In the Vastness of Midwestness

I am a big city girl and I am annoyed by Ohio.

I know, I know... if I am so annoyed why don't I just get the hell out of here and go home?

Really, grad school is the only thing that's keeping me here. I mean, the friends I've met here (several of them) will probably remain my friends for the rest of my life, but I met all of them in my grad program. Anything outside of graduate school, I kind of despise.

It's not all that bad, really. I am enjoying my life, for the most part, and trying not to let the mediocrity of sleepy gray skies of the Midwestern suburbia drag me down into this cloudy abyss of blah-ness. The stale nervousness of the Ohio river, the crowd-less muddy river banks with concrete vastness of baseball stadiums, the empty streets of downtown steel and glass towers... they're all so uninspiring, so trying to be something they're not, so mocking in their mere presence.

It's like that movie I saw a few months ago where three people go to hell. But it's no ordinary hell, it's hell for people who committed suicides. So this hell has no burning fire or little horned devils running around poking sinners with their sharp pitchforks. No, this hell is just like our world... except just a little worse. This hell is just like a Midwestern town, where everyone is content living in their mediocre existence, driving their 4x4 pick-up trucks, wearing faded flannel shirts and watching public television.

All of this, strangely, makes me think of him. My former love(r) who I think of from time to time, for no apparent reason at all. The guy with an amazingly big heart, and many tiny little very over-lookable flaws that made him more endearing than irritating to me; the guy who was amazing in bed without ever being arrogant and conceited about it; the guy who, I knew, felt that I was something special.

I kind of have a feeling he's married now... and I kind of wish him all the best, with a hint of sadness remaining in my heart for all the things that could have been, but never were.

We were younger back than, but I remember the girl I used to be a few years ago and I still find many traces of her in my present self. I remember the guy he used to be and I wonder if he is still the same lovable cutie who made feel damn special and smart and wanted, without ever being in a relationship with me.

Our sunsets and sunrises were just a little brighter back then, my pillows were just a little softer when I woke up next to him, and my favorite moment of all time is still that time he, out of nowhere, pulled his car over to the side of the road just to kiss my hand and tell me how great I was.

I was never angry, never jealous, never annoyed. And maybe just a little bit infatuated with the simplicity and passion we shared with each other for a number of years.

Somehow, I am convinced that this kind of guy is simply nonexistent in the Midwest. I can't wait to move away, move somewhere. Anywhere but here.

p.s. I also just found out that the guy who broke my heart last year proposed to his current girlfriend three weeks ago. I would say, "When it rains, it pours" but, frankly, I don't care enough any more to be bothered by the news for more than a few minutes. Cheers to the happy couple.

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"Hey, Cameron. You realize if we played by the rules right now we'd be in gym"

My eye lids felt heavy in the late hours of Friday night. I struggled to stay awake, but my open real estate book (for one of the non-architecture classes I am taking) that I've allowed to be my only "distraction" was not interesting me enough to keep me alert. My mind could no longer keep up with my eyes that raced over the pages filled with pie charts and business-school terms. The couch felt so comfortable and soft and I felt my body melting into it. I was now enveloped in warmth and real estate was the last thing on my mind.

All of the sudden I was laying on a bench park, my head in Matthew Broderick's lap. I looked up at him just to make sure that it was really him. And it was, a younger version - circa Ferris Beuller-era - but it was him, nonetheless. The leaves were red and gold on the trees all around us and they continuously twirled and twirled, detaching themselves from the fragile tree branches and landing in the nearby pond, on paved paths, on the bench and on us. He was telling me something profound. He was so smart and witty, I thought with satisfaction. I raised my body up a bit so that his arms were wrapped around my waist now. His hand was holding mine, and it was my turn to speak now. I remember myself getting all philosophical on him, and I remember having the most engaging of conversations. I was surprised because, I think, a part of me realized that I was never really attracted to Matthew Broderick when I saw him in any of his movies. Sure, he was boyishly-cute and incredibly charming in Ferris Bueller, but I never had my panties up in a bunch about him.

But here I was, enjoying my time with him, on that park bench, on that warm fall day, where time seemed to stand still and the leaves just kept falling in an endless cascade. And I wished for nothing else but for him to tell me that he wanted to kiss me. He was my soul mate, right then and there, the smartest guy in the world, the guy who was not only eye candy but who I could spill my guts to, who could understand me because we were on the exact same level of intelligence, who, I could tell, wanted to make out with me just as badly as I wanted to make out with him. But we kept delaying that moment, perfectly content and slightly excited by that feeling of anticipation, when you are having that incredible mental connection but are feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter around just like those fall leaves in the wind. What a wonderful feeling it was to experience once again, even if the object of my affection was Ferris Bueller.

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Time to Make a Change

Vote, vote, vote. Vote with passion, vote because you care. Vote because there are things that are worth giving a damn. Vote because we are only given one life to live and having a choice is truly a privilege.

I am voting because when I feel hopeless and disillusioned, I can still feel like I can assert myself. I can still say that I have a voice. My decision is mine and mine alone. My decision is as simple as deciding to get up early in the morning and show up at my voting location.

I am voting because I need change. I am voting because I am homesick. I am voting because I am overworked. I am voting because I feel discouraged. I am voting because I want to establish my presence. I am pouring my passions and frustrations into something that I think will make a difference. I am voting because I still believe in the right to choose.

Vote to choose. Choose to vote.

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Sure Thing, Babe

It's been a bit unsettling to me as to how pessimistic I've been feeling about dating lately. Just to give a most recent example of what I'm talking about, I'll relay my most recent encounter with a guy who seemed to have some dating potential in my eyes.

After we exchanged numbers at a bar, I received a text message from him asking me if I was free to go see a movie that saturday. First of all, a fucking movie? I've always considered that to be sort of a cop out date because you can't really talk in the movie theater so what is the damn point of going to the movies with a stranger? You will still walk away from this date a stranger.

Second of all, a fucking text message? And it's not just him who prefers to text, not to call. I understand that text messages are so wonderfully convenient when you want to relay an important bit of information to someone but do not really have the time for a long phone conversation. Yes, text messaging comes in handy there, but not when you are asking someone out on a date! How tacky, how cowardly, how distasteful. And he is probably the fourth person in a row that prefers to text me more than call me. What's up with that, I say.

I bluntly texted him that I would prefer it if we had a phone conversation before we make plans to hang out, and luckily he seemed okay with that. He called me that evening and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he actually did not have a personality of a cardboard cutout. He seemed lively, humorous, intelligent, and I was again reminded as to how sexy his voice sounds.

That said and done, we made plans to see a freaking movie. Hell, I thought, it's been some time since I've been on a date, maybe a movie isn't such a bad idea. I did forewarn the guy that I might have to do some work over the weekend so our date plans were, by no means, definite.

Friday, the day before the date came, and to my dismay I began to realize that with the amount of work I had to do over the weekend, I wouldn't be able tto get out of the house at all. That meant that I had to cancel my date on Saturday. I texted him (hey, I was legitimately too busy to make a phone call!) with an apology and asked if we could reschedule for Tuesday night.
"Sure thing, babe." he texted me back.

Seriously? Babe? I sighed with disgust and showed the text message to my friend who was with me at the time. He rolled his eyes in affirmation of the inappropriateness of the guy's reply, "He's calling you babe already? You found yourself a winner."

Now Tuesday is only two days away and I am kind of looking at the impending date, if it will ever happen, with a feeling of doom, rather than excitement. I don't know when exactly I stopped enjoying dating, but that moment crept up on me and I no longer find myself excited when faced with a prospect of going on a date. Maybe it's the quality of guys I am meeting in this city. Or maybe it's not them, it's me. Regardless of the reasons, if I do go on this particular date and he calls me "babe" as soon as he greets me, I am so outta there.

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