Last I talked with you, I was in a funk and ranting about the most ridiculous shit. Well, time has passed, the funk is lifted but ridiculousness is still on the table. It’s me, what do you expect? Right now, I am looking over a job alert that was supposedly tailored just.for.me…it is with the Mormon Church. Apparently they are in need of an administrative assistant. While flattered they think I am ready to “enjoy and abide in the peace that is the Church”, their worthiness qualification (not kidding!) of me being a temple worthy Mormon kind of knocks me out the box. Google: it sees all and remembers more.
Want more ridiculousness? Although I think this is more along the lines of stupidity….I had a response to my ad. Please keep in mind the ad is placed in the escort section and the term “generous” is used several times and in bold. When the man responded, I asked him the three usual questions: age, race and did he realize financial assistance was involved? He said: 39, lightskinneded (he really said that) and YES. When he suggests meeting, I tell him what the damage is…he says: I don’t pay, I just want an occasional friends with benefits where it is all about the fun of it. I told him he definitely got lost on his way to Craigslist because why was he expecting to that find in the escort section? To spare both of us painful embarrassment, did not even get into his previous responses. Still waiting for him to answer. (Not really)
So finally…onto the post. I had a job interview this week…it wasn’t my first choice out of the submissions, but it has the best chance to go perm and I get to feel good about the people who will be helped. But the commute will kill me. Somehow, when I hear a job is metro accessible, a train ride followed by a bus ride followed by a mile long walk down a wooded street with heavy traffic and no streetlamps to the office is not what I am thinking. I may have to play the diabetes card and cite the nerve and muscle damage I now have to try and cajole a vehicle out of my parents. And really, I am probably being a princess about the whole thing. It pissed me off because the long walk was unexpected….a couple of weeks of making the trek to and fro and it may not even bother me. However, I jump ahead of myself…all I have had is an interview, not an offer.
I went out with Hangout Buddy on Friday. I don’t know why…he texted, suggested we meet in Alexandria and do our usual. We would eat at Montana Grill, I could pick the movie and be in charge of popcorn. I debated it and finally said okay. It got me out the city and I wouldn’t be solo on Couple Night in DC. I did decide to wear a dress that I now fil out nicely with more curves than rolls…reasoning behind that one was last week, he treated me like one of the guys. Maybe if he saw me as a woman, he would listen and maybe treat me as a friend versus a last minute alternative to going solo and looking lame. Weird, because that is how I viewed him this time around. So I get ready and head to the metro station. I know I need a yellow line train whose destination is Huntington and I want the Eisenhower Avenue stop. So I board a yellow line train to Huntington at 6:20. And that is where my plans ended.
The train went off course….all I know is it is supposed to go to Huntington…no idea how it gets there. I do know Franconia-Springfield is NOT Huntington, and somehow my yellow line train to Huntington is in Franc-Springfield. I was livid. And hungry. I was missing dinner and the station manager had no explanation. (Of course he wouldn’t…he was not the one driving the train) Before he could open his mouth to say another word, I bullied him out of his granola bars. Dottie is a bad ass when she wants to be. After eating, I was almost calmed down, until Hangout Buddy called and made insinuations that I will get into in the next paragraph. In any case, he said he would pick me up from King Street so we could salvage the movie. (Turns out no need for that…the movie was playing to an empty auditorium when we arrived .We were the only two in the theater the entire time. At least my neck doesn’t hurt.)
At King Street, the man passed me by THREE times…claimed he didn’t recognize me in a dress and with short hair. Seriously? I said nothing because I did not want an unnecessary argument…besides I could smell the alcohol on him. Thinking too many beers blurred his vision. But, apparently, he wanted an argument. Trust me, when I am hungry and pissed (my Facebook friends call that being “hangry”) the best way to defuse the situation is NOT to tell me I am either dumb, illiterate or both and that a metro train going off course is my fault because I got on the wrong train. Was he NOT listening to me? You wanna feel my wrath? Lie to me and/or insult my intelligence. I may do stupid shit but by no means am I stupid, and if there is one thing I know, it is how to catch the metro. I cursed a blue streak (Feisty One swears I am verbally abusive) and he just shut.up…like he should have done in the first place. And that is when I knew….Hangout Buddy’s time with me was up. It was nice and fun when I was broken, hurt and in pieces over cowardice and cruelty. But I have healed and grown since then…not completely, but enough to know that I need to be on my own schedule and it’s time to do things by myself. I no longer need my hand held or to be seen out and about with a man just to validate I am good enough. I am more than good enough. Besides, this is a man who uses the term “fuck buddy” and thinks it is a compliment.
So with all these Friday night revelations, I have no idea why I did not cancel the museum date. I did not want to go but had already bailed once and the man said meeting me was his #1 priority Saturday. The man was a mouse…gray skin, gray eyes, gray hair. His lunch choices told me some of what I needed to know: the man ordered hot tea and a plain hamburger. So, no personality there (although I kinda knew that when he sent me pictures of his dog during our email communications); conversation revealed more. The man has lived in Fairfax over 12 years and this was his first foray into DC….he had never ridden metro and thought the Smithsonian was one museum. But when he did not offer to buy my lunch even though I was getting him into the museum for under $9 (admission is $21.99), I labeled him ….and I was correct. The man was an absolute bore who was cheap to top it off. He did not interact with me at the museum; he spent tons of time poring over the details of the exhibits and we were never in the same room, ever. I was getting tired (my neuropathy was acting up), the place was crowded and filled with children and I just wanted out. And that is exactly what I did…I left the museum and went to the Portrait Gallery. By myself. And enjoyed it so very much. The Mouse did not know I was gone for 90 minutes.
I don’t know why I don’t listen to myself….I neither want nor need a man, relationship or validation. I said I was going to have a solo outing…clear my head, I said. So why did I choose to put myself through the bullshit that is what I am terming #outingswithmen? Because I wanted to make memories and for some reason I have always thought memories were made with other people. And sometimes they are, but with people you like, love and care about. My best memories do not involve men: the times in Ocean City with my girls, dinners out with friends, long conversations about everything, anything and nothing with various Panel members, the cruises I took with Mommy and Sis-Sis, the movies with my favorite aunt…those are the memories I carry with me.
And what I will remember about this past weekend, I made those memories alone. The sight of the Masonic Temple (as viewed from the King Street platform) looking like a floating castle; laughing over an inappropriately funny comment with the tourists at the Escape exhibit at the Spy museum; the photograph of the father and son hands at the Portrait Gallery that I stared at forever (I felt like Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off); the details and intricacies of a bronze sculpture, the intimacy I saw and felt in another sculpture titled Harlem Dancers. The awe and magnificence of the Great Hall. The little Hispanic girl, once I finally arrived for my interview, who boldly showed me her toys but was sweetly shy when asked what she intended to make with them. These are the things I will remember, not the stories that accompanied them.
Okay, done for now. There is a dust explosion going on in my apartment that requires immediate action (not attention), I need to do a job search and my body is still screaming in agony over the unexpected workout a 2 mile walk gave it, so the search is on for pain pills. I will be back soon. As always, thanks for stopping past and reading and as usual….enjoy your day!