is this art?

The date was...okay. It left me exhausted and no more excited about dating than I was five months ago.

The good: He was a nice man. He seemed nervous and, therefore, very interested in me. He did not make any creeper moves. Toward the end of the date the conversation improved a little bit.

The bad: I was not attracted to him. He wasn't ugly, but there was no spark. He also talked about himself a LOT, which reminded me of a harsh dating pattern in my life. The date goes well if I ask the man about himself and let him talk. He always thinks it is a great date. I leave feeling like I just played the role of minister.

The ugly: If you are going to take a woman to a museum for a date, act as if you are comfortable in museums. He was antsy and too distracted to look at the art. His unintelligence came through when he said he had a test for me. He took me to an abstract painting and said, "Is this really art? I mean, why is this in a museum?" That seemed to be his main comment the entire time. Good job, Mr. 38 year-old. You are making the jokes I made in the 10th grade. Other adults are uncomfortable for you because you are talking too loud and saying sad, sad things.

He was not the man of my dreams. He asked if I was an art major because I read the plaques on the wall and noticed the texture of the paintings. Let's be clear. I used no big words and I know next to nothing about art. I said things like, "that is a LOT of paint." He was intimidated. I didn't have the heart to tell him I went to Princeton.


The date was not a work of art. It was, however, a start. I left the date tired and disappointed, but at least I did my hair and wore a sexy shirt. Baby steps.

I am suing USA

Shawn Spencer, a character on the show "Psych" is trying to bring back the use of "not." There can only be one explanation to this. USA producers all read my blog, stole the idea from months ago, and are now putting it in their shows without giving me any credit.

Damn you, USA producers. I know you are reading this. I want my cut of the profits from this week's show.

because I am weak...

I am going on a date this Sunday. Yes, I am blowing off the last month of my sabbatical from men and going on a date. With a man.

Why? I am weak. I can't even claim that some amazing man walked into my life and I had no choice but to let him sweep me off my feet.

No such glory. I went online and re-joined all of the dating sites. Within a week, I found someone who I am only somewhat excited about meeting. We are going to the museum on Sunday.

I am okay with this. In the last five months, I've mourned men of my past, re-empowered myself as a single woman, thrown full-blown pity parties, and quit caring about my physical appearance all together. It is that last thing that sends me back into the world of dating.

My house is a wreck because no one has entered the front door in 4 months. I've gained 15 pounds because my life is nothing but work and sleep. Even with great friends, I am generally lonely. Work is so busy that there are few things I can point to as my personal life.

Back to dating! The sabbatical did change me. I am no longer considering men who I know are a waste of time (no full-time job, don't believe in God, watch Fox news, etc.).

And so, my first date in 5 1/2 months is on Sunday. We will call him Mr. Evolution.

That isn't a name symbolizing the evolution of my dating process. It is because he doesn't believe in evolution. I know.

That is why I'm not completely excited. He does work full-time in a professional job, goes to church, works with prison ministries, believes in women in ministry, and he can spell. Those things hit enough basics to get a 1 1/2 hour date on Sunday.

I'll let you know how it goes.

being a contradiction sucks...

That is my latest big revelation. Yes, I know. Duh. Nothing new. Tonight, however, the frustration of being a walking contradiction is building.

I know what you are thinking. What the hell is she talking about? Here it is:

Living a life that is full of contractions seems to cut 99.9% of the population out of the running for the future man of my dreams. Everything in my life makes sense to ME, but apparently it doesn't make sense to most people in the world. I was spoiled in school. In school, there were plenty of people who understood that God is holy, church is important, my call as a minister is complex and ever-changing, and that I must always try to seek growth as a child of God. Those same people also understood that God loves all people, Obama is not actually satan's bastard son, there is a bigger world out there than the U.S.A., ministers sometimes get drunk and cuss, sexuality is not from the devil, and that peace is pretty damned important.

No one bothered to tell us that we were mutant people of faith and that when we scattered to the ends of the earth, we were alone.



Try dating as a mutant Christian. How much easier it would be if I were a submissive woman or a racist Republican! I would have a man if I chose a personalized shotgun over supporting gay people! It would also be easier if I could just walk away from the church and live a Jesus-free life with some sexy intellectual who has a great mind and an empty heart.

Which of my strong beliefs should I throw away? How can I read an online profile without my heart sinking at the sight of key phrases like:

"our great nation"
"my gun collection"
"a godly wife to bear my children"
"if you are p.c., you won't like me"
"non-spiritual"
"looking for something physical"
"happy with the money I am making"
"agnostic"

Those things didn't bother me when I was dating just for fun. This 6 month break from men now has me inspired to actually try to find love with someone I respect. Damn it. Life is hard as a mutant.

Les Mis

In the last couple of days, I've started surrendering to this new reality of non-stop work. At this point, I am looking at a month and a half without a full day off...and the last day off was a required national holiday.

Now my thoughts are wistful memories of better times...times when my life was more than it is now. The soundtrack to Les Miserables swells in my heart...

"There was a time when my evenings were free. I went to the store and cooked my own dinner. I remember a time when my clothes were clean. I had space and will to care for my living... I dreamed a dream of friends and health. When life was more than work and sleeping. I dreamed a dream of being single and free. When hope grew strong and I didn't resent this damned-job-that-leaves-me-worn-and-feeling-like-I-still-didn't-accomplish-anything-and-I-can't-get-away-because-I-only-get-two-weeks-off-a-year-which-is-horrible-for-ministers."

Okay, so the poetic swell in my pity party fell apart there at the end. This is my busy season, but somehow the slow points of the summer never slowed this year. It is a full-throttle ride into the chaos of fall and then the pressures of Christmas. Oh, but to wait for the Spring. The blessed spring slows down...at least I think. Until then, I will always have the company of dead fictional french people.

"I dreamed a dream...."

homesick

This last month has been busy. I really only remember working and feeling homesick.

Homesickness is a strange and lonely thing as an adult. It hits me during big holidays and every few months. It creeps in and stays for a few weeks, always hanging in the back of my emotional make-up, ready to move forward and overwhelm me with a wave of grief. At its strongest, I can almost feel it radiate under my skin. It is a very different thing from depression, although they sometimes go hand in hand.

The strangeness is that I do not know what "home" I am sick for. I yearn for a permenant solution, but my world is too large and too divided for "home" to have a single place. I miss my family. When I feel "homesick," it is for Texas, my parents' arms, the smell and feel of the family land, and my brothers' laughter. I know that going there will lessen the ache, but moving there will not take me "home." It has been too long since I lived in Texas and, like many people who move away, I am more of a visitor than someone who belongs.

Home could be here, on the east coast and 1500 miles from my family. Here is where I have community, an actual house, and where I feel comfortable in my own skin.

All the same, these last weeks bring forth that familiar ache. I am thankfully busy with work...busy enough that I only have time for passing moments of homesickness. Of course, this week I will still be busy because I am the only single loser who does not have a family with whom to go on vacation.

From my quiet office in an emptied building, I watch all of the families of my church migrate to the beach. Their pictures appear online and summer brings this language of beach towns, streets, and restaurants that sounds like french in its strangeness to my North Texan mind. The blazing reminder that I am not from here and that there are things I simply don't understand. This is not yet "home."

Oh well. At least this week I will be free to have full-blown pity parties for myself...no one will be here to interrupt my misery. The pool should also be pretty empty. I can swim in peace.



A quote from the ABC Family movie Revenge of the Bridesmaids: "Great being home, isn't it? Surrounded by familiar faces that will never understand you."

pink fingernails

I painted my fingernails today for the first time in years. It was not out of creative impulse, but practicality. I spent the last week tie dying t-shirts for work and my fingernails are black. The pink nail polish was my weak attempt at trying to NOT look like I had zombie hands.

The results were disappointing and surprising. First, my fingers still look like zombie hands, only with pink mixed in with the black. Second, I re-discovered the mind altering affect of nail polish.

With pink nails, I am now constantly aware of the fact that I am feminine. I am not "me" typing on a laptop, I am a girl with pink nails typing. It wasn't "me" who deposited a check into the bank atm...it was my girly, non-gender-neutral hands. I feel like a ten year-old all over again! It is fun! At least, I think it is fun.