The Plot Thickens...

I swear. There are times when the narrative unfolds in such a way that you could not have paid for it all to happen the way it does. Met Mr.-Moves-Back-East at a neighborhood locale tonight... and who should also be there, also, but Mr. Close Encounters? and while I'm no omniscient narrator and cannot say what, if any, impression this all left, I was left feeling like the playing field is level once again.

Poetry Pays?

Tonight I was the featured reader at neighborhood spot. Because I know the emcee/founder of the monthly event, I have been invited to attend a number of times, but only went for the first time last month. It was that night that I was asked to feature at the April meeting. The readers this venue attracts are more of the spoken word/performance variety, so I wondered how well my pieces would go over. In any event, the last two months of my life have been about being stretched, doing things I don't normally do, and being woefully out of my element.

I think there was some appreciation for the poems, though they didn't inspire the same kind of response as the other poets' work. It's just a very different kind of scene, but there were appreciative nods and little verbal affirmations from the crowd as I read. I'm glad I did it, though I was inifinitely more comfortable last night at the university gathering (or months ago now, at my own reading) where my "ivory tower" brand of poetry is the flavour of choice.

The surprise of the evening was when a collection was taken up for me because, to quote the hostess, "we don't believe in starving artists." I left the place with my pockets bulged from wadded up ones (and a few fives and tens). I don't think poetry has ever put money in my pocket before. There's a first time for everything.

Rectified

I attended/participated in the spring thesis reading at the university tonight so that I could secure an effective grade change (my grade was docked last semester for not attending that term's reading). Most of you know that I have struggled to see the value in this exercise, but that I was willing to do it in order to get the less than stellar grade off my record.

Listen. I believe in Redemption. I believe it comes to us--if we welcome it--in great and small ways. The chair of the program came up to me tonight, before the reading and told me that he was glad to see me there, that he was looking forward to hearing my poetry, and that he was, again, sorry about last term. That I didn't deserve what happened. He said that my Now Former Thesis Advisor is a big fan of mine, so he is a big fan of mine. Afterward, he encouraged me to keep in touch, told me to invite him to the book party... these simple statements turned my heart toward this event. His sincerity changed me.

And the thesis coordinator hugged me and thanked me for coming. His sincerity, too, turned my heart. His warmth changed me.

In the scheme of things, though this ordeal has been significant, it hasn't been too big a part of my life. The fact that I should have been afforded such a corrective experience regarding something so comparitively marginal gives me hope that the things that have impacted me more deeply than this will someday be made right.

Several people said encouraging things to me about the poems I read afterward. I felt like a writer again. Something I haven't felt since last semester.

Dear Blog World,

I feel that I owe you an explanation for my reticence of late. I'm not dissing by throwing up the red herring of a John Waters sighting, I just don't know what to say for myself. And for as much as I believe in the "go hard or go home" credo, sometimes I am just non-confrontational. I know you are saying "but you don't owe me anything, Katie Krupnik." You are being brave. You sense there is something more going on, but you don't want to press me. We're not that deep. You're trying not to overstep a boundary. Okay, so there is something I'm not telling you. But I am so telling you, if you're listening...

I wrote the scot late last week (he'd been out of town). No word, and that's okay. We are not that deep. Saw Mr. Close Encounters last night. I still don't know what I'm going to do about that boy. He scares me. I want to put him in a box, but he won't go in one. So it makes me want to go into one. But now I can't. I'm too open for my own good.

I met up with C for dinner tonight at my beloved One World. We shared a bottle of South African red. It had a screw top. We've decided that the cork is what makes the opening worth it.
Blog world, holla if you hear me...

It's just a few minutes before I leave the house for the day and because of an after work engagement, I'm making an effort to dress up a bit. It's always challenging for me when I'm meeting someone right after I leave the office--obviously, I have a toothbrush and toothpaste in my desk drawer--but the wear and tear to one's overall appearance after taking calls, working through stacks of paper, making photocopies, and just moving around from place to place can be significant and difficult to repair in the women's bathroom.

Had a long talk with my youngest sister last night (she's been so busy we haven't connected in days). That silly goose always makes me laugh! After that, I fell asleep easily and deeply and had troubling dreams.

Walking home from the market last night, I saw John Waters (in a jacket that featured some sort of sequined design) and two of his cohorts going into the Prime Rib. I had jury duty with this man about a year and a half ago... I know seeing him in and around baltimore is not uncommon, but I always feel the need to remark upon it.

Allergy attacks meant no gym last night. I went to get some over-the-counter antihistamines instead. So it's all about today.

My sister and I went dress shopping today--not for her dress--for mine. As you know from previous posts about any effort of mine to find a dress, it was fruitless. We did find her veil. It was my gift to her--her "something new." It's not the wedding gift, just a token of my support, love, and happiness for her.

So, the wedding is in two weeks and I still have no idea what I'm wearing. I think I'll have to figure something out some night this week after work. gah!

But... I did buy this cool Nancy Drew T-shirt.

This Week's Dating Activity

Met the I-don't-think-we'd-be-a-match guy for coffee last night. It was perfectly pleasant and I laughed, and I was also right. No attraction (on either side), but the anecdotes I got from it (his) were worth the time and effort. I don't think any dating/relationship horror story could possibly trump this man's bad luck. He once dated a woman with multiple personalities. Naturally, he didn't know this at the outset. When I asked him how one breaks up with someone who suffers from this disorder, he said "It was a slow and lengthy process because there were so many of them..."

Quel nightmare.

A new man has started writing to me. He's 41 and somewhat outdoorsy (if the profile speaks the truth). I wrote him back because his message was somewhat clever and referenced my profile without him saying anything so pedantic as how much he liked it or something like that.

On a related front, I just realized something. I don't think any of these dates I've gone on has ever been on a Friday night. There's something a little sad about that. I'm always at home with a cup of decaf watching back-to-back episodes of That 70s Show... must fix this.

Just Be A Man About It...

I walked home from the light rail, listening to Toni Braxton's R&B treatise, "Just Be a Man About It," thinking that some things never change. I came to the conclusion earlier today that it really behooves a girl to have about five men on retainer. You need one waiting in the wings, ready to go at a moment's notice. You need someone who will be there to entertain you/distract you from the fall out of ensuing ridiculousness with one of the others.

Case in point. A guy--a friend--that I've been wondering if/when I'd ever hear from again writes me today. All breezy. All "What's up?!" Of course he writes because--and I am convinced of this--I have been lately wondering when I will hear from another man... and so had been giving precious little thought to him.

So I think, okay, this is good. I hear from this person. We'll likely hang out soon (and I had zero thought of that happening again). And who do I run into on the corner of Charles & Preston? Well, no one other than the man I've been waiting to call me for a couple of days now.

And in true fateful fashion. I saw him as I was thinking to myself 'ah, well. Maybe he'll never call. Maybe I'm okay with that.'

I was a little awkward, I think. I mean, I think I punched him in the shoulder as a jovial parting gesture or something. We did establish that he intends to call. I told him. "I hope you do. I'm a pretty hot commodity." So maybe it wasn't a total flop.

He was himself--very good natured. I just felt all nervous, so it made me distant and formal. We saw each other from across the street and I couldn't wait to get to him. And then I got over there...and flaked out or something. There was a conversation, of sorts, in which I admitted that I felt nervous. Anyway. I keep seeing this man just when I'm ready to write him off.

I guess I should get the message already.

I could describe, in great detail, the inefficacy of the MTA, but instead I give you... Blogthings!

He Could Be More Than a Hookup

But you're not really sure what you want him to be. Sometimes you have fairly serious feelings for him. If you think there could be more, than go for it. (Just make sure he wants something more too!)

Is He Just a Hookup?

Your Seduction Style: Sweet Talker

Your seduction technique can be summed up with "charm" You know that if you have the chance to talk to someone... Well, you won't be talking for long! ;-) You're great at telling potential lovers what they want to hear. Partially, because you're a great reflective listener and good at complementing. The other part of your formula? Focusing your conversation completely on the other person. Your "sweet talking" ways have taken you far in romance - and in life. You can finess your way through any difficult situation, with a smile on your face. Speeding tickets, job interviews... bring it on! You truly live a *charmed life*

What Kind of Seducer Are You?

You Are the Ego

You take a balanced approach to your life. You definitely aren't afraid to act out on your desires - even crazy ones. But you usually think first. Morals drive you as much as hedonism does. You've been able to live a life of pleasure... without living a life of excess.

Are You Id, Ego, or Superego?

Domesticity

Hung out with E at Sammy's last night--didn't get home till after midnight. It was raining. I woke up this morning to the sound of a much more agressive downpour slapping against my window panes. Weird dreams pervaded.

Sarah's phone call woke me up for good (I left my bed for the living room couch at about 8, but fell asleep again to the backdrop of the Lucille Ball remake of "Auntie Mame"). We chatted for a bit, then I realized I was hungry...

A bit later the Sarah-one called back and we went out for a late morning jaunt to an Italian bakery in Fells Point, then over to a cafe for coffee (but where they would not let us eat our danishes from the bakery--for health code reasons). A quick trip over to Whole Foods later, I was back at home (Sarah and I decided against going to see a matinee of "Blades of Glory").

Sunday is always a mixed bag of deflation and preparation. No matter how old I get, Sunday afternoon is always a little glum--too filled with the understanding that I have to prepare for it all to start again. So, to try to get arms around the week ahead, I swept, swiffered, dusted, and polished. I made the bed, hung up some clothes, popped in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" to serve as background noise, made myself a cup of decaf vanilla chai, and then either called or e-mailed institutions of higher learning to request PhD program catalogues.

My real next/first step where all of that is concerned is taking the GREs, but I thought that having some concrete books and materials sent to me would motivate me to actually start that process and just make it feel more real. My goal is to start somewhere by the fall of 2008. I actually have to get a move on if I'm going to be ready on time. If I get into any of these programs it will mean a move away from MD and my beloved Baltimore.

Now I'm catching up on some reading. It's been a pretty nice weekend. Tomorow I start back at the gym. I've been on hiatus for several days because of some obligations I had in the evenings last week. I really need to get into a solid rhythm on that front.

Breakfast with Catchka...

I love few things more than jazz, a steaming mug of coffee, and breakfast at a neighborhood cafe with a friend--and save for the jazz, I got it all on this mild Saturday morning. My dear, dear Catchka is in town (on a top secret mission that I shall not speak of here) and as usual she made time for moi.

So, my dear C--I salute you, for a number of reasons--too many to name in this small space. Just know that I adore you. Here's to more Saturday morning breakfasts in the future! I think you know what I mean by that...

Because I know you are dying to read...I give you the Operation First Date Update (Installment #3)

I met the Scot at 7 p.m. at a local pub. He lives in the suburbs of the city and does not have a car so he took public transportation--something he has scupulously avoided in the 18 months he's been here--to meet up (For those who are paying attention/keeping score-- we are both carless and don't live that close to each other--make of it what you will) with me. He was a little late, but he called. Not his fault. You often just cannot know what time you're going to get anywhere when you are at the mercy of the MTA.

We proceeded to enjoy a four-hour conversation that covered everything from the prevailing definition of postmodernity (incredulity toward the meta-narrative) to why I must, no, literally have to see the movie "Rambo" again in my life. He did impersonations of Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock, and Woody Allen. He talked about his issues with theatre (he's a playwright), his program at a local university, his thesis proposal. He is a consummate intllectual (this is familiar territory for me), but also supremely accessible and grounded. I laughed so hard so much.

Because we had discussed the fact that I am a poet prior to meeting, he brought me some selections of local poets' work that he had because he would love to know what I think about it. He himself, isn't much into it, doesn't get it, etc. I know I've evolved significantly, because I feel no compunction to defend poetry or its validity to this person or anyone else. I'm getting too old and too democratic in my outlook to be bothered with such things. I said to him "You know, maybe you do get poetry. Maybe you get it, but you just don't like it."

Interior viewpoint

Here's what I was thinking for a good bit of the evening: I am neither attracted nor unattracted, physically, to this man. I have never been in a situation that was this intellectually charged where there also exists the possibility that the man across the table could also be interested in me. There is something here for the taking, if I want to pursue it.


Here's what else I was thinking: This man is very smart. He's a genius. He might even be more intellectually adroit than I am. My Now Former Thesis Advisor would love him! I feel invigorated by this discourse, yet it's also work... talking like this requires a lot of energy. I have always said that this is what I want, what I require from a romantic interaction with a man...

But in the interim of the last time I had a super charged intellectual convo with a man (who was not attracted to me) and this super duper smarty pants talk with a man who might be attracted to me, I have experienced an energy, chemistry with a man that is purely visceral.

It's not that this man is not a smarty. He is. But he does not experience or process the world primarily through intellectual discourse. He processes the world through vibes and energy and common sense. Before you imagine some bohemian (which he very much is), let me inform the picture thus: He used to be an engineer. Now he's a math teacher (for the time being anyway). When we met, he told me that he's just a paradox. The most restless, yet sedentary soul--grounded, but a little ethereal. We've talked. I know I enjoy him, conversationally. He can hold his own with me (he actually thinks I'm uptight and could stand to relax), which is important.

But he looked at me in such a way on that first night that I have never been looked at before. And what I was thinking was... nothing. His appreciation of me, as a woman, whose position on formalism vs. free verse, he did not know, made me brazen. It made me fearless. So I reached across the table and took his hand in mine, and he met me in that gesture.

And when he kissed me later that night, I knew it was coming. I understood, intuitively, that he would want to, so I was ready when it happened. And two weeks later, when I saw him again, and we kissed several more times, some little door that had been closed in me all this time, opened up.

I know that he may not be the one. Truthfully, the Scot is lovely and is already more consistent with the follow through than the other man-- he is not at all bohemian, not at all loosey goosey or vibey--and at this point, I'm not discounting him. It wouldn't be wise. I don't know what the case may be in a week, two, three... I know it's entirely possible that my ultimate choice will not come down to either of them. They're just two experiences I've had up to this point.

But for the record, all during that fabulous date with that fabulous Scot this past Wednesday, I remembered what it was like to be with a man who would rather feel his way through something than talk about the theories concerning it, and that is what I'm really longing for. I see that now.

My life has become a Jane Austen construct with a postmodern twist...

in which the hero is never the person the heroine imagines he will be. As my middle sister, who is engaged to be married in early May, recently told me--It's never the first guy you feel a connection with (and she should know).

So while there is a very real part of me that hopes that a certain gentleman I met in March--with whom I share a compelling chemistry--will win my heart, I know that we're only a little ways into the narrative. I am trying to remain philosophical about it. Whether our union is fated or not, he has been crucial to my effort to change the romantic trajectory of my life. To quote another Austen-inspired heroine: "...am no longer tragic spinster..."

Perhaps life begins, for some, at the age of 33.

My mother, like many Austen matriarchs, is completely histrionic and therefore incapable of any logical discussion of my sister's pending nuptials or my quest for adventurous romances. Well, much like Elizabeth Bennett--self-actualized character that she was--had to do, I have to learn to disregard my mother's advice in this department. She sometimes talks to me from a place of limits and of fear, which is the last thing you need when you are trying to be open to whatever comes.

As the pages of my life unfold, so does realization. Here's what I've understood this week:

Instead of bregrudging myself the fact that I experience the world concretely, through my senses, I need to fully embrace this perspective. It serves me very well--I make very sound decisions as a rational observer. And when that perspective is limiting, I have any number of abstract-thinking friends and associates to complete the picture.

But when I act in opposition to my instincts, I am doomed. When the truth keeps asserting itself to me--through a means that I am particularly equipped to recognize--and I reject it, I am doomed. Any heroine in full possession of her place in the story knows that.

Yet, with all this having been said, I have also learned that you cannot rule out even the wildest scenario until the last scene. Sometimes this means playing a fool for most of the book. Wisdom parses itself out in obscured seeds. My empirical observations are subject to timing and visceral, intuitive knowledge--it has to fully integrate.

Sometimes you know the man is a scoundrel on page 1 but he doesn't disappear, entirely, until the penultimate chapter. If this blog were a novel, you, gentle reader, would already know who I am going to end up with...

Game. Set. Match.

I see the Scot on Wednesday.

Operation First Date Update (Installment # 2)

Have initiated contact with a Scotsman who finds himself in the surrounding Charm City area (finishing up graduate studies). The Scotsman has returned said contact and has indicated a decided interest in conversing further. I have volleyed back with an invitation to coffee (or cocktails). After a slow second quarter, I'm coming back strong for the next half of the game.

Now then. Suddenly, Pablo Neruda is rocking my world.

After church today I went marketing. Got a crazy deal on Lump Crab Meat--7.99!

Off to get some work done!

(Oh. "You've Got Mail" is on. I just love that movie so much, esp. at the end when she says
I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.)

Sometimes Alone is the Holiest Thing You Can Be...

So, i thank you God for most this amazing day.

Got those photos from three years ago back...

And there are so many wonderful shots of my sisters. They looked so beautiful that Christmas! It's a mystery to me that I waited so long to put the film in. I watched that roll of film gather dust for three years (it stayed in plain view the whole time--never once did I lose it or forget about it),and for some reason, while I accomplished several other feats--great and small--I could not seem to make myself get it to a drug store or to Target, or to anyplace where film is processed...

After breakfast with V I went for my weekly manicure. Stress (and probable dehydration) caused all of my nails to split and crack such that I had to cut them very short earlier in the week, so this week's session was just about cuticle care and the application of a protein base (glorified clear polish). No fun colours or anything. The expense was still worth it to me. It's a way of saying I haven't given up on being one of those together women I so admire.

Post manicure I did a bit of work work so that I'm in a good position to start the week off right. I detest feeling like I'm beginning from behind. Why not prevent whatever catastrophe you can? I'd make an excellent Boy Scout. My epitaph is going to read "I was prepared!"

This coming Thursday I have a coffee scheduled with someone I met from the site. He wrote to me and I promptly told him I didn't think we'd be a match, but because of the business he owns, I told him I'd love to meet to discuss my interest in using his professional services sometime. Some people present in such a sincere way that it's hard to completely dismiss them. And also, this is about being open. So whose to say that walking through this door won't lead to something worthwhile, even if not romantic? I'll tell you. It's significantly harder to divest one's self of preconceived notions than it is to do just about anything else.

Listening to Bjork's "Play Dead." She says "Darling, stop confusing me with your wishful thinking..." and "I play dead...it's sometimes just like sleeping, curling up inside my private tortures; I nestle into pain and suffering caressess..."

Today's Object lesson: learn when to shut up.

K and I met up tonight after she got off of work--the lucky duck has landed a new situation and I couldn't be happier for her. My day was productive and evenly-paced. I met Sarah for breakfast, then came back home and ran a few errands and took a nap. After happy hour with K, I did laundry. Now I'm all set to meet V for breakfast tomorrow. Hope the rest of the weekend is as promising. too early to tell.

triumvirate

i find it interesting that so many people come to this blog for zero seconds (according to site meter)--some from as far away as Egypt--some as close as this very city. Zero seconds.

if it hadn't been utterly necessary to get my hair done today (it was just in such an awful state), i would have foregone the experience and the cost. well, maybe i can offset it by returning some stuff i bought last weekend (noise canceling headphones that've already started to malfunction and some trinkets i'd thought to give as gifts, but have since though better of).

none of the men i wrote to last week have written back, and i find that that's okay with me. a few men that i've no interest in whatsoever have written and i have ignored them. it can feel like such a sad little game sometimes. the attempt of it. the sad little way everyone's trying so hard. i feel like holden caulfield. that is so something he would say.

Cold Front

It seems that our more-seasonably-than-not balmy weather is giving way to frigidity once again. This morning, cold splatty rain. Plummeting temperatures for the next few days. I slept, briefly, after the gym this evening. The workouts feel great, but make me so tired. When are those endorphins going to kick in? Well, another long day over. I can't get into bed quickly enough.

The State of the Union

Had a date that was originally planned for tonight, but that actually happened last night, instead. Long story, but a reschedule in my favour, nonetheless. We hung out at my place and watched movies and talked. My new commitment to more first dates aside, this was #2 with the guy from a couple of weeks ago.

Yesterday's workout (12 mins on the tread, then a half hour on the elliptical) felt great. Today I did a gluteal program on the elliptical. Also great. I left the gym feeling accomplished.

Gearing up for the next deadline at work. Things are moving along as they should at this point.

Thursday. Much needed hair appointment.

Friday. Off.

[standing ovation]

loose ends

i put in film from three Christmases ago to be developed. i threw out my mostly burned candles and bought new ones. i planned ahead for the imminent end of my toothpaste tube and got a new one. good-bye March.