I’m often asked if or when will I marry again. Did the first time leave such a bad taste in my mouth? I don’t know really. So I’ll write it out and see if it does.
I met the Ex when I was 19. Not so much one on looks, I was seeking substance. I mean this in the least possibly vain way, but hot guys with no brains were a dime a dozen to me and I would inevitably lose patience with them and drop them, making them feel worthless and making me feel insensitive. The Ex was attractive, but he was smart too. He was also 25.
I strung him along for a couple of months, keeping him as a friend but not letting the relationship lapse into “Dating” per se. Mind you, he wasn’t allowed to date anyone else, but I was. God I was a selfish spoiled little brat at 19.
Eventually I got tired of that, and figured he wouldn’t hang around forever, so we started dating, and dating lapsed into living together. I found myself shedding a lot of my own life in favor of adapting to his. I ate like him, slept like him, read like him. He was, honestly, my very best friend, and in retrospect, we loved (and still love) each other dearly, but lacked that….chemistry that makes a married couple married, you know?
We had the big wedding. We went through some incredible tragedies, but we had each other, and stuck it out. Then, when there wasn’t anything wrong anymore…no more joint adversary, we turned on each other…hard.
10 years of relationship, five years of marriage fell apart because nothing was wrong…
So the idea of marriage kind of weirded me out after that. I’ve been through my “Marriage is a tool of the devil” phase and my “all marriages fail, so what’s the point?” phase. Add in a “I like him too much to marry him” phase, and well I come out on the other side.
I know how much work it is. I know how much of a personal sacrifice it is of space, privacy and individuality. Most importantly, I know where I went wrong, and see how I could easily avoid making that mistake again. I want to have a family someday, so I suppose that means getting married.
But the idea is scary as hell, the investment of time, money and emotions is staggering, especially when you’re concerned those are three things you don’t have enough of for yourself.
The Fella and I are coming up on being together for eight months. In that time, I’ve decided things are really good. He’s a wonderful kind person, calm, bright, polite and well-mannered. I find him incredibly attractive. His pace is a LOT slower than mine. I’m more of a “Make the decision, execute the decision” kind of person…he takes his time…something that I know drives me bonkers.
I have to decide if the things I don’t like about him are things I can live with for the rest of my life. Because the only thing I can tell you for certain today is that should I get married again, I will become a widow before I will be a divorcee`.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Say what???
And they say that Southerners are racist pigs....
Critics Ignored Record of a Muslim Principal
A quote from the article:
Oh. My. Dear. Sweet. Lord.
Critics Ignored Record of a Muslim Principal
A quote from the article:
“I hope it burns to the ground just like the towers did with all the students inside including school officials as well,” wrote an unidentified blogger on the Web site Modern Tribalist, a hub of anti-immigrant sentiment. A contributor identified as Dave responded, “Now Muslims will be able to learn how to become terrorists without leaving New York City.”
Oh. My. Dear. Sweet. Lord.
Why I'm a Multi-Culti Junkie
My father tells me, when I get married next (he's hanging on to the hope of grandchildren), I should marry someone with as much in common with me as possible. His image of that is a Nice well-to-do Southern man with a little more education than is good for him who likes to hunt, fish and play golf. Which, technically is more in common with my dad than with me...but who am I to argue? I'm a miserable golfer.
I point out that he and his wife have little in common. He's travelled, she hasn't. He loves tromping around in the woods, she'd rather stick pins in her eyes. He likes beer, motorcycles, guns, boats, the beach. She hates those things. So what's so comon between them? Their background, he tells me. They were raised in similar situations. Rural, not that wealthy. They climbed trees and got chigger bites picking blackberries as kids. They came from church-going southern protestant families. So this is the groundwork of commonality he means.
Okay so I need to find someone who was raised like me. Oh dear. Someone who saw more of the world before they could do long division than most people see their whole lives. Someone who was raised with absolutely no sense of racial division (Thanks Mom, Steve, Willie and Debra!). Need a man who's education is a mishmosh between the elite ivy league and the barely literate. Yeah...like that's going to happen.
So I'm apparently a hard fit if I try to match up background-wise. But my formative years were spent in non-American cultures. So I love other cultures. Not just to read about. But to eat like and dress like. I have a Kimono Collection. I know how to make at least four different dishes using Bacalhau. I like the Shisha (sometimes). I can say "Hello" "How are you?" "Please" and "Thank you" in seven different languages. If I ever had a dream job, it would be as a Travel writer.
So when it comes to a life partner, I think I need someone from another culture. I need someone who I can learn from, who challenges my brain and sensibilities. Someone who I can take care of in terms of protecting them from boorish insensitive Americans. Someone who likes to travel.
The Portuguese guy in Canada seemed a good fit. His family was basically mine, if we lived in Portugal. His parents were both remarried after an icky divorce. But he was, I think, more happy being sad than I could cope with. Portuguese people has a beautful sad nostalgia to them that makes great food, music and poetry. But being depressed all the time is bad for me.
So now we have the fella. He's Egyptian. But he's cheerful, pleasant and calm. Calm I need. I can be a ball of rumbling chaos sometimes. He's polite, which I LOVE. But where the Portuguese guy had at least been raised Catholic and his father was a C&E Catholic; the fella is Muslim. Strangely I find that a benefit. It gives me something new to learn about. And I am a rapid absorbing sponge when given something to latch onto and learn. He practices his faith. He prays and fasts and is kind and charitable. But he's not scary at all. By the way, I don't mean that Islam is scary, I mean that any religion that consumes the mind beyond intellect or reason is scary to me. Fundamental Christians scare the bejeezus out of me. He approaches his faith with a sense of practicality and logic I admire. "There is no compulsion in religion," he says, "And your religion should be simple. It's not a hardship. It's a part of your life, one of the best parts." he's told me. I like that thought. If all of Islam were like him, I would have converted in a heartbeat.
So here, I have to point out that I can't follow my dad's advised. Children are not raised like me. I can hear the "Army brats are raised like that!" and I can only say, yeah, but I haven't met one who clicks with me. Most I have met (And living near two AF Bases, I have met more than my share) resent the travelling and moving. If they have lived abroad, they resent coming back to America.
Besides, I need the exotic in my life. An Army Brat, god bless and love them and their families, only carries a shadow of that, and I like living my life in technicolor.
I point out that he and his wife have little in common. He's travelled, she hasn't. He loves tromping around in the woods, she'd rather stick pins in her eyes. He likes beer, motorcycles, guns, boats, the beach. She hates those things. So what's so comon between them? Their background, he tells me. They were raised in similar situations. Rural, not that wealthy. They climbed trees and got chigger bites picking blackberries as kids. They came from church-going southern protestant families. So this is the groundwork of commonality he means.
Okay so I need to find someone who was raised like me. Oh dear. Someone who saw more of the world before they could do long division than most people see their whole lives. Someone who was raised with absolutely no sense of racial division (Thanks Mom, Steve, Willie and Debra!). Need a man who's education is a mishmosh between the elite ivy league and the barely literate. Yeah...like that's going to happen.
So I'm apparently a hard fit if I try to match up background-wise. But my formative years were spent in non-American cultures. So I love other cultures. Not just to read about. But to eat like and dress like. I have a Kimono Collection. I know how to make at least four different dishes using Bacalhau. I like the Shisha (sometimes). I can say "Hello" "How are you?" "Please" and "Thank you" in seven different languages. If I ever had a dream job, it would be as a Travel writer.
So when it comes to a life partner, I think I need someone from another culture. I need someone who I can learn from, who challenges my brain and sensibilities. Someone who I can take care of in terms of protecting them from boorish insensitive Americans. Someone who likes to travel.
The Portuguese guy in Canada seemed a good fit. His family was basically mine, if we lived in Portugal. His parents were both remarried after an icky divorce. But he was, I think, more happy being sad than I could cope with. Portuguese people has a beautful sad nostalgia to them that makes great food, music and poetry. But being depressed all the time is bad for me.
So now we have the fella. He's Egyptian. But he's cheerful, pleasant and calm. Calm I need. I can be a ball of rumbling chaos sometimes. He's polite, which I LOVE. But where the Portuguese guy had at least been raised Catholic and his father was a C&E Catholic; the fella is Muslim. Strangely I find that a benefit. It gives me something new to learn about. And I am a rapid absorbing sponge when given something to latch onto and learn. He practices his faith. He prays and fasts and is kind and charitable. But he's not scary at all. By the way, I don't mean that Islam is scary, I mean that any religion that consumes the mind beyond intellect or reason is scary to me. Fundamental Christians scare the bejeezus out of me. He approaches his faith with a sense of practicality and logic I admire. "There is no compulsion in religion," he says, "And your religion should be simple. It's not a hardship. It's a part of your life, one of the best parts." he's told me. I like that thought. If all of Islam were like him, I would have converted in a heartbeat.
So here, I have to point out that I can't follow my dad's advised. Children are not raised like me. I can hear the "Army brats are raised like that!" and I can only say, yeah, but I haven't met one who clicks with me. Most I have met (And living near two AF Bases, I have met more than my share) resent the travelling and moving. If they have lived abroad, they resent coming back to America.
Besides, I need the exotic in my life. An Army Brat, god bless and love them and their families, only carries a shadow of that, and I like living my life in technicolor.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monkeytoes
I dunno. I couldn't think of a title for my post.
So I think I'm basically working out someone's two weeks for my job. Not too surprising. I hate these kind of things. When you interview, you look your best, you seem competent and you can talk about how competent you are. When you're working the job...well, you don't always look perfect.
I'm not sure what to do with this information. I mean basically I hope my boss is happy with his choice, since that's the most important thing, and I suppose, despite the nausea, that it's good that I have some advance notice so that I can get rolling on getting another job lined up.
Sucks because I liked this one. I guess privately I hope that she'll crack. The boss is a tough nut and can be rather difficult at times. But I understand where the difficulty comes from, and so I don't sweat it. I know it isn't personal, even when it seems like it is.
I'll miss the people I work with. I like them an awful lot.
Guess I'll go ahead and get the filing caught up.
Not sure where things are going or what I'll be doing. But I'll keep folks updated. I'll admit to being more than a little scared.
So I think I'm basically working out someone's two weeks for my job. Not too surprising. I hate these kind of things. When you interview, you look your best, you seem competent and you can talk about how competent you are. When you're working the job...well, you don't always look perfect.
I'm not sure what to do with this information. I mean basically I hope my boss is happy with his choice, since that's the most important thing, and I suppose, despite the nausea, that it's good that I have some advance notice so that I can get rolling on getting another job lined up.
Sucks because I liked this one. I guess privately I hope that she'll crack. The boss is a tough nut and can be rather difficult at times. But I understand where the difficulty comes from, and so I don't sweat it. I know it isn't personal, even when it seems like it is.
I'll miss the people I work with. I like them an awful lot.
Guess I'll go ahead and get the filing caught up.
Not sure where things are going or what I'll be doing. But I'll keep folks updated. I'll admit to being more than a little scared.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I hate this feeling
I'm kind of on pins and needles. There are some big career type decisions forthcoming, And I'm not really making them. So I have that rolling feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me crave coffee and dodge food. I'll have it until I know for sure what's going on.
Makes me wonder sometimes if I would be happier with my life if I didn't know the things I know. If I just kind of drifted along... Not really..because it's the not knowing that drives me batty.
So I get a phone call last night from the nice folks at Islamicity.com. Having requested a Qu'ran from them (I am apparently collecting different translations), they like to follow up with a phone to see if you will say your Shahadah over the phone. On some level I appreciate the work they do, I know they're trying to make Islam accessible and understandable for people. On another level, if I ever do take the Shahada, I don't think I'll do it over the phone. Conversion or, according to Ahmed of Islamicity, reversion, seems like, I don't know, maybe something that should at least be done in person, if not with some degree of ritual. Maybe that's my Catholic ritualistic sensibilities talking.
So Ahmed calls, interrupting my dinner of re-heated pizza and Mythbusters, and we end up on the phone for hours. I know they give these nice people scripts, and I get some sort of private thrill out of making them break out of their script. I mean seriously, if you want to talk about something as personal as religion with me, I need to know who you are. Ahmed is from Sudan, attended UAB for his MBA and lives in LA now where he can't find a decent apartment for a decent price and misses the lower cost of living in Alabama, but woud not give up the larger community he is a part of now.
See? That's what I do. I make it personal. I love learning about people and talking to them and sharing a little bit of life and connecting. I do it at work, and the people who call my boss frequently know me by name, and I know their wives, families, the things that are going on in their lives, and I keep it all straight. I know who has grandchildren and who has children getting married and who is stressed out by work and whose kids are driving them crazy. I know these things because I ask, politely always, but people do like to talk a little and know that someone is genuinely interested in them. And I am. They call it being personable.
So Ahmed decides last night that even though I didn't take the Shahadah over the phone, in his eyes, I am "Unofficially Muslim." And he said my Arabic, while limited, is beautiful. I don't know how the fella feels about this yet, he's been a little reserved on the topic. Mostly because I know he's trying to let me find my own way. Sometimes because I think my questions are getting too hard for him now.
Makes me wonder sometimes if I would be happier with my life if I didn't know the things I know. If I just kind of drifted along... Not really..because it's the not knowing that drives me batty.
So I get a phone call last night from the nice folks at Islamicity.com. Having requested a Qu'ran from them (I am apparently collecting different translations), they like to follow up with a phone to see if you will say your Shahadah over the phone. On some level I appreciate the work they do, I know they're trying to make Islam accessible and understandable for people. On another level, if I ever do take the Shahada, I don't think I'll do it over the phone. Conversion or, according to Ahmed of Islamicity, reversion, seems like, I don't know, maybe something that should at least be done in person, if not with some degree of ritual. Maybe that's my Catholic ritualistic sensibilities talking.
So Ahmed calls, interrupting my dinner of re-heated pizza and Mythbusters, and we end up on the phone for hours. I know they give these nice people scripts, and I get some sort of private thrill out of making them break out of their script. I mean seriously, if you want to talk about something as personal as religion with me, I need to know who you are. Ahmed is from Sudan, attended UAB for his MBA and lives in LA now where he can't find a decent apartment for a decent price and misses the lower cost of living in Alabama, but woud not give up the larger community he is a part of now.
See? That's what I do. I make it personal. I love learning about people and talking to them and sharing a little bit of life and connecting. I do it at work, and the people who call my boss frequently know me by name, and I know their wives, families, the things that are going on in their lives, and I keep it all straight. I know who has grandchildren and who has children getting married and who is stressed out by work and whose kids are driving them crazy. I know these things because I ask, politely always, but people do like to talk a little and know that someone is genuinely interested in them. And I am. They call it being personable.
So Ahmed decides last night that even though I didn't take the Shahadah over the phone, in his eyes, I am "Unofficially Muslim." And he said my Arabic, while limited, is beautiful. I don't know how the fella feels about this yet, he's been a little reserved on the topic. Mostly because I know he's trying to let me find my own way. Sometimes because I think my questions are getting too hard for him now.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Want to go to Roly Poly? aka Should I fast?
The fella apparently got Roly Poly on the brain for lunch today, that's where we ended up going. I really do enjoy spending time with him. He's fun to talk to, likes to laugh and play a bit, which is something I really need when the office starts wearing on me.
Still cracks me up when he uses his American name, though. He does it because some people, especially in the deep south, have a hard time pronouncing his name, or his name starts up conversation that he would sometimes rather avoid. He just doesn't picture well in my mind as anything other than what he is.
I ordered him a present for Ramadan. Since they can be difficult to get here, I found a place online where I could order a miswak..which is a kind of natural toothbrush stick thing. Since most practicing Muslims avoid brushing their teeth during daylight hours in order to preserve their fasting state, they need an alternative way to take care of business...hence the Miswak. Mohammed was big on their use, so most people are allowed to use them...especially since they don't require water and rinsing and stuff. I'll own up to being incredibly curious as to how they function and how well they function. Maybe for Eid I'll hook him up with one of those hoses that attaches to the toilet for cleaning.
The ex and I resolved our difference of opinion. We're trying to be very grown up and mature and amicable..but we all slip sometimes.
I'm thinking of joining the fella as he fasts over Ramadan..maybe a sort of test-drive of Islam in a way..maybe more of a misery loves company kind of thing. We'll see. Or, if anyone reads this, what do you think? Should I fast during Ramadan?
Still cracks me up when he uses his American name, though. He does it because some people, especially in the deep south, have a hard time pronouncing his name, or his name starts up conversation that he would sometimes rather avoid. He just doesn't picture well in my mind as anything other than what he is.
I ordered him a present for Ramadan. Since they can be difficult to get here, I found a place online where I could order a miswak..which is a kind of natural toothbrush stick thing. Since most practicing Muslims avoid brushing their teeth during daylight hours in order to preserve their fasting state, they need an alternative way to take care of business...hence the Miswak. Mohammed was big on their use, so most people are allowed to use them...especially since they don't require water and rinsing and stuff. I'll own up to being incredibly curious as to how they function and how well they function. Maybe for Eid I'll hook him up with one of those hoses that attaches to the toilet for cleaning.
The ex and I resolved our difference of opinion. We're trying to be very grown up and mature and amicable..but we all slip sometimes.
I'm thinking of joining the fella as he fasts over Ramadan..maybe a sort of test-drive of Islam in a way..maybe more of a misery loves company kind of thing. We'll see. Or, if anyone reads this, what do you think? Should I fast during Ramadan?
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