Points in my life

I feel like I've undergone a transformation. Or maybe lots of tiny transformations and rotations and reflections. All those things a triangle does. At one point I just wanted to finish high school and get married and start a family.

At another point I wanted to go to college and become a math teacher.

I actually wanted to be a lobbyist first, until I spent a middle school career day in a room full of boxes. Then I changed my mind.

I liked my high school geometry teacher, Mrs. Bouck, so much that I started to envision myself as her. She spoke efficiently and delivered tight packed instruction. The proofs always worked out. Everything always checked. She didn't miss a beat. Her lines were straight, her voice definitive.

And at another point of my life I wanted to sing and play piano.

At a young age I took piano lessons for 3 months. It made me miss the magic of chord and rhythm discovery.

I wish my piano teacher had taught me the difference between melodies and finger exercises. These piano songs I was forced to play (presented with titles like "ping pong dance" mind you), can confuse a deep-thinking child and disenchant her from the love of music.

Years later and also some years ago (almost 10 years ago!), when I turned 24, I forced myself to learn one hard song - Journey's Don't Stop Believing. I found a YouTube lesson and watched it probably 1,000 times. And everything else I learned afterwards on piano came relatively easy.

My relationship with music happens in my own headspace most of the time. Not on paper or into recording devices or into audience ears. I think up little melodies everyday. I layer them with other rhythms and melodies, depending on what kind of day I'm having, and maybe what other songs I've been listening to, until an organic fusion of music and mood creates a little background life soundtrack to my day, inspired by I don't know what. The songs are passing clouds, and the particles disperse and go who knows where. And what once was is gone forever.

Some melodies do come back and others take new shape in my mind over time. There's a few I'll take to the grave. Some things are impossible to forget.

I have a guitar now too. My grandfather gave me one. It was a Roy Clark signature guitar, a gift to see me off to college with. I didn't see grandpa much the next 4 years. And he died shortly after I graduated. I wrote a couple songs on my guitar, just making up chords, just playing by ear and experimenting with what sounded good, and memorizing where to place my left fingers over strings and frets. One day some dorm friends encouraged me to play at a music competition on campus. I did. I had a base player and guitar player accompany me. I just stood and sang into a microphone. It was so uncomfortable! But I put my nerves into that performance, and I was humble about it.

It was a strange song but had a nice melody and people clapped and hollered for me. I got such a rush when it was over. I also got an honorable mention but didn't place in the top 3. Grace Potter won 3rd place. I remember her performance of "Toothbrush and My Table." It was good. I have her album "Nothing But The Water" in my car cd player most days of the year. I really have a strong attachment to those songs. They get to me.

Nowadays I don't play music so much. As for guitar, I hate trimming my left fingernails whenever I'm in a random mood to play. I end up talking myself out of it. I have a strange relationship with my instruments. I also quit playing flute in high school because I was frustrated I couldn't blow a high C.

My teachers believed in me. My friends liked me. My parents told me I was smart. When I graduated high school, my junior year English teacher, Mrs. Lanthier, advocated for me to be able to walk with the top 10% of my class. I was really at 11%. But I ended up walking.

I also got a $96,000 financial aid package to go to college with. I should have put all that money straight towards my tuition bill, but I used several thousand to travel and enjoy myself during those years. And now I have to pay SallieMae every month! Grrrr.

Mrs. Bouck used to say that math was all around us. But I couldn't quite see the depth of it. I saw manmade lines and angles.  I saw patterns in nature. But no formulaic fourth dimension.

I think we wait sometimes for insight to slap us in the face, and sometimes it does. A friend of mine emailed me once about an insight he had about God. He wrote, "Some people trip and find God, or they say he spoke to them, but it never happened to me. When God did speak to me it wasn't with a voice or with words but in some way I can't explain. Just signs and events that tie thoughts together and make singularities complete... it's like I've been allowed to see light and it's changing me inside somehow."

William Butler Yeats compared human thought to a spiraling gyre, a shape in which something appears to be spinning in circles but reaches a different level with each rotation. As a gyre rotates and elevates, each circle becomes smaller than the one before it, until at the end you reach a point.

When this spiraling gyre is reflected, it makes an hourglass shape. Yeats believed this hourglass shape could explain human thought and ultimately human history.

Watson and Crick, just a couple decades later, contemplated the hourglass shape when checking out women's bodies on the beach. In that sunny, relaxed, libido-stricken atmosphere, an understanding of human DNA was born. It became clear how a person's cells could constantly divide and replace themselves without changing the person.

I think the person does change though. Our memories change us. Memories are merely reflections. Illusions of something that's not physically there. It's in the fourth dimension. Our past is reflected from new distances. There's a different landscape in the foreground. The background gets blurrier. Eventually there's a new form altogether, like looking at our planet from outer space, where the main forms are sparsely composed of something tangible, and the tiny forms become blurry gaps left up to our imagination. We remember what we want to remember.

Maybe it's best to let go before trying to hang on. What you let go might still come back to you.

When I step away from a song or blog entry and forget about it for a while, then revisit it months later, I give it a completely new shape. This particular post has been edited about 6 times.

All our present moments just become points to look back on from afar. We try connecting the dots. It's like organized chaoe. If you've ever seen young school kids play on a playground, you've experienced this type of disorder. There's a beauty in it. But it can also be scary to watch.

Lightning used to scare me as a child, until my father convinced me thunderstorms were exciting. I began to redefine anxiety as excitement. I'll never skydive, but I've learned to appreciate storms with big lightening. The kind that strikes and disappears. It escapes into an abyss of fleeting flashes, synapsing along a scatter plot. And it leaves an echoing resonance of it's crackle in your bones.

Thoughts, like stars, sometimes seem to go away long before we really notice them. When we see stars at night, some of them aren't really there. They burned out a long time ago but their light took however many light years to travel to our eyeball.

I used to wonder if we could send out a video camera in a rocket that went slightly faster than the speed of light. It might be able to travel far enough into the future to take a picture of the past. But it would have to be so far away, that a really good camera would have to be invented. I probably won't see that happen in my lifetime.

And life begins, the grains of sand aligned










whole, complete, away from time

appearing first as sedentary 

moments slip










through 

our










fingers 

detaching us










from those temporary

clouds that pass like trails of sand









shadows like echoes from a far-off land

Match.com: Indian Men

So I'm attracted to Indian Men.  I'm asking myself lately why that is, and also learning that it might not be so much the initial physical attraction (I wasn't that attracted to the pictures of the Indian men on Match.com.) But upon meeting one in particular, and hearing him speak with a very mild, sexy accent, I found myself mentally swooned and in need of a new pair of panties within 10 minutes of conversation.

Sorry, that was gross. I'm exaggerating. Kind of. But I feel a responsibility to my 70,000+ readers, whether you are repeat stalker readers or new viewers, I don't want to disappoint.

Indian Man #1: Indian Doctor: Age 29

I called this guy "Jared" in my previous post. We never met though. We exchanged numbers in January, texted briefly, and then a few weeks go by and I text him what's up and he texts back "send me a selfie so I remember you," and I send him a picture of myself intentionally looking pretty bad. Kind of as a test.  I had deemed him expendable (since he lived in Boston and was 4 years younger than me, and his Match profile said he was seeking women under 30) and not surprisingly, he didn't text back. But then like 6 weeks later, earlier this week (March 17 - he was probably out drinking for St. Paddy's Day) he texts " Hi Erin! This is (Indian Doctor)!" We converse about winter coming to an end and he asks me what I like about spring and I'm like birds and grass. He states his approval of my answer and I text him a smiley face. And, that's potentially the end of our non-existent relationship.


White Guy: Stanley: Surfer: Age 39

Stanley was my first actual match.com date. We had two dates together. We had our first date at a coffee shop in January. Then a second date two weeks later where I met him at his condo and we took a Sunday morning drive in his truck. He showed me some surf spots and then he surfed and I took pictures of him. He was a great surfer. He also had a close relationship with God. We listened to a Christian radio station in his truck called K-Love and he was singing along to some of the songs. That was a big turn-on for me because I listen to that station religiously (I even live-stream it on my computer in the mornings when I'm getting ready for work). Back at his place after surfing, he showered and then came out and kissed me. (He had clothes on).

Not much else happened. He was cool but I don't think we had enough in common to really have a relationship. He didn't have a couch. I didn't have a surfboard. End of story.

White Guy: Bob: Architect: Age 45

My second date was with a man I'll call Bob. He builds bridges. Literally. We met at a coffee/dessert cafe one cold snowy evening. I don't usually drink caffeine (haven't had it in 3 years), but I decided to be brave, and I ordered a large mochaccino.

Sidenote: I went through a Starbucks Venti Latte stage three years ago when I lived in NYC for a few months. And it made me nuts. One night, high on caffeine and then drunk off a few alcoholic beverages, I hid on my employer, a Saudi Arabian Prince, in my bathtub. And he found me. Long story. But I blame caffeine. It sucks the rosiness out of your cheeks and the brain cells out of your brain. Many people I've known rush around all day worrying, high on caffeine, thinking they are getting more done when they are probably creating more to do in the first place. I go to work and I'm like, "Hey kids write down 10 verbs that have 4 syllables and use them in a sentence." Then I come home and sit on the couch, cook, yoga, FaceBook, browse Match.com profiles, watch Wheel of Fortune.

We really don't need drugs or chemicals to function. Our bodies will produce their own energy if we are patient. We just have to wait for it. I take about 5 hours every day to wake up. So if I'm up at 4 a.m., which I frequently am, I am feeling wide awake by 9.

So anyways, I ordered a large mochaccino and drank it down in an hour. I didn't sleep at all that night. The next day was very rough. Worse than a hangover for sure. I almost needed another mochaccino to stay awake. But I resisted. And I'll never drink caffeine again.

We ordered dessert also. I think I had coconut cake. I don't remember. Bob talked about bridges and I talked about teaching. He was nice, just a little too old for my taste, but a nice and fit guy, well established in life. But something didn't feel right. Maybe because of the age, I didn't feel much physical chemistry. I liked his mannerisms but something was off. I went through the imaginings of being with him in different ways and it just wasn't sitting well in my brain. Maybe if I got to know him better over time, I would fall in love with him. And the chemistry would come. But selfishly I wanted someone younger and someone who would make my heart flutter from the get-go. I wanted belly butterflies.

Two men later I learned that those butterflies can quickly turn to nausea. Yes, my heart and belly were broken. Read on.


Asian Man: Therapist: Age 36

I don't want to seem insulting by making up a pretend Vietnamese name so this man is simply called Asian Man. If I date another Asian Man I'll call him Asian Man #2. Anyways. My third date was with Asian man at the Cheesecake Factory in the Providence Place Mall. He was a physical therapist, and very sweet and cute and charming and the whole nine yards. Or maybe 6 or 7 of the nine yards. I knew if I wore heels I'd be taller than him, and in a petty selfish way that didn't sit (stand) well with me. We never had a second date.


Indian Man #2: Kevin: Age 40

The fourth guy I dated was Kevin. He gave me butterflies and a disease. Hippocrates said all disease starts in the gut. I believe I got a disease when he ended things, just based on the nausea and extreme belly discomfort I felt afterwards.

Kevin is not his real name of course. I'll never reveal his name. Too many people know him. I think my therapist even knew him. She wanted his name and I gave her his first name and she perked up and asked his last name but I told her I didn't remember. A random teacher I met from another school at a happy hour knew him pretty well too. She had rented from him. I told her I might be moving soon and had found apartments fully furnished for $500/month with all utilities included, and she asked where, and I was like this guy "Kevin" has a bunch of houses with furnished units to rent out and she's like "Kevin (correct last name)" and I'm like "Whoa how do you know him?" Apparently he invited her to the same hookah bar he invited me to when we first met. He had her come there to sign a rental lease. Probably harmless but it made me feel a little uneasy.

Several of my students knew him too! I opened my school email one day to retrieve a picture of Kevin that I'd emailed to myself, and, several of my ELLs (English language learners) said "Miss, I know heem."  I had one student translate for the others to explain to me that they had seen him in their neighborhoods last summer going to homes and small businesses to talk with the locals about the importance of voting, and political issues that should concern them, and what certain candidates stood for. 

Kevin is well connected. I hope he doesn't read this. He told me he wouldn't. He gave me his word.
One of his older lobbyist friends said he was loyal. That word stuck in my head for a little while. Loyal. I found Kevin very smooth and eloquent. Something about his mannerisms, his guardedness, and particularly the tone of his voice when he spoke, just made me melt.

He humped me and dumped me. The day after it was over, I was teaching a new unit to one of my 10th grade classes and the essential question was "What do you do to make a good first impression?"

There was a chart in the textbook breaking down the pieces of what composes a good first impression:
-7% syntax (word choice)
-38% sound of your voice
-55% body language and facial expression

Kevin had all of this going on. Unfortunately, I am clumsy. I trip over sidewalk cracks and even my own words sometimes. I'm just now learning, in my 30's, how to be a lady and wear make-up and walk in heels.

Kevin showed me how to cut my meat one night after he cooked us an Indian dinner with pork and chickpeas. He had me turn my fork around and hold it in my hand using different gripping fingers. It was facinating. It made cutting so much easier and it made my hands look more graceful and less cavemanly.

I wish I could have stuck around longer to learn more formalities. He's extremely well-traveled, well-cultured, and he cooks really good Indian food.

His skin was soft.

His eyelashes were long.

He drove a silver Mercedes Benz Convertible.

I drive my grandmother's old sand-colored Buick.

I make my own homemade deodorant and toothpaste.

I have $60,000 of college debt and no savings.

Kevin and I spent a few nights out and a few nights in over a few short weeks. We watched movies and cuddled and ate Indian food. I met his friends and they liked me. I imagined having little Indian babies. I was falling. But I knew he was out of my league, and eventually he blew me off two dates in a row and then told me he wasn't ready for a relationship. Touche.

Indian Man #3: Raj: Age 38

While I was dating Kevin, I was emailing and texting with another Indian guy I'll call Raj. He moved to America when he was a baby, so he had no sexy accent. But when he wrote something short and sweet to me on Match one day, and I saw he was a new Match.com member, I wanted to be kind and write something back. A couple email exchanges later he asked for my number. I gave it to him and he called on a Sunday afternoon and we talked for 45 minutes. I was never seriously interested in meeting him because I was so into Kevin. Raj asked me lots of questions nonetheless, including whether my parents would accept me dating a Hindu. I told him they wouldn't mind.

Another week went by and I still hadn't met Raj, nor did I care to. But when Kevin gave me the "I'm not ready for a relationship" spiel on a Sunday night, after a whole week of looking forward to seeing him, I texted Raj and asked him if he wanted to get together for a movie at his place sometime. I think I was too forward.

I sent one of those texts you immediately regret sending after it's sent. I'll never let myself appear vulnerable or desperate again.

Raj never responded. I guess I scared him away. I stayed in my room Sunday night and cried a little bit about Kevin but I was over it the next morning. And then another Indian guy messaged me on Match.com two days later.

Indian Man #4: Boston Computer Engineer: Age 34

Why do I like Indian men so much? I think a big part of it is intelligence. India places a higher value on education. Schools are run very strictly there. The family unit is stronger. Female and male roles are more strictly defined. I like all that. And I love the food. And I love the color of toasted marshmallow skin. And sharp jaw lines and defined facial features and dark eyes and thick eyebrows and foreign accents...

So Indian Man #4 is closer to my age. I'm 33 and he's 34. He wrote to me on match chat last night and I loved his picture. He had dimples and nice arm muscles. We had a really long chat in Match's instant messenger forum and planned to meet up this Saturday. I told him I was meeting a Harvard Professor in Cambridge on Saturday for lunch and that I could kill 2 birds and meet him afterwords for dessert. He told me he likes to consider himself a 3-course-meal. He was quite funny actually, and didn't mind when I told him I wanted to date someone from Nepal but couldn't find any Nepali men on Match. He said he'd take me to a Nepali restaurant he frequents and introduce me to some men there. I thought that was pretty cool. So I agreed. I was nervous though that he might not have a sexy Indian accent, so I asked him if he was born in India, and he was like "Yes, I didn't move here until I was 20."  I got so excited. He asked me to wear my hair curly and I said I could make that happen.

I'll update later on how those 2 dates go.

Update: April, 2015

#1 actually turned out to be amazing. We ended up having a date and some subsequent dates. I cooked Indian food for him at his place a couple times. We ordered Indian take out a couple times. We watch Bollywood movies and cuddle.  He's got a British/Indian elitist accent and wonderful, sexy voice.  He is a doctor and has true doctors' hands - hands trained to search and feel. But I had to end it when I met Indian Man #10 (see below)

#2 is now my landlord. I moved into one of his apartments. I have 2 other floor-mates who are also Indian. We've cooked Indian food for each other a couple times and they are awesome. And Kevin is a good landlord. He checks in on me and takes care of everything. He also had extra shelving built in my room before I moved in since he knew I had lots of clothes and there wasn't lots of closet space. He didn't ask me to sign a lease or give a security deposit. I feel happy here. And I think he's a good person somewhere deep inside and I like that this is our relationship now.

#3 didn't text me for over a month and then last week he texts, "How have you been?" Strange. We texted back and forth a little and I let him know I was seeing someone.

#4 was a douche. He asked for pictures of me and I sent them. Met him at a bar and had a good talk and a kiss right at the bar (like a peck, but it was sweet. I told him I hate PDA and he's like what's that, and I nod my head in the direction of a young couple making out at the end of the bar, and he looks, and he smiles, and he's like "what's wrong with that?" and he leans over in a very sexy way and gives me this gentle little kiss, and my belly did a somersault, and then a week later he texts me he's "not feeling it.")

Whatever. I didn't even really like you dude. I hope you look this up. Loo-sah.

New Indian Men: April 2015

Indian Man #5: Tom  - met at a bar for a mid-afternoon drink, enjoyed conversation, but no chemistry on my part, and no second date.


Indian Man #6: Dev  -  met at his apartment, walked to a speakeasy type bar, had a drink, and went back to his apartment, hung out for a little while. No second date but I'm open to one in the future if I'm single again.


Indian Man #7: Din  -  met at a restaurant, had a drink and then shared an appetizer and walked around the city of Boston a little. I didn't feel the chemistry. Something was definitely off. But he's a nice guy and we text once in a while.


Indian Man #8:Vish  -  Haven't met him yet. We've only emailed/texted for the past month.


Indian Man #9: Rain  -  Haven't met him yet either. We've been emailing/texting for about 2 months. Not sure I'm interested. He's an atheist and seems to like going to the club. I let him know over a phone conversation I kind of graduated from that lifestyle over a decade ago.


Indian Man #10: Brijesh  -  I am currently dating this man who, amongst other things, has an extremely sexy accent, and is tall, dark, and handsome. His body is phenomenal. 6'0 and all muscle. He's playful, spontaneous, childish, raw, real. No facade or persona.

He likes to talk to me on the phone. I haven't done that with anybody regularly since the early 90's. His voice is intoxicating. He dances. He works out. He rides a motorcycle. He's emotional and passionate. He has a beautiful smile and laugh. When I first met him I asked him if his teeth were real. He said they were.

He lived in England for 9 years. He calls an iron an "iron box" and once apologized for his face being stubbly, saying he hadn't "shaved properly."

"Pro-pah-lee" I joked back.

"What do Americans say when they don't shave properly," he countered.

"They don't say anything. They don't care. Or they might say, 'I missed a few spots.'"

He told me once that people tend to think he's stuck up before they meet him.

"That's because you speak like an elitist snob," I said.

He took this as a compliment.

I'm done with dating anyone else for now.

_____________________________________________________________________

UPDATE: I'm done with Indian men. They feel entitled to have multiple women. Go back to India. This is a free country but doesn't give you the freedom to lie and hurt me.

Back to the single life.

Until the one love of my life comes back changed.

Or someone else comes along who can make me smile.

Hindsight.

Don't let a man who makes you laugh get away, ladies. Hold onto that one like a shadow at high noon.