Moving and Resurrecting

Photo Credit: meelheimsmoving.com

Last month, my landlord decided to give me a not-so-pleasant surprise by informing me of his last minute intent not to renew my lease and sell the condo that I had been living in for the past three years. I had one month to find a new place to live. My lease was set to expire on December 31, and he wasn't about to give me any breaks by allowing me an extra week to move after the holidays. Nope! Asshole all the way. 

I've been trying in between work days and busy holiday weekends to pack my things. I still have some leg work to do. The movers are coming within hours to take my furniture away. Frankly, the process has been daunting, but doable. 

While packing, I was surprised at the amount of things I had accumulated over the years and stuck into little crevices if I had wanted to forget about them or preserve them. Among my treasures were old notes from friends from high school and law school, a 2 dollar bill, miscellaneous old coins, birthday cards from close friends and family, and a variety of religious relics. Among the things I had wanted to forget were various mementos from my ex like jewelry, photos, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, his old clothes, and an old tea set he brought back for me from Hong Kong when he went for one of his cases. Some these things I had stuffed in a box and stuck in the back of my storage unit. Some of the smaller items, like the jewelry and photos, were stuck in odd places like the backs of drawers, underneath layers of clothes. I had forgotten that I had even placed them there, but there they were.

He's been popping up a lot lately. I ran into him at the grocery store a few weeks ago. He walked past me while I was in the checkout line, and he gave me the oddest stare-down.  Literally, the man stared me down. I don't know if he was trying to scare me, but he definitely proved that he was psycho. 

After the grocery store incident, I began having very intense dreams about him. Some of the dreams were nice - they were mostly him holding me, telling me how happy he was that we were back together, and how wrong he was for letting me go. Later on, his family would appear in the dreams, welcoming me back and telling me how much they missed me. The dreams were so intense that I woke up in the middle of the night. Then the dreams started taking a violent turn. I dreamed that I was the victim of a home invasion robbery - tied up, threatened to be beaten, tortured, shot. These dreams also woke me up in the middle of the night. 

Last week, a photo popped up online of him and a new girl - a 25 year old blonde. I Googled her (what, you really think I wouldn't research this chick?) and discovered that she was a dietitian. A fluff degree. It bothered me to see him smiling, but somehow, I wasn't as upset as I'd thought I'd be. I think this is probably because I just don't give as much of a shit as I did before. 

And now, here he was again, popping up in my drawers. There were cards he had given me, professing his love and his excitement at the prospect of a future with me and building a family with me. The box of things that I kept in the storage closet I decided to trash - literally. I took the whole box to the dumpster and chucked it. The only things I held on to were the things I thought that the Salvation Army could benefit from, such as his old shirts, the tea set, and an indoor grill of his. When we were breaking up, I asked him if he wanted any of his personal things back. He told me to keep them, and keep them I did. I held on because of one reason - the possibility of getting back together, a possibility that I realized as each month rolled on was becoming less and less possible. I told myself back then that I'd throw everything out when I was ready. This week, I was ready. 

The biggest lesson that moving teaches you is to let go. I learned that I can't carry excess with me, especially since the new place that I'm moving into is smaller than my old place. Whatever wasn't necessary for me to keep is getting thrown away or donated. Old clothes, old appliances that have no more use for me like an old coffee maker, old sneakers I don't use any more, other old shoes I stopped liking, and the old memories of my ex.

With moving comes one thing: moving forward. I confess that I've been excited about the move because it's a new chance for me to start fresh. It's a chance for me to resurrect the old parts of myself that died during my heartbreak. 

I like the person I've become over the last year, and now I'll be starting the new year in a new place as a new Me. 

But first, I need to finish with this move. Ack! 

Tourists and Oddballs

It never fails. Always around the peek points of the holiday/tourist season, I tend to receive messages from two types of people: the tourists (as mentioned in an earlier post), and the oddballs. I think the oddballs get lonely around the holiday season because they are so odd that they find themselves alone. The oddballs resort to the internet in an attempt to resolve their loneliness problem. The tourists are just looking for some fun holiday sex.  

Observe the following: 

My response to this guy was the following: "Have you ever heard of a AAA Tourbook? Get one." This guy is basically looking for a piece of local ass - no strings attached. Think about it - who would message a total stranger on the internet just to "show them around." Please. Tourist.

Wassup indeed. This guy is using text lingo that I haven't seen since 1997. Oddball and Tourist. His location was from out of state so he gets both categories.. And that profile picture! WTF?

I haven't revealed my true age on this blog, but I'll tell you what - I'm no where near 48. Yuck. Oddball. 

I can't hate too much on this guy because the message, despite it's grammatical atrocities, was nice. However, a 49 year old!? Ew!!! NO THANK YOU. Oddball.

The New Hate

US election campaigns are in full swing. Supporters of each party are in full tide, with Donald Trump and his hate speech riding the crest of it. 

I'll be frank, I don't like Donald Trump. The man is a clown, the type of clown you see running around wildly with a machete and blood from unknown victims dripping down the blade. What's worse is his rhetoric. He spews hate speech, and his hate speech is having an impact on people around me. 

I see people I am friends with, on Facebook, posting some pretty horrible and racist things about Arabs and Muslims. Now, I'm a Palestinian Christian, but when you're brown, you're lumped in with Muslims, and Muslims, of which ironically Arabs are actually not the majority, are thought to be all Arabs. You see where I'm going with this? 

The current political and social climate feels like I've been rocketed back to the days of post 9-11, days that I was hoping to leave behind, days that I never want to relive again. They were days when I used to be terrified of walking home from the bus stop at school, wondering if someone was going to shoot me with a pistol. Days of hearing kids in the hallway saying that Arabs belonged in concentration camps. Days of being called a raghead or a sand nigger. Days of fellow students asking me, publicly humiliating me, if I knew a suicide bomber vest is made in their size. These weren't everyday occurrences, but they happened too frequently for my preference, and the result was making me feel isolated from the rest of the people around me. It was stressful.

It's starting again. I've received a couple of death threats on Facebook from total strangers. There's no merit to the threats, but it still sucks to receive them. Dating sucks again, too. People have become so desensitized to racism and prejudice that they don't even realize they are racist and prejudiced. 

The Love Bomber, despite his myriad displays of affection, also screwed up royally with me. One night, he came over to my place, excited to show me an episode of the show Curb Your Enthusiasm. The title of the episode was "Palestinian Chicken." Love Bomber touted it as a show of comic genius. He told me I'd love the episode. I wasn't sure what to expect. Larry David is a Jew, and most Jews in mainstream American media tend to portray Arabs as animals. This show was no exception. 

The show was abhorrent. It portrayed Palestinians as Jew-hating, over-sexed, animal-like creatures. It was some of the most racist rhetoric I had ever witnessed. Larry David hit a new low. 

Another fun dating instance was another guy who wanted to know my background, because "you look so beautiful and so exotic." This guy seemed okay. 

"I'm Palestinian." 

"What? Oh." His expression changed. "Yeah, that's a hot-button issue, but because you're gorgeous, I'm on your side." 

What? I didn't realize that my very existence as a Palestinian made me a "hot-button issue." 

It's the New Hate. 

Match Mismatch

photo credit: Match.com 

The first thing people told me to do when I was single again was to get on Match.com. I quipped, "But why, when I can go on other free dating sites?" 

"Because!" they would exclaim. "Those sites don't have quality men! It's not the same! A guy who is looking for the real thing will pay for it!" Much like you would a prostitute. 

So I gave Match.com a spin. It made me spin out. 

I am thrilled to report that after one year of Match.com membership, I cancelled. It was frustrating for multiple reasons. That Match.com Guarantee doesn't cash out. In fact, Match.com won't honor it. They place numerous strings on the Guarantee. When you try to claim it, then Match says that you failed in some manner or other and won't honor the Guarantee. By this time, I had a couple of dates from Match with men that were okay. They weren't the fireworks on the 4th of July, but they were okay. I would also find them on the free sites, like POF, OkCupid, or Tinder! I told the rep that I didn't want my subscription to be renewed after the second set of 6 months. 

For the last few weeks, I would receive "We Have No Matches For You Today." Really? Your name is freaking Match.com. Your job is to match me. How can you have no matches? I became frustrated. 

Then it appeared, a charge on my credit card from the notorious site. I immediately called my credit institution and filed a complaint with the site. It was ridiculous. I then called Match.com. Everything was eventually settled, but the customer service with Match.com was dismal. 

Bottom line: don't think a paid site is all that. I found that 90% of the time, the same men were also on free sites. They were all like me, hedging their bets across multiple dating networks. Some were in search of a real relationship, and others were in search of ass. 

I truly believe that meeting someone organically is the best way to meet them, but in today's world, nobody seems to approach anybody else in person any more. I haven't heard a good pickup line since 2005. Men don't seem to be charming, or try to woo a woman. It's a rarity. 

I might be a modern woman, but I still like the old school. 

Come on, gentleman, woo me.