did you feel that? did you hear it? the entire island nation of japan just let loose an incredible sigh of relief. the japanese do love me ever-so. gashi, miuchi!
...so to get everyone up to speed, on friday, the doctor said, "everything looks good down there. looks really good. [odd head nod toward my crotch]" additionally, he determined that the itchy chest bump was just a simple skin irritation that should clear itself up in time. i determined this does little to nothing for the incessant desire to take a cheese grater to my teenage-girl-esque bosom. then again, who am i to argue with a licensed medical professional who compliments my genitalia? no one. that's who.
in other brett news, the death i had thought to be imminent has manifested itself as an inordinate amount of change in my life. thus, as i clearly have not died (or am simply writing from beyond the grave [oooooo, spooooooky ghost brett, ooooooooooo]), it could be argued that little parts of my life have died or passed on or simply gone away for the time being.
the least missed of these wayfarers would be my pasty-ass white skin. yep, homeboy got him some uv rays over the weekend, and color has never looked so good on me. mind you, i did have some bright red racing stripes down my legs for a day or so (and an awkwardly burnt left wrist [yeah, i don't know either]), but in the long run i'll balance this recently acquired stream of endless compliments against sarcoma anyday.
now, a welcome addition to the life of brett, my beard. yep. b-e-a-r-d. i've toyed around with the idea for awhile, and quite unknowingly, finally just did it. i never thought it would garner the positive attention it has, and that's a great feeling. people like my face hairy... though this hasn't been market tested in japan. eek!
more special guest stars - yes, oh, oh, oh, the boy department is looking up. while i have had a recent string of suitors knocking on my door (or more accurately texting the shit out of my phone), i don't really think any of them are right for the long haul... but as was once my nature, i've decided to just have some fun for the time being. somehow after college, i forgot that i did at times enjoy being single... and now seems like the perfect time for this new dog to learn some old tricks. or at least meet some new tricks. besides, a consistent booty call seems like the perfect accessory for summer '06.
and, yes, let's give another warm welcome to - and this may shock and amaze many of you to the same level it did me - the extra 4 pounds i have put on. mmmmhm. this fly m-fucker is packing them on. my weight has, for years, fluctuated between 135 and 145, but almost always (we're talking like 99% of the time) falls at 138 lbs. when i hopped on the scale at the good doctor's on friday, i almost peed (but i held it in because i hadn't given my sample yet [and peeing on demand is incredibly difficult for me]). 142! it said 142! i turned to the nurse in disbelief, but she just looked back at me, clearly unsure as to why i was so effing excited. i did a little jig. she still just stared at me. 4 pounds is enormous for me. i struggle to put on an ounce much less 64 of them. i think japan may have a new action hero on their hands.
i think i might be dying this weekend. there would certainly be some romance in that.
i have an appointment with my new doctor on friday afternoon. it's about nothing serious. i am seeing him for something of no particular importance. i have a small bump on my chest. it may or may not be getting larger, but the bugger certainly does itch. i am fairly certain it is not lethal. people rarely die from something that itched.
however, all is not well with me and the universe. something strange is afoot. some unforeseen plan is unravelling to its completion. for the past couple of weeks, i have been seeing signs. markers of a change in times. everywhere. and they give me a feeling. a feeling like i might be dying. a feeling like this could be it. a feeling like there may be no more. but a feeling like there is somehow a choice in the matter.
it is said that before a person dies their whole life flashes before their eyes. they relive everything before living no more. for two weeks, my life has been trickling around me. not in a flash. not always right in front of me. but it's all there. they're all walking by. slipping in and out. waving and calling my name. all of them. in the course of two weeks, i have seen a multitude of people from my past in a slow progression - from the family in vermont i had never met but have known in my very being since birth to my best girlfriend from junior high to my first friend with a driver's license to the girl across the hall during college to that friend of joe's i hadn't seen since we broke up. for two weeks, i've been living a slowly progressing episode of "this is your life" and now i fear we are nearing the end of this broadcast... and i can't remember what happened at the end of each show. i always got bored and changed the channel.
on friday, i go to the doctor about a small, itchy bump on my chest, and more than likely, i will see someone from my past. on saturday, i plan to awake, knowing that somehow i have died. ready to start all over again. a whole new future and a past that has finally been put to rest.
today, a senate committee decided to send a measure to the senate floor to approve a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. i just love me some legislating hate.
committee chairman arlen specter r-pa pointed out that not all those who voted yes on the measure actually supported the proposed constitutional amendment.
specter himself is "totally opposed" to it, but felt the matter should be debated in the senate.
yes, nothing says democracy quite like debating whether or not to write hate into the constitution.
the measure, approved in a 10-8 vote, is favored to fail on the senate floor. good ole fristy has it scheduled to appear before the senate the week of june 5.
nothing like the smell of homophobia in the morning.
in today's issue, misadventures in illegal immigration with my facilities management team!
at my office, the facilities team is a freaking colors of benetton ad. it is evident that the third party agency that staffs our building services values diversity. they have collected persons from around the globe and given them to me. each day at work is like one more trip through disney's "it's a small world".
there's laima, the polish grandmother. she and her husband clean my office in the morning. they are a short, stubby couple, with fingers like vienna sausages. i often imagine that their offspring must resemble augustus gloop. laima's husband speaks accented but strong english, and for a long time, they only worked as a team because laima spoke no english whatsoever. in the beginning, they would come in, and laima would say, "powitanie , czy masz wszelki odpadki dziś?" her husband would then turn to me and repeat in english, "hello, do you have any garbage today?", and i would simply respond yes or no. after some time, laima attempted the english herself... one word at a time, each day adding one new word of english to her polish question. eventually, her husband stopped coming with her to pick up my garbage. i thought this was a sign that laima's english was improving overall. i was wrong.
"hello, do you have any garbage today?" "hey, laima, just these boxes." she looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "hello, do you have any garbage today?" "uuh, just these boxes." "hello, do you have any garbage today?" she repeats. "boxes, laima, boxes." i make hand gestures that to me clearly suggest "box". "hello, do you have any garbage today?" she pleads with a hint of anger in her voice. "yes, laima, these boxes." hearing yes, she picks up my trash can, turns it over, and when nothing comes out, she tosses it back under my desk angrily and mutters something in polish as she shuffles out the door.
then there's achille, the security guy. achille is from africa... i think from a country that doesn't exist anymore. regardless, his first day on the job, his supervisor brings him to my desk.
"brett, you speak french right?" "yes, why?" "this is achille. he doesn't speak much english, but he speaks french. i need you to tell me what he's asking." "uh, okay," i said, wondering how word got out that i spoke french and why we hired a security guy who doesn't understand the word "help". achille stood there smiling, i'm guessing completely unware that we were just talking about him. "okay, achille," she said, pointing at me then making the international hand sign for talking. "je asojgiv d'mowft bver tivbluhg wouier?" asked achille. "what?" i said. "no, in french," she adds. "quoi?" i asked instinctively. "je asojgiv d'mowft bver tivbluhg wouier?" achille repeats. "uh... i something about my something..." "what?" she asks. "quoi?" i said without thinking. "je asojgiv d'mowft bver tivbluhg wouier?" "ugh, no... i don't know what he's saying." "oh... no? j'aytre wopre aoeuir boivres iewuorlkfjaokuvnoeuoriughjnbouitoiashfoavnokuo!" achille jumps in hearing "no" (well, he actually heard "non") and getting angry. "oh god, what's he saying? what'd he say?" she pleads while achille continues his rant. "i don't know. i don't know what he's saying... he wanted to know something about his something." "i thought you spoke french." "i do. i speak french." "well... if you speak french, then you sh-" "i speak french french. i don't speak african french," i chime in over her. she stops speaking right away and gives me the most awful, judgemental look i've received in a long time, and noticing her stare, achille quiets down as well. "what?" i ask. "quoi? quoi?" achille offers. "i can't believe you said that." "said what?" i ask. "quoi?" begs achille. "you don't speak african french," she sneers. i look right at her, realizing she thinks i was being racist, and say, "carol, they don't sound the same." "what?" she says, not really asking. "quoi?" chirps achille, also not really asking, i think. "they don't sound the same, carol. french french and african french. they don't sound the same. heck, even french french and canadian french don't always sound so similar." "ooooh." "yeah." "c'mon, achille," she says in closing, taking him by the arm and leading him from the office. as they walk down the hall, i hear achille asking his question again. i only later found out that he wanted to know when his benefits started because he had a horrible toothache.
...and finally, there's ana-maria, the central american lady. ana-maria is my evening cleaning lady. she comes through at the end of the day to empty the trash again and do a sundry of other custodial tasks. my fun times with ana-maria aren't nearly as specific as my fun times with laima and achille because ana-maria seems to be oblivious to the fact that i don't understand a single word she says.
everyday, and i do mean everyday, ana-maria comes into my office and just starts spurting out whole paragraphs in spanish. they could be questions, expository observations, or commands to get the fuck out of the building because she just lit the bathroom on fire, and i would not know the difference. one time, she needed me to climb under the door to a stall in the men's bathroom because it had somehow locked from the inside, and she had to clean the toilet behind door number 1. we did not accomplish this task by her slowly trying to explain what she needed from me. no. we got there because when i stood up (after looking at her blankly for like 30 whole seconds) to find someone who did speak spanish, ana-maria started booking it to the men's bathroom. i followed after her, shouting her name, but she just kept going. in the bathroom, she just looked at me expectantly, then in a show of solidarity (not to try to explain what i was doing in the bathroom with her) she pushed up against the door. epiphany!
another time, ana-maria wanted to know whether or not the tablecloth on some table in the hallway was trash. however, she did not just ask me that (in spanish, of course). no. ana-maria tells some big long story that involved both her neice and her sister... two spanish words i recognized in her yarn. i deciphered her epic poem, not because she attempted to better explain it to me, but because her general hand gesturing revealed she was talking about setting a table and she repeatedly gestured dressing the table with a cloth. determining that she wanted to know if she could throw a tablecloth away took a bit longer, but nevertheless, we got there... no thanks to ana-maria.
i can't wait to hear what she obtusively sputters to me today.
all in all, i'm not entirely sure how i feel about all this talk about immigrants and stuff. despite what you've read, i'm not terribly versed in the subject, and i don't really follow current events. *gasp* but i do know this. despite how hellish it can make my day at the office, i wouldn't trade laima, achille or ana-maria for anything. not even an easy-going, english-speaking counterpart.
why?
because they're making me one helluva champion charades player.
somehow, despite my best efforts, i think i've become the "crazy ex".
i really tried not to. i coached myself on how not to appear insane.
i didn't let myself call everytime i wanted to, knowing he has caller id and that i'd hang up.
i didn't let myself get drunk, listen to sad fm (music for for the over thirties), and send sure-to-be-regretted text messages... okay, so i only let it happen once.
i didn't let myself run over to his place in the rain and throw pebbles at his window in what i, at the time, thought would surely be a grand romantic gesture because, in reality, no one opens a window for a crazy person in the rain.
i didn't let myself send him the email i've got saved in my drafts folder - the one that attempts to explain it all, the one that tries to clear the air, the one that says i knew he didn't love me in november, the one that tells him i've loved him since october but didn't know it until december.
i didn't. i've been very careful.
yet somehow, in the past few weeks, despite all my tiptoeing and wrist-slapping, i have managed to let the craziness seep through all the mental defenses. regardless of how guarded i've been and of how much i haven't let escape, i've appeared too eagerly open and have put too much out there.
even though i didn't let myself call him, i've let myself chat with him online. even though i didn't let myself text him, i've let myself send him a couple "friendly" emails while he's been away on business. even though i didn't let myself run to him, i've let myself have dinner and drinks with him. even though i didn't let myself tell him i loved him, i've let myself say "i miss you".
it was all in the spirit of being friends, but when your spirit has been broken, i don't think you can be just friends. i've never been one to settle for half-reached dreams and missed opportunities, and i've found myself unwilling to compromise that in this situation. i don't know how to make the decision to let this find its own path, when for any other circumstance, i'd blaze a trail. my brain says "stop", but my heart says "go, go, go!"
...and i'm left knowing: i didn't want to be, but i'm his crazy ex.
------
he's been in detroit for a few weeks now. i have no idea if he's been back to chicago on the weekends or not. i'm hoping the next 4 days or so will be a nice respite from thinking about him.
tonight, i leave for vermont with the madre superior. we're driving, so it should make for plenty of quality brett and mom time.
i hope to take plenty of pictures to share once i get back, but 'til then, adieu.
another question i was asked on the panel was about my family.
the usual stuff: do they know? how did you tell them? how did they take it?
being the good, no, great panelist that i am, i addressed each question with poise, thought, and honesty. my answers oozed with consideration and thoroughness. i was the picture of hard-hitting yet poignant answering.
"yes. over the phone. good, i guess."
[insert rim shot]
but see, i didn't want the group to know. i didn't want them to see what i had done. i didn't want them to know i had created a monster. a rabid, indiscriminate beast.
i had created the makings of a pflag mom.
madre superior, as i like to call her, is the only family member that i know knows what i have known since birth - brett is a faggot. do i think other fam knows? of course, but these speculations have been neither confirmed nor denied, as is our white, anglo-saxon, middle-class, catholic-yet-still-pseudo-prostestant-enough-to-be-cold way. my sexuality is in the same file as the loveless marriages, drinking problems, and mental illnesses; we're all going to talk about it, but only in hushed whispers over a 3-olive martini at bridge... "i'm not one to talk, but i was over there last night, and brett-ryan was steaming the drapes again. he insists that flavia half-asses it, and i insist that his parents start planning for adopted, cambodian grandchildren."
i did tell my mom over the phone, but it wasn't one of those hallmark channel movie moments. i never actually said the words. there was no, "mom, i'm gay" or "ma, i like other guys." or "yep, up the pooter." no, none of that. there were no tears, no awkward silences, no shouted derision. it was the first day of the year. i thought i was losing the man i loved, and i needed to talk to my mom.
madre: "well, bug, it sounds like this is a pretty important friendship to you. how long have you two been friends?" moi: "just over 7 months. 221 days." madre: "you know how many days you've known him?" moi: "of course. i always do. i count days." madre: "i guess he's more than a friend." moi: "bingo."
...and that was it. life continued on as if nothing had changed.
until recently.
now, all of a sudden, my mom is so cool with the gays. she's dropping it into conversation left and right, and not in that weird affirmation sort of way. it's not like she's trying to show me that she still loves me or anything like that. it's like... too normal. she now kids me about the gay thing the same way she does about my weight or my job or really anything. "gay" has just become one more target for her criticism, guilt-tripping, and joking.
on how i'm going to pay for law school: moi: "well, you rarely pay exactly what they say you will, and i'll probably just get loans for the rest." madre: "isn't that an awful lot of money to borrow? couldn't you get some sort of lifestyle support?" moi: "what? lifestyle support? what the hell are you talking about you crazy woman?" madre: "i mean, isn't there anyone up there that would hate to see a cute, young man pay for law school? you know, someone older who'd maybe like to see you get educated." moi: "mooooooooom, are you trying to pimp me out for tuition? i don't need a sugar daddy." (though in all honesty, i do) madre: "i'm just saying. it's certainly more fiscally responsible than getting loans."
the woman has lost it.
on the prospect of grandchildren: madre: "humph." moi: "what?" madre: "oh, nothing. huuuuuummmph." moi: "really, ma. what?" madre: "humph, oh, i was just realizing all those wonderful genes we gave you will never be in my grandchildren."
for real! she's whacked.
on my social life: madre: "so have you made any new friends?" moi: "new friends? i barely have a social life... unless it's in my inbox, i don't interact with it." madre: "you're boring. i'm done living vicariously through you." moi: "sorry, i don't live up to your social standards. what'd you expect? 'oh, yesterday, while i was climbing kilimanjaro, i met the nicest sherpa." madre: "brett, i don't think they call them sherpas in africa, but regardless, i don't know. just something... not this 'came home from work and cooked dinner' ilk." moi: "well, that's my life." madre: "you should go dancing more. with your shirt off."
girl has done broke her head.
on my being single: madre: "you seeing anyone?" moi: "no. you?" madre: "just your dad still." moi: "so he still doesn't know then?" madre: "know what?" moi: "that you're crazy." madre: "ha! at least i'm not well down the road to becoming a cat lady... oh, i'm sorry, small dog lady."
after 109 days, an overdue recognition and a small confession.
109 days.
yes, i'm that crazy person who counts the days. i can't help it; there's a solitude in numbers.
but, yes. i've been single for 109 days, and i'm not sure which feels longer: those actual 109 days or the idea of 109 days. 109 days. days of holding onto an idea. days of longing for all the ones before them. days of thinking about someone who isn't thinking about me. days of "i'm fine", "i'll be okay", and "no, really, it's okay". days of brave faces and stiff upper lips. days of frustration. days of anger. days of sadness.
you know, some 123 days ago, i promised myself that this year would be different. i swore to myself that this year would be unlike all the others. that this would be the year things changed, and now, i'm swiftly approaching its halfway point, knowing that i am. i am changed. i am broken.
-in a world full of boys in dark-rimmed glasses, i'm the one you'll remember
-i like beer
-sports don't scare me
-i can't win a boardgame to save my life
-i make lots of wonderful facial expressions
-i tend to flail
-dads like me; moms love me
-i'm great with names and faces
-four little words: "best wedding date ever"
the bad stuff:
-i have problems acting my age... you'd think i'm 29 not 24
-you better like the word "seriously"
-my friends are some tough competition
-i'm a mama's boy
-my impressions are horrible at best
-i tend to flail
-balancing my checkbook is a lost art, but i totally get physics
