Penis on the elbow...

I got my hair cut yesterday. By a woman.
I remember talking to my someone when I was in high school (his name was Paul). And he just couldn't let a woman cut his hair. Loved the barbershop and the men being men sort of thing. With a woman, he felt, he would get a "feminine" haircut. He went on to say that he couldn't go to a male stylist. It had to be a barber. Stylist, he said, was too "feminine".
Setting aside his sexism and homophobia, (both of which were evident in many other ways and which I admittedly tolerated too much) I just don't understand the problem. I've been going to this woman for six months or so, and she's really good. I like the way she makes my hair look. And she does the chit-chat thing just fine--letting me talk about useless stuff, but not demanding constant chatter. And really her gender doesn't affect the haircut experience in any meaningful ways. There are really only two ways I can think seeing a woman makes any difference.
1. I don't have to talk about sports. I like sports, baseball especially. But, I don't like to talk about them with everyone. I'm not exactly sure why that is. I think it's the feeling that I have to talk about them. And being that I live in Chicago and root for none of the teams here, that probably doesn't help much. And really, a lot of people don't know as much about sports as they think they do. When someone's holding a razor, it's not a good time to tell them Ronny Cedeno could well be the next Shawn Dunston, but that's not such a good thing.
2. Penis on the elbow. I don't know how Paul got around this. Maybe I just went to horny barbers (Gary did seem a little sleazy and he had Penthouse as one of his magazines on the table, which is weird now that I think about it). Or they were just physically awkward in a way that made them put their private parts on my elbow. I don't know. It's really an issue that men don't talk about that much. Not even in locker rooms...though that does sound like a good start to a gay porn (Copyright!). Anyway, maybe the penis on the elbow just gave him confirmation that he was among men. But, it always bothered me. (It's not homophobic to not want someone to consistently put their hang-down on you. Especially if you're supposed to pay and tip them*.) I did used to go to a fat barber in Des Moines, and he couldn't get close enough to get his lower half on me, but there was plenty of belly-rubbing (could be why he purred. Or he was wheezing. Hard to tell). And I guess you could look for a long-armed barber, but that's a lot of trouble to go to.
So, I'll just continue going to this nice lady. It's just easier.

*Pun not intended.

When happy events and unhappy realities collide...

This article seemed to signal the perfect time to revisit my daddy issues. (I think I learned to post links in the text. This is revelutionary for me. And yes, I know 3rd graders take this kind of shit for granted.)

When I saw it and read it through, my first instinct was to send it to my father and see what he had to say about it. This would break a five or six (?) month silence on my part--the last contact being a letter I sent to him explaining how his that because of the way he handled the start of his new life with his girlfriend, and the way he talked down to me and allowed her to be out and out insulting, that I didn't feel comfortable inviting him to my wedding. I told him that it wasn't written in stone and that the ball was in his court, but I was tired and not all that hopeful. If he wanted to really work for a change in our relationship, things could change.

I didn't mean to use my wedding as an incentive for him. Or bribe. And I tried to word it carefully so he would understand that I was just trying to protect myself from a situation that was growing more and more tense and angry (or maybe it was just me growing more tense and angry) as I thought about having him possibly come to my wedding. Girlfriend in tow. Being tense and angry with him during the whole thing was not how I wanted to spend my wedding day. So, I let him know.

His response was a nice little e-card congratulating Dinah and I on our marriage, but saying nothing about the more negative, and important, revelations that came along with the announcement. Though, I'm not sure the e-card would've given him enough room to really deal with things. But, then again, maybe that was the point. Who knows with this guy anymore?

But what's really important is that this instinct to keep taking jabs at him is probably my sly way of telling myself that I want him to be at my wedding. Or, rather, that I want him to want to be at my wedding. And I want him to act like an adult while he's there. If I were drawing up my perfect wedding, he'd be there. (If I were drawing, he'd be a stick figure, but that's beside the point.)

But.

As I'm figuring out, even at events that are almost completely about you and the celebration of the direction your life is taking, things are rarely perfect. And really, they aren't as much about me as I like to think.

I mean, I know I can be incredibly narcisitic (isn't that why I started a blog about me?). But, (and there has to be a "but", because I now fear turning into my father so so much) I realize now that besides the response that sending him the article would get from him (beg from him really), I just need to not bully him in this way. I'm not gonna get my way. This is a loss. It's a loss and it's over. It's time I accepted it and stopped expecting him to come around.

My father won't be at my wedding. And I'm the one who has to explain why to the rest of his family that I am inviting. But that's a whole different can of shit.

So. Much ado and I end up more or less where I started.

As I sort of expected, I'll be signing on with the outsourcing company on Monday. There's been a little haggling over money (which I won) and vacation time (which I'm gonna win, but still come out behind on), but it's getting done.

The bad news? I'll still be at this firm, dealing with the same people who wouldn't let me change the things that clearly needed changing. And I hate most of these people.

The good news? New boss. She seems nice, though maybe a little too list-oriented for me. She'll be a buffer for me and the people I hate. She won't be on-sight, but she'll be sort of an advocate. And she'll apparently be given the benefit of expert status that I was told I would have a year ago, but was ultimately denied. And if they deny it to her? Well, that's not my problem. And frankly, I don't care.

Another good thing about the new boss? She's already telling them I need more space. Sure, I have been saying it for almost a year, but she might get results. We shall see.

Anyway. The biggest thing that needs to come out of this is a new urgency on my part. To get my writing (started a new horror story, though it's still little more than a paragraph and a sketch and I've been writing down new ideas for a couple comic book ideas), and my career going. The careeer is gonna be harder, I think. The outsourcing agency offers a lot of different training courses, and I plan on scoping that out and seeing if I can take advantage of that. Other than that, I need to start really thinking about where I want to go and what I want to do. And see how my skills transfer. For so long I've viewed my job as a shitty job that got me along that now I can't see what skills I've picked up and how to apply them to a job that might bring me more satisfaction (and possibly more scratch [sure I could've said money, but hey...]).

So. For now, I'm calmer and happier than I've been in a couple weeks. And hopefully I can focus on the job stuff enough so that after the wedding I can start making whatever changes I can, because it's gonna be a little too crazy trying to tie down stupid details and doing job stuff.

Parental Cautionary Tale (No. 2)

Returning to work after a great weekend surrounded by friends and enjoying everyone's company is odd. Sure, there's the "mondy blues", or whatever, but I caught myself feeling real dread. I was quietly sitting next to Dinah and across from a lingering friend on her way out of Chicago. What could/should have been a pleasent ride, was, for me, a sad procession back to a place I don't want to be, and where I may not really be wanted.
It reminded me of this image I have of my mother, that I've never quite shaken since seeing it. I was at home for a break my Junior year of college and I was taking my mother to lunch. I remember picking her up, meeting some of her co-workers and eating an enjoyable lunch (at Coney Island on Ingersol maybe?). She was happy at lunch as we talked about my classes and my dating life (though, to no surprise, I wasn't seeing anyone at the time). As soon as I slowed in front of her office to let her out though, she bowed her head. She sighed a goodbye and schlubbed out of the car toward the building her head looking only at the ground where her next step was going to fall.
From the car, I said, "Mom, keep your head up."
She smiled back at me, and kept going.
Even now when I talk to her about her work, I think of her this way. And I feel bad. Mostly for her, because I don't think much has changed for her about having to work versus working. If that makes sense, which it may not.
The bigger point here is that I feel sort of the same way I imagine she does.
Now part of this is clearly because of my work situation, right now. And with time some of my angst will go away. But hopefully it won't go away. Hopefully I'll never be comfortable about work again until I seize control of it (and my future) from my own laziness and fear. (who hopes for discomfort?)