I’ve never been the kind of person that willingly wanted to stay home, alone. If ever there was a poster child for extroversion, it may be me. You see, I was the second least extroverted person in our family. My sister Katie takes the top spot. Growing up surrounded by much more pronounced extroverts had me believing, for a spell, that I might be an introvert.
Or maybe I was an introvert, that was forced to become an extrovert to adapt to my surroundings? I wonder about that often. You see, as a writer, I am just as likely to put my earplugs (I have fancy professional musician ones now, thanks to Brent), tune out, and write.
Noticing and Feeling Pretty Much Everything
Do you know any writers? If you don’t, here are a few fun facts about the average writer’s personality. We are constantly observing, profiling, and attentively watching human behavior and interactions. Listening to stories, or seeking them out, in some bid to understand humanity, and perhaps, ourselves better through that relation.
The fact that I have ADHD I believe only amplifies this. My “superpower” (it really is) can be draining sometimes. Ambivalence? Ignoring things that are wrong? That is virtually impossible for me. I have always been sensitive to injustice; not always pertaining to my own life experiences, ever.
I am the woman who will “throw in” verbally if I see the Starbucks girl getting chewed up by a belligerent Karen. I even wrote a poem about that too. I just cannot stand by and watch it without intervening. I have this whole theory about women who drive white SUVs and wear stretchy pants and hoodies. I do not care if the stretchy pants are from Lululemon. You’re still a highly probable Karen.
I am like a jellyfish, you know? I have miles and miles of fine tentacles that extend out into personal and professional spaces. I feel shifts in energy, even if nothing is admitted or discussed with me. I do not see auras and I have no secret box of crystals and colored candles. But I feel warm and cold when I meet someone.
My Temperature Code For Reading Human Beings
Warmth indicates a good soul and someone who means well, generally speaking, in life. I like that sort. Bonus points if they are introverted because I like their company the best. Kind of like the way you add something else to the sauce, to taper the chili pepper you added. They moderate me in good ways, and for them, being my friend breaks the monotony and boredom.
Cold indicates a manipulator. God, I wish I didn’t see them with such clarity as I do now. It is like I have radar for dark intentions. Where the hell was this underdeveloped skill when I was dating through my thirties? It would have been highly useful.
No thermal esoteric reading on a human terrifies me. Rarely happens, but it has in the past. That is someone who is dark, but psychotic enough to pretend they are warm and loving. It’s an act. If I cannot get a read on them, that is intentional on their part. I keep my distance from that sort.
They have the capacity for mass emotional destruction and social mayhem; they don’t get closer than twenty feet to my life and my circle. Spiritual Dahmer types. They stand out to me now, like a flashing red alert. I met one recently, at a bar, and looked him straight in the eyes. The world may not see you, buster, but I can. And I wanted you to know your mask isn’t as perfect as you think it is.
Weapons of Mass Verbal Destruction
He followed me to the bathroom while my partner was performing on stage. First of all, I hate public bathrooms. Seriously, what is wrong with people? Gross. But it was a matter of drinking too many Coke Zero’s and when a girl has to go… a girl has to go. I rushed in, giving him my typical “fuck off” side-eye. Just because I do not have a wedding ring on my finger, doesn’t mean I am single.
When I emerged, Mr. Zero Temperature Read was there. He was literally waiting for me outside of the door. He smiled when I walked out, and I felt something similar to a flash wave of heat. I had already fired two warning shots with my body language. If he accosted me, he was going to experience a crit-hit to his feelings.
Him: “There you are… Miss Knee-High boots.” [Thick Texas twang gives me hives now]. Drunk, teetering, entering into my personal space. I get it, I am not wearing a wedding ring, so it makes it hard to tell I suppose, but that approach offends me.
Me: “Do you know my boyfriend, Brent?” [Pointing at the stage].
This was not me shirking responsibility for defending myself. Brent knows a lot of people, and I do not want to offend a fellow musician, or friend of a friend, et al.
Him: “No.”
Me: “Cool. Then &$!@# off, before I put you into therapy.”
CRITICAL HIT.
My closest friend in Texas is James. Let’s call him Jim. We are nerd friends, and he is a wonderful male friend that we hang out with a lot. He loves live music, and he has become something of a cousin or little brother type relationship that means the world to me.
Jim has also witnessed the savagery of drunk men approaching me. I thought he would nearly fall off the bar stool, as I sat on the ground petting a dog (hey, they allow them in bars here sometimes), and a fellow playing pool decided to swing his mojo at me.
Drunk Dumb Dumb: “Hey, the dog isn’t the only one that likes petting.” [Insert BAHAHAHA]
Yep. Men still talk like that sometimes to women. I blame the Red Hat Felon for encouraging it.
I looked up at James, and he gave me a look like…what followed would be entertaining. Brent cast a glance over as he was preparing his guitars on the stand. He looked at me to “check my okay-ness” and then cast another fierce glance at the guy, who was teetering over me with a bottle of beer.
Him: “Oooh is that your boyfriend?”
James: “Yes, that’s her boyfriend.”
[Standing up and dusting myself off].
Me: “He’s not the one you have to worry about.”
[Insert savage look]
[Insert Brent and James laughing and concurring with nods].
I’m not a rude person. But I can definitely defend myself verbally.
The apologies that tumbled out were indicative of a good person, who was tipsy, and single. No harm, no foul. He showed me the respect of apologizing and there was no further need to flex my verbal savage. That was nice. I hate it when I have to “flame on” and show my dragon.
I much prefer to be a comedian, and good time girl, than a PhD bitch. I prefer to laugh and have fun; I’m energetic, confident, and very social. My weapons of mass verbal destruction have been honed through experiences where my default was to remain silent, and vulnerable.
That’s not who I am anymore.
Feeling More At Home In Austin Texas
Austin is starting to feel like home. For the record, nothing will ever feel as home as Toronto to me. However, I realize now that home is less a geographical place, than an era in time. When I was close to my friends, when my Aunt was alive (every day I miss her and always will), and when I saw my cousins and their children frequently. I also miss being in the same room with my best friend Diane, and her intelligent cats who have always tried to convert me.
It is like they can sense I am a resolute dog person. Cats are vindictive.
I feel sad sometimes, growing older so far away from them. But staying with my Mother isn’t an option, and I haven’t spoken to my Father in eight years. I gave him that one last olive branch, and he stabbed me through the heart with it. All good. The daddy issues were left behind in that last-ditch effort.
Point blank, a trip home for the length of time I would need to see everyone, would be more expensive than a Viking Cruise. It is in the works nonetheless, because it’s been ten years. I need to hug people (not video call them). I also really need some Swiss Chalet and a Canadian butter tart.
I joke with my sister, that she has Dad to look after, and I have Mom, so we split it evenly. My sister isn’t speaking to my mom and hasn’t for several years. Gaslighting. Manipulation. Emotional abuse. Pitting one against the other. The fault lines in our family became permanent after we lost two of the people who were always cementing our clan at the seams; my grandfather, and my Zia Antonietta.
So, while I feel homesick, I realize that homesickness itself is an illusion. When his children are older, we may apply for his Canadian citizenship (why not?). I’m looking at getting my Italian Citizenship as my sister did. It is good to have options.
Hopefully, by then, the political furor in the United States is done, and President Trump is in a nursing home somewhere writing a manifesto in between gulps of apple sauce and Diet Coke.
God, I really hate that man.
What Makes Austin Legendary?
I wish I had moved to Austin ten years ago. After Covid-19, there was a massive influx of people from California and New York. On the plus side, yay! More liberals. I am a Republitarian. Republican by nature but not THE CURRENT DEFINITION OF REPUBLICAN. Think #NeverTrumper and #LincolnProject. That is the kind of Republican I am.
I’m too pragmatic and financially sensible to be all the way Democratic. They have a track record of being completely shit with fiscal budgets. So I am in the middle. How temperate of me. But I am disgusted with MAGA, or rather, the Cult of MAGA. I am disgusted by the corruption at all levels of government. I know… to ascend to those levels, they say, you must be corrupt.
I like my U.S. Presidents who are sans 37 felony convictions. Just saying.
Austin is probably the only place in Texas that I feel comfortable living because it leans toward libertarian culture. It is the “Music Capital of America” and live music is the culture here. I love live music, and people who can play real instruments, write and read music, et al. There is also the flash of Spanish culture which is amazing! I keep meaning to resume my Spanish language studies, but I find myself tired a lot lately.
In case you were wondering, yes, the street tacos here are epic. I also get misidentified as a Latina woman often. Hence the reason why I need to learn Spanish. I get tired of repeating, Perdón, no hablo español.
Outdoorsy and Health-Focused
The lakes and parks are lovely. On Lady Bird Lake you can see hundreds of people sitting on their paddleboards on the weekend. Chilling. Legs dangling. Paddling with no particular destination in mind. It is a social thing. Most popular with the set that loves avocado toast.
I have two kayaks and a rack that hooks up to Brent’s trailer hitch on his SUV. I haven’t used it yet because I’ve had a couple of injuries. From the gym, to be clear. I didn’t listen to Jim at the gym, who told me to go slower on the weights. I did, however, tell him he was right AFTER I injured my shoulder.
I’ve lost 120 pounds since 2009. I still see myself as an unattractive 290 lb woman in the mirror. I don’t see the changes, but when I have to buy new clothes, I can’t deny what I am doing is working. My blood glucose was 6.4 down from 9.4 in January.
That victory brought me to tears. Back in the safe zone, eating much less, at the right times, and higher fiber quality food, rather than being a pig at the trough of cheap eats and cardiovascular disease. You can talk about wanting to lose weight all you want and hit the gym five days a week (or daily).
However, you cannot outrun your fork.
I figured it out. I am doing it for my health. If it makes me slightly cuter, then that is a bonus. But Brent already thinks I am gorgeous, so, there’s that. He probably needs better glasses. My legs get compliments a lot, which is nice. My perfume too apparently. I get sniffed by random men sometimes and it’s weird.
Bad Girl, by Carolina Herrera. There may be endorphins in it. *shrug* The red and black bottle (swoon) is only for a Very Good Girl. I’m far too self-aware to wear that.
When you are a fat girl who has lost weight, you aren’t particularly used to getting attention from men. For instance, at a bar. The only time I go is when Brent (or one of his buddies) is playing a gig. So there are moments when I may be alone, sans big, towering, large-shouldered, muscled, and broad-chested Viking boyfriend, where I appear approachable to single, drunk men.
I’m not. It irritates me.
But I am feeling less like an outsider these days. Which is good, since we’ll be buying a house next year.
I need tomato plants, badly. And one of those large cushy tree swings.
