Deborah Lipp

This one is five weeks old.

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I just realized that I will be in Brazil during Arthur’s dance recital. That so completely sucks that it is a whole new level of suckfulness. It is Peak Suck. Fuck suck. I am upset. Do I sound upset?

Okay, not only is it Good Mothering™ to attend the recitals, but I enjoy them. Arthur is a good dancer. He is a cool dancer. He is fun to watch. I burst with pride. I kvel. I die. I love every minute.

But Brazil. Gotta go. Maybe if it hadn’t been planned so much further in advance than the dance recital I could have done something (although…miss Brazil? Kinda hard to get my brain around that). But I only got the dance schedule a month ago or less and Brazil has been in the hopper for five or six months.

Erg.

Yesterday was my birthday. No, you didn’t miss my post about it. The past few years I have decided not to tell people, not to make a big demand on the world to pay attention to me.

This has limited success, because deep down, actually an inch or so down, I want the world to pay attention to me. So I often just feel sad and sulky. But it’s interesting because I got phone calls and emails and cards and a couple of presents. And I still felt sorry for myself.

Loneliness isn’t about other people. I am lonely because I feel lonely. It’s a perfect tautology. I could be surrounded by people, and as long as I maintain my sadness that is exactly how I will feel. So, although I recognize that my strategy (secretly designed to facilitate any surprise parties that may be, but are not actually, in the offing) isn’t working, I nonetheless appreciate the introspection of time spent alone with my wildly misguided hopes and expectations.

Anyway, fuck that bag. I took myself out to dinner and had big quantities of sushi and hot sake and yes, that does make a girl feel better and indeed, quite celebratory.

Yay me. Congratulations on yet another successful turning 39.

Scroll down to “Latin Awards.”

I may have to create a new category for “dating hell.”

This time I won’t even get as far as a Date From Hell.™ I will stop this at the Phone Call From Hell™ and pause to once again thank the Gods and my own inner wisdom that I don’t give these bozos my real name.

Guy pursued a lot on the ‘net. First contact, I wasn’t sure I was interested. Second contact, I was made slightly uncomfortable by something he said. Third contact, kinda nice, kinda too pushy, but I started second-guessing myself. Don’t I like pushy guys when I meet them? Shouldn’t I give this one a chance?

So anyway, phone call. Just as he calls, Arthur came home. So I said “My son just came home. He just had his first shift on his first job.” (Which, by the way, yay Arthur.) Well that was it. This guy launches into this stentorian monologue: “That’s fantastic! That’s so great! He will have skills for the rest of his life. You have done such a good thing for him. He’ll learn morals, he’ll learn ethics, he’ll learn how to connect with people. No matter what he does in the future, these skills will be his.” On and on and on. And it doesn’t sound bad to type it, but it was so bombastic, and so lectury, (and so loud and so rapid-fire) and we had just started talking. We’d never spoken before. Isn’t this a little over the top? He doesn’t know anything about Arthur, and he doesn’t know what I’ve done or not done, and hey, why does he need to learn morals? He already has morals. » Read more..