Letting go

I've always had a huge problem with letting go. It was only recently that I decided to try and solve that problem of mine. With the help of one amazing guy, I started to change and mature in ways I didn't realize were possible. I stopped thinking about the things that I felt had passed me by, about the ways I had so royally screwed up that there was no turning back. I stopped blaming myself for things that were beyond my control, and began to accept some of my shortcomings as human, flawed. And for a while there it was this wonderful period of self-discovery and indulgence. Somewhere, though, I stopped to really look at what was going on and found that I was being selfish, taking taking and taking more and more while the person who had opened me up was giving giving and giving until it hurt. It made me sad. And I was sorry. But I didn't want to get off this trajectory just yet, and I realized how immature I was being. I knew it wasn't fair to be the one taking all the time, unwilling to compromise. I didn't want to be selfish anymore because the giver deserved better than that. The giver was one of the best things that ever happened to me, but sometimes you just don't deserve the best things in life, and it's good to be able to know that and let go. Follow through...

It does make you a bad guy

I handed in my letter of resignation today. Why? Ah, yes, inquiring minds want to know. To make a very long story short, my boss is a guy who lacks integrity on many fronts. And he's frustratingly masterful in the art of spin. I don't care to delve much further into that. If you really must know, just call me. (It's too much to type so if you and I are on a chat-only relationship, you'll just have to wonder.)

So today, I'm back out on the job market. I started sending out resumes last night. I got an offer last night from a non-profit in Orange County. Nice salary, but I'm skeptical. Just this morning, about 15 minutes ago, I received two phone calls back to back from other commodity brokerage firms out here in LA. I have an interview at 1:45 pm and another at 3:30 pm. They asked me why I was leaving my first brokerage so soon, and when I told them it's because I disliked the firm's lack of integrity, they said that's exactly what their brokers who had defected from my ex-firm had said. Hmmph. Isn't it nice that my first job out of college was with a firm that is known for being sketchy in its business circles?

Follow through...

Smug

In the last week, I've gotten text messages from two of my exes. They weren't all that profound, but they were just profound enough to instill in me a deep sense of satisfaction, to the point of smugness. I've been very much a Carrie, always having trouble letting go of the special men in my life, the three of them being G, M, and C. I tend to fear that I really did have the best thing that ever happened to me and that he slipped away. Well, Carrie no more. I don't wonder about any of them, whether we'll ever be together again or any of that nonsense. Now, thoughts of these men arouse in me little stirrings of nostalgia, but no desire. And finally, smugness.

G is the reason I initially considered moving to LA. I wanted to be closer to him, and I wanted to work in media (and I didn't like NYC). He and I had been on-again, off-again (a whole lot more off) for about 4 years. (In between, I did have other serious prospects so I don't even know that on-again off-again is an accurate description.) This is the first guy I thought I loved. And he broke my heart numerous times, yet I clung to the hope that we would one day be together because that's just how things were meant to be. But the last time I came out to LA, he was a total dickhead to me. He went to Vegas with friends of mine that I introduced him to, met up with more of my friends there, and didn't return any of my calls, texts, emails, etc for four months. Then he hears I was in LA interviewing and that I got a job, and has the audacity to leave me a voice mail telling me I should have called him while I was in town so we could have hung out. WHAT? Listen, asshole, if you drop off the face of the planet for four months, I'm not exactly gonna be swinging from your nuts because you leave me one stupid voice message. That was back in June. At the time, I was still hurt and angry, so I simply texted back with a "Thanks" in response to his congratulations. Then, after arriving in LA, I decided to be mature and just dropped a line letting him know I was in town. He texted me last night with "I was here in Utah (that's where he's from) looking through some of my old stuff (aka all the lovey dovey shit I used to send him) and was wondering how u are doing... I hope all is well with the LA life." I thought to myself... haha have fun walking down memory lane but I passed that street a long time ago. It's so childish of me to feel so good knowing that he's thinking of me, and I could give two shits about how he's doing at this point. But I'd like to be friends with him so I can get a discount on shoes at Nordstroms.

M? I dunno, I've just accepted the fact that he and I won't ever be together again. Suki still hopes we will, but he's a dear friend to me, and nothing more. No drama there.

And C. He and I were just starting to get serious when I left for Europe, but he'd done me so much wrong in the past. I think he may have started to reform, but none of that matters anymore. He missed his chance. He could have treated me better when I was crazy about him, but he didn't. And that factored into my decision to cut things off with him even though they seemed to be getting good because I met a man who treats me like gold now. So his prodding "Hey... how are ya"s just don't cut it.

It doesn't seem like much, but knowing G and C, two people who never ever EVER talk about their feelings, I know this is a subtle way for them to let me know they are thinking about me. How sweet. Suckers. I hope you miss me because you both had a good thing going for a while. I would have done almost anything for you.

Follow through...

Losing track of time

You'd be amazed at how easily one loses track of time when in a far-off country chock full of remnants of the glorious Italian Renaissance. We knew our flight from Milan to Paris was leaving the day before my flight from Paris to DC. So on Monday we were taking the train back to Milan from Florence and we had the brilliant idea of checking our itinerary. Lo and behold, it said our departure from Milan was scheduled for Dimanche, le 8 Aout. SUNDAY?!?!? As I sat on the train, I came to the sinking realization that I was supposed to be on board a plane headed for Washington DC at that very instant. I had already missed my plane home. !#!@#(*&^(*&&!!

When we arrived at the train station in Milan, we immediately headed out to an internet cafe to see if we could get some info on what to do. Unfortunately, we had taken a cheap ass airline (Ryan Air) that wouldn't change our flight for free so we paid 120 euros more to catch a flight back to Paris that evening. A word of advice: don't fly Ryan Air. The tix may seem cheap, but they add crazy taxes and the planes feel a little rickety. And they fly into tiny airports that are really really far away from the cities they claim to fly into. We had to take a bus for an hour and a half from Paris to get to the airport in "Paris" (pfft, whatever) and it cost us 20 euros. Then to get to the train station in Milan we took another bus from the airport in "Milan" for 13 euros.

Anyway, at the train station in Milan, I lined up at the ticket counter to buy the bus tickets under the sign that said "bus tickets to the airport." The guy at the counter told everyone from all the diff lines to get into one, so I ended up in this long ass line and cursed the day I was born. WHY MEEEEEEEEEEE? Soon, however, the gods smiled on me and he reopened the airport line and I eagerly scampered over. When I got to the counter, he told me it was 13 euros 50. I whipped out my trusty credit card, only to have him shake his head no and tell me that they only took cash. I dug frantically around in my bag for cash but all I could find was 11 euros. I started to cry. Not only had I missed my flight to Paris from Milan, I had missed my flight from Paris to DC, and now I couldn't even afford to get train tickets to the airport in Milan! My partner in crime was off finding a restroom or something, so I was quite distraught, and quite alone. The guy at the counter saw the tears welling up in my eyes and he asked me if I had found the money yet. When I said no, I didn't have any more cash, he understood how hard it was for me to get euros from my American credit card and said he understood, and made an exception. Minutes later, I stood outside of the ticket booth thinking about how lucky I was.

Once at the airport in Milan, we were informed that we'd have to buy new tickets to Paris since we had missed our flight the evening before. I tried to call United Airlines to see if they could reschedule the flight I had missed that I was supposed to be on. 13 euros later on a credit card phone, we bought a 12 euro phone card that didn't work. So I gave up on United and we called my mom to tell her not to pick me up at Dulles. The convo went something like this:

Himomit'smelodydon'tcometotheairporttodaybecauseImissedmyflightandI'mnotcominghomejustyet I'llcallyouwhenIfindoutwhattimeI'mgettinghomeLoveyoulotsBye!

We got onto the plane and I felt much better after sleeping some. Then in "Paris" (Beauvais), we had to catch the 1.5 hour bus back to the real Paris, so we lined up for bus tickets and I decided it was high time for a cigarette. It had been quite a stressful day, after all. In line for the tickets, a man asked me to switch hands with my big bc he didn't like cigarette smoke. I had no problem doing so, and he thanked me. He was an American, as well, but one that had been living in Europe for a few years. We sat right behind him and and his female friend on the bus and the conversation began to flow. Turned out he's and opera singer living in Munich (and she, a violinist living in Rome). We talked about the museums, history, art, pop culture, politics, and a bevy of other things. The bus ride went very quickly.

After giving them tips on finding cheap housing in Paris, we caught the metro from Porte Maillot to Chatelet, where we transferred to the RER towards his grandparents' place in the suburbs of Paris. All hail Orangina, one of the greatest soft drinks on the face of the planet. It tastes so damn good after you've been running up and down the stairs of the metro station trying to catch the last train. We made it back to his grandparents' around 1 am or so.

Promptly, I called my parents to let them know I had missed my flight and that I'd be calling United to arrange a ride home. I called United around 2 am to see if I could get on the next flight back to DC. The lady informed me that bc it was a Priceline ticket, it was highly restricted, so I would have to buy a new ticket altogether. I might have started to hyperventilate, but decided to save the screams of agony until I had checked the prices of one way tix online. Online, the tickets ranged from 550 euros to 2200 dollars. Screaming in agony was in order, but it didn't seem very productive so I called United back to beg one last time. Tearfully, I explained how my flight in Milan had been delayed and I ended up missing my flight in Paris because of it. By no fault of my own, of course. I mean, who would be stupid enough to forget the day of her flight home? *Looks up and whistles* Bobby Littlejohn (I swear, that really was his name) took pity on me, though, and he told me not to worry about a thing, that he would find a way to get me home. Moments later, I was rebooked for the same flight the very next day. Bobby told me it would be free, and that I should consider United the next time I flew anywhere instead of buying from the evil and inconvenient Priceline. I told him I would. The tears stopped and a wave of relief swept over me. Thank goodness for customer service, and for United's excellence at it. (They bring you hot towels on the plane, and the wine is free. Wheeee!) The next day, I said a very sad goodbye and boarded the plane for the US. Bah. America is overrated. I can't wait to go back to Europe.

Lesson to be learned? If at first you don't succeed, cry, cry again.

Follow through...

C

He came up to visit me from Charlottesville this weekend. We hung out for a bit at my house before heading out to see Spiderman 2 (which was pretty cool, by the way). Amazingly enough, I think this was the first movie we've seen together, even though we've been doing date-y activities since September 2002. He went out to dinner and Dream with some of his friends, but came over to my house afterwards to eat. He stayed over, and P and N made obnoxious comments about how I better have a condom handy, etc. Of course I didn't need it. We went to my room and slept on opposite sides of the bed fully clothed, passing out almost immediately. In the morning, we woke up and went downstairs where my mom and some of my guy friends who had crashed in the basement were chatting. They got me to play the violin again, insiting on having some cultural experience... my rusty violin-playing is hardly something I would call a cultural experience. Unless you think screeching noises are culturally enriching.

He and I slipped off from time to time to talk. We went up to the guest room and sprawled out on the bed to chat next to a huge bookcase. At some point, I read him some Yeats and told him that Dr. Oc (from Spidey 2) was definitely right about poetry. He asked me when I wanted to get married. No, not to him, foolios! Just in general. I said 25 or 26. Then he said I better get crackin bc I don't have much time left.

N picked him up from my house early in the afternoon, and I was sad to see him leave. It's strange, this man... He is so different with me than he is in front of others. I swear he's more than a caveman! When I went back up to my room, I found a postcard of Tiananmen Square sitting on my laptop.

M,

Just thinking of you and I wanted to send you my greetings from China...

Always,
C

Nothing terribly deep or remotely eloquent, but for some reason, I felt a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing him again.

Follow through...