Risk-Taking 101

This past week: just a little insane. I helped to organize an important event at work (which was a lot of brain work, but went off without a proverbial hitch). My car was frighteningly (cruelly!) uncertain as to whether it was going to carry me to my destinations for over two weeks, while I negotiated with my mechanic for scheduling and proper diagnosis (ended up taking it to the dealership, which fixed it in one day). Add to this the fact that my folks were here in town for a visit, along with their two large dogs, for a week. While we did have fun, four adults, one toddler and three dogs are way too many living things to have dwelling under one tiny roof for more than a couple of days. We had to stop the dogs from fighting a number of times—teeth-baring, snarling, wicked dominance displays. From basically gentle dogs. We totally Cesar-ed them and showed them that we were the pack leaders, by pulling them apart, laying them down, exposing their bellies, and putting our hands on them, the way alpha dogs do to show their dominance. It’s very nerve-wracking and exhausting, being so hyper-vigilant. Ideally, we were supposed to be relaxed (calm/assertive), in order not to transfer our tension to the dogs. We were making it worse by anticipating their fighting.

Yesterday, at home, all I did was watch “Scrubs” and “Sex and the City” for 12 straight hours and I felt not one bit guilty for doing nothing.

Now that I’ve been insanely busy, and been a recluse going to school before that, I think I’m ready to go out again and socialize, do fun things. I’ve got a six-week ballroom dance class beginning next week. There’ll be boys to dance with...I like dancing with boys.

And I like being with boys. I do miss it. Ever since my divorce, I’ve been skittish about getting involved with anyone. Naturally. It’s been 11 years since I last dated, and even then, it was few and far-between. Like anything, the more you do something, the more familiar you get with it and the better you become at it. Dating is something I probably should do more often. I’m not a risk-taker by nature, and dating is a risk, so I just don’t do it, because what if I end up not liking the guy after all and then I have to be the one to stop seeing him (Hi, the guy could end up not liking me, and stop seeing me—it goes both ways, darlin’.). Wouldn’t it just be easier to not see anyone until I find my little geek doppelganger, and then simply date him? Actually, at this point in time, no one’s asking, and there’s no one I want to ask, so, there’s that. But I should have been a scientist—it’s like I want to put relationships in a petri dish and grow the perfect one, in perfect conditions, without any of the problems or mistakes I’ve had in the past. Clinically perfect. I don’t want to deal with the messiness of emotions and communication and misunderstandings. Well, shit, welcome to the human race, kid. Relationships are full of spatter and puddles and goo and gick and gore. Asymmetry and imperfections all over the place! It’s like fingerpainting or pottery or gardening or making dough—you’re gonna have to stick your hands in and get ’em fucking dirty in order to make something fantastic. It’s just the nature of the beast. The horror! The horror!! Shut the fuck up. And grow the fuck up. I’m so freaked out about getting my nice, white dress dirty that I don’t live life. Really time to grow up. What am I, five? Or just Type A? I seriously didn’t think I was like that—I thought I was too liberal and free-thinking to be that—but obviously I am. And I don’t like it. I don’t like facing it. Hi, messy! But there it is. I dealt with a ton o’ mess this week, and it didn’t kill me. This probably won’t, either.

I so need to watch “Harold and Maude” again. Maude tells Harold: “...Reach out. Take a chance. Get hurt, even. But play as well as you can. Go, team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! Otherwise, you got nothing to talk about in the locker room.” When I am old, I shall be Maude...

Or at least, Maude-esque. With hand soap.