Addendum to Undateable

It has recently come to my attention that I am dateable.

Quick turn-around, I know.

So, this is me:

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And this is you:

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On our best days, of course. (Don’t fear the She-Hulk-ness. Jennifer Walters is a super smart and logical lawyer and actually retains her personality when she Hulks out, unlike her cousin Bruce.)

I’ll leave my Chronic insecurities at home as long as you promise to bring along your Chronic sensitivity. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle-ish.

Now all that’s left is to Assemble Prospects…I mean, Avengers…

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Undateable

It has recently come to my attention that I am undateable.

I’m not really sure when this happened, and I’m also not really sure when I started to care.

Ok, so the first part isn’t exactly true.

And really, neither is the second.

I know the when, the why, the how, the where.

It’s that whole “what to do about it…” part I haven’t quite gotten to yet.

Here’s the thing, Chronic friends.

I am not lonely, promise.

Except I might get just a little teensy bit of a lonely-like feeling every other Friday night, most holidays, and the first Wednesday of the month when it is buy one, get one burger night <somewhere>

But really, not lonely, mmkay?

I used to like dating.

I also used to like sitting in the sun, doing upside down yoga positions, and eating bacon.

Sometimes the things you like just don’t like you, you know?

For the past, I don’t know, 10 (!!!!) years, dating has just not been on my radar.

I was kind of busy trying to um, stay upright/conscious/alive.

I know, excuses, excuses.

But my life is super different-ish now; I’m rapidly approaching being faint/hemiplegia-free for 2 years, I’m employed, my mom isn’t my roommate any more, etc. I’ve got a bunch of things to look forward to that aren’t washing my hair once a week or walking the dog to the mailbox every day. (Totally legit things that I still continue to celebrate and do more frequently-at least in the case of washing my hair!) I’ve been busy-busy more than I’ve been Chronic busy.

So you might have heard that it’s Valentine’s Day on Sunday, and that it’s my 27th (shhh! #DontTellTheOtherBloggers #ImOlderThan #Everyone) birthday exactly one week afterwards…

Nothing like a one-two punch to make a girl wonder about her prospects.

There are very specific times when I feel like Rip Van Winkle waking up from a 100 years’ nap only to find that the world is a crazy, weirdo place now and I want to go back to sleep.

Dating makes me feel like this.

First off, as a Chronic Lady who has been in Chronic hibernation/Rip Van Winkle sleep for her early 20s (because as a friend and I recently figured out, I am one-week out from being in my “late” 20s-thinking of you, early 30s friend!), I seem to have missed the window where you go on 29 first dates and have 3 week-long relationships with your college Chem lab partner that dissolve in a fiery mess that means that you can no longer go to the Taco Bell on campus because he might be there. All that junk stuff where you figure it out- I seem to have missed that lovely learning curve.

Nope, late 20s is the part where (according to Society and the Powers That Be), one discovers The One, and fills up everyone else’s Facebook feeds with engagement photos, wedding photos, baby photos, first home photos, first dog photos, romantic get-away trip photos, and even the occasional divorce memo.

I am going to be really selfish and self-centered for 5 seconds and say I cannot BELIEVE that there are people my age who are DIVORCED and I have not even been on a DATE, ohmygosh PANIC ATTACK about my PLACE in the SOCIETY-MEASURED RAT RACE.

Sorry.

I’m ok now.

It’s not that I have not had opportunity.

Truth time: I did have a kind of opportunity, and I kind of blew it.

First off, timing was horrible.

Do not try to figure out your first date in a decade when you are trying to move out for the first time, pass a final exam for a never-ending career training program so that you can get your first job so you can pay your first bills and be a grownup, also for the first time.

You simply have too much going on, and while the Internet will tell you that loads of people have online relationships for months and even years where they never actually see each other in person, it’s not actually true. The person who wants to date you will actually want to go out on a date at some point. #WayToMakeEverythingHarder #WhatsSoGreatAboutADate

Which comes to the Chronic part.

How do Chronic people date?

No really, I’m asking.

That wasn’t a lead-in to my epically enlightened answer. It was a question that I’m really hoping you’ll read as endearing and not kind of sad. Oh, and that you’ll answer.

I get so nosey when I meet Chronic people in relationships. I become the most annoying journalist. “Where did you meet?” “Where is that?” “Did you wear your compression stockings?” “Did he notice them?” “What did you say?” “No, like really, word for word, what did you say?”

I don’t go to movies (unless they are at 10 am at the one theater I like and I wear earplugs and fidget like a 1st grader who has to pee) and I don’t go to restaurants (I do not want to die a slow stomach churning death with an audience, especially one I don’t know well). I can’t really go to museums (who knew they could so drastically change the humidity from one room to the next to keep works of art young and vibrant whilst keeping the young and vibrant dizzy, sweaty and nauseous?) and I mostly avoid the outdoors between sunup and sundown. Then I avoid going out at night because I’m tired and have night blindness #ItsARealThing I don’t drink caffeine or tea or alcohol (they are all diuretics, like I’d need the help…). Mostly, if it’s fun, I’m pretty sure I have a reason I can’t do it.

Undateable, you see?

On the other hand, I am really good at making soda pop pound cakes. I have an outdoor firepit and an indoor tabletop safety flame fire pit for making s’mores. (Yes, I have both. I really like s’mores.) I like the comic book store and the library. I like to Netflix and I like to chill. Separately, you perv.

Perhaps, just maybe, I am not quite as undateable as I think?

 

Are you in a relationship, Chronic friend? Do you go out on dates? Tell me all about it. I mean it. Like, everything. Have you written a manual? Could you?

Happy Valentine’s Day, lovelies! ❤

The Snow Parade

I love a good parade, don’t you, Chronic reader?

I bet you do.

Because, really. Who doesn’t love such excitement, such joie de vivre, that simply bursts out onto the street?

Except the clown part.

I can do without the clowns.

*I digress*

So we love parades. Okay.

I’m a celebratory person.

I love birthdays (ohmygosh birthdays!).

I love holidays (ohmygosh holidays!).

I love milestones (ohmygosh go you!).

I love goals achieved (ohmygosh woohoo!).

If there is some <event, moment, thing in general> that I can take and wrap it in a package of excitement and then hug it and feed it cake, I will do so.

Unfortunately, not everyone is like that.

(This is the part where I face-palm and yell, “Why the heck not?!” into the vast abyss that is the universe. It’s so much fun and we have cake here in ParadeLand! What’s not to like??)

I found this out the hard way this past week.

In case you hadn’t heard, it snowed on the East Coast of the United States.

Like, a lot.

 

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Can’t see out the windows!

We got about 30 inches, give or take an icicle. Reference: I am 65 and ¾ inches tall.

We do not usually get this much snow.

The DC metropolitan area hates snow more than anything in the world, more than anyone in the world could hate anything.

I know I tend to exaggerate, but that is not an exaggeration. The District and its surrounding counties in Maryland and Virginia have pretty much been closed for an entire week. No one goes to work, no one goes to school, and you better have bought 92 boxes of cheerios in the pre-storm rush on supermarkets, because no one is going out until all traces of frozen water particles are gone.

However…

However, despite our collective hate for all things frozen (unless there is a snow queen singing about it-we hate it), in the spirit of the hometown of our National Government, we also really hate to miss an opportunity to fine people for things.

Like say, not having their sidewalks shoveled within 24 hours of the last snowflake’s gentle tumble to Earth.

Now, I love my sidewalks. They are excellent parade routes, especially when it’s a good day and I am running, but even if it’s a bad day and all I’m able to do is walk to the mailbox at the end of the block.

Scene: It’s Monday. Technically, the last snowflake fell 48 hours ago, but because that snowflake brought 9 bazillion of its closest friends with him to town, the city has allowed the extra time to clear the sidewalk. (Cranky side-note: Funny, no one fines the city for not plowing the actual streets within 24 hours of the snow’s end…) The only thing that has been shoveled at my house is a tiny path from my neighbor’s driveway to my front door. I was a baby smart and stayed with my mom who has a Costco membership (Translation: TONS OF CHEERIOS) for the impending doomsday. Now that I’m home, it’s time to be a responsible, adult, home-renting person and clean up my snow.

By the way, I live on the corner lot.

And did I mention that the total snow amount was roughly half my height?

This is what side A looked like before:

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2 hours, 2 liters of water, 2 pairs of socks, and 2 shirt changes due to excessive perspiration later, this is what side A looked like after:

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Sidewalk ends at the telephone pole in the distance.

Side B only has an after picture:

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My sidewalk goes to just past the foreground tree.

And I did it all by myself.

BAM!

PARADE TIME!

No really.

The whole time, I was choosing mental markers (I’m going to get to the stop sign. I’m almost to the telephone pole.) and was literally saying out loud stuff like, “I can do this!” “I’m almost done!”

The fact that it was all monotone ice-colored, coupled with the fact that I had to spend some time trying find the sidewalk before I could shovel it out (sorry, grass!), it felt like it was never going to end and that I would keel over and lose my fingers and toes and nose to hypothermia before they found me, Ice-Man of the Alps-style, sometime in spring.

And then, surprisingly, it was done.

I jumped up and down.

I am pretty sure I made some audible vocalizations that sounded a lot like, “Yes! Yes! Yes! I conquered you, snow!” and then delirious laughter.

In short, I threw myself a parade, right there in the snow.

Now, being a celebratory person is more fun when you have other people around, and this is where I learned that hard lesson about not everyone being as celebratory-inclined as I am.

Here I am, jumping up and down in my shovel-width path of a sidewalk, and I instinctively look around. I want to tell people about my success, gosh darn it.

Except…

Well, everyone who is out is under their own pile of snow. Some people haven’t started yet, some people are midway, some people are giving up and going back inside for cocoa, and some are watching their loved one do it while they hang out on the other side of the screen door calling out, “You missed a spot!” every once and a while.

No one gives a rat’s patoot (that’s it’s rear end, in case you didn’t know) that I have just done this wonderful, amazing thing. Don’t they know who I am? (Um, no, actually. I know like 4 neighbors, tops.) Don’t they know what I have been through? (Really, no. Not exactly what you follow “Hi, I’m your new neighbor!” with.) Can’t they see that this is a HUGE DEAL?

I MEAN, I SHOVELED MY SIDEWALK WITHIN 48 HOURS OF THE #SNOWTASTROPHE…

…just like every home-owning, home-renting person within a 20 mile radius is supposed to be doing right about now.

Isn’t this just a great Chronic-life metaphor?

I thought so, too.

You see, this happens all the time in Chronicville. You are going along, just trying to get somewhere, see a little progress, do a little better. Then you have a Moment- you do something you haven’t been able to do in a while, or you accomplish something that is so, so hard.

At least it is for you.

It’s the greatest feeling, and you want to shout to the rooftops! (Hey, Universe! I did the dishes! I went grocery shopping! I showered today! I’m wearing actual pants!)

But sometimes, people are too busy shoveling their own sidewalk to notice that you shoveled yours.

See what I did there?

Hold on tight as we come around full circle…

This is exactly the reason why I advocate Self-Parades. That thing you did? It was awesome! You should be so proud of you! Whatever it was, big or small, even if it was something most people consider “normal” or “routine”- that was HUGE for you and you DESERVE the highest praise.

So give it to yourself already, Chronic friend. Don’t wait for anybody else to notice, because your moment is now.

Jump up and down.

Bake a cake.

Have a dance party.

Buy yourself a present.

Post about it on Facebook and shamelessly collect the compliments from your Chronic friends! Or post it on my Facebook page and shamelessly collect the compliments that I will shower on you!

Just don’t let the moment go without a little celebration 🙂

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You can always build a friend to share your snow success with!