The Emotionally Unavailable and the Perimenopausal

In the Baltimore Examiner, there's a column written called "Single in the City."

There's a guy who writes it named Dan Collins, and some female named Joan Something-or-other joins him, and they write about topics of importance to singletons.

Dan's little bio at the end of the column lists him as a "terminally single 40-something." Yeah, no joke.

Back when the first "Single" column was published, he was the sole writer. I could tell by about the third paragraph (and he wasn't listed as "terminally single", back then, either), that he was indeed the dreaded Emotionally Unavailable, or as I call it, EU.

How could I tell? His total lack of realism in what he was looking for in a mate. Fantasy is a happy, happy thing, and it's something that we all engage in, some of us more than others, but if you want a real-life partner, you've got to have a real-life attitude. He doesn't.

If only I'd known the phrase and its dreaded warning signs lo these many years.

I'd gone back into psychotherapy last May to figure out what I was doing wrong when it came to men. And my very first session, my therapist dropped the phrase "emotionally unavailable" on me. It was like she was Annie Sullivan to my Helen Keller. Once I did lots and lots and lots of research, I realized that yes, time after time, I was dealing with the EU in different forms, all male.

Once I began to put the pieces together, I was both fascinated and repulsed. How could I have been so stupid all this time? I kept trying and trying to make that proverbial silk purse out of a sow's ear, or in most cases, the sow's asshole, and of course, it didn't work. Why not? It all harkened back to the dreaded childhood issues, and realizing that both my parents were indeed emotionally unavailable themselves. And I did a fine job of making myself frazzled and wondering what was wrong with me. What was wrong with me was that I was trying to do the impossible. And I kept feeding into it, and the more I invested myself, the more I felt I needed to invest, so as not to prove myself wrong from the beginning. And of course, it had been doomed to failure from the giddy-up, even before, so how was I supposed to make something work that was bound for failure. I could have planned on climbing Mt. Everest in a bikini and had more luck.

I wasn't stupid at all, really, although I'm still working on forgiving both myself and the others involved for all I went through. I saw the warning signs way in advance in some cases, and I just soldiered on, all too eager to convince myself that the good outweighed the bad. It didn't.
And yes, hell, yes, did I contribute to the situations. I'm not so foolish to believe it was all them and not me. That's why I hastened back to Ye Olde Psychotherapy Shoppe last May--something had to give. There's so much I had to work on, and so much I'm still working on, but now I understand why, and that makes such a difference.

There was also the hormonal demon rearing its ugly head for the past few years: What I thought was digestive problems was really adrenal fatigue (extreme adrenal fatigue) due to perimenopause, which didn't help my energy, or my moods. Once I finally got a proper diagnosis, I began to understand how I was just compounding the fracture of an EU relationship. I don't know how long ago it had really begun (the adrenal fatigue/perimenopausal crap, that is), maybe as far back as 10 years ago. Perimenopause doesn't always begin right before menopause if the hormones are out of whack. And yes, mine were indeed. I began "getting" it once I went back to an acupuncturist, but it wasn't until a stroke of good luck had me see a book "Hormone Hell, Hormone Well" at the library. I don't know why, but I thought it would be an interesting skim-through one night. It was. The doctor wrote about a patient of his who was just about a 95% match for me and my symptoms. It was then that I began to once again be my own best doctor and order the things I needed to help get me started back to having energy again.

So now, I'm able to get a better grip on things, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There was no magic cure, and I'm not where I want to be in any of the three areas yet, but I'm seeing results in at least one of the areas every day, as are others. I've been working very hard on myself in all three of the areas. It's not been easy, and sometimes has been very painful, but it's gotta be done in order for me to be where I want to be. These emotional wounds run deep, but at least I'm able to recognize that they're there, and I'm not in denial. I work on my emotional history just about every day one way or the other, through reading and journaling and reading some more. I won't ever go through what I've put myself through again. Any man in my life, in whatever capacity he held, did his share, but ultimately, the responsibility to change lies within us, not within anyone else. If someone doesn't want to change, you can either stay or leave. I have to be willing to stay with myself, and understand what happened so it won't happen again.

The EU think that they just can't find "The One." Of course they can't. NO ONE is good enough to be "The One." EUs may even marry, or get themselves a steady boyfriend or girlfriend, but only because that steady is lacking in self-esteem, and is unable to leave because of a fear of aloneness and/or rejection or is unaware of what an EU person really is.

I get it now, I do. I get really sad when I think about all the time, energy and effort I put into the EU just because of my parents. But I'm based in reality.

As far as my physical health goes, I'm able to walk long distances more. Mornings are still worse than evenings when it comes to energy, but I'm on the way back. My reflexologist even commented on Thursday night when I saw her that my adrenals were much better than when I first saw her back in January. We're still working on my endocrine system, but it's getting better.

Why'd I decide to write about this today? Well, when I first began blogging earlier this month, I decided to title my blog "Around it or through it." And I'd been writing around it long enough. It was time to write through it.

And you'll never find me dating Dan Collins, or anyone like him ever again. I hope I'm able to meet someone who is really and truly available, and I want to be the same way if that time ever comes.

Tony, when I said lose your job, I didn't mean it like that

So I blog recently about how Tony Snow gets people to do the wave at an event where the Bozo in Chief is appearing, and how I am looking forward to seeing Tony wave his job goodbye.

And then there's the recurrence of the colon cancer, which has spread to his liver.

I am sorry to see him have to leave his job under these circumstances.

First of all, good for him for having his growth removed, even though the blood tests and an image he'd had taken of it came out normal. The earlier the better, as far as treatment goes. The liver is the only organ in the body that can regenerate itself, so he's lucky there, too. If he can shrink any tumors or at least keep them under control.

The woman who was my mom in many ways, although not legally, had cancer that had spread to other organs, and she beat hers. She worked in a building that was laden with asbestos, and I'm sure that contributed to her having cancer. She lived cancer-free until her death after beating it the first time.

I think it's quite possible for him to beat it again, considering his health, attitude, and that the cancer was found sooner rather than later. I sincerely hope he does.

Hell, Tony, if you make it back to work before your boss leaves office (impeachment, where for art thou?), I'll even do the wave for you, for god's sake. Get well soon.

Apologies, meaningless and otherwise

There's a big push on now to get the state of Maryland to apologize to blacks for slavery.

I find this utterly ludicrous.

First of all, how's 'bout an apology from the people who sold 'em in the first place. No seller, no buyer, right? Weren't those (or at least some of them) who sold slaves black? And African?

If this country, never mind any of the states, needs to apologize to anyone, then it needs to be our Native Americans. The ones we screwed over to get the land that we now call ours. The land that was once theirs.

Native Americans have been mistreated from the beginning. Of course, there are the reservations, but the unemployment rate is unbelievable there, and the last time I'd read any statistics, the alcoholism rate was about 50% or more.

What are we supposed to apologize to blacks for? How is that going to help anything?

All four of my grandparents wereborn to families of 12 to 13 children here in the U.S. My father's parents were so poor that they had their wedding reception outside on a pier because they couldn't afford to have one inside. Yet, all four of their children did well for themselves--going to college and working hard. No one stood on the docks as my great-grandparents arrived on U.S. soil to welcome them and hand them the keys to the city. You know how they got where they got? Hard work. Menial labor. More hard work. More menial labor. Did my father's ancestors blame anyone because the Irish were branded as lazy alcoholic across the board, and therefore not worthy of hiring? No. They worked hard and proved themselves. My German ancestors didn't even speak English, but they damn well straight learned. My mother's mother told me stories of being so poor that her underwear was made out of a potato sack (or was it a coffee sack?), yet I have heard blacks complain bitterly because they are forced to wear hand-me-downs because white society is holding them back. Oh, the trauma!

Blacks need to stop pointing fingers and placing blame. Black society holds itself back when it glorifies the gangsta, bling-bling lifestyle. If the party that got the white student from Johns Hopkins University suspended last year because it was "racist" had been hosted by blacks, it would have been just another "celebration of black culture." There were blacks at that party, too, and yes, they were some of the ones protesting after the party made news. Talk about hypocrisy.

I wonder how many blacks busy pointing fingers and placing blame bother to play Big Brother or Big Sister, or actually do something constructive instead of playing the victim.

It's old, stale, and needs to be put to rest.

Was slavery wrong? Yes. Is dwelling on it now right? No.

Elizabeth Edwards' Bone Cancer

So Elizabeth Edwards' cancer has returned, and it's spread to her bones.

How sad I am to read about that.

I'm even more sad to see that John Edwards says that his presidential race will continue.

If he loves her as much as he says he does, then it seems wrong that he would put her medical condition in the Less Important Than My Wants file.

She's not a weak woman, having been through as much as she's been through. That's obvious.

But, in times of crisis, you turn to the people you love most to help you through it. How is he going to help her if he's going to be on the road until at least next fall?

This announcement sure won't win him the pity vote. It's more likely to cost him votes because this makes him look so selfish.

Good luck Elizabeth. Hope that husband of yours wises up and stays closer to home soon.

Fountains of Wayne Private Showcase yesterday

The music gods were very good to me yesterday. I got in my car, the clock said 3:16, and I made it to the parking lot of the studio at 4:30, which included a pit-stop and going too far down the street and having to back up and turn around. Traffic was the best I've ever dealt with in the metro-DC area; things were moving at a good pace all around.

There were only about 3 dozen of us for the show--wouldja believe I won [I]twice[/I]--I'd gotten an email that I'd won for my online entry, as well. The music gods knew I was quite determined to go to this show, and reacted accordingly. There were only about 34 names on the winners' list. And some of the winners didn't even show, so that made it that much more intimate for those of us that did.

At 5:00, we were ushered into one of the studios. We had to sit on the floor--I thought we'd be standing, like in a club. It felt a lot like nursery school at the beginning, but shit, it was a small space, I'm short, so it worked out better for me.

One of the guys behind me was singing along to the new album, and I asked him how that was possible, and he mentioned he'd gotten the album from illegally downloading it. I told him I'd be arresting him in the parking lot after the show, but how did he like the new album? He said he loved it. I asked him if he liked it as much as "Welcome Interstate Managers," which was my "be all, end all" for a long time, and he said he actually liked it better.

Alex from WRNR came out, and introduced himself and then the band. Actually, it was only Chris and Adam, the two songwriters. At first, I was kind of disappointed, but as Adam sat down at the piano, I realized this would be a cool way to hear FoW songs done in a way we normally wouldn't.

I was right about that. Adam mentioned that he'd just figured out how to play "Hackensack" on the piano about 10 minutes before, and he did make a couple of booboos while playing, but the song still sounded really good. I'd been singing it all day without even having heard it recently, so it was a real thrill to hear it, and good for Adam to be willing to booboo it up in front of an audience.

They played two new songs besides the new single, one a country-tinged song, which I don't know the name of, and an achingly beautiful "I-95", which really made me remember why these two are currently the best songwriters of the "slice of life" group. They also did "Barbara H" off of the first CD, and talked with Alex in between songs, and that was it.

Very affable, the both of them, and they talked about why it takes them as long as it does to put out a new record. Alex asked them about show dates in our metro area, and they told him that they weren't at liberty to say anything yet, but they hoped to be playing some festivals. Alex told them we'd see them at Virgin Festival in August.

I'm sure they'll play club dates before then. I was just ecstatic to be able to see them in such an intimate atmosphere--I'm not a festival person--I'm there for the music more than the party, so this was more to my liking.

They'll be airing the show "Saturday morning at 9 or 10," according to Alex. They only did a half-hour, which went by all too quickly. I'm only sorry that Alex had to ask as many questions as he did, because the music was that good. A funny answer to one of Alex's questions from Adam: Alex asked them how they write their songs, and Adam said, "We write poetry, and then we send it off to this address in Nashville." Alex caught on right away and said, "Robbie Fulks."

The traffic home was good, too. I left at 5:30, and was in my house by 6:50. No problems at all going home--I've had much worse of a commute on the Baltimore beltway. I was expecting rush hour hell and had only a good experience.

I'm so anticipating April 3rd and the new CD. I'm also looking forward to hearing the full band in a club, hopefully in the next month or so, but it'll never erase the wonderful memory of yesterday's private showcase.

War Wounded and Real Estate

The Baltimore Examiner is a free paper that comes out every day but Sunday. It's a quick browse-through, but sometimes they actually have stories that are worth reading.

In today's paper, there is a story about how the Iraq war began four years ago today. There are short interviews with the families of the dead, the still serving, and with those who were wounded in combat.

The piece that caught my eye was the one about Michael Wolcott, who hurt his back and leg in 2004 while ducking for cover while under fire. He's home now, and unable to walk more than two blocks at a time without being in "excruciating" pain. He has two young sons, and can no longer play outside with them. What really threw me was how he's now pulling in a whopping $200-300/month in disability. He used to work as a corrections officer before serving, and now he's living off of his wife's income as a nurse.

So, that's what you're worth with a bad back and leg for serving your country--$200-$300/month. Talk about cheap labor. The man is pictured leaning heavily on a walking stick. He says he'd do it all again.

He shouldn't have had to do it a first time. They never, ever should have had to go over there to begin with. And the way they're treated when they come home--Walter Reed Medical Center was just one example. What about the men and women with PTSDs?

All those people dead for absolutely no reason. None. Our current president is religious, but I can't imagine any God who would forgive him for doing what he's done these past several years. I hope Bush is drinking lots and lots of ice water while he still can.

Every Friday, the Examiner has a special Real Estate section. There is always one "special" house featured--usually some country manse with all the trimmings. This Friday's was a house in Baltimore City's Roland Park section. The featured house was OK, but nowhere near as "special" as some of the houses they've featured before. Yet the description was dripping with superlatives--like Poe himself had lived there and written "The Murders of the Rue Morgue," or something.

After puzzling over the house for a minute, I moved on. Laura Vozzella of The Baltimore Sun didn't, though. She found out that this house was indeed owned by Michael Phelps, who was the Examiner's publisher until he got promoted and moved.

No wonder the house was featured. He was getting a little (make that a lot) of free publicity. And he's had to lower the price of the house, too. There's a contract out on the house, but hell, you never know--sometimes contracts fall through.

That explains why the house was indeed so "special." Its owner was trying to offload it. He's having to sell it for less than the price he paid for it--about $50,000 or so.

Serves him right for being such a toady to our ex-governor, Robert Ehrlich. The Examiner was nothing but an Ehrlich ass-kiss machine while the Helmet Haired One was still in office.

Too bad the "special" house wasn't located in Annapolis. That way Ehrlich could have bought it from him when he got kicked out of the governor's mansion in January.

Seeing Fountains of Wayne for free on 3/21/2007

I stayed in on Thursday night, although I'd planned on going out. It was raining out, and getting windy, so I decided I'd just stay in.

I occasionally listen to a radio station that has "private artists' showcases", meaning that the band or artist plays a special show for the station's listeners. You can't buy tickets; you have to win them by being the 10th caller.

I'd heard while station surfing a couple of weeks ago that Fountains of Wayne were going to be the next band featured, and to stay tuned to win tickets.

From then on, I made it my personal mission to win tickets. There was no way I wasn't gonna. Although I really only listen to the radio in my car, I decided--no, decreed--that I was going to win tickets to see this show.

There were a couple of times when I'd dialed in and got the dreaded busy signal. A bit frustrating, but I knew there were several more chances to win, and I also knew I'd be going somehow.

So, on Thursday night, I'd put the radio on when I came in. I was over by the phone--I can't even remember why--when the announcement came over the air to be the 10th caller. I began dialing--busy. I dialed again--busy. I dialed once again--ringing. No answer at first. I took this to be a good sign, as how long does it take to say, "Sorry, you're caller number seven," and move onto the next caller. The entire time I was saying, "I am caller number 10. I am caller number 10," as my mantra.

Finally, the DJ answered the phone. "Am I caller number 10?" "No, you're caller number 11..."
"OHNOOOOOOO!!!!" "...but caller number 10 can't make it." "OHHHYESSSSSSSS!!!!" "The show's in Rockville." "I don't care if it's in fucking Canada, I'm going!" "Oh, I love you!"

The show is actually at a recording studio, not a club, on Wednesday, late afternoon. I'm hoping that means a more intimate atmosphere than a club, where they usually have them. Fountains of Wayne had played a free show in Annapolis a couple of Octobers back, but I was in Atlantic City that weekend and unable to go.

I am so thrilled out of my mind. One of my all-time favorite bands, and I get to hear them play live to a smaller-than-average crowd before their new CD is released.

A wonderful way to start off the real New Year.