My dad and SATC

This post is both related to how uncomfortable my dad makes my life sometimes and how the Sex and the City movie read my mind (but in a less funny way). I've taken flak before from people who claim I paint my dad in an "unfair light". That could be a fair criticism if he weren't completely strange.

To wit: one of the supposed benefits of being near my childhood home this summer is the frequency with which I get to see my family. I do enjoy this time, if only because it makes me realize how blessed I am to live a thousand miles away the other nine months of the year. That said, my father is on a movie kick. I consider these to be expensive naps for him as I can count on two hands the number of movies I've seen with him in the last 10 years that he's stayed awake for. I don't mind. He pays, and he buys Junior Mints.

So, Friday night, he calls me and asks if I want to see a movie on Saturday. "Sure," I say, and I read him the movies that are playing. I was hoping he wanted to see the movie "Wanted", so I reminded him that he likes both Morgan Freeman AND Angelina Jolie, and they're in a movie together. "Well," he says, "What about Sex and the City? Would you see that again?"

I tried explaining to him that I didn't think he would like it and he said some of the women in his Sunday School class said they thought he would. When I get my hands on those bitches, I will cut them. So I agreed to go (after much cajoling from my sister, who reasoned that it would be creepier for him to see the movie by himself and that he would probably fall asleep anyway).

That is not true. He stayed awake the entire time. I died a little every sex scene. The full frontal shot almost did me in. But, now to the technology part: the funniest part of the movie for both of us was when Carrie tries to use an iPhone and fails. Because my dad has an iPhone he can barely use. He doesn't know how to get on the internet. My sister and I also think he can use the caller ID and can see his missed calls, but he can't get to his contacts list. Consequently, on several occasions, he has called one of his children asking for the other child's phone number. Dad claims he can use the phone just fine, and he likes it because it doesn't "turn itself off".

To move into the social commentary: I always find it disturbing that Carrie Bradshaw was the last person in the Western World to get a cell phone. Moreover, why won't she text? And why, for someone so image conscious, would she hold her cellphone together with duct tape?

I couldn't help but feel judged. "Ohhhhh, Carrie doesn't text. It isn't a valid way to carry on adult relationships. People only text for SEX." And while this may be true, ultimately, I feel hurt and betrayed. Since when did SATC judge proclivities and piccadillos? And then there was the pun about subtexts of texts. Listen, lady (Michael Patrick King), I think I said something about textual subtexts back in 2003. (Some of you will remember that I am sensitive to people "stealing my material" a la that bitch Sarah Silverman and my joke about showering).

Ultimately, I am scarred for life. Seeing the movie with my dad was bad enough, and the rip on technology driven relationships sent me over the edge. Maybe I'll have recovered sufficiently later on to answer some more of your questions.

Bittersweet return: part 2

I hope you’re feeling refreshed after that last post. Eager to read what comes next in this sad saga. Read on.

This last one is the one that really irks me. Pisses me off to the point I get drunk and talk about it. And by talk, I clearly mean blabber to whomever is unlucky enough to be sitting next to me. But I digress—back to the END. He stopped responding. At first, I was nonplussed. Clearly he’s emotionally unavailable and not good with feelings or power dynamics, hence the communicating in 140 character increments.

But as the days passed, I went through the Kubler-Ross stages of grief.

• Denial—Maybe he didn’t get my last text. My phone sometimes doesn’t send texts right away. Occasionally, I’ll be sitting next to someone as they get a text I sent them hours ago. Sometimes whole days.
• Anger—That emotional asshat can’t even return a goddamn text?! Really? Texting is the farthest thing from a commitment. Not that I would even want a commitment from him. Seriously? Fucker.
• Bargaining—Just wait till the end of the summer. I’ll be back home and have plenty to do… I won’t text that often, I promise.
• Depression—Texting just isn’t even worth it anymore.
• Acceptance—No, screw it, I’m back to anger.

Why am I angry, you ask? Good question. It’s not like it was a committed relationship or one that had a future. It was the fast train to carpal tunnel syndrome and I should be glad to be done. Here’s why: he is dating someone. Like, a real girl. Probably a lady, actually.

I’m livid. It’s worse than a real breakup because I’m just mad I didn’t think of it first. And, because the reason we were texting in the first place is because he’s such a jerk he can’t relate to people face-to-face or even over the phone. But now, he’s going on real, live dates, and I’m writing a fucking blog post.

God, I want a Diet Coke.

Bittersweet return

After a brief hiatus, and the sad departure of C.elgans due to her “day job”, I am once again touched by the overwhelming desire to help you navigate this technological world.

So, I bring you what I think is a fitting topic: the end of a textversation.

As some of you know, as of a couple months ago, I was carrying on three different textual relationships. All very different, I was getting what I needed from several sources. (N.B. Yes, dad, I realize that these “virtual relationships” are keeping me from actually meeting a “real” man. I also understand that you’re not getting younger, and you want grandchildren. And no, I’m not a lesbian. Yet.)

In any event, away from my natural habitat for the summer, I’ve discovered something else unnatural: all of these relationships have ended.

The first, I ended. Upon reflection, I’m not sure why. I just stopped responding. I’ve tried convincing myself that it was because his sarcasm didn’t really transfer to texting. It is a fine art, and I think he thought he was funnier than he was. Not his fault. Well, it was, actually.

The next, went to a foreign country for three months. Surprisingly, I didn’t notice until a couple of days ago. I mean, I knew he was gone, I’m not that self-centered. But I didn’t feel his absence. It was like in 10th grade, when I gave up soda for soccer season. At first, I wanted Diet Coke all the time. Like, constantly. Then, I didn’t. I forgot. I got used to not having it. This guy is gone from my life like that. (Of course, I am currently looking at 3 empty Diet Coke bottles on my desk, so the metaphor may not have run its course yet.)

I’ll let you think about this for a second before I move on to something more upsetting.

Marinate, think upon your own relationships, have a cry, go to the bathroom, come back.