August (Part 2)

My last Flex Day of the summer was the 5th of August. It was sad, the realization that my summer, like my spring, had completely passed me by without notice. Seriously, I was trying to think objectively the other day what had happened in my life between March and August. Things happened, clearly…I remember a trip to Hawaii, and I finished an iPad application for work, but everything else is an indistinct blur. What a sad way to say goodbye to my twenties!
Truth

Still buzzing from my meeting with H, I coasted on those good vibes. I went to a café and edited my father’s book, went to McCarren to read Cormac McCarthy and listen to Arvo Part on the grass, then went back home to enjoy Jersey Shore and Project Runway. I also went on a fantastic 6+ mile run.

The running thing is an interesting development in my life, because I have traditionally hated it so much. But Julia’s trip to New York and her espousal of Zen running got me thinking: why not just run when I want to, and stop when I don’t? So I started running from my apartment to the Williamsburg bridge, across the bridge and back, down to Kent, up Kent to N. 12th, then over to Bedford, and back to my apartment. Naturally, I don’t run the whole thing (yet), but I run over half of it, and each time I go out I add a few blocks to my session. It’s awesome, and it’s completely helping me deal with my rage issues in a healthy way.

The interesting thing about my month of hermitude was that I wasn’t able to be all that secluded. I’m probably going to shoot for a more draconian cleanse in March, during my spirit journey, where I don’t talk to ANYONE. August was mostly about trying to do what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it, and taking care of me. So I did spend some time making new friends. With Veronica out of town for 2 weeks at a conference, I had the house to myself—so I spent Saturday rearranging it and cleaning it. Moved the desk into my room, flipped it over so I didn’t have to see Mark’s name carved into it, rearranged the ottoman by the window. I felt enormously better after doing that—as if the entire chi of the room had been altered. I also made my first-ever pasta salad for a church activity about Homemaking tips, then went on another run afterwards. I kind of wish in the back of my head that I can get good enough at this to run in next year’s New York marathon, but I hate to set myself up for such an obvious failure. Still, I am not above making drastic sacrifices in the name of spite.

Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, on Sunday I got called as the district seminary coordinator. This means I’m in charge of maintaining the ranks and checking up on every seminary teacher in Brooklyn. Now, that’s only 6 or so, but it means I have to visit all of these teachers every few months to make sure they’re teaching actual doctrine and not going rogue (as some occasionally do).

Monday August 8th was the beginning of the final push to get our app out to the client. That meant a lot of late nights at work, ordering burrito box and waiting for editorial to give me proofs. I did manage to finish Child of God, though, which I loved. When the protagonist tries to murder his friend while wearing a woman’s scalp and her torn clothes, I knew Cormac McCarthy was for me.

My hermitude meant book consumption was proceeding at an alarming rate—so after McCarthy, I picked up Manchester’s A World Lit Only By Fire, a nonfiction book about the change in Europe from a medieval mindset to a renaissance mindset. This book made me very popular on the elevator, as several men stopped to talk about the Reformation. On Tuesday I got home to find a UPS notice for Mark on the door, and was so enraged about the reminder that I ran 6 miles again, then collapsed into bed at 930. I’m finding that I fall asleep around 930 or 10 every night, but still struggle to get out of bed by 730. I’m not sure when my sleep cycle is going to get back to normal.

On Wednesday, Mike Aktpis, that lovely young man from NU, met me for drinks in Midtown. Let’s talk about how amazing Mike is: how positive and well-mannered and educated and enthusiastic. Let’s talk about his awesome job and his fabulous wife and his supportive friends. Let’s talk about his trips to Brazil, where he stayed in the middle of the jungle, and to France, where he and his wife are going to bike through Provence. And then let’s talk about how it is impossible to be resentful of Mike because he is so good and so joyful that you are comforted that the world has saw fit to reward him. Because a man like Mike should be given everything, and it makes sense somehow that he should have the life that he has.

There was a moment when talking to Mike where I told him about my hermitude, which seemed to puzzle him exceedingly. “Don’t you feel, as you get older, that it gets harder and harder to find people with passion?” I asked. “Most of the people I meet anymore are so negative, I find it difficult to stay optimistic.”

Mike was generally incredulous. “No, that’s not my experience at all,” he said. “Who are these people you are talking to? You need to meet new friends.”

And of course, Mike was right. What struck me was that Mike has made his own fate: he only sees the good in other people, and when they don’t match his energy and enthusiasm, he simply sees them less. And so little by little he has surrounded himself by a network of like-minded, sweet-natured geniuses, and everything is right in his world. And perhaps I need to be better about rewarding the good and ignoring the bad. Afterall: be like Mike.

And I would also like to point out that Mike is the first man to take me out for drinks and pay for it since 2001. Not as a “you’ll get the next one” or “you got the last one” or “let’s split”, but as a “of course, I am a gentleman and I will pay for you.”

Thursday the 11th was a day of much emotion—mostly involving a run in with another worker at the temple. There’s this ancient little lady that sometimes works on my shift, and she is very adamant that things be done a certain way—laundry folded a certain way, ordinances performed a certain way. And I do those things the way I was trained, but I also do them in a way that makes the patron feel as safe and comfortable as possible. So there were 2 instances where this wizened grandma thought I was doing things “incorrectly,” so she scolded me, THEN told the temple matron, THEN proceeded to tell everyone else that I was “overwhelmed” and “needed help.” When I didn’t pin a “Spanish” nametag to one patron (who comes every week, so everyone knows she speaks Spanish)—Grandma drags her out of the antechamber back to me and tells me I need to give her a language card. It was totally the worst—and even though I was in the right, I secretly went to a back room and burst into tears. At this point, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to take any criticism without being emotional. Luckily, Grandma didn’t see—I wouldn’t want to start drama, and incidents like this are so rare at the temple, to make issues out of them makes more trouble than its worth.

Speaking of intrusive old missionaries, I’m in my underwear on Saturday the 13th, cooking eggs and trying on shoes (this is what I do when I’m alone LAY OFF) when the doorbell rings like 30 times. I look out the window to make sure it wasn’t the ConEd meter guy, but sure enough, it was the Shepherds—the missionary couple in our ward. So I throw on a kimono, hide all of the shoes in my room, and run down to let them in. Apparently there was a problem with a food order (the LDS church provides free food to needy families), and since Veronica (who, as Relief Society president, is in charge of food orders) wasn’t there, they needed to see if she had a copy of the missing form. So I had to find the sheet in Veronica’s room, and then engage in like 2 hours of small talk while trying to cover myself up as much as possible. AND BY THE TIME THEY LEFT THE EGGS WERE COLD.

In the afternoon, I headed over to Penn Station and caught the Bieber Bus to Pennsylvania. My friend and design partner Sam was having a bachelorette party, which her sister secretly invited me too. And who is going to turn down the chance to party in Pennsylvania? I know I’m not.

So I take the bus down, and it’s already super overcast. I’m picked up at the bus station behind a Wendy’s near Bethleham, which I recognized as the rest stop Brooke and I took on our trip to Amish country. Melissa—Sam’s sister—picked me up with her boyfriend Jeff. We grabbed some Wendy’s sammiches and hit the road. I had a great ego boost when, after 20 minutes of conversation, Melissa asks me “So wait, how old are you exactly?”
“I’m going to be 30 next month.”
“Awww dude! No way! I totally thought you were Sam’s age!” Sam is 23. This was an excellent development.
This is Sam!

Melissa took me to her mom’s house—a gorgeous 18th century farm house tucked way far out into the hills of Pennsylvania. Melissa is one of those chicks you like almost instantly—easy and mouthy and good natured and fun. Example: we drove past Sam’s old high school, and there was a lone car sitting in the parking lot that Melissa recognized as her friend’s. “I’ll bet he’s waiting for drugs.” I said. Melissa calls him up, “Hey dude, I just drove past the high school. You’re totally waiting for drugs aren’t you? Dude I knew it! It couldn’t be more obvious! You seriously need to go to a different spot, this is so sad.”
Sam's fiance Fourth, with a bird on his shoulder, naturally

At Sam’s mom’s house there was Melissa and her long-term boyfriend Jeff, Sam’s mom, Sam’s other sister Amanda, and Sam’s cousin Cassarah. Even though no one had any idea who I was, everyone was totally hospitable and treated me like family. I absolutely love when that happens—when you can effortlessly integrate yourself into someone else’s life, skipping over the years it takes to build familiar intimacy. I’ve tried so hard in my life to create a home where people feel that way, but it’s kind of hard when you’re a home of 1.
Sam and her mom chilling in the living room

I changed into my party clothes, then checked out all of the bachelorette-related materials Amanda has purchased at the mall. My favorite was the penis-shaped cake, which was straight out of a box and straight into my heart. It was literally SO GOOD, I kept sneaking back into the kitchen and cutting off chunks of it. Penis cake for the win!

When Sam arrived with her fiancé Fourth, she seemed pretty thrilled to see me. For some reason, I was the only non-family member who wanted to come for the party, which to me is a testament to how terrible our generation is about face-to-face decorum. Seriously, everyone is so selfish and self-involved anymore. Who doesn’t RSVP to a wedding? Who doesn’t call a hostess if she can’t make a dinner? Apparently tons of people. So disappointing, generation.
Cassarah (blonde) and Amanda during present opening

After some embarrassing presents like lingerie and vibrators, (I swallowed my pride and gave her a $50 gift certificate to Victoria Secret, which killed me inside) everyone piled in Cassarah’s car to head over to a hookah bar in Bethlehem. Now, the rain—which had started at Wendy’s—had progressed into a full-on downpour of epic proportions. This was serious: we could hardly drive through the fog, and the rain was pouring down so hard that seconds without an umbrella left you soaking. Which was OF COURSE what was going to happen because I straightened my hair.
Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!

The hookah bar wouldn’t let the girls bring in booze, and at a bachelorette party that was not going to fly, so we went over to a sports bar next door and proceeded to eat hot wings and get trashed. Well, obviously Melissa (18) and I (Mormon) did not get trashed, but we did encouraged others to do so. Going around, I realized I was the oldest person there by 7 years, and the only one without a long-term boyfriend/fiancé/husband. It was a pretty lame feeling, I have to say, because everyone was SO IN LOVE, and they spoke about their partners in these glowing terms, and their partners texted and called them throughout the night, which never really happened to me while I was in a relationship. So I ended up winding down in energy as I thought of the gulf that seems to exist between me and everyone else, how I can never seem to do things the right way. I try to approach everything so systematically, to do things the right way, only to look up and see everyone is staring at me.
Lacey and Melissa

Besides being perplexed at my religious views, the girls were very cool and chill—I watched as they hit on bartenders and waiters and dealt with male attention in a breezy, flattered way. Again: the gulf. Unable to gamble at the local casino due to Melissa’s age, we compared nipple piercings (I’m not even going to dive into that one) and drove home, where I slept on the couch and Melissa and her boyfriend Jeff slept on the floor while watching Wilfred. I woke up surrounded by dogs. It was a surreal experience.
Melissa and Sam (who is THRILLED to be wearing her buttons)

The fog and the rain did not stop the next day. I had serious concerns about whether or not my ceiling was going to be able to hold up under the weight of all of this incessant water. Melissa and Jeff and Sam and Fourth (so many couples!) drove me into town to feed me ridiculously large hoagies from the neighborhood deli. We ate at the Carr’s grandma’s house, played with the birds, and watched some NASCAR. The Melissa, who was late for work, had to drop me off at the bus station (really just a curb behind the Wendy’s) so she could get their on time. Which meant I had to stand shivering in the cold wet rain for over an hour before the bus came. Man, did I feel haggard and weathered and old that day. But my apartment was dry! Little victories.