Put It On

When I was in school, we had health education. The most uncomfortable portion of the whole class, of course, was sex education. All sorts of inaccurate, yet clinical sounding, information was floated about once we had exceeded the teacher's knowledge, and of course there was the banana. After all, that's what you're going to need to put a condom on, right, a yellowish curved fruit that will one day over-ripen and turn into an odd colored mush in your hands. (Hmm, maybe they were on to something.)

One of the fundamental principals that we had drummed into us during these classes was directed at the ladies, as they were constantly instructed that men wouldn't want to wear a condom. They would come up with all sorts of excuses about sensitivity and lack of pleasure and the woman was to disregard these obviously false statements and insist on him wearing it, and not worry about whether or not he was still going to love or stay with them. If the man really cared, he'd wear the condom. Men were, of course, instructed to wear protection and that it was important, but mostly only because it made the woman's job easier. Ultimately, the woman was put in place as the gate keeper. We'd watch those stupid health class videos where the guy would come up with all the excuses our teachers said they would and the woman would triumphantly insist on the man wearing the condom. We, as men, were trained to assume that women wouldn't sleep with us unless we wore condoms, or if they did, we'd have to come up with some sneaky way around it.

Since then, I learned that women often do not perform their role as gate keeper in this, or often any other, area. I have had far more women insist that I don't wear a condom than ever ask me to put one on. "Do you really have to wear that?" "It doesn't feel the same when you have one of those on." Wait a second, why were these ladies using all the lines men were supposed to use. In school, they had taught us that we were the ones that would fight not to put one on, not the other way around. I felt wholly unprepared. The videos all taught us that men wouldn't want to wear a condom and that really we were only supposed to wear them so that the woman wouldn't feel uncomfortable. Now, it seemed that the only thing that would make them uncomfortable was if I actually heeded the words that had been imparted to me in health class.

So while there seems to be much debate about whether there is too much health (and sex) education in our schools. I happen to feel there isn't anywhere near enough. I know I certainly wouldn't have minded being more prepared for the inevitable time that all that training was about to be put to excellent use. Although, I still question the wisdom of the banana.

Alone at Last

I sometimes will hear the familiar refrain, "If you don't [insert verb here], you'll be alone for a very long time." I even received an anonymous comment on one of my recent posts suggesting this. (Don't look for it because as with most anonymous comments, I responded to it and then deleted it.) Every time someone offers this lesson in romance, they usually say it like being alone is the equivalent of catching Ebola.

At one point in my life, statements like this would have haunted me and given me night sweats and terrors. The fear of being alone was enough to strike fear into my heart. It didn't matter whether the judgmental person throwing this statement out there was right or not. Somehow my brain skipped the step of any type of analysis of the character of the speaker. All that mattered was that someone had found something in me wanting and if I ever wanted to be happy, I needed to change.

"Wait, what was that?"

"Right, if I want to be happy, I need to change."

"But that's not what they said. What they - this anonymous speaker who suddenly feels that they have sufficient insight into you, life, and love - said was if you don't change, you'll be alone. When did alone become synonymous with unhappiness? When did you let those two concepts connect in your brain and rule your life? When did you allow your entire concept of happiness become controlled by another and tied to whether or not someone else finds value in you?"

"Um ... since ever? Isn't that what happiness is? Having that person that loves you and understands you? What's the point in living if you have to do it alone? I don't want to be alone. In the movies the people that are alone are always sad. They're always missing something."

"Great, now you have movies controlling your self image. How independent of you. Have you noticed that you're never alone? Have you noticed the friends that you have and the things that you do? Why is your self-esteem and self-worth coming from external sources instead of from within, where it's supposed to originate? I mean, it's in the name, after all - self-worth, self-esteem."

"Just lucky, I guess."

It took me years of therapy to make all of these connections, to line up all the pieces and connect all the dots, and to come to the conclusion that being alone is not the worst thing in the world. It is not a fate worse than death and that happiness truly comes from within. I learned that while I would love to be in a relationship with the right person, I'm still just as good without one. I now find it rather humorous when I hear someone say, "Your standards are too high," or "You wonder why you're alone." The truth is I don't care whether anyone thinks my standards are too high and I don't wonder why I'm alone. Usually the person saying these things is the type to wonder at such things but I simply cannot be bothered. Because all of that inner peace and happiness that I kept expecting to find in someone else ended up being within myself all the time.

Free at Last

Every now and again, I'll catch a flicker of just the right hair color or just the right body type and I'll be instantly reminded of an ex. Sometimes it will be a fond recollection and other times it will be a bitter fleeting thought that I would just as soon forget. There are also the rare occasions where I will suddenly be filled with remorse and regret. The thought creeps in that perhaps I made the biggest mistake ever. Perhaps she was the one for me. No faith in my own decision making - it was an issue I had to address in therapy. "What do you mean that's a bad thing?"

I remember she used to ask me, and her other friends, for hours on end what we thought of Fred's behavior. It was a terrible exercise in futility, as we would all validate her feelings and tell her how right she was to be feeling the way she did, but then she would confront him and her entire self-esteem and boundaries would immediately crumble. We simply believed in her more than she believed in herself, a terribly unfortunate way to live. "He's not like you. He doesn't understand me the way you do. It's not his fault. I just need to be better. You don't understand him the way I do. You don't see how much potential he has." It's always frightening when you see others' dysfunctions in yourself. However, it's also relieving because it's that recognition and admission that can lead to recovery or behavior modification (as they like to call it).

However, there were other issues that I also had to address and, at times, it's difficult for me to look back and discern whether I got in the way of myself somewhere along the line. This self-doubt and concern can haunt me for days, as I reevaluate and reassess. But every now and again, something spectacular happens where the ex does something so annoying that I am immediately reminded of all the reasons she made me miserable and I am instantly glad to be away, with no regrets to ever haunt me again.

"She really did that?"

"Yeah. Pretty crazy, huh?"

"I can't believe you stayed with her for as long as you did."

"I was too busy being afraid that leaving would be a bigger mistake than staying to see just how unfulfilled I was. I kept thinking someone else would make the decision for me. I kept hoping that someone would say the magic words that finally gave me the courage and freedom to leave. What it took me time to learn was that I always had that freedom and only I could see it through."

You Should Read This

I started reading one of my books about codependency the other night. I think one of the problems with those books is they often discuss the severe cases or the cases that have, eventually, escalated out of control. Much like alcoholism, it's usually a progressive illness, worsening with time if left untreated. I felt like if I lent the book to one of my friends, they could easily shake it off and laugh, as it wouldn't really apply to them. After all, I don't have many friends dating alcoholics or drug addicts. I've had a couple, but they either grew out of it or eventually left the relationship, or we've lost touch. However, I know several codependents. In fact, in my life, I was often attracted to codependent women. I think it's probably because of the way I was raised. I felt that if maybe I shared one of their stories, it might have more of an impact.

In law school, I knew a girl named Liz. Liz was married to this guy named Fred. Liz was fairly unhappy about that fact. She really didn't like Fred. She didn't feel like he really understood her or the things that were important to her. She didn't feel that he was supportive of her in many ways and when she tried to talk to him about it, he usually made her feel like she was overreacting or being ridiculous. Liz couldn't leave Fred because she couldn't figure out anything that he really did wrong. He was a good provider. He made good money. He didn't beat her. Her family would never understand. And she constantly worried that it might be a mistake to leave. "What if he's the one I'm meant to be with?" She kept hoping Fred would either change or leave her.

Eventually, Liz had an affair and Fred found out about it. Liz figured Fred had to leave now. I mean, c'mon, she had been cheating on him. But Fred didn't want to leave. Fred cried and said he wanted to save their marriage. This caught Liz off guard. She explained that she didn't want to work on anything. She wanted a divorce. He wouldn't give her one. She said that she wouldn't stop sleeping with other men. He didn't care. He cried and begged and Liz decided she had to stay for a while. After all, she did love him and he was a nice guy. He really had always been the same guy. He just had never changed, or become the person she envisioned him being, despite all her efforts. Liz went home to see her family and they all confessed that they thought Liz had been unhappy for a while and that if she wanted to leave Fred, they fully understood. Fred said he wanted to have children. Liz changed her hair.

Liz started seeing a psychologist, a really good psychologist. Liz's psychologist diagnosed Liz as a codependent and he was pretty sure Fred was too. Liz couldn't leave Fred still. They'd fight and argue but she couldn't do it. She just didn't have it in her and she didn't know what her life would be like without a relationship. She had always had a man in her life.

Liz got offered a job far away. Her psychologist said that when she took the job, she should ask for a trial separation from Fred. "It doesn't have to be permanent. Just some time away so that you can truly assess your feelings about this relationship."

"Why do you look frightened?"

"I'm worried that if I do what you're asking, I'll never go back with him."

"From everything I know about you and everything you've told me, you won't, but you will actually need to complete the separation to make a rational and healthy decision. No contact for at least three months. None. If he respects you and loves you, he will give you this time."

Liz did it. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. She walked away from Fred and moved, beginning her trial separation. It lasted all of three days.

Liz couldn't take it. She missed Fred. He wasn't that bad after all. And he did love her. I mean, he had stayed and he said he loved her. "He just doesn't understand how to make me feel loved. That's not his fault." Liz was still trying to make excuses for Fred and enable his behavior. It's what codependents do, and she had stopped therapy after she moved. Liz isolated herself from all of her friends, didn't return their calls, wouldn't go out with them and soon left town with Fred.

I recently spoke with a friend of Liz's, who occasionally speaks with her still. "I spoke to Lizzy the other day."

"How is she?"

"She's still miserable with Fred. Nothing in her life has changed one bit. They're the exact same couple they were years ago, maybe a little worse. I just don't get it. How could she be that miserable and still stay?"

I've Heard That Before

If I told you what was really going on in my life, you'd never believe me. I did a very long journal entry about it. It's really impressive and probably would make some great blog material. I even worked a reference to Heidi Klum into it. (That alone makes it worth it's weight in gold.) It's almost a tragedy to keep it simply in journal form. However, now after all that buildup, it would never meet your expectations. So I'm likely better off just going with something a bit less personal.

"He said I should go to law school."

If I had a $1,000.00 for every time I heard a person say that, I'd be rich. (I say $1,000.00 because really, what can you get for a bunch of nickels nowadays. Besides, if we're going to discuss in hypotheticals, I might as well make it worth my while - I thought $1,000,000.00 might be greedy.) Every person I talk to seems to have been told, at one point or another, by some mentor type figure - you should go to law school. I sometimes think that perhaps this line is just thrown out there as a compliment - "You're so smart, you should go to law school." The person doesn't actually have to believe what they are saying, they're just throwing the compliment out there. Other times, I think the person offering the statement simply has no damn clue what law school is like. They've never experienced it. They figure it's just one of those things people do. Just go to law school. Like it's as easy as breathing or climbing Mr. Everest; a walk in the park.

I have always done everything in my power to discourage every person I meet from going to law school. From my experience, only people that really want to learn law and how to be an attorney should go to law school. They shouldn't do it for money because lots of attorneys don't make a lot of it. They shouldn't do it for respect because almost everyone I meet immediately looks at me sideways when they find out I'm one of those scum sucking, bottom feeding, attorney bastards. They shouldn't, necessarily, pigeon hole themselves into any one area of law they would like to practice because often, they won't get to practice in the area they so choose. And law school is no picnic. Unless you really like law, you likely are not going to enjoy law school at all. It's going to be stressful and miserable, threatening your relationships and your sanity, as you undergo the metamorphosis from an ordinary person to a person that thinks like an attorney. Sound like fun yet? (I did have a friend that went to Harvard who found it a fairly easy experience, much easier than her physics classes in undergrad. As a general rule, the higher ranked schools are easier, and after first year, you can sometimes find ways around the difficult professors - especially if you do not actually care about learning.)

You want money? Go work on Wall Street or do something entrepreneurial. There's far more money in either of those fields, and you probably won't have people looking at you with utter disgust and hatred when you announce what you do at dinner parties. Do you have any idea how many attorneys leave the practice of law so that they can work on the investment banking side of things? Or how many unhappy attorneys are out there?

Generally, people have listened to this advice from me. I've actually talked people out of going to law school in one sitting. I think it's because I'm just so matter of fact about it. I remove all of those romantic notions about law school and tell people real stories about real people that I've known, and of my own experiences. (And most of mine were good, for law school.) However, I really think people have to stop with the whole, "So and so told me I should go to law school." Because, really, everyone seems to have been told at one point or another that they should go to law school, and it's clearly not a career for everyone.

Face Value

Often movies or stories try to teach us not to judge a book by its cover. When this mantra is applied to people it is often illustrated with the less attractive women being really just an amazing catch and a beautiful person on the inside, and people have just never taken the time to get to know her so they just don't see how wonderful she really is. I once had a discussion with my friends about this cliche that the movie Shallow Hal memorably illustrated.

What we all agreed on is that this is a great concept and is possibly applicable in a certain number of cases, as we all have known that guy or girl that is really just an amazing person but never has much luck with landing that very physically attractive person of the opposite sex. However, we have also all met a lot of really mean, jaded, angry, miserable unattractive people. Whether their personality is a byproduct of not being anyone's object of affection frequently enough or if it's because they just don't feel terribly good about themselves or their parents didn't hold them or something as a child, I don't know. But they are ugly as sin, inside and out.

In fact, we all agreed, it's actually more common that the physically unattractive women are just as unattractive on the inside as they are on the outside. So instead of that woman in the movie looking like Gwyneth Paltrow (or Heidi Klum - yes, I know she was never in a movie like that but this is my blog and we will talk about Heidi Klum as much as I want), she is more likely to look Rosanne Barr. Not that Rosanne Barr is ugly, but she's certainly no Gwyneth Heidi Klum.

As I've noted above, this is not to say that there aren't some tremendously cool people out there that just don't have the looks of George Clooney or Natalie Portman, but there are also a lot of mediocre people out there with this condition. And, I'm assuming, a good amount of very attractive people that are positively atrocious on the inside. Which brings us back to the original cliche of, Don't judge a book by its cover. However, one would be served well to keep in mind that just because the cover isn't very attractive does not mean that the story will be any better.

Order Out of Insanity

All the topics that were spinning in my head have suddenly decided to check out, and all I've got now are snippets from my weekend. Enjoy.

"He says he's changed."

"Doesn't he always say he's changed?"

"Yeah, but what if this time he really has?"

Ah, there it was, the eternal female hope that I know and love. It's all vanity, though. It's not just hope that the person changed. It's the ego trip that this person changed for me. Oh, vanity.

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." - Albert Einstein

There was an upshot to her going back with him. Even though it might mean a lot more complaining and drama that I would have to watch her go through, it would provide excellent material for my blog. You know, when I really have nothing else to talk about. And then I can listen to all the women tell me that "not all women are like that". Funny thing, she used to say the same thing. It remains my belief that most women like it when that man - you know the one that never does - treats them well. Vanity of vanities.

For my part, I've been doing my best to organize my life, or at least the physical objects within it. Getting new file boxes and storage containers. Reorganizing my kitchen and trying to create a more appealing order to things. It's certainly not the easiest thing I've attempted, as it requires a lot more effort to figure out how to organize things in any sort of logical way, as opposed to simply putting them somewhere. However, I find it rewarding, as I seem to have more room and I actually know where more things are when I need them. Fancy that.

When I'm not organizing my life, I'm at the movies. It became a tradition somewhere during law school that every Saturday, this girl in my class and I would go to the movies, but never together. We took Saturday completely off and refused to open a single book, unless absolutely necessary. You weren't even allowed to worry or think about classes. This is why movies were always appealing. It was great to actually have one day every week where I didn't have to do anything.

Soon I'll be signing up for my surgery and have screws drilled into me. It ought to be a blast. Although, I'm really nervous and worried, as I haven't had surgery since I was very little. I'm afraid about what I will feel when I'm in my "twilight state" and how much pain I will be in when I wake up. I don't really like all of this unknown stuff, but I also don't like not being able to lift things without a certain degree of personal agony.

The Power of Post-It

There's a certain something about a Post-It note. They can be used to convey that extra message when nothing else will do. We all remember the time Berger broke Carrie's heart with a Post-It note. Well I don't actually remember it, but I know it must have happened because every woman I know immediately is reminded of that scene when I tell them about the attorney that quit my friend's old firm (or as he called it, the death camp) by leaving a Post-It note on the office manager's computer monitor, which read, "Nice knowing you."

However, what I saw yesterday adds a completely new dimension to the entire concept of Post-It notes in my opinion, and their ability to convey a message without a single word.

My Space

I was convinced, somewhere along the line, to establish a My Space page. (I actually wound up with two of them, although I cannot figure out how and am doing my best to remove one of them, but it does not seem to be linked to any email account that I actually use. So I'm not sure where it came from, nor how to delete it.) I didn't really enjoy the idea of establishing a presence on My Space, as I really think the pages are stupid and annoying. They can get so bogged down with content and everyone has some sort of song that automatically starts when the page loads - tell me that isn't bloody annoying.

I really feel that My Space pages can often be referred to as My Virtual Clutter Zone. The organization and layout of the content is, to me, absolutely annoying and pointless. If I really wanted all of that crap, I could add it to my blog. After all, to me, I feel the blog is probably the most important aspect of those pages (unless I'm looking for gorgeous red heads), and most people I have seen on there do not update theirs very frequently, if at all. Not to mention, the blog is not really featured very prominently and the posts look bizarre there. It reminds me of blogging for junior high. (Not that my blog is terribly impressive or updated frequently enough. It does, however, seem to have a bit more of a sophisticated appearance.)

I am, however, terribly happy that I created the page. Not just so that I could gawk at the lovely ladies or do something trendy, but also because it allowed me to find two of my friends that I have known since I was about six, but who I lost touch with over the last three or four years. I also located another friend from high school. I'm so excited. I haven't actually been able to communicate with any of them yet, as they seem to check their pages about as frequently as I check my snail mail box. However, I figure that will all come in time and soon I will be catching up and learning about their new and exciting lives.

Every now and again, the Internet spits out a gem.

Orbital Patterns

"Let me get this straight. He told you that he has still been seeing his ex-girlfriend and they have a trip planned to Jamaica together for New Years, and you want to know what you should do?"

"He swears they aren't sleeping together."

"Have you asked any of your other friends about this?"

"Well one of them said that maybe I should give him a chance, and noted that he had been honest enough to tell me about all of it."

"He really only came clean after you finally got him to talk about your relationship, a concept that you were completely resistant to, as you didn't want to seem 'needy'. Out of curiosity, is this woman telling you to 'give him a chance' the same friend that is now married to the man that pushed her out of the moving vehicle while they were dating?"

"Yeah."

Women amaze me with their uncanny ability to stay with men that are completely terrible to them for extended periods of time. I have often found that the worse I am to a girl and the less I care, the more likely they are to stay around. Alternately, if I am actually nice to them and show how much I care for them, they usually tend to walk all over me and breakup with me. I'm told women often grow out of this condition at around fifty. Figuring that I couldn't really afford to wait that long, I decided to find a mix that I was comfortable with - nice to a point.

It strikes me as odd that women blame men for being terrible or for being pigs or for this or that. As though they were suddenly betrayed by men who never gave the slightest indication that they might not be everything the women dreamed of. However, I have always found the signs as being fairly evident from the beginning. Clearly, the man that thrusts you out of a moving vehicle may have some anger management problems that might creep into your relationship in the future. The man that clings to you and follows you about the room like a lost puppy, may have some insecurity issues of his own that are bound to compound and manifest themselves in such colorful ways in the future. All of these signs will be quite clear and evident and yet the women will often stay. They all have their reasons, I'm sure. Often, there seems to be some amazing power of hope coursing through their bodies. What, exactly, they are hoping for remains a complete mystery. Perhaps they hope that he will change, or that it was an isolated incident, or that something equally magical is at play. Perhaps they are fearful of change or of being alone or of admitting that someone got the better of them.

One of my best friends has taken to using a different approach with women. He uses honesty like sword. "I am not looking for a relationship. I really like spending time with you, and I love having sex with you but there is absolutely no way I can be with just you. I'm simply not ready for anything like that right now." He's been giving this speech for the last four years to countless women and yet they stay. Eventually, each woman he dates often gets angry and frustrated with him, as he simply continues to date and sleep with other women. "I almost had sex with seven different women last week, but I got too tired and went to bed for two days. Apparently, five is now my limit." And yet, even though the women get mad, even though they might get frustrated and angry and walk away, they always seem to come back for more, like he is the sun and they all sort of orbit about him.

To the women that blame the men for being this way, I'll tell you exactly what my best friend has confided to me numerous times, and which I have also found to be true. "I would love to be honest with a woman and just totally be there for them and do all of those nice things that women profess they want. Like one of those sweet, sappy romantic movies. I think it would be nice, and certainly a hell of a lot easier than the crap I have to deal with now. However, if I do that, the women leave and go after some other guy that will treat them exactly the way I'm treating them now. We don't make the rules; as guys, we'll do just about anything for sex. This seems to be the way I have to act to get it."

Too Good to Be True

Given that the ineffable Jill was sick and all of my other reads were otherwise occupied this past holiday weekend, and given that I was still recovering from my own sickness, I was forced to play on the Internet unattended, which is always one of the most dangerous prospects imaginable. In an attempt to distract myself, I did manage to bake pumpkin bread with chocolate chips and walnuts and a banana nut bread, but alas, nothing can keep me from the Internet for too long and I soon had found two old friends and stumbled upon her (the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of virtually staring at).

It's always a bad sign where your mouth gets confused and the words don't quite know how to escape the tongue that feels like it has somehow swelled to three times its normal size. I tried to swallow the cotton balls that had formed in my mouth and say something unassuming and witty but was stuck, as I still didn't know enough about her. I knew that she was a Latin divorcee named Jessica, that she liked snow boarding and jumping out of planes, and had traveled quite a bit. I also knew that she had a good sized family, enjoyed South Beach, and was attending school. I also knew that she had the most perfect smile, hair that was unimaginably attractive, and curves in all the right places.

I was infatuated with a woman I would likely never meet, and I had to find just the right words to say to change all of that. The only other option was to willingly accept the fact that she would be my muse, kept in her state of absolute perfection by means of her distance from me. I know all too well how even the most perfect of women lose something upon a closer inspection. The woman that you see from across the room can lose her luster in a matter of seconds after opening her mouth and betraying her not so attractive personality. Sometimes the best looking ones are the ones best left alone if only so that your fantasy isn't ruined with the reality that is sure to hit you right in the crotch.

And yet, there I was sitting there with the lyrics to Billy Joel's Modern Woman running through my head and thinking Christmas really wouldn't be too bad if I woke up with her underneath my tree. And consistently asking myself, "What would Bond do?" Unfortunately, all my answers required a martini, shaken not stirred, and her following me back to my room later, despite all odds of her doing something more realistic, and that seemed like an awful lot to expect from a martini. In the end, I decided there was simply nothing I could come up with other than a simply compliment that would likely lose its effect through email and to which she would likely never respond. Although, she has had the effect of inspiring one post already. Perhaps muse alone is enough, although, after Sarah and Sass, it makes me wonder if Houston is simply crawling with beautiful women, and whether I should relocate.

Unexpected Costs

"I'm sorry, sir, but while you are entitled to twenty physical therapy visits per year, we only cover the cost of the therapy after you've met your deductible."

"But that's $2,000.00."

"Yes, that's correct, sir."

"But the woman I spoke to before I started the therapy several weeks ago said that it would all be covered without any cost to me."

"I'm sorry, sir; I don't see that in the system, but you can appeal it if you'd like."

The really interesting part is that there is no way you could meet the deductible with twenty visits, and it's unlikely twenty visits would ever be enough to recover from surgery. Not to mention the fact that you'd have no coverage if you should need any therapy for another injury later in the year. What a brilliant system. Pay for insurance that never really affords you a benefit. Brilliant. I'd imagine my office saves quite a bit with having this coverage in place. Unfortunately, I don't make anywhere near as much as the partner that selected this plan and am unable to so easily absorb the additional out-of-pocket expense.

My day could really only get better from there one would think. However, as the day wore on, I started hearing about terrible things that were happening to others and it was hard for me to feel bad for myself. A woman who used to work at my office has a husband who will die from cancer within the next week or two and a friend of mine lost his house in a fire. Not to be outdone, I immediately got sick. I know it still doesn't quite measure up, but having lost two homes to fire in the past and almost losing my mother to cancer, I feel like I should get some credit for it.

Our office took up a collection for the woman. We're not sure how helpful it will be or if she'll even be able to pay all the medical bills that are sure to be accruing right now, but we figured it should be helpful to at least help her buy some food or something for now. It's hard to know what to do when tragedy strikes. I remember reading recently, about all the people that donated money to an organization that was supposed to help the families of the firefighters that lost their lives in California last year, only to find out recently that the money raised may not qualify for the charitable deduction. It makes me wonder what would happen if a person hit hard times and needed to file bankruptcy but because of all the money being donated to them, they couldn't qualify for relief. What an odd predicament that would be.

It now remains to be seen how I will be able to afford the surgery I am supposed to have next month, and still pay my rent. I think it's rather odd that I'm an attorney and I have to worry myself with questions like this, and I'm still undecided about how I feel about the fact that I cannot deduct the interest I pay on my student loans every year, as I make just enough in gross income to meet the phase-out limitation, but still not enough to afford my medical bills, as half of my annual salary goes directly to student loans and rent.

It always reminds me of a message my friend's father had on his refrigerator when I was growing up, "Due to financial constraints the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off until further notice."

Nightly Outing

"The only place I want to be right now is in my bed, sleeping." You could feel the desire in her voice. Even more surprising than the party girl yearning for nothing more than sleep was that none of us could think of anything better than her recent suggestion and it was barely midnight. "God, we're getting old."

I have friends that still stay out to three or four in the morning every week, living the rock star lifestyle and forsaking sleep for the more important things in life, and I marvel at their resilience. This weekend, I had to drive home through the middle of nowhere at two in the morning and could barely keep my eyes from falling shut. I was convinced I was going to get into a car accident and die, but I thought that might not be so bad, as it would mean I wouldn't actually have to finish the drive and, more importantly, my eyes would likely not burn anymore. Fortunately, I was able to collapse in my bed before my eyes slammed shut, refusing to open for anything - even late night phone calls.

I remember in college, it would have been obscene to fall asleep before at least two in the morning, but even then there were always those that outdid me. My friends next door, drinking and playing Monopoly until the next morning. When I was just waking-up, they were just going to bed. However, I also remember more midday naps, and the ability to miss an occasional class without any real negative consequences.

I had felt fairly accomplished before I received the late night phone call the following night. "We just decided where we are going tonight. Are you coming?" I had gone shopping, seen a good movie, cooked a nice dinner, filled out a few Christmas cards, and had been researching charities online, as you can likely see in my bookmark sidebar. I even found a way to get youself removed from junkmail lists, not only sparing yourself the hassle of sorting through it but easing the strain such mailings put on the environment. I love it when doing the right thing is also the easy choice, unlike the decision her invitation now afforded me. If I said no to her request, it would mean I wouldn't get to see her. If I said yes, it would be more difficult for me to wakeup in time for church and spend the day with my little brother. There was really only once choice.

Clean, shaved, changed, invitational text messages sent to all the usual players, off I went to the swanky modern style restaurant/bar which would both begin and end our short outing. Our attempts to find more people and excitement would prove to be fruitless. You would think more folks would be drinking, given that it's the holidays. Alas, it is distinctly possible that while they are boozing it up, they are doing it in the privacy of their own homes and not providing entertainment to the likes of us, who really lacked the requisite energy to make a spectacle of ourselves or desire anything more than sleep.

Do You Understand

Recently, I was reviewing Presidential Tax Returns and I realized some people make an incomprehensible amount of money. For example, Dick Cheney, recently made $7,000,000.00 in one year. I don't even know if I'll make that much in my lifetime and he made that in just one year. I cannot even begin to comprehend what it must be like to make that much money. What was even more astounding was that even in the lean years he made one or two million. I tried to picture what my life would be like if I made that much money on an annual basis and I still can't get a clear picture. It's like trying to watch porn on cable without paying for it.

I suppose things can often be that way. It's hard to really understand what someone else experiences. I can't possibly understand what it's like to be Mike D., Wynton Marsalis, our president, Salma Hayek, Heidi Klum ... where was I? However, I also can't imagine what it would be like to be homeless for an extended period of time, not able to eat when I was hungry, or not able to wash my hands when they were dirty. I can't imagine not having running water. However, it's not just socioeconomic and class differences that puzzle me. I can't imagine killing anyone over my religious beliefs. It absolutely exceeds my grasp. The lifestyles of these people are probably, almost certainly, different from mine.

One does not, however, need to go to such extremes to find people to which they cannot relate. I recently heard a story about New York adopting the No Child Left Behind framework that we have adopted in Florida. Intellectuals have shown that the system doesn't work; that it's an utter failure cooked up by the politicians to show that progress is being made. Teachers have ridiculed it and talked about so much of teaching now is teaching students how to take a standardized test. We all know such things are faulty. You often will have a higher chance of success predicting the failure and success of students with the flip of a coin than with a standardized test. However, we use them. We use them because it makes tangible out of what is completely intangible - a learning and socialization process.

People sometimes think that they can relate. They are led to believe that they are involved. Most people think the death tax will affect them, but it won't. I have white friends that grew up with only other white people and they think they understand what's it's like to not be white, but they probably don't. I think it makes us feel better, though, to feel like we can relate and that we understand our world. That we understand what it's like to be the doctor, the attorney, the waitress, the grocery store bagger, the teacher ... but how illusory is this belief. How well do two people ever really know each other?

Last night, I received a phone call from one that I know well, and as the conversation unfolded aspects were revealed to show the complexities that make up the web of her life. I don't know if I fully understand her life, but I love the opportunity to see it a little more clearly with each passing day.

Pictures of Italy

I know, I know, it took me forever to finally put up any information about my infamous photos of Italy. Unfortunately, this was unavoidable for several reasons, not the least of which was my inability to plan for the logistics of sharing some photos from Italy with some people and not with others through Picasa. However, the wait, for all of you actually interested, is over.

Any of you that would like to see my pictures of Italy, need only follow the link. Enjoy.

Give Me, Give Me What I Cry For

I used to think she didn't care or that she was incapable of considering the thoughts, needs, wants, or desires of others when it came to shopping. I still remember one of the first gifts she got me. You could tell she loved it. It was quite possibly one of the best gifts anyone could have ever gotten her. I, unfortunately, did not share her taste with respect to that particular item and ended up giving it to her.

It was often upsetting to her that she never knew what to get me. I always seemed to have all of these wonderful little thoughtful gift ideas for her, but then she would bring her mind to bear on what to get me, it would come up blank. I often interpreted this as meaning that she really just didn't care or didn't know me. It seemed all of the ideas that she came up with often fell short of what I would want and were more in-line with her preferences. It would make her so frustrated, and I would be so frustrated because she was so upset.

All I really wanted, usually, was a gift card and a day of fun with her, but this didn't make sense to her. Where were the objects displaying our love? Where was the commericalism? How could we really love each other unless we bought lots of things for each other? Time wasn't really anything important?

Yet, it seemed she often seemed so much more considerate to others with whom she wasn't as close. Why did they generate more consideration and thoughtfulness from her than me? Wasn't I supposed to be just as, if not more, important than them. It just didn't make any sense. She just must not care for me.

Then today, I read about a study just released from The University of Chicago. It turns out that people are often worse at buying presents for their loved ones than complete strangers because they often feel that the other person's tastes must be similar to their own. "Not only do we feel overconfident that we’ll pick something they like, but our tendency to assume that we are extremely similar to the ones we love also motivates us to ignore cues that don’t support preconceived notions." Perhaps this year, more people would be better off pretending like they were still getting to know their loved ones when they go to pick that perfect gift, rather than believing that they already know them all too well. Or maybe everyone should just pick out their own gifts.

Upkeep

I just wanted to draw everyone's attention to a couple of modifications I have made to my blog layout. Nothing huge.

I added a section that lists some of the most recent links from one of my del.ici.ous accounts. It will automatically update as more links are added. You can browse over and see the rest of my links at your leisure, if you'd like.

I have also updated my blog links section, and finally added links to other bloggers I had been meaning to add for months. This wasn't as easy as it looked, as my links section was brought over from an old blog and could not be modified. So I had to recreate the entire list through the Blogger template editor tool. Fun times.

Unfortunately, my blog looks a bit cluttered now, as I do not have the liberty and design capabilities I would ideally like, as I am limited by my feeble knowledge of CSS and HTML and Blogger. Perhaps one day this will change, but for now, this will have to do.

My Religious Experience

During the week of Thanksgiving, my friend invited me to attend his church. It seemed like an innocent enough idea. Go to my friend's church and see what he liked about it so much and see what type of message another church might have. So I accepted the invitation and decided to go yesterday. As luck would have it, my friend was even supposed to star in a small play they were holding during the children's ministry that day. So I would really be able to get a feel for various aspects of the church.

The service started with a call for tithing. This is not the practice of the church I usually attend, as the pastor there is a strong proponent of the notion that everyone has their own private relationship with God, and how much you donate is part of that relationship. Not everyone else will necessarily know the hardships you are experiencing or your ability to give and the giving should come from a sincere desire to give, not from guilt or a desire to boast about it later. As such, he feels such things are best kept private. This church, clearly, did not adhere to this same philosophy and exerted a sufficient amount of guilt upon the congregation to make me really wonder what was motivating their giving nature.

I found the children's ministry to accentuate giving even more, if that is possible, than the adult congregation did. As children would sit around showing how much they were giving and boasting about it subsequently. To further compound the competitive nature of it all, the class teacher - my friend's girlfriend - made a game out of it. The more you gave, the more pieces you got. Those pieces then went towards your team's score. You also received more "Bible Dollars" based on how much you gave. I have no idea what those dollars were to be used for, but the possibilities of what they represented truly conjured some interesting images in my mind.

However, nothing, and I mean nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed during the praise and worship portion of the service. (I missed the actual sermon portion, as it lasted all of fifteen minutes and I was at the children's play during that period.) Towards the end of one of the songs, which they elongated beyond all reasonable parameters, repeating the same two line refrain ten to twenty times, the singers suddenly started saying weird things and making very odd sounds. At first I thought perhaps someone had made a mistake, but I quickly noticed that the weird sounds and random chanting continued. People were moving in odd ways and it sounded a bit like a room full of possessed people, or possibly a room full of people with certain developmental defects. It was just about then I remembered hearing something about a church my friend used to go to that was Pentecostal. Apparently, he still attended.

The part that really got me, though, was when my friend's girlfriend's brother-in-law leaped from the stage in his suit and proceeded to circle the room at a full out run, chanting, yelping and spewing incomprehensible verbiage from his mouth. What really got me is no one leaped to summon the men in the white coats to carry this person away and put him somewhere that would prevent him from being a threat to himself or others. (Then again, he's a police officer and a pastor.) I no longer knew what to think, other than I wanted someone to get me the hell out of there. The entire scene had the feeling of a confused mob scene, and I worried that I was attending a cult ceremony where they were soon going to offer me, or someone else, for sacrifice.

(I know this post sounds fairly judgmental, but it is an adequate representation of how I felt, whether that's right or wrong.)

Where's My Ring?

"How can you say that you're committed when you haven't even bought me a ring?"

It made no logical sense. He had moved hundreds of miles for her, after tiring of driving the hundreds of miles to see her every week, forsaken any friends he had made for the move, spent an entire day making her family authentic Jewish food so that she could see her mother, and offered to enroll in couples therapy in an effort to allow them to communicate better. But all of that was easily ignored, as it did not equal a ring. Irrespective of the fact that they had not yet been dating a year. Apparently a ring would have made things different, even though it wouldn't.

Their lives were hopelessly intertwined, objects at one another's lodgings, shared friends, shared moments, shared memories. Laughs, fights, tears, joy and sorrow were all shared together and experiences that could easily be referenced to the other. For better or worse. "You never stand up for me with your friends or family," he would complain. "You never say how pretty I am anymore," she would lament. They both looked at each other as habits that now needed to be broken.

The twisting and twirling of her hair as she drove was no longer cute. His love for discussion, cooking, and sex were no longer appreciated. Each were being overshadowed by the other insurmountable issues causing distress in their lives, and neither was able to completely communicate what they were feeling to the person that was closest to them. The ties that bonded them were slowly unraveling and each stood helpless to stop it.

He would retreat and she would mourn. He felt terribly conflicted and she appeared resolute, while inwards she was equally conflicted. New jobs, new towns, new lifestyle, new dynamics, and illnesses. It all came at once. It all came with the force of a meteor crashing to the ground and darkening all of the area that once glowed so brightly. Where was the light and where was the answer. It couldn't all be contained in a ring. There had to be more. Love was a not a ring.

It all ended rather abruptly for them both. There was talk that they would remain friends but such a desire was rather unrealistic. Her idea of friendship involved occasional text messages and dating other people. He couldn't quite get the hang of all of that, and didn't see the point to it anyway. It would never be what he wanted, and what was the point in fighting the tide. She drifted away and found port in other harbors.

"Do you ever think of her?"

"Yes, but I think of many people, daily. It's just something I do. Each, however, elicit different reactions as they cross my mind."

"Do you miss her?"

"I miss what we were and I often ponder how it all went to pieces, and how shocked all my friends had been when I expressed how unhappy I had been for so long. I never shared all of that with them because I never wanted it to influence their opinion of her."

"Were you able to take anything from it?"

"Yes. There will always be doubts and that's ok. There will always be others that look at you with affection and desire and while it is tempting to view it as desirable, it is an inadequate comparison. For you are only comparing what you have with something different and something you don't know. There will always be temptations and life is a series of gut checks. It also changed the way I offer people advice in a particular way."

...

"When my friend recently asked me if she should break up with her boyfriend, I asked her if she was happy with the type of person that he was and whether she felt it was something the two of them could work on, noting it was not for me to decide whether or not she should be with him. It was up to her if she liked him enough to stay with him, as she was the person that would have to wake up with him every morning. Sometimes, I can be more direct with my advice, depending on the situation. I have found that friends often don't like the people that hurt us, but that this opinion can quickly change when the hurting stops."

And ... Cut

"It was more like a cliche."

"I hate cliches."

"They really do suck until one of them actually comes true and then they can be profound. No longer is it happening in some silky sweet scene of flashing lights upon an expansive screen. Now you are suddenly the player and as amazing and intense as it feels, no one is really experiencing it with you, and if they are, they probably aren't partaking of popcorn and Coke as the scene unfolds."

"Oh, please, let me experience it with you. My heart is all a flutter."

"Your Ben Stein impressions are completely lost on me."

"That is most unfortunate. Maybe we should just go see a movie. That new James Bond flick is out. Eva Green is hot and I bet there will even be some daring cliffhangers."

"So there I was, in the middle of absolute chaos. I felt like the whole world was coming in on me at once. Phone calls, deadlines, demands on my time and everyone wanted everything immediately. And suddenly she appeared, melting everything and everyone else away and I knew it would be ok."

"You make me sick."

"It was like one of those scenes where the whole room is teaming with people as they swirl past the hero until suddenly his eyes land upon the woman across the room, and immediately nothing else is in focus or even matters."

"No wonder why I always feel sick after chic flicks. Couldn't you be simple and feel that way about a car?"

"It might get better mileage."

"Definitely more than you will out of that story. You don't share that one in mixed company, do you?"