Timing

I've been spending the last twelve days convincing myself that it's not my fault, it's just bad timing. Again. And once I almost had myself convinced of that, I thought more about it. Maybe it's not bad timing. Maybe it's good timing. Maybe it's pushing me in the direction I need to go, which is away, outta here, once more unto the beach, dear friends. There was a shitty movie made about my life a couple years back. I say shitty, but in the interests of full disclosure I never saw it, because I don't like Dane Cook. Good Luck Chuck, the story of a guy who could shag you, and the next guy you met would be your true love. Except I don't even need to shag 'em, all it takes is a kiss. I'm on seven now.

But this year, with it's terrible timing, has led me to a decision. I'm going to apply for the Los Angeles Show, an as-yet unnamed production that I'm not sure how much I can talk about, what with Cirque's penchant for secrecy and spectacle. The jobs aren't posted yet, nothing's set, but even the decision to apply makes me feel better. I'm going to see about getting out of Vegas, changing my pace and my surroundings. And if it doesn't happen? Well, then it's not the right time.

Is there such a thing as bad timing? You get stuck at a red light, the first car stopped, and that's bad timing. But then in front of you a car hits a patch of oil, swerves out of control, and runs into four other cars, five if you'd have made the light. Your son chooses to slam the car door, but your hand is still in it. Crappy timing, unless you have some sort of disease that is slowly rotting your bones in that hand, and you wouldn't have found out if it weren't for the little bugger (true story, that actually happened to a friend of mine, I forget what the medical problem was tho).

So timing's what you make of it. I'm writing about timing for my hundredth post. Good timing? And while the. . .coincidence? of my timing with these seven women seems pretty shitty from my end, and has caused me more than a bit of self-doubt over the years (I mean, at what point is it you, and not just chance?) I'm working on not letting it get to me. I'm telling myself that rather than running away from this last incident, I'm letting it guide me, propel me towards something new. It's reminding me that Vegas really isn't the sort of city I would choose to live in.

And not to belabour the point, but speaking of timing, some of what I'm writing here will work for my book. One of my characters, Brokes, has to make a decision, and I haven't been sure of how to go about it, and now I think I know.

There are so many things that do work out, which is pretty fucking incredible when you think about it. If the universe has been around for billions of years. . . hell, if you believe in Genesis timing, and think the world's only been around for six thousand or so years, it's pretty incredible anything happens at the right time. I think of an instant as the time it takes to go from now to then. Say a millisecond. There's three point six million of those in an hour. And there's been more than fifty-two and a half million hours if you believe in Genesis. Whatever you believe, that's a metric shit-tonne of instants, so why is anyone surprised when things don't work out? Nothing should ever happen right if you look at the odds. And when you bring space into it too, and the chance of being in the right time and place, I'm surprised we even bother.

But there have been those times. Things do work out. Events conspire, bring two people together for a moment. Even if all that's left is the memory of lips brushing together and a lingering tobacco taste, things worked out, and now things are working out still, convincing me to get off my arse and get out, get better, get on with it.

I'm getting on. I'll get book one back in the next couple of weeks, and then I'll get online and start submitting. The timing's right.

The Beach

The past couple of days I spent time on Catalina Island, and in Laguna Beach. Went out there with a friend from work to do some SCUBA diving, and generally relax. Our third dive was on Thursday, and afterwards we sat on the beach in Laguna and waited while our dive master went back in to find one of his integrated weights that had slipped out during the dive. It gave me enough time to get sunburned, and do a little bit of thinking.

The last time I did a similar trip was five years ago. I'd been in Vegas just over a year, and a friend of mine from ships came down for the diving and relaxing. We had a bit of a history. I'd met her on ships, and at the time she wasn't interested because my contract would be up soon. But I left the ship, and we kept in touch by letter (she was on the cruise line's private island, sans internet or phone). We found out we actually did like each other. Quite a bit.

We visited each other a few times, and the relationship she hadn't allowed to happen while we were living and working in the same place did happen, after a fashion, when time and distance allowed. The last time was in California, diving and relaxing in Catalina and Laguna. I drove out with her after work, slept in the car, caught the first ferry and dove all day, then went back to the mainland. Crashed with a friend of hers, then spent the next day wandering around Laguna, doing coupley things. I bought a couple of shirts that she said looked hot on me. I still have them, although time won't allow me to wear one of them any more. I keep it in the hopes that one day someone else will say it looks hot on me. I'm not holding my breath. . .except for when I put that shirt on.

My mind wasn't in the right place at the time. I couldn't give her what she needed or wanted, and I didn't know what I wanted. But a lot has changed in the past five years, both with me and with her. I wouldn't say I exactly know what I want, but I do know what I'm open for now. Back then I'd just bought a condo, and had a five year plan. Now I'm beginning short sale procedures, and I have a different five year plan. Back then she came down to see if things might work between us. Now, she just gave birth to her second child. I actually went to her wedding, and have a terrible feeling that I didn't send her the disc of photos I took.

I posted a few pictures on the social networking site that I will not name, for fear that their privacy policy changes again and any mention of them entitles them to take ownership of any content on said page. But I posted a picture of Avalon Harbour, and she commented on it. So Jealous. I don't take this to mean that she would trade places with me, or she's unhappy in her life-- far from it, she's got two great kids and a bloke who looks after her well. But if she's jealous of my being in Catalina, am I jealous of her having a happy family life?

Juries still out on that one. Had things happened differently, would we have the happy family life and have been in Catalina together this past week? That sort of question's just not worth asking, again cos of crazy. I've lived countless lifetimes in my mind, some with her, some with others I've loved, and some with people I barely know. I've been single for six years, and in that time I've been married a thousand times, had hundreds of children, and been mourned by all those wives and family members. Scary, huh?

But I've been thinking that maybe it's the imagination I'm relying on to help me have a career as an author that's screwing me up in my personal life. If I'm living all those lifetimes in my mind, creating possible and potential scenarios, and thinking too much about what to say or do instead of just letting things happen, I'm stopping myself from actually living. One life lived is better than thousands imagined. So from now on I'm going to stop. The lives I imagine won't be for myself, they'll be for my characters. I won't think about the woulda shoulda couldas. I'll focus on what's going to happen next, and I won't be scared by it any more.

Memory. . .

. . .all alone in the moonlight, I can smile at the old days. . .nah, screw Cats. I was going through the stack of disks that I have in my office. Some are labelled, most are not. There are CD's and DVD's, not all of them play, and it has become my life's work to work out what is on all of them. Half way through one of the piles, I found one labelled 'Amazing Grace, January 2004.'

I don't remember if I've talked about my 24th birthday before on here, so forgive me if I bore you with the details. I was still working on cruise ships at the time, and it was towards the end of my contract on the MS Zuiderdam. That's right, the contract I got put on the corporate blacklist for Holland America Cruise Lines after. Anyway. A group of us, the people I hung out with most during that contract, decided that for my birthday we should rent a sail boat. So as soon as we could, eleven of us got off the ship with a bunch of coolers, and headed to the rental place. Our boat was a 42-foot Catalina 42mkII 3-cabin yacht. Not something you'd take 11 people on for an extended cruise, but for a day it was perfect. Getting away from everyone, disappearing for a few hours where no-one could reach us was perfect. We drank beer and snacked, sunbathed, got naked and splashed about in the water, snorkelled, and stopped caring about the world for a while.

The memories I have from that day are some of my fondest. It's almost definitely my favourite birthday so far, which is funny cos no one does anything special for their twenty-fourth. The disk had a short video of the day on it, so I popped it in my computer to watch. It was exactly how I remember it, with Jurgen narrating over cheesy music he'd added. Alec and TC by the wheel, Katie rapping, Mel sticking out her tongue at the camera. Ben and Audrey, Dom and Jessica.

My memory of the day is better. When I remember the day, I can conjure up how I felt that day, and out myself into the situation better. Watching the video, all I could think of is how many of the people who figured in my favourite birthday have fallen by the wayside. I'm in touch with a few through Facebook, but I'm not close with any of them any more, especially Mel, who I haven't talked to since my twenty-fifth birthday when she randomly called me as though we hadn't been through a completely shitty break-up. I've tried to say hi to Dom and Jessica when I've gone to LA or they've come to Vegas, but there's nothing but silence form them. I couldn't even tell you what became of Ben.

The thing is, none of that matters. Watching the video didn't steal the memory from me, I'm still going to look back on it fondly. I still want to take a vacation one day, three couples on a yacht in the Caribbean for a week. The memories give me dreams, goals, and no matter what happened between us, I'm still grateful to the people who were there for helping build those memories.

It's the same thing with my friends in Portland, Oregon. They aren't the same people I spent a year in Austria with. They aren't the same people who shared stories about their first blowjobs (on a back alley in Florence from a chick called Di 'like the princess' as she told him), or got chased by drunken Frenchmen with (bottle of Jack between the four of us), or walked around one of the most famous sites from antiquity with hangovers with (who knew Delphi had such cheap wine and an awesome dance club? It's in the middle of the mountains!). They've all moved on, and I'm not saying I haven't, but they've all settled down, started families. When I was in Oregon in June I realized it, but they're still with my friends despite the diapers and dribble in their lives. Finding video of friendships I don't really have any more makes me treasure the memory more, because I can't reminisce about the memory with anyone that was there. I can always talk to about head if I wanted to, because we are still friends. Until he reads this, that is. The video and my memory I have of Tortola, where we rented Amazing Grace for the day, will always be how I remember it because there's no one I can talk to who can fill in the gaps I may have developed over time.

So is it the friendship that's important, or the memories? The only answer I have is a cop out. It depends on the friendship, and it depends on the memories. Friends are important at the time to create the memories, but sometimes it's the memories that get you through the droughts.

Advice

I spent two nights this past week giving relationship advice. Each time was to a woman, who if they were single I would be interested in dating. But they're not, so I'm not, and instead try to give advice to the best of my abilities. I'm just not sure why people listen to my advice when it comes to relationships. As I believe I've mentioned before, I've been single now for six years. In that time, whenever I've even come close to a relationship I've managed to convince myself it's not going to work before I've even given it a chance. I know this about myself, and still kill them before they even have a chance.

Regardless of that, I spent Sunday night- well, Sunday night into Monday morning- talking to a woman I'd just met about her current relationship. She's been seeing this guy for a few weeks, and really enjoys the time they spend together, his personality, she thinks he's hot, and the sex is great. And despite all this, despite the fact that when he goes out of town on business and calls her every day, she keeps asking herself why he's with her. She's pretty confident, and although I had only met her that night and we were both a little the worse for beer, she seems pretty sensible and put together, but because he's friends with a couple of playmates she questions why he would be with her.

Now, if he was to keep her away from his other friends, I could see why she'd be suspicious. But she's hung out with them all, they all know here and know he's with her. The logical part of me says it would make no sense for him to introduce her to them if he wanted to cheat on her with them. I mentioned this, and told her to just enjoy being with him because the more she over-analyzes everything, the sooner it'll be over.

The second friend, I'm not going to go into as much detail about, because it's a harder situation to give advice about. It's easier to give advice that someone wants to hear, as in the case of friend one, than advice that might not be welcome, which is what I gave friend two. She basically described the relationship to me, and I told her I have no idea why she would be with him. Beer was drunk and reasons were given, none of which I thought were any good. Admittedly there may have been a lot that she held back, but from what I got he treats her like crap and she shouldn't have to settle with someone like that. That's the advice I tried to convey, but nickel PBR has a wonderful charm and I probably wasn't as eloquent as I fancied.

So why advice from me? I can think of myriad reason to not come to me for advice. . .Been single for six years, I'm sometimes too logical about things, and I tend to drink when dispensing advice, to name a few. But thinking more about it, I'm not sure that it was something about me that had them asking my opinion. I think it's one component of our society, our species even. We ask advice even if we're already convinced of the path we should take. I know I ask people's advice, but don't always listen to the response. It's more about getting it out there, saying it, because that often helps me work through whatever I'm going through on my own. Not just with relationships, either. When I'm writing I like to let a few people read what I'm doing, and technically it's for feedback, but I've made very few changes based on feedback I've received so far. I'll add a few lines here or there to explain a situation better, but that's about it.

So here's my goal. To actually use the advice I'm given. Mostly. Cos it stands to reason that not all advice is good advice, but when someone suggests something to me that I know is the right course of action, I've been thinking about it myself for a while, I'm going to try and do better at heeding it. Starting today. Got some advice last night, and I'm trying to stick to it today. It's been. . .interesting. Not the easiest thing, but we'll see how things work out.

And if they don't, I can always blame the bugger who gave me the advice.

exes

I have a lot of exes. Well, we all do. Ex-friends. Ex-girlfriends. Ex-people we hooked up with a for a bit but it didn't get to the point of significant others. And I think that it's unusual that I'm still friends with the majority of mine.

I got an email from Jenny a couple of days ago reminding me that it was 11 years ago about now that we met, in a McDonalds in Munich at Oktoberfest. It should never have happened. First off, McDonalds in Munich? There's so much other incredible food, but I was with a couple of Americans, Leif and Clinton, and they wanted McDonalds. Clinton was lamenting the fact he can never meet women, and Leif and I were consoling him (and I was lamenting too, only to myself). Somehow Leif starts talking to this girl, Jenny, who is there on her own and is walking in the same direction that we are. He starts talking to her and introducing her to Clinton, and we're all talking until it turns out that even though the three of us are drunk off our tits, I have the better German and Jenny and I hit it off. We exchange contact information (all the while Clinton is cussing me out), and I visit in two weeks time and Jenny and I are officially boyfriend and girlfriend. (There's a little more to the story that involves 'accidentally missing my train' and telling her parents that there was nowhere else I could stay that night, but that's a story for another night).

One of my first exes is an ex friend called Hamish. I knew him the first year I went to school back in 198. . .hell, I don't know. A long bloody time ago. But he moved away, and when your age is still in single digits you're not fantastic at keeping in touch with people. For that matter, there's Becky Cooper who was sort of my first girlfriend. She was my first friend who was a girl, back in a time when the only differences between girls and boys was girls had longer hair and boys had cooler toys. I remember when I decided to take the scholarship to Chafyn she would barely talk to me and I would pretend that it didn't matter, and all our mutual friends were telling me it was a mistake cos it was her and I. Shit, we were six years old, but people had already picked us for each other.

Becky and Hamish, I'm not in touch with any more. Hamish, I haven't spoken to since the day his family left Salisbury-- but I still remember the cake we had for his going away. I've seen Becky a couple of times in the intervening years, the last time was in 199. . .6?, a year after I left England, when I was visiting Salisbury and she was dating a good friend of mine. Jenny, as I said, just emailed me a couple of days ago. I have exes who are pregnant, married, still stalking my dreams, and among the last people I want to talk to. There are scenarios I played out in my mind that never happened, and things they talked about with me that didn't come to pass.

So what exactly is an ex? Is it someone you once shared something with but don't any more? I shared something with Jenny that I don't any more, but we still share the same memories from experiences from our time together, and we still keep in touch. Just because they're in the past it doesn't mean those memories have ceased to be-- that's not going to happen until we're dead, or have altzheimers.

One of the best and worst relationships I ever had, with Melissa, is definitely an ex-relationship. But the memories are still there, and the realizations I made about myself and things I learned about other people are still very much relevant to my life now. She's one of the exes I'm not in touch with, and deliberately-- that's how badly I took the breakup-- and while I'm unusual in that I maintain relationships with several exes, I lose no sleep with the decision for her to remain in my memory rather than my life.

I guess my point behind this whole rambling, look-at-what-a-great-guy-I-am-cos-I-still-talk-to-exes post, is that time is what fucks us up. Yes, the exes I have, whether they be friends, lovers, partners, or work aquaintances, have all moved out of my life to a greater or lesser degree, but they still have helped form it to what it is right now. In that sense not a single one of them is an ex, because each has a presence in who you are, right now.

This was all triggered by a good night with good friends that I don't get to see often enough. And $2.50 draft and dogs at sherwood bar in the Excaliber

Rejection

Yep, they didn't want my short story. Now I'm going to have to pick up a copy and see the sort of things they do use. Not because I'm bitter or pissed off- it's their publication, they can use whatever they want. I just need to learn about how to get published, and if it means maybe working on a different style, I'm open to that. I'm not going to change, just give them what they want for a bit until I can say I've been published (them as in the publishing industry, not thefirstline.com) Might even submit something for their next one, just for the hell of it. It's good practice for me to write to a deadline, because it helps me focus and actually bloody finish something. Right now I've got 8 short stories, only one of which I've done more than a first draft. I've got the beginnings of 2 novels, a first draft short screenplay, and 3 started full length screenplays. I'm completely writing for myself right now, whatever I feel like doing at the time, and that's part of the reason I'm keeping a word-count track instead of a time count.

Not that word count means what I'm doing is any good, but then a time allotment doesn't guarantee quality either. This way if I'm sitting looking at a blank screen I can do something else, and if I really feel the need to write I can do it whenever.

Anyway. Rejection. This was actually an easy rejection to take, because I feel like I had so little vested in it. Five days, three drafts, and submission. I love it when writing's like that-- the words just pick themselves out from the keyboard with almost no effort on your part. And now that they've decided they don't want it for their publication, I'm free to do with it what I will. So I am. I'm giving it a screenplay treatment right now, think it could make a great little short (bugger. I said one short up there didn't I? Make that one first draft and one in progress). Should be pretty cheap to film too, so I can actually try and get it made.

So maybe I'm over my fear of rejection. I think I might be. Does that mean I should start dating again? In five years I think I've asked out three women, all three of whom have initially said yes, but then two cancelled on me. The most recent didn't leave me feeling worthless, which is a huge step up for me. Maybe it's time to send out a few email on match.com, haven't done anything with it yet. Cos what's the worst that can happen?

Okay, so the worst that could happen is I'll meet someone, fall in love, decide to save our first time for marriage, and ten minutes before we leave the wedding reception to consumate, the world is destroyed by a meteor.

Or the worst is I could meet someone, they could end up scamming me for every penny I have and leave me destitute and with a nasty rash.

I could go on like this for hours. The point is, I think I can deal with rejection. Maybe I should go to the pub and see how many times I can get rejected in one sitting. . .

Sad? Or just the way life is?

Probably shouldn't write about this, cos it's a tad embarrassing. . .but that's the problem, should I be embarrassed about it? I am referring to online dating. Which is really a misnomer. It's online meeting, hopefully the dating happens face to face. But I filled out a profile on Match.com a couple months ago, turned off all email notifications, and promptly forgot about it. Hey, I was drunk and I'd been having a bad day.

Fast forward to five days ago. I remembered about the match.com thing, tried to log on, couldn't remember my password or user name so had to have them email me all that info. THEN, I logged on, finished my profile, uploaded a couple pictures, and actually paid for the service. Okay, so I was drunk again and having another bad day.

(one day I'm going to be able to give up drinking. I won't actually give it up, cos I enjoy it, I just won't need to drink.)

So far I've had 30 people look at my profile, one wink (which is like a non-committal hello, talk to me; the wink didn't actually look at my profile tho. How does that work?), I've had one interested in me (that I'm not interested in), and I've saved 8 that I'm interested in. Oh, and I've seen profiles for three women I know, two of whom I kinda maybe hooked up with. . .not through match.com but that I actually met and know by other means.

And that's as far as I can go. The biggest problem is do I actually want a relationship? I'm pretty set in my ways, I can be a miserable bastard and hard to get on with at times, and I don't always put out. Hell, not sure if I really believe in concepts like 'true love,' or 'soul mates' (besides, I sold my soul to Cirque years ago), and half the profiles online go on about things like that.

So my problem is twofold. First, I don't know what I want, so how am I supposed to find it. Second, I have to admit I feel like a bit of a sad twat paying for an online dating service. But then how does one meet people these days? Statistically our circles of friends are getting smaller. Church attendance and other community events at which people would meet are also decreasing. Ten years ago I already spent more time online than a lot of my friends- I had one of those geocities websites and messed around with it, but like most things I never put in enough time and effort to get good at it. I don't go to the movies, or watch tv, or read newspapers, or buy porn, I do all of that online. (and I don't want to hear any complaining about 'TMI.' I don't really think there's any such thing. If someone tells me they have an embarrassing rash, I don't squeal and go 'eww, gross, TMI,' I nod and finally understand that the reason they can't sit still has nothing to do with the sandpaper-lined underwear I assumed they were wearing). I spend my time on facebook keeping up with friends, on twitter pretending everyone gives a shit about what I'm doing. I online bank, online shop, online write, online pretty much everything. If the internet has become such an integral part of my life, then why do I feel a little sad and desperate to use it to meet people?

And who's to say if I knew what I wanted I still wouldn't be able to meet people in real life? Even tho I've got those profiles marked as 'interested,' I'm still not winking or emailing them. It's a bit like being in a bar, seeing someone you might like to get to know better, and not going over to them. In fact, it's exactly like that. But at least in the bar you can order food and a drink-- at home I have to get it for myself.

Maybe I haven't got to the 'know thyself' part yet. I'm on the 'know what thyself is not,' plan, which sort of works, but it means I need people to keep suggesting things to me so I can agree or not. Maybe if everyone pitches in I can arrive at some sort of consensus at to what it is I'm not quite looking for yet.

mushy feelings and shite. . .

Ahh, the desire to write. No. The need.So it's Valentine's day, 4:15am, and I'm single. And I'm pretty sure I'm okay with that, for a couple of reasons. First, I'm too bloody busy. Second, I'm too selfish. Third, I'm too insecure. Fourth, I'm too much for a lot of people to deal with. Fifth, I can drink a fifth in a sitting, and that's bad news. Sixth, I'm only just using how to use the word 'love.' Seventh, I think I snore. Eighth, I get angry too easily. Ninth, I'm my own worst enemy.

But there's something great about waking up next to someone. Someone who doesn't mind that you both have morning breath. Someone who doesn't mind that the sign of last night's passion are still on the sheets, or your skin, or on those special occasion on the kitchen counter, the bathroom wall, and at least one window. Someone who has realized that those little quirks that you have are kinda cute.

So tonight I went out with a couple of friends. One I may or may not have the express intent of getting naked. Wait, who am I bullshitting? One I would love to get naked, and do all those things I've been learning since I was eighteen. But why this girl? I'll admit that the only time I have one person in mind is when I'm actually with someone. When I'm not, I'm generally thinking of a few people.

I digress. What is it about someone that attracts you to them? That's what I'm trying to work out. In the detritus that is my past relationships, generally I've been able to salvage some sort of raft of friendship. Okay, shitty metaphor, I know. But I've been drinking.

So, most of the women in my past are still in my present. Not naked usually, but they're still there. So what is it that makes some people date, fuck, tease people that will still be around in their circle of friends next year? How is it that some relationships end up as platonic relationships, and some end up as not wanting to talk to the misunderstanding/cheating/lying/fucked up bitch/bastard?

I have absolutely no answer to that question, but I have a few observations. Look at me, all scientific and shit. But. Right now, I would say there's a couple of women I'm interested in. At least two of the aren't actually my type, but when has that stopped anyone? Why are we attracted to people that we know, really, aren't our type? When they're into going out, being social, knowing everyone, and you're not, why do you still try? When they like to hike, bike, camp, climb, and you're a huge fan of your Roman bathtub and all those indoor amenities, why do you still think about it?

Is it the opposites attract thing? I don't go for that, cos so far in my life there's always something that's been opposite between myself and my partner. And it's usually the dealbreaker, like I'm insecure and she's not, or I want to talk more often than she does. But at the same time, there's no way I could date someone too like myself. . .you know, charming, witty, thoughtful, considerate. . .um, full of shit?

Anyway, I'm babbling. That's the vodka talking. And the tequila. And the single malt. But tonight there were lots of things I wanted to write, but I'm ending up writing this. . .

To all the women in my past, present, and future, thank you. Not some pathetic, thank you for laying me, but a thank you for sharing a part of yourselves with me. Thank you for those 3am caresses that we're both too tired to keep going, but too fascinated by each other to stop. Thank you for the way you smell, you taste, for the way your soul responds to us. For all the women I should have loved, to the women I didn't know I loved, or wouldn't admit I loved until it was too late, and all those I couldn't, wouldn't let myself love even though I should have, here's to you. Enjoy this world, this life, because you've all been a part of both my life and my world, and it's all here for you, for the taking, so enjoy it because you've already made it worthwhile for me. And whether it's me doesn't matter, that's not what life is about, but I hope someone has made it worthwhile for for you.