How's Your Social Life?

As my boss was leaving work today, he stopped at the threshold of my office and asked me, "How's your social life?"

Taken aback, I kind of chuckled and replied, "Not great."

Then I started to backtrack and say that my social life is actually OK, but my boss said, "It seems like you have been happy again lately. Maybe it's just the start of baseball season."

Again, I chuckled and agreed. The start of another season for my beloved Yankees has helped to lift my spirits. But clearl y that's not it. I've decidedly been in a funk the past few weeks, particularly since I found out about B in D.C. and the new girlfriend. But the funk started before that, weeks ago, at least since the middle of March, and my boss has noticed that maybe I've emerged from the other side.

But this conversation has been bothering me all evening. My social life really isn't bad. It's just that when it isn't going well (read, when boys aren't doing what I want them to do), it seems awful. But looking at the last week:

• I went to New York;
• Saw a bunch of friends;
• Met a guy, J, who is promising but for the fact that he lives in NYC;
• Went to a brand new club and saw three bands;
• Threw a brunch for three friends;
• Had dinner with two different friends Monday night;
• Dinner with another friend Tuesday night;
• Played softball Thursday night;
• Declined to answer several phone calls from a guy I went on a date with the week before;
• Went to hear David Sedaris read his stories on Friday night;
• Went sea kayaking Saturday;
• Went to church and a brunch on Sunday;
• And J called from New York.

There's one week in my life. Granted, a particularly busy week, but a single week nonetheless.

So why did I reply that my social life is "not great"?

Maybe it's the guy in D.C. who has his new girlfriend who may or may not be better than me. Maybe I'm lonely. Maybe it's because my English ex-boyfriend phoned this afternoon and I missed him the second I heard his voice, though I haven't seen him in nearly three years.

This is one of those things I'm not going to figure out any time ever. Things are actually back on the upswing again. Or maybe I've stopped wallowing.

Too many maybes, too few answers.

Maybe there are not answers.

Oops.

My Sister Was Right

Bonus day! I'm backlogged on things to post about since my computer died two weeks ago and my new one just arrived. It's been a huge impediment not to have internet access at home, but I've survived and am OK, with a few minor complaints.

Lack of internet access, in fact, may have been a blessing. Although I've extolled the virtues of internet stalking in the past, I think my days surfing Friendster may be done.

Last Sunday I went to work and logged onto e-mail. Literally, my main purpose in going to the office was the internet access. I made the usual rounds, checked my four e-mail accounts, regular blogs, Pitchfork, New York Times, etc. I logged onto Friendster and was surprised to see that my D.C. boy had updated his profile. If you will recall, we spent a great weekend together over St. Patrick's Day. He talked about moving here, asked what we were to do about our situation, etc. (See, "It's SO Not Over" for details). I really thought this last visit was different and that things might be headed for a good resolution. So imagine my surprise to find that he changed his relationship status to "In a Relationship", less than a month after he had been sharing my bed and telling me he wanted to make me happy.

I lost it, a little bit. I got confirmation from our mutual friend. I considered calling him and screaming, blocking him from viewing my Friendster profile, or any number of extreme solutions. Because I hate looking crazy, I opted for the simplest choice and deleted his phone number for what is probably the sixth or seventh time.

Our mutual friend told me that he hadn't lied to me that weekend. And thinks he was sincere when he said if he lived here he would date me in a second. But the problem, I learned, is that he desires convenience above all else. And at this point in time, I am highly inconvenient. This guy moves to a new city and gets a new girlfriend almost immediately because apparently he is incapable of being alone.

He is weak. And I despise weakness.

This latest development in the ongoing saga may be the last. He has disappointed me more times than I can count. He made me no promises, to be sure -- but he intimated many things. And as usual, I read into those intimations what I wanted, rather than seeing what was infront of my face. When he asked if I believed that timing is everything, I didn't realize he was creating his own rabbit hole down which to escape. To be sure, the timing has been off since the day I met him. It will probably never be right. And even if it is right one day, I don't know if I could ever trust him completely and believe that he wouldn't just move once again and leave me in the dust.

I hate to admit it, but my sister was right. When she met him, she saw trouble. I wish I had seen that the day I met him, and saved myself several years of agony.

As Easter Sunday Ends

Another Easter Sunday has nearly come and gone. If I measured my years by my Easter celebrations, it actually would serve as a fairly good description of my life.

As a child, my sister and dyed eggs and our parents woke up early to hide them in our frigid backyard. When we woke up, we found baskets filled to the brim with Easter candy and other assorted treats. Then we would bundle up, head outside and hunt for eggs. One particularly memorable year, when I was perhaps five and my sister perhaps three, my parents kept shouting to her, "Look over there! What's over there?" As my sister toddled over to the egg, I would swoop down and steal it infront of her eyes. The process repeated ten to twelve times until the eggs were all found. My mother stated it best when she said it's amazing my sister likes me as much as she does, particularly with respect to that incident.

As we grew older, we spent boring Easter Sundays at church, wearing pretty but uncomfortable dresses that were too springlike for the weather. Those mostly blend together.

In college, my freshman year Easter is the only one that stands out in my mind. The night before, I had drank too many mudslides and nearly thrown up. Sunday morning, I reached a hungover hand off my bed and picked up a piece of candy sent in an Easter care package by my church. Unfortunately as I tasted the peppermint patty, the mudslides of the night before came rushing back to me ... literally.

Law school Easters, always too close to exams, were spent eating a solitary meal of Boston Market, save for my last Easter. Postings past described the Easter on which I was dumped in Argentina.

This year, it would seem that at last I am a "grown up." I went to a 9 am church service; attended a brunch at a friend's house (where, granted, there were Bloody Marys and Mimosas galore); and then acceded to my boss' request to take photos from the shore of she and her family leaving on a cruise. The perfect balance of obligation and fun, it would seem.

The sermon this morning was thought-provoking in several respects, only one of which I will share. The minister stated that this year he pondered the difference between fact and truth. With respect to the story of Jesus' resurrection, he stated that we don't know the facts of the event, but that it's fundamental truth is undeniable, because thousands of years after his death, people still celebrate his teachings.

I don't know that I necessarily agree with the fundamental truth of the story, but his point is well-taken. We may never know the facts of events in our lives -- the how, the why, the why me?. But the fundamental truth of remains because it is what it is. For example, you don't know why someone falls out of love with you, but yet, they do, and you're left alone. The facts of how it happened may differ based upon your perspective, whether the dumper or the dumpee. But is indisputable that you are no longer together, no longer a couple, and you are alone. And that is the fundamental truth.

The point, I think, is not to worry about things we can never know. We know the truth of a situation, or of our lives, and that's the most you can know. The facts, whatever they may be, may never be discernible, and maybe they don't have to be. Things just are what they are. It doesn't matter why.