One by one, people are hearing that I have a blog, and then they ask why. Usually I give them an answer like, "I write my blog purely for the entertainment of One Ms. Keetens," or "Some stupid asshole reads my myspace blog too much and has made it hard for me to be open there anymore," but those are not my real reasons.
I just want everyone to know how I feel. There are fewer misunderstandings when everyone knows how you feel.
This week in San Francisco, I am allowing my feelings to mirror the shitty, grey, cold, weather. Basically, Love Affair turned into Reality Check, and we did not go on the road trip that I'd been so looking forward to for so long. I thought I handled it well, but when my buddy Karim happened to be with me when I ran into Love Affair on the street, he later asked me, "What the hell was up with that? Why was that so awkward?"
I'm also terrible at poker.
When I knew it wasn't going to happen, I did three things that are typical of me in any sort of crisis that threatens to turn my unicorn-filled dreams into gross reality: I went to the beach and consulted the ocean, I spent three hours drinking scotch with a good friend, and then I plotted what kind of pie I would make and consume. These, my friends, are the ingredients of dealing with disappointment. One of my very wise friends (who happens to also be a fantastic therapist) told me after a dinner one night that most of life is about how we deal with disappointment. I think he's right. I think about those words a lot.
The flipside of disappointment, of course, is expectation. This is something that my buddy and I could laugh about in the middle of Scotchfest 2008, the ridiculous expectations that I had built up for the road trip with Love Affair. I'd thought that it was a harmless little fantasy, but it turned out to hurt a lot when the fantasy was exposed to the light of day. Not so harmless after all.
I'm trying not to be hurt by it all, but it is hard. I'm trying not to blame him or myself, but blaming myself is so fucken easy and almost comforting, in a sick way. I still believe that Love Affair is a handsome prince, and that I am a good person who tries to make herself happy without stepping on other people's toes. Mostly, I am trying to enjoy myself in San Francisco which, even in the shittiest of weather, is not so hard to do.
And, as I have learned, it is hard to feel bad about anything when you get to eat banana cream pie for breakfast three days in a row.
Three-Layer Mushroom Lasagna (Where Each layer is a Different Kind of Mushroom)
Some brown sugar
Half a stick of butter
An egg beaten with some water, thrown in by miracle roommate chef, who always does something to help bring it all together a little better
some of your favorite chili sauce
Scotch-fueled determination to pour all of your attention into making this lasagna and avoid showing to your secret Love Affair how hurt you feel
Okay so the shtick with this lasagna is that you are making each layer with a different kind of mushroom, and this time around we did one sweet layer (white mushrooms, apple, brown sugar, butter), one savory layer (shitaake, garlic, red wine, white pepper, basil), and one spicy layer (brown mushrooms, chili sauce). So fucken good!