Midnight Nonsense

I haven't been posting a lot lately--and funnily enough, it's not because I have nothing to talk about. On the contrary, there are plenty of events, interactions, conversations, emotions upon which I could reflect. I could talk about how I went kayaking for the first time the other day, and surprised myself with how well I took to it. I could talk about how I swam in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life, and dove into the waves and let the icy waves buffet me about as I thrilled in the sensuality of it. I could talk about how I saw the Milky Way for the first time, and felt as though I were more aware of myself and my place in this swirling chaos than I had been aware of in a very long time. I could talk about how, last Sunday, I was so tired and lonely and homesick (homesick for where, exactly?) and yet somehow managed to find the courage to show my vulnerability to one of my Riverside mates, who opened up her home and washing machine to me, and drew me a bath and passed me one of her beautiful bathrobes and treated me better than I have remembered to treat myself in a while. I could talk at length about any of these events, but it's late, and my eyelids are drooping and my mind is racing. The longer I spend in Southern California, the more I edge away from the shallow end of the pool and venture out into the darkened depths of the unknown--my career, my emotional terrain, my personal relationships, all of them lie further out, further than I have ever swum before. My heart is full, and growing larger all the time, and my mind is swirling with all of the thoughts and emotions that plague someone as analytical and self-aware as I. I'm staring all of this down, trying to process it, trying not to shut down emotionally. Trying to gather the courage to plunge into whatever life I am brave enough to forge for myself, and all the while wanting nothing more than to head for the hills and not look back.

Problem is, with a heart as big as mine, there's no running. There's only courage, often times faltering, and sometimes silence, as I try to process something new. The only way out is through. But for now, sleep. Tomorrow's another day--another day of courage, another day of forging ahead, making my life as happy and right as I can.

The Ones that Can Know You So Well Are the Ones Who Can Swallow You Whole...

It's official--I belong to California now. This morning, I took my written driver's test, and got my license. Next time I go to the DMV, I'll register to vote.
But even as I cement my new life here in SoCal, there are pleasant reminders of the lives I left behind. I got two lovely, lovely surprises in the mail today: a belated birthday package from a friend in Indiana, and a fat letter from a friend in Florida. Both brought me an enormous measure of comfort--the package because, hey! gifts in the mail are great! And also, friends who send them are great! And the letter because I love to get letters from people, and my friend in Florida puts his heart and soul in them, as I do with the letters I send him. We've been corresponding for over two years, and he knows me through my words in a way that few people will ever have the privilege or courage to know. And his letter today brought enormous comfort--I've made some huge changes in my life in the past few months, and it's nice to know that someone who knows me from 'way back when is still there, still knows me, still approves of me, still supports me. Familiarity can be suffocating, but it can also be wonderful and sweet.

Oh, and the package of goodies was awesome--stationery (wooo! I can write my letters on pretty paper!), a bottle of honey mead from the Oliver Winery back in Indiana (nope, still not homesick), and a silver necklace. I have to say, I find it funny that I get more gifts of jewelry from my female friends than I do my lovers.

Other than this little hilight, life has been pretty busy. Here's a run-down with some major events bulleted, and then one memory in narration form.

-Pop culture references continue: In the past week, I have watched Baseketball, Napoleon Dynamite, Syriana, and Ali G.

-Somehow I have managed to lose 4 pounds. I have no idea how, or where they have gotten to.

-Last Saturday, I went driving with Recent Acquaintance down a country road with Ramstein blaring on the car speakers. Oddly enough, it was as relaxed as I had been all day.

-This coming Sunday I am going to Huntington Beach for kayaking, boogey-boarding, and a bonfire.

-My colleague Mr. E and I have decided that dating is like an episode of LOST --one never knows what's going to happen next. Does that mean that love is like an invisible beast that runs out of the forest at random times for the sole purpose of eviscerating us? Must ponder.

* * * * *

In the predawn hours, while most in the tiny little town were still sleeping, still unaware of the night life beyond their windows, a wind arose. Soft and gentle at first, it tinkled through windchimes and rustled through the few trees. And then, without warning, the wind strengthened. It became noisy, snapping tree branches, causing eaves and roofs to creak and settle, rattling window blinds.

Sleeping as lightly as I was, it was not long before the noise awakened me. I stirred and sat up, disconcerted at first by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then, my bearings sorted out, I began to listen to the wind and the havoc it was creating. Quietly, so as to not disturb my slumbering companion, I assumed the position that had become so common to me lately: knees drawn up and together, tucked under my chin, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. A defensive, protective posture. The wind had spooked me--too many years of violent, unexpected storms and superstitious Alice Hoffman novels had left their mark on me. Logically, I knew that sudden strong winds were normal in the Pass, but this was the first time I had encountered them, and it felt strange.

It took a while for me to drift back to sleep. But the wind continued blowing. And in a way, they are blowing still.

Still A Nomad, But No Longer in Exile

In 6.5 years, I have moved seven times. Each time, it gets a little easier--I say good-bye a little more lightly, leave behind a few more belongings, learn to let out a little more of the baggage. Sure, it rips me apart to leave the people I love and with whom I have forged connections, but I am philosophical about it. Partings are a part of life. And each time I leave people and possessions behind, I become a little more self-reliant, a little more detached from physical possession (for example, there's a trail of stoneware across the U.S., abandoned to my various ex-boyfriends). And it's been a very long time--perhaps since the Florida years--that I felt I had a home. Thus, I say I'm "in exile."

I especially felt like that in Indiana, which is exceptionally sad. I loved Indiana--loved the climate, the scenery, the farmland, the seasons, the architecture, the anonymity. Problem was, Indiana didn't love me.

I found it hard, especially at first, to connect with people. Midwesterners are painfully reserved and socially awkward, and my open, free, doofy demeanor did not go over well. I suppose I made friends easily enough--after all, M. and I started dating pretty much immediately after I moved there (whoops! I tripped!!)--but forging connections, that took a little longer. And I felt the lack of it keenly.

And I was always sick in Indiana--within ten days of moving there, I had come down with a horrible sinus infection, caused by aggravated allergies, and a urinary tract infection. (Okay, so allergies did not cause the UTI. Other, more...uh...vigorous activities were the culprit of that). And the sicknesses just never really stopped. I was unable to smell anything during most of the almost-two years I was there.

But still, I loved Indiana. For a long time, I assumed I would be spending the rest of my life there, being a literacy librarian and living in a quaint Broad Ripple Bungalow and popping out argumentative babies with receding hairlines, big hips, and dysthymia. However...if you want to hear god laugh, make plans. In hindsight, I can say that I loved Indiana, but I don't think it was ever my home, not matter how hard I tried.

And now, I am here, in Southern California. On the way to work the other morning, as I looked out over the canyon, it occurred to me--This is home. I feel more right here than I ever did in Indiana. I might still be a nomad, but I am no longer in exile. The heat might melt me into a gooey pile of estrogen and sex appeal on a daily basis, but at least it happens in a place where I belong. There's a dozen little ways that I sense it: Katie, showing up on my doorstep and helping me assemble furniture, even though she had never met me before. One of the Library Assistants at work, who only knows me as the whacky new librarian, offers to drive me to the airport when I leave for Portland. When I bathe, I can inhale the scent of my toasted-vanilla-and-sugar body wash. I wake up in the morning to cats purring and nestled close to me. My Riverside mates laugh at the incredibly odd things that I blurt out at equally odd times. This is home.

Maybe it's nothing to do with the location, and everything to do with me. Unbidden, a memory from earlier in the spring floats into my head, me saying to my closest friends: "I can be happy no matter where I live. I am all that I need to make a happy life my reality." So maybe I would feel happy and at home, whether I lived in SoCal, or Mississippi, or Alaska (Alaska! Think of all the single men! It would be Mel-hunting season, all year 'round!). I'd like to think that's the case.

But I am still Mel, and I have my common sense and values. So here is my SoCal survival guide, to keep this place my happy home so long as I live here:

1. I will use SPF 10,000 on a daily basis.

2. I will not bleach my hair blonde.

3. I will attempt to journey to a beach or ocean (with afore-mentioned SPF 10,000) on a semi-regular basis.

4. I will not have casual sex. I'm not emotionally capable of it, and no change in geographic location will alter that.

5. I will stay here long enough to really enjoy this experience.

6. I will not buy anything on Rodeo Drive.

7. I will refrain from crying like a bitch with a skinned knee the next time there is an earthquake.

8. I will not get a boob job. (Thank goodness I don't actually need one).

Welcome to the Club

Not that long ago, I was having conversation with Recent Acquaintance, who informed me that "Clumsiness was hot." I think he was being sarcastic. But ha! Sarcasm and mockery do come back to haunt us. In this case, Recent Acquaintance realized how hot clumsiness can be when he broke two toes, trying to avoid stepping on his kittens. The really sad thing about this is that he broke his toes separately, on two different occasions. And now he is hobbling everywhere. Really hot. Recent Acquaintance has now been dubbed "The Gimp." Poor fella--I actually feel bad for him. As clumsy as I am, I have managed to avoid broken bones.

At least they match.

That Takes Ovaries!

While I am all about overthrowing gender stereotypes and discourse that constricts and unfairly defines the characteristics of masculinity and femininity, I have to say that "That takes ovaries!" does not have the same ring to it that "that takes balls!" or "cajones!" or "brass!" does. Which is a pity. But, there it goes.

Recently, I was talking to my friend Sooz, from Indiana. She was packing up her apartment; she had been offered a library job in West Virginia, and while she was hesitant, she decided to take it.

As I folded my laundry, and listened to her wry, practical voice in my ear, she said something that stopped me short.

"I wasn't sure I was going to take it," she was saying. "I don't know anyone there. And then I thought, 'Look, if Mel can do it--load up her car and drive to Southern California and start a new job in a new place, then I can do it too.'"
I have to say, I'm not accustomed to someone looking to me as an example of the best or bravest course of action. It was a little flattering. But now, the more that I think about it, the more I realize, she wasn't flattering me, she was just telling it how it was. I packed up my car and left my friends and family and a lot of worn-out dreams, and drove for three days and ended up in hot, crowded Southern California, where I knew next to no one, and set up a home and got a couple of cats and made friends and am getting out there on a daily basis, and if that doesn't take balls or brass or whatever, then I don't know what does.

Usually, I downplay it. It hasn't been too terribly hard, I don't think--but then, one of my strengths is my adaptability. But every now and then, I will admit--this took balls. No, let's just put it out there: it took ovaries. Sure, it's been hard on occasion, and will continue to be hard. I'd do it again, in a heartbeat. But with ovaries like these, I am not backing down. And I am willing to bet Sooz isn't, either.

Rules Were Made to be Broken. Or At Least Re-Written.

Single in Southern California. Not bad, not bad at all. But there's a problem with this scenario--I have never really dated. More like, I'd go out on a date, and somehow end up committed. Almost by accident, it would seem--whoops! I tripped! And so I am utterly, completely, 100% clueless about what to do. What to say. How to pace it. For example, I guess it's really not kosher for me to introduce myself to boys by saying, "Hi! I'm Mel. And I'm single. I don't do casual sex. So how do you feel about relationships?" Yeah, I know this is a real mood-killer, and most fellas in my age range would (perhaps sensibly) head for the hills as soon as that flew out of my mouth. But that's always been how I've rolled. I'm a straight shooter, and I usually just want to cut through the bull and know what folks' motivations are, and lay it all out there. (And I wonder why people say I'm intense.)
So, there's something of a dilemma here. And it's exacerbated by The Rules.

There's a published book of Rules out there, that instructs us womenfolk how to snare us a dreamboat of a man. I remember coming across it in a used bookstore back in Indiana, a couple of years ago, and laughing so hard I nearly cried. But the damned nonsense has sold, and apparently, boys read it too. This disturbs me on many levels (why? Why would a male want to read it??? What possible motive?), and I want to know what the hell is being said in this book. What sorts of shit males think females do. And because I think it's time to re-write The Rules, Mel-style.

And like the smart, sexy information professional that I am, I do my research.

I had to go to Borders for some other books, and so I decided to acquire The Rules. And so, somewhere in the Inland Empire tonight, there is one very disturbed Borders employee.

I went out to Riverside today to spend time with my mates, and decided it was the opportune time to get the books. There were several on the list, but the one I really wanted, Borders didn't have. Apparently retail stores are staffed by prudes, even in Southern California. So, I picked up some other books that I had been meaning to acquire. And lordy, lordy, what an assortment! Along with The Rules, I picked up a replacement copy of the latest Harry Potter (I left mine in Indiana) and The Story of O (because what person's life isn't complete with an erotica/BDSM classic?) That's a fucked-up assortment, even for me. I would have picked up The Complete Kama Sutra, too, but it was $20 for the paperback version.

Porn, magic, and bad dating advice aside, I spent the afternoon in the pool at a friend's house in Riverside, along with a few other ladies. They have been conscripted into The New Rules Editorial Board. Think Sex in the City--er, the Empire, but with less shoes.

Coherent. Barely.

On the way home this evening. I noticed some wildfires burning up on the moutainside. It was an oddly breath-taking sight; the orange fires glowed in the black sky like eerie, intense Christmas lights. As I tried to take in the view and not drive off the road, I reflected once again on how happy I am that I left Indiana to come here. It seems that every day, I recieve another sign that this is where I need to be. For now, anyway.

* * * * *

One of the (many) quirky things about me is my sad ignorance of pop culture. All those damned university studies, and my insistence on taking them seriously, really prevented me from maintaining an awareness of current television, music, and movies. Tonight, I made a step towards remedying that ignorance when I watched Fight Club with a New Acquaintance. I missed the ending, but I really liked what I saw. Favorite quote: "You've got to lose everything before you can do anything." I think I could sum up my year so far with those words. Anyway, the movie inspired a discussion between New Acquaintance and I, the subject being, "If you could fight anyone in history, who would it be?"

My list:

1. Robespierre

2. Josef Mengele

3. Margaret Thatcher

4. Michael Brown

5. David Hume

6. Ann Coulter

...More coming, the more I think on it.

* * * * *

Research Question of the week: What is the difference between porn and erotica? Are they pretty much the same, except that erotica is marketed towards women and porn towards men? Is porn erotica with pictures? Or are they completely different, with porn containing mute women who are inclined towards threesomes and don't want anything more than big penises, and erotica containing women and men, both acting as equal agents, but with the women wanting to cuddle with their men after their bondage/sex sessions? I am just wondering. If they are the same, why two different terms? If they are the same, it's rather unfair to males, because porn is associated with men, and stigmatized, whereas erotica is just...well, I don't know what society thinks about erotica. I guess so long as it keeps our women randy, that's all that matters to most people.

So, yes. Must research porn and erotica, to distinguish differences.

* * * * *

Yesterday I purchased my tickets for Portland! September 3-6, I am going to be chilling out in the Pacific Northwest with one of my soulmates, her boyfriend, and their cats. And...it will be time for the eyebrow piercing! *Bounce bounce* Three days of used bookstores, good friends, pleasant weather, and an example of a healthy, functional couple. Woo!

Is it September yet?

I'm trying to find a second source to back this up, but according to CNN, the six Egyptian students that were missing this week have been arrested.

...? Arrested for what, exactly? Not turning up on time for classes? It's utter poppycock, and I feel bad for those kids. Talk about bad timing. But seriously, how do we justify arresting them? On what grounds--we assumed they might be up to no good, based on our histrionic, preconceived notions and some really bad timing? Grrr. Just...grrrr. A couple more coincidences and incidents like the ones over the past couple of days, and there's going to be a witch-hunt.
(Hey, FBI, if you are reading this, can you send a Scully look-alike to question me? I don't mind if she plays "bad cop.")

On a different subject, today is Friday, and payday, and even though it's not really a weekend for me, I decided to celebrate a little. So, after work, I swung by Von's and picked up a bouquet of flowers. (Lesson of the day: Von's flowers are really pricey. I got the cheapest bouquet, that had mainly mums in it. I am not a huge fan of mums or carnations--I find them generic, much like roses--but dammit, I wanted some flowers.) And they do jazz the place up a bit. So, tonight, I had my dinner with flowers and Bach cello playing in the background.

Recently, I discovered a museum out towards L.A. that looks to be really appealing--the Getty Museum. From what I can tell from the website, and a book I have consulted, there's quite a variety of works there--classical, medieval, and renaissance. And I just learned that later this fall, there's going to be an exhibition there with some of Caspar David Friedrich's works--I love his works, and have always wanted to see some of them. I might hold off on heading to the Getty until then. That will be a huge treat. And cheap, too!

I have been busy this week, and have not had the chance to read much. However, I finally finished the much-hyped Year of Magical Thinking. Mum had told me about it earlier in the year, and aroused my curiosity. It was an interesting memoir of grief. Perhaps, back in the spring time, I would have related to it more, and while I still agree with a lot of what the author says ("Life changes fast; life changes in an instant"), I tend to shy away from the pain. The author had lost her husband of 40 years one winter night; up until that point they had lived and worked and created together (they were both writers); they had not only a marriage, but a life partnership. And then, poof, the husband is gone, the wife is numb and slightly deranged by grief, and I don't think a lot of us like to contemplate the destruction or loss of that kind of partnership. As hard it must be to create a partnership, a happy unity of minds like that, it must be a hell of a lot harder to lose it.

Word of the day, from Dictionary.com's archives:

triskaidekaphobia: fear of the number 13.

The morning we left Bloomington, a freak storm arose. We were supposed to leave at 4 in the morning, and since I stayed up so late, packng and doing laundry, I decided not to sleep. I just settled down on the futon--my bed, my home, my self-imposed exile--watched the lightning flash from the living room windows, and waited for Eric to arrive. Eventually, he did, fifteen minutes late thanks to the torrential downpours. He stood silently in the rain, head lifted up to the sky, an enigmatic expression on his face. Lord, I thought, we can't both of us be angsty and contemplative on this trip.

We loaded up his car with my excess baggage, and without a backward glance at my old home, I settled in for the ride. All the way through Southern Indiana, the lightning lit up the sky, the wind buffeted the car, and rain obscured visibility. Eric sat, hunched over the wheel, and though I was not driving--Eric insisted on driving the entire week--I stayed awake, alert, silent, vigilant, perhaps in sympathy, perhaps in camradarie. Both completely useless, of course.

Finally, we emerged from Indiana, into Kentucky, and with painfully obvious and therefore pedestrian symbolism, the storm cleared up. The sun began to rise, and we stopped off at a terrible diner to stretch our legs and get some (alleged) nourishment. As I emerged from the car and into the Deep South--my home, even if I would never live there again--and felt the humid air, already warmer, and listened to the crickets and mockingbirds ("The Confederate Airforce," as Eric wryly observed) of my youth, a small measure of tension seeped out of my shoulders. New Orleans, my second family, a week away from Indiana with the most stalwart and undemanding travel companion imaginable, St. Paddy's day in the French Quarter, all of it lay ahead, at the end of a sixteen hour road trip. But already, it felt like I was home.

The rest of the trip down was uneventful, save for the fact that the deeper we drove into Alabama and Mississippi, the more torn-up and devastated the landscape became. Felled trees--hundreds, perhaps thousands, in every direction. Homes and buildings damaged. Lives and livelihoods dispersed. Eric and I became more sober the further south we traveled, silently witnessing the damage that heretofore had only existed for us on television and internet news sites.

And finally, Louisiana. Soon we had arrived; I had jumped out of the car and was running for Deshka, my unwilling companion on my emotional pilgrimmage of the year. It had been three years since we had seen each other, but she seemed the same--happy, vibrant, beautiful, charismatic. So much had gone down in our lives in the past three years, life changes in a heartbeat, as we told each other in countless late-night phone conversations, but none of it mattered. She was the same, and it was the most comforting fact I had encountered in months. As I ran to her and threw myself into her arms, I realized that coming to New Orleans had been the most brilliant and sane choice I had made in a very long time.

Stuff on my Mel.com

At nine this morning, I groggily came awake and contemplated my sunny bedroom. I had been out late last night, at the Orange County party, and the little asshole cats were not pleased. So they spent all last night playing, fighting, and tearing the house apart. And when I woke up this morning, I was covered in toys--the stuffed mousies, hair ties, the feather-on-a-stick. The little bastards had just dumped them on me. My cats are awesome.

The Orange County party was...not as bad as I expected. Definitely posh and fab and glam, but at least 50% of the people there were over the age of 45. Which meant that the crowds were not as intimidating...but that it was much harder to get my flirt on. I gave it the ol' college try, though, and suffice to say that those OC boys will never lookat a Hoosier girl the same way.

In all seriousness, however, there were bouncers with a guest list and valet parking attendants and great big spotlights swinging about through the sky (and this was at a residential house!) and three open bars and at least 20 waitstaff, a live band and a trampoline, and various video games and table sports. I was determined to find out whose party it was, and finally I saw a guy with a nametag that said "Barry--I live here." At first I thought it was just a ploy to attract women (kinda like if I had written on my name tag "Mel--I kiss girls" or something) but it turned out Barry actually did live there. He made his money in commercial real estate. (I think that's the story of every wealthy person in SoCal.) Anyway, it was a gated community, and as we were leaving, I noticed that the gates had a great big monogrammed "B".

Me: I wonder what the "B" stands for?

Alexis: Barry?

Me: (Drunken snort)

Everyone else in the car: (Appalled silence)

So that was the OC party. Not what I expected I would be doing when I moved here, which makes it all the more awesome.

Friday Night Beauty

Life continues to be lovely here in SoCal...honestly, I never thought I would say that. The weather has been incredibly gorgeous. I drive through mountains on my way to and from work every day. The road is lined with sunflowers that would be impossibly cheery-looking anywhere else, but here, they are par for the course. At night, I have to contort my body and arrange it around two cats that insist on sleeping on either side of me--I dread to think of how they will adjust when there's a human addition to the sleeping arrangements. In the morning, I awake to Austen licking my face and biting my nose.

There's a real estate boom down here, and a lot of advertising for new houses going on. One currently popular trend is to hire people to stand on a street corner and energetically swing huge signs advertising new communities and home construction programs. Apparently, a recruiter arranged to meet several interested people at the Sunnydale Library. Of course, no one notified us. So yesterday, a little before eleven, people started coming in. A woman approached the reference desk...

Her: I'm supposed to meet a someone named Justin.

Me: Uuuuh...no one's come up to the desk. I don't know if anyone is here waiting.

Her: It's a meeting for swingers.

Me: (Nonplussed silence)

Her: You know, the swinging signs? He's hiring people to swing the signs.

Later, I related this story to my colleague Mr. E, and mused, "You know, swinger meet-ups...that's one way to bring libraries into the twenty-first century." Mr. E chortled and said, "Now that's what I call 'adult programming'!"

Tomorrow, I think I am heading out to a party in one of the beach towns of Orange County. I am somewhat apprehensive..what happens at these shin-digs? Cocaine? Roofies? Orgies? Togas? Word is that the person holding the party has transformed his tennis court into a dance floor. I can honestly say that I think this may be the most glamorous event I've ever attended. God knows what the hell is going to pop out of my mouth tomorrow night.

In all honesty, though, I think I have a strong hunch about what is going to happen. At some point, it's likely that I will disengage from the crowd, head down to the beach, settle into the sand, gaze out at the ocean and the night sky, and chase down eternity as I quote Sara Teasdale poetry in my head. (Ha! I am assuming this place is on the beach.) It's anti-social, I suppose, but some old habits die hard. That's just the kind of thing I do.

I am spending the evening relaxing, doing a little cleaning, and having myself a lovely glass of wine. Let me tell you, World Market is sympathetic to singles: they sell ideally-sized bottles of wine! (And never mind the fact that this is not fancy-pants wine).

Knowing Who I Am and What I Want

I saw this meme in the blog of a girl I know, and given recent decisions I have made in my life, I thought it was rather fitting to do it, assess, and all that rot.
-Longest relationship:

At one shot? 2.5 years, with John the Saint. On-and-off? Almost the same, with the Crap Weasel.

-Shortest relationship:

Serious relationship? 6 months, with Idiot Steve. Fling? 2 months, with Big Brad.

-How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you that they love you? and meant it?

5 told me...at least three meant it. I am not sure that the others really understood love enough to really know what they were talking about. In fairness, I am sure that they thought they did.

-How many times have you been in love?

Three

-Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were with?
Absolutely! I delude myself every time. I'm an optimistic person!
-Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurt?

Alas, yes.
-Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?

Of course.

-Have you ever cried over a boyfriend or girlfriend?

Anyone who knows me knows that I cry over just about anything. So, yes. I don't retain water easily.

-Are you happier single or in a relationship?

I like being in relationships, so long as they are functional. If not, I will opt for the Single Life. There's more happiness and self-respect to be had.

-Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend or girlfriend?

yes

-Have you ever been cheated on?

yes

-What is your favorite thing about the preferred sex?

This is a weird question. I will ponder this at another time.

-What is the best part of being in a relationship?

Companionship, affection, discovering new things together, planning a future together, knowing that there is someone in your corner, backing you up, appreciating you.

-What is the worst part of being in a relationship?

Depends on who the boyfriend is.

-Have you ever had your heart broken?

Of course!

-Have you ever broken someones heart?

I honestly don't think so. I am sure I have caused my past lovers pain, but not heatbreak.

-Talk to any of your exes?

Yes--John the Saint and I are best good friends.

-If you could go back in time and change things to where you could still be with one of your exes, would you?

Absolutely not.
-Do you think any of your exes feel the same way?

I imagine they all feel the same way I do.

-What is your ideal boyfriend or girlfriend?

Someone who is willing to compromise and try new things together with me. Someone who is reliable, and has a solid sense of humor. Someone who knows himself/herself. Someone who will pause and appreciate me, and who can communicate. Someone who surprises me with flowers and road trips. Someone who loves animals as much as I do, and who is as liberal as I am. Someone who will not freak out when I stick my foot in my mouth, and someone who my friends like. Someone who is tolerant and understanding of my neuroses, and knows his own. Someone who knows himself, and what he wants.
-Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?

It depends on the relationship. Generally, I think I try very hard, and in fact sometimes try too hard. Which can make one a bad partner. But I am by no means the Evil BitchMonster From Hell.

-Have you dated people who were not good to you?

It's my MO.

-Have you been in an abusive relationship?

Not physically abusive. But definitely neglectful.

-Name your most memorable ex if you have had?

In all honesty, I remember them all, because I have a fucked-up elephant memory.

-Have you dated someone older then you?

Yes--I once dated someone 26 years older than myself.

-Younger?

yes, but not by too much.

-Do you regret anything that you have done with a boyfriend or girlfriend?

What's the point? I am who I am now, because of my past. And I like my life and who I am.

-Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

Some might, I suppose. God knows I gave the Crap Weasel and I enough chances. The older I get, however, the less inclined I am to be disposed to it.

-Believe in love at first sight?

no

-Ever dated two people at once?

yes

-Ever been given a promise ring?

no

-Ever been given an Engagement ring?

no

-Do you want to get married?

Absolutely. But only to someone who is willing to work as hard at the relationship as I will.

-Do you have something to say to any of your exes?

Yes--but I am calling John this weekend, so it can wait. I don't think he reads this, anyway.

-Ever stolen someones boyfriend or girlfriend?

No

-Ever liked someone elses boyfriend or girlfriend?

Yeah

-Do you believe in true love?

I believe in "relative" love. That's what Einstein's theory of relativity was really about.

-Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?

It depends on how emotionally unstable you are!