This should have been done last Saturday, but the day got away from me.
The morning got off to a rocky start because of the 9am fire drill. We were notified in advance by having a note slipped under our doors the day before, but a fire alarm at 9am on a Saturday morning is never fun. To add insult to injury, I live on the 28th floor, so the walk down the stairs in 90F heat was a good time. Glad I showered!
I had to get up early anyway for another work sponsored shopping trip to a mall called Greenhills. It wasn't really a mall per se, more like a collection of vendors at an indoor market. They had, and I bought, lovely pearls. They also had mountains of bags, furniture, perfumes and various bric-a-brac. After a three hour shopping marathon, I left with a string of freshwater pearls and a pair of matching earrings. To soothe my body and soul, a went for a massage at the local spa. For less than $20 (including tip), I got a one hour massage, plus relaxation in the jacuzzi and in the steam room. Not to mention lovely ginger tea and cool, refreshing spring water. It was heaven! On the way home I got caught in a mini monsoon without my umbrella. I needed a power nap to recover.
This was the culmination of a week that featured three days of meetings and classroom prep, followed by two days of teaching. New colleagues took me out for drinks on Wednesday night to welcome me, Thursday night to celebrate the first day back with the kids, and Friday night to celebrate a week well done. Saturday night was the all staff cocktail party at the superintendent's house. By the time I made it there, all I wanted to do was go to bed. However, I did the political thing and stayed for a few hours to schmooze, eat, and be merry. Colleagues encouraged me to buy a massage table for my house to avoid getting caught in future downpours. That way I could order my massage in after a hard day at work. Decadence knows no bounds here!
I'm overwhelmed by work and could not wait for this week to end. It's been full on since I stepped off the plane!
I teach 8th grade with 3 other people as well as the 5 English as Second Language and Special Ed teachers. It's made planning a nightmare! I'm not used to having to share my toys in the sandbox, especially not with 8 other people. I had crazy planning meetings all last week where it seems nothing got planned. I did not put my best foot forward with the kids this week. I just hope that it will get better and I'll feel like I have a handle on things soon.
My second week was just as overwhelming. I was at work from 7am until 5pm every day. It takes me forever to do silly things because I don't know where anything is or how to get anything done. On Friday of this week, I finally got a printer that works in my room and a new keyboard that didn't look like someone had eaten their lunch on it. Speaking of lunch, I had two lunch meetings this week that took up the entire 30 min time slot. No one brought food or seemed phased that most of us had just come from teaching and had to go right back without a break to pee or eat. I felt ashamed that I came into the first meeting on Tuesday late with my salad from the cafeteria. The head of my department made me feel worse by starting with an apology to everyone for taking up their lunch and a promise, which he did not keep, to make it quick. I didn't get to eat my salad during the meeting, had to teach afterwards and didn't touch the salad until 3pm when the students left. I learned to eat earlier by Friday's lunch meeting because that too took the entire time and no one brought food. I was glad that I ate in the period before that I wasn't teaching. These people must be machines. The combination of mental and physical energy that I'm spending in an attempt to do my job requires that I eat. It's too long for me to go from my 6am breakfast until 3pm with no food. I thought the pace of life here would be slower than in London, but it seems much faster. I'm not sure if I can cope.
I'm also panicking because next week is open house. I'm sure my room will be full. All the parents will want to have a look at me because I'm new. Hopefully things will go well. I've been given presentations to use with them, but speaking to the grownups always makes me anxious anyway. I'll take kids over adults any day!
On Monday I hired a maid/cleaner/helper/ personal assistant. I thought about not doing it, but my apartment was a wreck after the week I'd had last week. I had a fruit fly infestation, trash cans full to the brim, and tons of laundry to do. Not to mention grocery shopping to do and dishes to wash. She's an older woman, a breast cancer survivor, who comes in for half a day Monday through Friday to tidy up my place. When she started on Tuesday, I was amazed at how clean it was! She cleans stuff that I didn't realize was even dirty! My shoes were organized neatly under my bed. The bed was remade. Laundry was done. Dishes were washed and put away. The fruit flies were gone. She cleaned out the fridge. I came home exhausted from work, but happy to be in my clean, calm space. She even sent me a text that evening to ask if everything was ok! Household help may have changed my life forever. I'm still struck by the irony of the fact that my grandmother once WAS someone's household help and I now employ someone in my own home. I wonder if she ever dreamed that might happen. I never did. My life continues to surprise me.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Thriller in Manila- week 1
Having taken the big plunge and moved to south east Asia for all of one week so far, I'm prepared to give my first, admittedly naive impressions of the city. I was forewarned that Manila was a big, dirty, developing city. It is big. I don't get the impression that it's dirty. I take that back MY neighborhood is not dirty. The rest of this massive and sprawling metropolis is probably dirty. The dirt is linked however, to the slow and ongoing development. There are 11.5 million people living in Metro Manila. That's almost twice the population of London!
Most of the city's residents live in tiny, one room, cement shacks with corrugated metal roofs and dirt floors. These places have neither running water, nor electricity. In one of our orientation sessions, we learned that in large families (which most Filipino families are- thanks Pope for telling Catholics not to use birth control!) houses are cramped, so they have to take turns sleeping at night so that everyone will have a chance to stretch out. That means in a typical family of eight, four people stretch out on the floor and sleep while the other four sit and lean against the wall to sleep. In the middle of the night, they switch places and the four lying down sit up so that the four sitting up can lay down. I'm guessing that if I had to eat, sleep, bathe, and live in one room with seven other members of my family that room might not be the cleanest place on Earth either. Dirty is relative.
This kind of abject poverty exists all over the city, but I live in a small, sanitized bubble of wealthy foreigners. On our way to a market Wednesday afternoon, I saw the shanty town behind the high, fortified walls of my school. All of the houses were precariously perched on the slope of the hill just below the high school track- invisible from anywhere on campus. Hand washed clothes were hung on lines between the corrugated metal roofs- four shirts and a pair of jeans comprising an entire wardrobe for people who exist for a month on what I spent drinking last night. Both incredible and sobering. My plan for my time here is to volunteer as much as I can and try to put a Band-aid on the poverty bullet wound that exists here.
In other, more frivolous news, my school is much more than I imagined. It is absolutely massive. I've been on two tours and left to wander on my own with a map, yet I still manage to get lost even after spending every day there for the last week. For the record, this is a testament to the largess of the school, not my poor sense of direction. There are three pools, two AstroTurf playing fields, a track, three gyms,and an 800 seat theater with a hydraulic lift in the orchestra pit. The three cafeterias have a mall food court style set up offering everything from sushi, to smoothies, to vegetarian and vegan meals, to pasta and pizza to soup and salad. My classroom is roomy. It came with pillows for sitting on the floor or doing silent reading. There are three desktops in there for student use and a desktop for my personal use. There's also a laptop cart for the MS English department. My classroom is tucked away on the third floor. I don't teach on Friday afternoons, so I plan to escape as often as possible for long weekends. That is if I make it past the two armed guards at the gate. No, seriously, they have weapons. By weapons I mean guns, seriously.
My apartment is about a 15 minute walk from work. There's always someone in the lobby to greet visitors. There are guards at the front gate. The place is a two bed, two bath, but a bit on the cozy side. I'm on the 28th floor, so I can see all of the way to Manila Bay from my living room window and the Pasig River from my bedroom. Now all I need to feel at home is my stuff. Yet sadly, that won't happen until August 31. On the bright side, Yemi is coming on August 21 to spend my birthday with me! I'm looking forward to my homeslice bringing me a little slice of home!
Most of the city's residents live in tiny, one room, cement shacks with corrugated metal roofs and dirt floors. These places have neither running water, nor electricity. In one of our orientation sessions, we learned that in large families (which most Filipino families are- thanks Pope for telling Catholics not to use birth control!) houses are cramped, so they have to take turns sleeping at night so that everyone will have a chance to stretch out. That means in a typical family of eight, four people stretch out on the floor and sleep while the other four sit and lean against the wall to sleep. In the middle of the night, they switch places and the four lying down sit up so that the four sitting up can lay down. I'm guessing that if I had to eat, sleep, bathe, and live in one room with seven other members of my family that room might not be the cleanest place on Earth either. Dirty is relative.
This kind of abject poverty exists all over the city, but I live in a small, sanitized bubble of wealthy foreigners. On our way to a market Wednesday afternoon, I saw the shanty town behind the high, fortified walls of my school. All of the houses were precariously perched on the slope of the hill just below the high school track- invisible from anywhere on campus. Hand washed clothes were hung on lines between the corrugated metal roofs- four shirts and a pair of jeans comprising an entire wardrobe for people who exist for a month on what I spent drinking last night. Both incredible and sobering. My plan for my time here is to volunteer as much as I can and try to put a Band-aid on the poverty bullet wound that exists here.
In other, more frivolous news, my school is much more than I imagined. It is absolutely massive. I've been on two tours and left to wander on my own with a map, yet I still manage to get lost even after spending every day there for the last week. For the record, this is a testament to the largess of the school, not my poor sense of direction. There are three pools, two AstroTurf playing fields, a track, three gyms,and an 800 seat theater with a hydraulic lift in the orchestra pit. The three cafeterias have a mall food court style set up offering everything from sushi, to smoothies, to vegetarian and vegan meals, to pasta and pizza to soup and salad. My classroom is roomy. It came with pillows for sitting on the floor or doing silent reading. There are three desktops in there for student use and a desktop for my personal use. There's also a laptop cart for the MS English department. My classroom is tucked away on the third floor. I don't teach on Friday afternoons, so I plan to escape as often as possible for long weekends. That is if I make it past the two armed guards at the gate. No, seriously, they have weapons. By weapons I mean guns, seriously.
My apartment is about a 15 minute walk from work. There's always someone in the lobby to greet visitors. There are guards at the front gate. The place is a two bed, two bath, but a bit on the cozy side. I'm on the 28th floor, so I can see all of the way to Manila Bay from my living room window and the Pasig River from my bedroom. Now all I need to feel at home is my stuff. Yet sadly, that won't happen until August 31. On the bright side, Yemi is coming on August 21 to spend my birthday with me! I'm looking forward to my homeslice bringing me a little slice of home!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The next chapter
I've neglected this blog far too much. Here goes with my recap of the last few months.
In January I went to a job fair to be nosey. I had no intention of leaving my job in London. I just wanted to see who else at my school was leaving theirs and what was on offer in the international teaching world. Or course, if the American School of Paris happened to offer me a position, I would have taken it. However, I didn't think any other school could possibly woo me.
I go to the fair and to a few interviews just for practice. I rejected tons of offers in Japan, Kuwait, China. I was all set to reject an offer in Manila when the head of school there said, "Come to my presentation, then see how you feel." I signed up for a tentative interview slot based on this presentation. I went. I liked what I saw, but I still wasn't sold. At the interview I started with, "Your presentation was great, but you really have to tell me something good to make me quit my job. Why should I leave and come work for you?" I still can't believe how arrogant and cocky I can be.
He proceeded to tell me how he'd worked at my school and knew how the organization functioned. He did a detailed compare/contrast of our schools, then asked more about me and my teaching. He listened to what I had to say and was impressed I suppose. We agreed to meet again the next day. For those of you working in other industries, this fast pace hiring is common practice. Other teacher friends have described it as speed dating where you get married at the end.
The next day he offered me the job and gave me a couple of hours to think it over. From that day to this, all I see is dollar signs. The school covers rent and utilities. They fly me there business class and home again once each year. They pay for the shipment of all my household items (including packing!). Plus, they pay me a nice, tax free salary. Others who worked and are working there say that I can use the extra cash to travel in Asia (hooray!), hire a maid, driver, cook, have all my clothes, shoes, and handbags tailor made, or bank it all and buy a yacht later. To sweeten the pot, they offer a resigning bonus at the end of the contract.
My goal is to recover from the high cost of living in London by paying off my student loans (finally!) and credit card debt. After that, I want to amass a nest egg of savings so that I can, perhaps, retire one day. Cross your fingers readers that my life goes according to this plan!
To add a non-monetary element to the story, I also met a guy at the job fair. He's from Canada (Toronto in case you care) and needless to say, also a teacher (however, he does also have a law degree). He interviewed for my job as well, but I beat him out for it. Our meeting was very odd and caught me off guard.
I was in the hotel lobby calling a friend to meet for lunch after being offered the job. As I was changing my shoes, this guy comes up to me, introduces himself, and asks my name. I tell him and then he asks where I'm from and where I live now. We chat briefly about our mutual North American-ness and how he used to live on my side of London. He finished with, "We should get a drink sometime so I can see how the area has changed." He looks down, sees the mobile phone in my hand, and tells me to give it to him so that he can put his number in it. Obediently, I did. Then he told me to call him so that he could have my number. Obediently, I did. He also noticed a notebook in my hand and told me to give it to him so that he could write down his email address. Obediently, I did. Not sure what got into me that I suddenly became so docile. He texted me the following week and we went out for drinks. That started us seeing one another 3/4 times each week for drinks or dinner until his trip ended a month later.
We emailed back and forth upon his return to Toronto and he planned to come back to London to see me in a few weeks. The ash cloud delayed his return and I was on a trip to Stratford upon Avon with my 8th graders when he got there. I spent the following holiday weekend in Germany with friends, so I didn't get to see him until almost a week after he'd been in town.
When we met again, I was salty that it took him so long to get back to see me (ash cloud notwithstanding) and he knew I had beef. When we met for dinner, he put it all out on the table by asking why I was so mad. I explained the situation from my point of view and he explained it from his. We realized that we had a bit of miscommunication, kissed, and made up. Then we were back to weeks of dating a few times each week while he looked for a job.
At the beginning of May, he got a job. I was excited for him and delight for myself because his new gig was in Seoul, a mere three hour flight from Manila. I was happy that we'd be working in the same region of the world, so we could still see each other easily. We compared photos of our new flats, curricula at our new schools, our new positions, facilities, equipment, vacation time, bosses, and all things school related. It was shop talk heaven. I was bummed that completing his new hire paperwork would take him back to Toronto for my last two weeks in London. He missed the fabulous weather and my going away party. He came back the day I was slated to fly out. He came to my place straight from the airport and we had breakfast. He helped me pack up the last of my things and put me in a cab to the airport. I've never been so sad to leave a place as I was when I left London. I never thought I'd be happy living there and knew it couldn't hold me, yet I had such good times and made such wonderful friends that London felt comfortable and right.
My guy and I have kept in email touch and are both excited about what the future holds. We have no plans yet, but I am optimistic. If it works out, it will involve another move for one, or both, of us in two years time.
As I write this, I prepare to spend my last day at home before my long flight to Manila. I'm a huge jumble of mixed emotions, but I have to keep in mind that this is what I want for my life and unlike so many I'm living my dream.
Thus the next chapter of the international teaching career that I embarked upon three years ago begins!
In January I went to a job fair to be nosey. I had no intention of leaving my job in London. I just wanted to see who else at my school was leaving theirs and what was on offer in the international teaching world. Or course, if the American School of Paris happened to offer me a position, I would have taken it. However, I didn't think any other school could possibly woo me.
I go to the fair and to a few interviews just for practice. I rejected tons of offers in Japan, Kuwait, China. I was all set to reject an offer in Manila when the head of school there said, "Come to my presentation, then see how you feel." I signed up for a tentative interview slot based on this presentation. I went. I liked what I saw, but I still wasn't sold. At the interview I started with, "Your presentation was great, but you really have to tell me something good to make me quit my job. Why should I leave and come work for you?" I still can't believe how arrogant and cocky I can be.
He proceeded to tell me how he'd worked at my school and knew how the organization functioned. He did a detailed compare/contrast of our schools, then asked more about me and my teaching. He listened to what I had to say and was impressed I suppose. We agreed to meet again the next day. For those of you working in other industries, this fast pace hiring is common practice. Other teacher friends have described it as speed dating where you get married at the end.
The next day he offered me the job and gave me a couple of hours to think it over. From that day to this, all I see is dollar signs. The school covers rent and utilities. They fly me there business class and home again once each year. They pay for the shipment of all my household items (including packing!). Plus, they pay me a nice, tax free salary. Others who worked and are working there say that I can use the extra cash to travel in Asia (hooray!), hire a maid, driver, cook, have all my clothes, shoes, and handbags tailor made, or bank it all and buy a yacht later. To sweeten the pot, they offer a resigning bonus at the end of the contract.
My goal is to recover from the high cost of living in London by paying off my student loans (finally!) and credit card debt. After that, I want to amass a nest egg of savings so that I can, perhaps, retire one day. Cross your fingers readers that my life goes according to this plan!
To add a non-monetary element to the story, I also met a guy at the job fair. He's from Canada (Toronto in case you care) and needless to say, also a teacher (however, he does also have a law degree). He interviewed for my job as well, but I beat him out for it. Our meeting was very odd and caught me off guard.
I was in the hotel lobby calling a friend to meet for lunch after being offered the job. As I was changing my shoes, this guy comes up to me, introduces himself, and asks my name. I tell him and then he asks where I'm from and where I live now. We chat briefly about our mutual North American-ness and how he used to live on my side of London. He finished with, "We should get a drink sometime so I can see how the area has changed." He looks down, sees the mobile phone in my hand, and tells me to give it to him so that he can put his number in it. Obediently, I did. Then he told me to call him so that he could have my number. Obediently, I did. He also noticed a notebook in my hand and told me to give it to him so that he could write down his email address. Obediently, I did. Not sure what got into me that I suddenly became so docile. He texted me the following week and we went out for drinks. That started us seeing one another 3/4 times each week for drinks or dinner until his trip ended a month later.
We emailed back and forth upon his return to Toronto and he planned to come back to London to see me in a few weeks. The ash cloud delayed his return and I was on a trip to Stratford upon Avon with my 8th graders when he got there. I spent the following holiday weekend in Germany with friends, so I didn't get to see him until almost a week after he'd been in town.
When we met again, I was salty that it took him so long to get back to see me (ash cloud notwithstanding) and he knew I had beef. When we met for dinner, he put it all out on the table by asking why I was so mad. I explained the situation from my point of view and he explained it from his. We realized that we had a bit of miscommunication, kissed, and made up. Then we were back to weeks of dating a few times each week while he looked for a job.
At the beginning of May, he got a job. I was excited for him and delight for myself because his new gig was in Seoul, a mere three hour flight from Manila. I was happy that we'd be working in the same region of the world, so we could still see each other easily. We compared photos of our new flats, curricula at our new schools, our new positions, facilities, equipment, vacation time, bosses, and all things school related. It was shop talk heaven. I was bummed that completing his new hire paperwork would take him back to Toronto for my last two weeks in London. He missed the fabulous weather and my going away party. He came back the day I was slated to fly out. He came to my place straight from the airport and we had breakfast. He helped me pack up the last of my things and put me in a cab to the airport. I've never been so sad to leave a place as I was when I left London. I never thought I'd be happy living there and knew it couldn't hold me, yet I had such good times and made such wonderful friends that London felt comfortable and right.
My guy and I have kept in email touch and are both excited about what the future holds. We have no plans yet, but I am optimistic. If it works out, it will involve another move for one, or both, of us in two years time.
As I write this, I prepare to spend my last day at home before my long flight to Manila. I'm a huge jumble of mixed emotions, but I have to keep in mind that this is what I want for my life and unlike so many I'm living my dream.
Thus the next chapter of the international teaching career that I embarked upon three years ago begins!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Frenchie fades
One week later and he hasn't called, or texted, or emailed. I suppose he's over it. Did he think one week was going to be enough to convince me to quit my job and move to Texas? I haven't called, texted, or emailed him either. My plan was to make him work for it if he was earnest in his attempt to woo me. Clearly that wasn't the case. Good for me as my Facebook horoscope for this week said, "Have some fun, but draw the line if someone tries to fast talk their way into your heart." The stars have spoken and so have Frenchie's actions- much louder than any of his smooth words.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Frenchie returns
I've given blogging a long pause as there's been very little going on in my life recently other than yoga. I spent a month preparing for the championship a couple of weeks ago, so I devoted my entire life to yoga and had little time for anything else.
I did go on one extremely brief, horrible date. I met the guy on the UK version of Craig's list- mistake number one (but it's the credit crunch! Who can afford eharmony?). I responded to his ad and he answered me within minutes, giving me not only his email address, but phone number as well- that should have been a warning sign. His initial email, before I replied was followed by four more emails telling me that I should call him so we can talk and make plans to go out. When I did respond-mistake number two, it provoked another flurry of emails about me calling and his level of availability. I called- mistake number three. Our chat revealed that he was unemployed and somewhat hyper. So like an idiot, I decided to see him. We met close to the home as he lived in my neighborhood. I was a few minutes late, as usual, and he texted me then called to see where I was. That would have been ok had it not been three minutes BEFORE I was supposed to be there. I texted that I was on my way because I had to take the long way around. I arrived about five minutes later. We exchanged pleasantries and started to walk towards the restaurant. We walked for exactly three blocks before he turned to me and asked to end the date because I wasn't his type. Despite my relief at not having to spend another minute with him, rejection still sucks. I digress because that was back in October. The title said I'd write about Frenchie, so I'll do that.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that I dated a French guy before I moved to the UK. Frenchie married another woman hastily in an effort to stay in the US, but recently called to tell me they'd gotten divorced. He has since moved to Texas to start his own marketing business and escape his wife. He called me at the beginning of the week and again for the past couple of nights. He says he misses me. He wants to see me again. He invited me to visit him in Texas and offered to visit me at my mom's. He suggested we go away for the weekend together. I was shocked, overwhelmed, and smitten all at the same time.
While I know it's not really an option given the distance, I'm still enticed by the possibility. I also have doubts about his ability to be honest and faithful seeing as how he'd been cheating on his wife/girlfriend with me. I know I should trust my gut, but I like him. I suck for liking him after what he did and how it ended between us. We have a really strong attraction to one another. I don't know if it's his accent, my language skills, our intense chemistry- even over the phone, or our shared sense of humor, but there's something between us. However, we only dated for a couple of months before I moved so, didn't have time to get to know each other very well. Why then am I even still talking to this guy? I have no clue. Where will this lead me? Probably down a road of hurt and heartbreak. Yet, as I so often do in my life, I'm entertaining this nonsense. I can't walk away from the train wreck. I stayed up talking to him until 2am yesterday, so I'm going to bed.
I did go on one extremely brief, horrible date. I met the guy on the UK version of Craig's list- mistake number one (but it's the credit crunch! Who can afford eharmony?). I responded to his ad and he answered me within minutes, giving me not only his email address, but phone number as well- that should have been a warning sign. His initial email, before I replied was followed by four more emails telling me that I should call him so we can talk and make plans to go out. When I did respond-mistake number two, it provoked another flurry of emails about me calling and his level of availability. I called- mistake number three. Our chat revealed that he was unemployed and somewhat hyper. So like an idiot, I decided to see him. We met close to the home as he lived in my neighborhood. I was a few minutes late, as usual, and he texted me then called to see where I was. That would have been ok had it not been three minutes BEFORE I was supposed to be there. I texted that I was on my way because I had to take the long way around. I arrived about five minutes later. We exchanged pleasantries and started to walk towards the restaurant. We walked for exactly three blocks before he turned to me and asked to end the date because I wasn't his type. Despite my relief at not having to spend another minute with him, rejection still sucks. I digress because that was back in October. The title said I'd write about Frenchie, so I'll do that.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that I dated a French guy before I moved to the UK. Frenchie married another woman hastily in an effort to stay in the US, but recently called to tell me they'd gotten divorced. He has since moved to Texas to start his own marketing business and escape his wife. He called me at the beginning of the week and again for the past couple of nights. He says he misses me. He wants to see me again. He invited me to visit him in Texas and offered to visit me at my mom's. He suggested we go away for the weekend together. I was shocked, overwhelmed, and smitten all at the same time.
While I know it's not really an option given the distance, I'm still enticed by the possibility. I also have doubts about his ability to be honest and faithful seeing as how he'd been cheating on his wife/girlfriend with me. I know I should trust my gut, but I like him. I suck for liking him after what he did and how it ended between us. We have a really strong attraction to one another. I don't know if it's his accent, my language skills, our intense chemistry- even over the phone, or our shared sense of humor, but there's something between us. However, we only dated for a couple of months before I moved so, didn't have time to get to know each other very well. Why then am I even still talking to this guy? I have no clue. Where will this lead me? Probably down a road of hurt and heartbreak. Yet, as I so often do in my life, I'm entertaining this nonsense. I can't walk away from the train wreck. I stayed up talking to him until 2am yesterday, so I'm going to bed.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Old Times Sake
Last night, I spent 3 hours on the phone talking to a guy that I knew from middle school. He (let's call him A) and I, both 31 and single, childless, well-educated, successful professionals, took a long stroll down memory lane after reconnecting on Facebook. In strolling, we briefly discussed marriage and kids and our mutual lack of either. A wants a wife and children. He's ready. As Carrie described it in SATC, his light is on, just like a taxi, telling women he's available for marriage. However, A is, like many single women I know, tired of dating.
He made some interesting comments that rang true to me in a sense, but still did not resolve my dating dilemmas. A said that he was "the perfect catch" in Baltimore for all of the aforementioned reasons. In addition, he had his own place, independent of his parents; had a car; and until recently, a job (damned recession!). In his mind, that made dating a breeze. So when A went out with women and told them of his "qualifications" he didn't understand what else there was to consider. He joked that it doesn't even matter if they like each other or not. They should simply get together to protect the structure of the black family and propagate the species of well-educated, successful, black people in Baltimore.
Having spent five years of my single life in the Baltimore/DC area, I feel his pain. Dating is tough. It actually sucks sometimes. Ok, it actually sucks a lot. The number of men like A that I meet in Baltimore are grossly outnumbered by the uneducated, gold tooth having, mama living, bus riding, baby daddies that abound. I could get numbers from those guys all day and am often tempted by some of the better groomed ones until I find out how many kids they have.
In a complaint to another single friend about dating men with children, she said to me, "We're getting to the age that most men will already have children." That was at least five years ago. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe that's true now either. I still keep hope alive that I am not a dying breed and neither are men of my kind. There must be tons of young, well-educated, single, childless, black professionals who want to get married.
The thing I fear most is the desperation. A is clearly desperate. I hate it for his future wife. To think that he might actually marry a woman that he doesn't really like is disturbing. The fact that he would verbalize it, even more so. I wonder when love (or even like) fell out of the equation for him. I wonder if that will ever happen to me.
The lack of love also got me thinking about the whole idea of marriage. Why is it that A and I both want to get married? Is it for love? Not in his case. Is it for comfort and convenience? Partially. We discussed the laborious nature of everything from cooking for one (he made me remember that I miss Steakums), to laundry, to coordinating your dust ruffle with your comforter. I told he the hallmark of love is when he finds a woman who is willing to wash his dirty draws- that's love. Is it for consistent access to sex? I guess not as I hear it decreases after marriage, but it might be nice. Is it for status? Definitely. Marriage makes all of us young, well-educated, single, childless, black professionals the total package. Like Michelle and Barak, the world's greatest power couple, black love can conquer all. Putting two of us together is an instant recipe for success. Essence and Ebony will do cover stories on us. We will be role models for other black marriages and the envy of all our single friends. Marriage is the jewel in the crown of black success, which is why so many of us find it so elusive.
For everything else there is a formula. Going to school + speaking proper English + dressing appropriately + getting a good job + house + car = success. Been there. Done that. When I was in Baltimore over the summer, I ran into many old friends who'd also followed that path. However, the majority of us are still single. There is no formula for love. A few of my male friends actually tried it on with me again. I believe out of this same desperation that fuels A's love life. I'm the perfect catch in Baltimore too! I'm young, smart, funny, pretty, well-educated, articulate, well-traveled, cultured, poised, financially independent (no house or car, but great credit!), single, and childless. I flirted a bit, drank the free drinks and basked in the attention, but it all still seemed wrong to me. Too good to be true somehow.
A mutual friend said that A had a crush on me. Of course he does, he has since we met in middle school and I fit his mold. I also fit the mold of those other guys who knew me back in the day. We all did what we were supposed to do and became successful. We're all searching for the jewel to make a crowns of success shine even brighter. We all think that maybe (s)he's THE ONE, but is (s)he? Or does (s)he simply seem comfortable and familiar while fitting the mold?
I often worry that my standards are too high and I'm missing out on THE ONE because of my no kids rule, or my education preference. At the same time, I recognize that those are important aspects of life to me, which is why I hold them in such high esteem. As I've gotten older, I've opened my mind to the options of men who are not college educated or have children- my summer crush fit into both categories. Still I haven't found THE ONE. I fear becoming the wife of A- a man who doesn't love me, but tolerates me because of his desperate need to seem successful by being married. Conversely, A has renewed my faith in the existence of black men who want to marry. I just want to be sure that THE ONE for me is doing it for all the right reasons- me.
He made some interesting comments that rang true to me in a sense, but still did not resolve my dating dilemmas. A said that he was "the perfect catch" in Baltimore for all of the aforementioned reasons. In addition, he had his own place, independent of his parents; had a car; and until recently, a job (damned recession!). In his mind, that made dating a breeze. So when A went out with women and told them of his "qualifications" he didn't understand what else there was to consider. He joked that it doesn't even matter if they like each other or not. They should simply get together to protect the structure of the black family and propagate the species of well-educated, successful, black people in Baltimore.
Having spent five years of my single life in the Baltimore/DC area, I feel his pain. Dating is tough. It actually sucks sometimes. Ok, it actually sucks a lot. The number of men like A that I meet in Baltimore are grossly outnumbered by the uneducated, gold tooth having, mama living, bus riding, baby daddies that abound. I could get numbers from those guys all day and am often tempted by some of the better groomed ones until I find out how many kids they have.
In a complaint to another single friend about dating men with children, she said to me, "We're getting to the age that most men will already have children." That was at least five years ago. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe that's true now either. I still keep hope alive that I am not a dying breed and neither are men of my kind. There must be tons of young, well-educated, single, childless, black professionals who want to get married.
The thing I fear most is the desperation. A is clearly desperate. I hate it for his future wife. To think that he might actually marry a woman that he doesn't really like is disturbing. The fact that he would verbalize it, even more so. I wonder when love (or even like) fell out of the equation for him. I wonder if that will ever happen to me.
The lack of love also got me thinking about the whole idea of marriage. Why is it that A and I both want to get married? Is it for love? Not in his case. Is it for comfort and convenience? Partially. We discussed the laborious nature of everything from cooking for one (he made me remember that I miss Steakums), to laundry, to coordinating your dust ruffle with your comforter. I told he the hallmark of love is when he finds a woman who is willing to wash his dirty draws- that's love. Is it for consistent access to sex? I guess not as I hear it decreases after marriage, but it might be nice. Is it for status? Definitely. Marriage makes all of us young, well-educated, single, childless, black professionals the total package. Like Michelle and Barak, the world's greatest power couple, black love can conquer all. Putting two of us together is an instant recipe for success. Essence and Ebony will do cover stories on us. We will be role models for other black marriages and the envy of all our single friends. Marriage is the jewel in the crown of black success, which is why so many of us find it so elusive.
For everything else there is a formula. Going to school + speaking proper English + dressing appropriately + getting a good job + house + car = success. Been there. Done that. When I was in Baltimore over the summer, I ran into many old friends who'd also followed that path. However, the majority of us are still single. There is no formula for love. A few of my male friends actually tried it on with me again. I believe out of this same desperation that fuels A's love life. I'm the perfect catch in Baltimore too! I'm young, smart, funny, pretty, well-educated, articulate, well-traveled, cultured, poised, financially independent (no house or car, but great credit!), single, and childless. I flirted a bit, drank the free drinks and basked in the attention, but it all still seemed wrong to me. Too good to be true somehow.
A mutual friend said that A had a crush on me. Of course he does, he has since we met in middle school and I fit his mold. I also fit the mold of those other guys who knew me back in the day. We all did what we were supposed to do and became successful. We're all searching for the jewel to make a crowns of success shine even brighter. We all think that maybe (s)he's THE ONE, but is (s)he? Or does (s)he simply seem comfortable and familiar while fitting the mold?
I often worry that my standards are too high and I'm missing out on THE ONE because of my no kids rule, or my education preference. At the same time, I recognize that those are important aspects of life to me, which is why I hold them in such high esteem. As I've gotten older, I've opened my mind to the options of men who are not college educated or have children- my summer crush fit into both categories. Still I haven't found THE ONE. I fear becoming the wife of A- a man who doesn't love me, but tolerates me because of his desperate need to seem successful by being married. Conversely, A has renewed my faith in the existence of black men who want to marry. I just want to be sure that THE ONE for me is doing it for all the right reasons- me.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Unflung fling
For me, blogging about a relationship is akin to confirming it's end, but I'm ok with that as this relationship has been more than frustrating. It's my would-be summer fling that has never managed to fly.
Last summer I returned to the US fat and determined to lose weight. I began working with a trainer three days a week and by the time I returned to London had lost 20lbs. When he weighed me the final time and I saw how much weight I'd lost, my trainer allowed me to give him a sweaty, celebratory hug. It was our first, non-exercise based contact. From that point onwards are greetings were filled with hugs. All the while, I secretly wished for more.
My trainer is hot. He's my age, in great shape, hot, smart, funny. Did I say hot? He's also in the midst of a divorce and has three kids. The latter makes him very bad long term relationship material. The former makes him perfect summer fling material. In the summer of 2008, there was no fling to be had. Despite spending most of my free time with him late into the evening and even falling asleep at his house, nothing happened between us. He called me everyday. He took me out to lunch, cooked me dinner. Still nothing.
Fall and winter 2008/2009 saw my return to the US several times. Each time I'd call and let him know I was in town. We'd hang out, work out, eat, talk on the phone. Then I'd go back to the UK blissful from the time I spent with him. We talked about getting him a passport so that he could come visit and he became my Facebook friend so that we could keep in touch easily.
When I returned to the US in summer 2009, I reached out to him. We planned to get together for dinner the day before I went to LA, but by dinner time neither of us were hungry. He suggested drinks at his place instead. I agreed, but was surprised by the offer as I' d not known him to drink. We chatted and vegged on the couch watching Michael Jackson coverage for a while. Then he cracked open the bottle of wine and we went out to his balcony, which overlooked the pool, to drink. We listened to classic MJ tunes on his ipod. These turned into MJ's ballads and love songs, these turned into neo-soul ballads and love songs. In my mind, moonlight, love songs, and wine equal sexy time. No? Since I'd not known him to be interested in sexy time with me, I attempted to make my escape.
It was after midnight and I had a 6am flight to LA. I thanked him for the wine and started to go. He protested under the premise that I'd had half a bottle of wine and was unfit to drive. I told him I had to go because I hadn't packed. He said, "I can't let you drive." Then he offered to set an alarm and let me stay at his place for a few hours. I refused. He offered his bed, but I refused adding that it was unfair of me to kick him out of his bed when I'd only be there for a short time. I said I'd take the couch if I stayed. He insisted I stay. I relented, not wanting to be the crazed drunk driver that kills someone after refusing to give up her keys. However, I refused to take his bed. He suggested we share the bed. I agreed with him (secret fantasy come true?). He set an alarm for me. I got in bed and started to doze. He put his PJs on, brushed his teeth, had a poo and I don't know what else. It seemed like ages that I was in bed alone before he finally emerged from the bathroom. Then he got into bed with me. We went to sleep. Nothing happened. The alarm went off at 3am and I lingered in bed hoping he'd make his move. There was no move. I got up at 3:15am. He let me out and waved goodbye.
I dashed home and packed, then headed for the airport. I sent him a text to let him know I made it to LA and thanked him again for letting me crash. He responded in kind a few minutes later.
He called on 4th of July to invite me to a BBQ, but I was still in LA. I told him my flight didn't get in until late and he offered to come pick me up from the airport. I refused citing the raucous nature of the holiday and told him to relax, have a few drinks and enjoy. I added that my mom would come get me, or I'd take a cab. He offered to pay for the Super Shuttle, but I refused telling him that I could afford my own cab. I assured him that we'd see each other the next day. I texted late that night when I landed to see if he was up for a night cap. No response.
We had no communication the next day. I texted on Monday and invited him to a movie. No response. We played phone tag on Tuesday and finally spoke late that evening. We played phone tag on Wednesday and made tentative plans to see a concert together on Sunday. We have no tickets, nor have we spoken since.
I'm exhausted by this back and forth with him! Does he like me? Does he not like me? I can't tell. We've had conversations about his relationships with other women and he's expressed that he's still wounded from his failed marriage thus not trustworthy enough to enter into a new relationship. He also claims to be so selfish at this point that he cannot attempt to please anyone else. (He's got that one right! I am not pleased!) So why, you ask, do I want anything to happen between me and this obviously flawed man?
Because I'm flawed too. We all are. He's not my prince charming, white knight in shining armour. And we won't fall madly in love, get married and live happily ever after with out 2.5 children, house with white picket fence and dog. But we can go for a walk in the park and hold hands; chat over lunch; cook one another dinner; do yoga; go to concerts; sing along with the radio in the car; play Uno; shop for vegan food; sweat up the sheets; and drink wine by the pool while listening to neo-soul love songs. And that would make a great summer fling!
Last summer I returned to the US fat and determined to lose weight. I began working with a trainer three days a week and by the time I returned to London had lost 20lbs. When he weighed me the final time and I saw how much weight I'd lost, my trainer allowed me to give him a sweaty, celebratory hug. It was our first, non-exercise based contact. From that point onwards are greetings were filled with hugs. All the while, I secretly wished for more.
My trainer is hot. He's my age, in great shape, hot, smart, funny. Did I say hot? He's also in the midst of a divorce and has three kids. The latter makes him very bad long term relationship material. The former makes him perfect summer fling material. In the summer of 2008, there was no fling to be had. Despite spending most of my free time with him late into the evening and even falling asleep at his house, nothing happened between us. He called me everyday. He took me out to lunch, cooked me dinner. Still nothing.
Fall and winter 2008/2009 saw my return to the US several times. Each time I'd call and let him know I was in town. We'd hang out, work out, eat, talk on the phone. Then I'd go back to the UK blissful from the time I spent with him. We talked about getting him a passport so that he could come visit and he became my Facebook friend so that we could keep in touch easily.
When I returned to the US in summer 2009, I reached out to him. We planned to get together for dinner the day before I went to LA, but by dinner time neither of us were hungry. He suggested drinks at his place instead. I agreed, but was surprised by the offer as I' d not known him to drink. We chatted and vegged on the couch watching Michael Jackson coverage for a while. Then he cracked open the bottle of wine and we went out to his balcony, which overlooked the pool, to drink. We listened to classic MJ tunes on his ipod. These turned into MJ's ballads and love songs, these turned into neo-soul ballads and love songs. In my mind, moonlight, love songs, and wine equal sexy time. No? Since I'd not known him to be interested in sexy time with me, I attempted to make my escape.
It was after midnight and I had a 6am flight to LA. I thanked him for the wine and started to go. He protested under the premise that I'd had half a bottle of wine and was unfit to drive. I told him I had to go because I hadn't packed. He said, "I can't let you drive." Then he offered to set an alarm and let me stay at his place for a few hours. I refused. He offered his bed, but I refused adding that it was unfair of me to kick him out of his bed when I'd only be there for a short time. I said I'd take the couch if I stayed. He insisted I stay. I relented, not wanting to be the crazed drunk driver that kills someone after refusing to give up her keys. However, I refused to take his bed. He suggested we share the bed. I agreed with him (secret fantasy come true?). He set an alarm for me. I got in bed and started to doze. He put his PJs on, brushed his teeth, had a poo and I don't know what else. It seemed like ages that I was in bed alone before he finally emerged from the bathroom. Then he got into bed with me. We went to sleep. Nothing happened. The alarm went off at 3am and I lingered in bed hoping he'd make his move. There was no move. I got up at 3:15am. He let me out and waved goodbye.
I dashed home and packed, then headed for the airport. I sent him a text to let him know I made it to LA and thanked him again for letting me crash. He responded in kind a few minutes later.
He called on 4th of July to invite me to a BBQ, but I was still in LA. I told him my flight didn't get in until late and he offered to come pick me up from the airport. I refused citing the raucous nature of the holiday and told him to relax, have a few drinks and enjoy. I added that my mom would come get me, or I'd take a cab. He offered to pay for the Super Shuttle, but I refused telling him that I could afford my own cab. I assured him that we'd see each other the next day. I texted late that night when I landed to see if he was up for a night cap. No response.
We had no communication the next day. I texted on Monday and invited him to a movie. No response. We played phone tag on Tuesday and finally spoke late that evening. We played phone tag on Wednesday and made tentative plans to see a concert together on Sunday. We have no tickets, nor have we spoken since.
I'm exhausted by this back and forth with him! Does he like me? Does he not like me? I can't tell. We've had conversations about his relationships with other women and he's expressed that he's still wounded from his failed marriage thus not trustworthy enough to enter into a new relationship. He also claims to be so selfish at this point that he cannot attempt to please anyone else. (He's got that one right! I am not pleased!) So why, you ask, do I want anything to happen between me and this obviously flawed man?
Because I'm flawed too. We all are. He's not my prince charming, white knight in shining armour. And we won't fall madly in love, get married and live happily ever after with out 2.5 children, house with white picket fence and dog. But we can go for a walk in the park and hold hands; chat over lunch; cook one another dinner; do yoga; go to concerts; sing along with the radio in the car; play Uno; shop for vegan food; sweat up the sheets; and drink wine by the pool while listening to neo-soul love songs. And that would make a great summer fling!
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