculate this, taking into consideration the average permeability of natural fiber clothing, the estimated surface tension of rain drop inversely based on it size, and including a modest wind factor. In other words, I’m just guessing.
So there you have it. A short little primer, if you will, of Pacific NW rain types. There are others, I’m sure! Not to mention the combination types, like a misty shower, or a showery sprinkle. In fact I’d call today’s rainfall a showery sprinkle. I’d call it that, and start thinking about whether or not I still have all the ingredients for hot toddys in my cupboards, because much as I hate to say it, fall is a-comin.
Morgan’s Hot Toddy Recipe
1c hot water
Maker’s mark to taste (hehehe)
Spoonful or two of honey
Squeeze of lemon
Stir with a cinnamon stick if I’m feelin’ festive
Yep. Aaaalll set there folks.
Hello internets. I know, I know, it’s been a while, yes? A good long while. I’ve been pursuing various illegal non-writey-type interests, which of course leaves very little time for this blogging thing.
Or does it?
Actually, what you all may not know is that I actually have been blogging here. LOTS AND LOTS. It’s just all private, and NOT for public consumption.
Not that this post is going to be appropriate for public consumption either. But more in a half naked soccer way, as opposed to a ranty vitriolic way. I don’t know about you, but I’d be way more into some naked blog stories instead of blah blah drama blog stories, right?
Brace yourself, readers. It’s gonna get a little steamy.
When I was a kid, I loved to play soccer. My dad and I would go to the park across the street from our apartment, the crisp autumn air sparkling in the early morning sunshine. I could do all those soccery tricks, bouncing the soccer ball back and forth on my knees to keep warm and ready, and we’d kick the ball around. For a girl who isn’t really on speaking terms with her father, I think fondly on those memories as one of the times I really enjoyed spending time with him.
So. Getting hot yet? Yeah, me too. Ha! No no I kid. Really.
Anyway, shoot forward a few years *cough* and here I am, not having played soccer since I was a kid, and I get this email:
Good morning!
You’re receiving this e-mail because you signed up for the Portland Netrippers e-mail list or have played with our soccer team in the past.As you may or may not know by now, the Netrippers are sending a team of ladies to Festival of the Babes 2009. We’ve registered already, so now– we just need enough Babes to make up a team! That’s where you come in…
What’s Festival of the Babes (FOB)?
It’s an annual soccer tournament for lesbians “and those willing to be mistaken for one”, held up and down the West Coast. This year, it’s in San Francisco on Labor Day Weekend, Sept. 4th-6th. This is the 19th year of the tournament, and generally about 350 lesbians show up to play!… the games are held during the days, and there are excellent parties at night.
So….soccer, new friends, hot girls, and crazy parties. In San Francisco.
SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.
The tournament was last weekend. It was three days of hedonism a very enjoyable time! And since I don’t think I saw any of you there, here are a few things I’d like to share with you, my dear readers, from that experience. I’ll let you live vicariously through me THIS ONE TIME.
So I return home with new friends, great memories, a well-boosted ego, sore muscles, a hangover to kill all hangovers, a sunburn (How in the heck *do* you get sunburned when it’s misting and cloudy half the day and you’re wearing sunscreen, anyway?), tons of missed sleep, and no regrets.
And that, my friends, is one awesome weekend.
I recently ran across this story through a friend of mine. I’ve heard it in many forms before; I’m sure we all have at some point. But for some reason, today, it resonated down to the deepest darkest recesses of my soul. So I felt it only right that I should share it with you all.
A Grandfather from the Cherokee Nation was talking with his grandson.
“A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.”
He is anger, envy, war, greed, self-pity, sorrow, regret, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, selfishness and arrogance.”
He is friendly, joyful, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, justice, fairness, empathy, generosity, true, compassion, gratitude, and deep vision.”
“This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other human as well.”
The grandson paused in deep reflection because of what his grandfather had just said. Then he finally cried out; “Oyee! Grandfather, which wolf will win?”
The elder Cherokee replied, “The wolf that you feed.”
