No Sweaty Games

Did something happen to Lionel Richie?

All day, the Lite Rock station has been playing his songs. I'm serious. All I've heard, musically is "Hello", "Say You Say Me", "All Night Long", and "Stuck on You." I suppose that since it's still morning, I have an afternoon of "Ballerina Girl" and "Three Times a Lady" to look forward to.

Because this upsets me, I have engaged in some completely satisfying passive aggressive behavior. Because I would much prefer to be listening to Today's Modern Hits or to The Music to Move You Through Your Day, I decided that someone is going to pay for this.
Since I'm a Corporate 'Ho, and ain't nobody to blame for that but me, I am faced with the unfortunate frustration of personal responsibility.

When I went to fill up my Nalgene at the water cooler in the Kitchenette, I had a minor fit of self-aggrandizing inner monologue, mostly along the lines of, "I am meant for a cooler job. I have fantastic taste and good manners and a first rate education and I am WASTING it! Wasting. It. I should be working someplace hip and trend-setting and leading the youth into yon Movement. I should be working for the millenium's verison of Sub Pop. Why am I sweating right now - I am INSIDE? Hey! This thing is running out of water! I can NOT deal! I CAN NOT deal! I CAN NOT DEAL! Why me?? Why ME? WHY ME?????!

And by the way, (talking out loud to the water cooler by now), I will NOT be filling you up and whomever comes along will just deal. I'll take the Karma strike, it's minor, like taking one for the Team because I see an "M" and and "E" in "Team" so I am, right now, taking one for the Team of Me.
It's not like nobody else ever took the last of the water and didn't replace it. I have to bring a new jug in here all the time when I come in and there's no water in the thing."

Which I'm supposed to do, according to the sign over the cooler and which, between you and me, I kind of like to do because like any American, I love a chance to strut through a crowd of people displaying my physical superiority and might, even if I'm doing so by carrying a five gallon jug of water to the cooler in the Kitchenette. Most office babes wait for a guy to do it but face it ladies and gay brethren: You can't wait for a guy to do ANYTHING! Haven't you listened to me, these many years? You have to do it yourself. You can't wait for a guy to do it.

I know, it's probably weird for my readers to digest that I am still convicted on this point.
But I am.
I have tried to wrap my head around a lot of different aspects of Waiting for The Guy but I'm not that kind of girl. Maybe there's an argument that I lack patience or something but the fact is that if you do for yourself, you don't have to be very patient because you're only ever waiting for yourself. See previous: "... ain't nobody to blame for that but me, I am faced with the unfortunate frustration of personal responsibility."
But a guy is another person, not yourself! You said you owe other people patience!
I said other people DESERVE patience. I never said I have it to give, nor did I say I was planning to get any.

Sadly, I refuse to not be myself in order to snag a fun boyfriend, someone to make out with in the parking lot during the early dates and to seduce into driving everywhere so that I can drink vodka with impunity later. You know, I think of my relationship travails in a Shakespearean context and it's really kind of charming; I'm Kate from Taming of the Shrew and then it's not so bad to generally be disagreeable to the opposite sex.
Most people will tell you that men are predators and that they need to be the one to chase the girl or they will think that she's slutty and therefore not girlfriend material. Let me deconstruct this for the people who live with this weird rule of engagement, so to speak.

1. Men are predators? Look at the Animal Kingdom. Does the male lion do the hunting? Do you ever see a male grizzly bear and his cubs? Hell no. It's the tigress who stalks down the antelope and snacks in the shade, sometimes even sharing. If she's a bad tiger.
2. Real hunters enjoy hunting more than fucking and they are probably off waiting in a tree for somethinng to kill, not waiting in a bar for someone to screw or spoil.
3. OH! Of course! Popular culture told you Lady Hunters are t-r-o-u-b-l-e.
You've been duped by a double standard, boys. Fast girls, or girls who are forward, are not something to fear and loathe. Drugs are bad; confident women are not.

My point is that I'm not interested in the girl-boy games that self-help books, Sex and The City, and romantic comedies encourage the sexes to continue to play. I am interested in being myself. I am interested in meeting a guy who is himself. I am interested in the ensuing chemistry, including but not limited to, "I know it's crazy but I don't care!" and, "Wow. Your friend's wife is really fucked up! Oh really? Huh. Well was she like that when you dated her?" and even the uncomfortable but true, "This is a work function for me and it's really important. I'm prepared to break up if you drink too much and/or look at your watch even once. In fact, gimme your watch. You can have it back when we leave."

I am interested in all of that, and it's probably harder for me to say THAT than to tell some joker that I think he's dreamy. Telling someone that I have a crush has never, ever been a problem for me. It's wanting someone to have a crush on me that's been the historical issue.

Also, all of this could be related to the weather. I think Tucson has officially entered the rainy season and humidity goes to my head.
For the next month or so, my hair will never totally dry and my sleep will never be complete through the night.

Yesterday's rain was epic in my proportions. The monsoon storm was not one of the little thundershowers or power-soakers or something that dumps plain old rain for 4 minutes. It wasn't even rain; rain so hard that it's just water, like a wave that crashes over you only with no spray and no sand, it's raining so hard that you can't hear the wind, which is hollow, or maybe it's just that it's blowing so hard your ear pressure is getting knocked around.
And it lasted.
Monsoon over the last couple of years has been a "storm" around 5 PM and then it's hot again by 6:30. Yesterday, the storm blew in slowly, lasted for a good while, and the air was cool outside until the sun started to go down.

Let's hope for more of the same because if there's no aesthetic satisfaction, then my recent sweaty change in mindset is totally just extra work for me.

arizonasarah at 2:26 p.m.

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