The Grass is Greener, but I Kinda Miss the Sand

Over the past 7 years I have moved to several international locations and now I am continuing to makd my way around my own country. From the outside it might appear that I enjoy moving, but this could not be further from the truth. I hate moving, and not just the actual activity of moving. I can live without packing, sure, but it's what you have to leave behind when you move that really gets me.

When I moved to Phoenix it was only meant to be temporary. I hated the city then and to be honest, I still kinda hate it now, but after two and a half years you cannot help but form a connection. After some reflection I have decided there will always be things I'll miss about Phoenix.

1. Restaurants and Bars: Four Peaks, Casey's, Pita Jungle, Oregano's, Hanny's, The Breakfast Club, The Farm and the hip new ones that seem to pop up almost weekly.

2. Being able to sit outside 12 months out of the year...yes, for about four of those months you have to sit in front of a swamp cooler, but the option is still there.

3. Frances on 7th St and Central

4. Shows at The Marquee

5. Seeing the blond girl with the really big lips at every Roger Clyne show...well, really just Roger Clyne shows, but that girl too.

6. Movies in the park at The Biltmore

7. Our local dog park

8. MoJo!

9. Being able to see my mom and step-dad regularly.

10. Hiking at South Mt and Camelback

11. FRIENDS!!!!!! My Martha, my Boy Bestie, B & B (I probably would have never moved there without them), Little Baby Alex, Amyz, Fawn, all my work buds (Suz, Andrew, Meghan, Jenna...) and the many others that shared my time there and made it not just livable but enjoyable.

The list isn't that long, but hey, there was a time when I probably couldn't have come up with more than 2 or 3.

Missed Connections

To say that I'm inept when it comes to matters of love and/or the opposite sex would be an understatement. In my life I have certainly kissed more boys than I have allowed to get to know me. I have wasted kisses on boys who knew little more than my name because God forbid they knew anything substantial about me. I was content to let them know what I kissed like, but shuttered at the thought of them knowing that and my inner thoughts. You could know one or the other, but few got to know both. It made sense to me. Most who did get to know both were not what I expected and thus I became more and more reluctant. I have throughout my adult life been involved with variations of the same guy; equally charismatic and heart breaking. Most of these relationships were based on infatuation, which always fades.

I have never kissed a boy first. It has been nearly a decade since I have told a boy that I am interested in him, and even then it was half-heartedly at the encouragement of my girlfriends. There is a pleasure in being pursued, even if it is by the wrong guy. But wouldn't there be more pleasure in being with someone that I actually like?

On too many occasions I have pushed away guys that I have been genuinely interested in because they knew me too well. Or even worse because they were not a variant of the aforementioned jerk. I know in my heart what I am looking for but seem only to work to not get it, to almost actively avoid it.

This leads me to think, why is there not a missed connections section to such situations? For example: "You know who you are. I'm sorry I didn't let you kiss me because I have a crap ton of issues that you are already well aware of. I should have but am not too embarrassed to say so in person. Please, try again at your earliest convenience." This section of Craiglist would surely be a hit. I am certainly not alone in my fear of putting myself out there. This way no one is embarrassed, no one feels let down. Think about it and spread the word.

Away I Went

My last few days in Phoenix were much harder for me than I had anticipated. Hendrix and I were home alone and between packing and cleaning all I could do was cry. Pack and cry, cry and pack. It was pretty miserable. My last day was excruciating. Dogs are very perceptive and Hendrix was just as miserable as me. I couldn't take it but had several hours to kill before "the last supper". With all my friends working I decided my time would be better spent in a dark movie theatre alone than sitting on my couch moping and crying (seriously, the tears were endless).

Knowing that it wouldn't be playing in my hometown I decided to go see Away We Go hoping that it would be at least somewhat uplifting. Plus, how can you go wrong with 90 minutes of John Krasinksi? Fearful of my first solo movie experience, I decided to go to AZ Mills knowing it would be far less likely that I'd run into anyone that I know, got my Cherry Coke and confidently sat, alone. It was a Tuesday afternoon so there were maybe half a dozen others in the theatre. No one even seemed to notice me. In fact, they probably didn't. Really, it isn't as much of a social catastrophe to go to a movie alone as I've always made it out to be. As the lights dimmed and the previews began to play I felt proud of myself, accomplished almost. Minus when I nearly burst into tears during a preview for a movie about Woodstock. Huh? I don't even understand that one.

The movie was perfectly balanced; funny and heartwarming. There were scenes were I laughed unabashedly and scenes were I fought back tears. I could relate to the idea of trying to find a place in the world where you feel like you belong. I understand the concept of being a grown up, but still not having grown up. I'm not sure I could have picked a better film for my first time alone experience.

On the way home I cried my eyes out, naturally. However, I still counted the experience as a victory.

Nice Guys Can Be Great Men

As I get older I have to admit that I spend more time thinking about what kind of man I'd like to spend the rest of my life with. Not that I'm looking to get hitched, but I'm not getting any younger so I can't be wasting my time with schmucks. My mom and I concluded some time ago that I have spent most of my adult life trying to find a man like my brother, when I really need to be looking for someone like my dad. Now don't get me wrong, I love and adore my brother. He is an amazing father and has grown and matured into a pretty awesome guy, but in his younger days he was troubled but charismatic. I used to joke that he had more charisma in his little finger than I did in my entire body. People were drawn to him. Girls were intrigued by him and mistakenly thought they could fix him. I never set out to fix anyone, but I was still drawn to the troubled soul. My heart got broken every time.

My dad on the other hand, although somewhat of a play boy in his younger years (as reported by my mom), can be described first and foremost as being nice. He's genuine and kind. He's thoughtful and giving. He's intelligent and interesting. He's a problem solver. He's a good listener because he actually care about what I have to say. He's a loyal and honest friend. He loves his family more than anything and spent his adult life ensuring that his parents were taken care of. Most people probably wouldn't describe him as being funny, but he seems to share his sense of humor for my brother and I. He makes me laugh and he makes me think. He's aged similarly to Robert Redford, but seems completely unaware that so many women find him handsome. The older he gets the more it becomes obvious that he just like his own father, who sadly passed away five years ago this past week. My grandpa was a quintessential nice guy, and proof that inside a nice guy there is probably a great man. I miss him daily...

I wrote this last year in memory of him and it seems even more true today than then:
"As a little girl my grandpa was my hero. He was a tall man with strong, workman's hands, yet he was a gentle soul. He always made me feel safe and special. When I struggled as a teenager to come into my own he never failed to tell me I was beautiful and I always believed him. He wasn't the kind to say something he didn't mean.; you could never accuse him of being disingenuous (something I hope I inherited from him).

The older I get though the more I realize that they just do not make men like him anymore. Men today do not seem to be made of the same moral fabric. My grandpa was a man of few words but when he spoke you damn well better be listening. He did not waste his time or words with idle chit chat or gossip (clearly those of you who know me well know that I was not blessed to inherit this trait). You often hear people say, "If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all", yet few of them take their own advise. My grandpa lived that mantra. I can honestly say I never heard an unkind word come out of his mouth and in turn I believe I'd be hard pressed to find anyone who could say an unkind thing about him.

It's hard to imagine a man of such few words would have such a biting sense of humor, yet he could make me laugh like no other. He was quick witted and quietly charasmatic. He would be straight faced one moment and up dancing along to the Grand Ol' Opry the next. Always looking to get a laugh out of his grandkids, he would play with his dentures at the dinner table. His favorite joke ended with the punchline "Sally ate my candy and I hope it rot her damn teeth out". Something utterly amusing and inappropriate for a 8 year old to hear. His laugh was more infectious than the flu; when he laughed you laughed because like everything about my grandpa his laugh was genuine. You knew it was coming from the pit of his stomach and could read it all over his face.

You could also easily see the love he had for my grams. In a time when most men ruled their homes, he treated my grams as an equal. Their marriage was a partnership. He depended on her not only for meals and child rearing but for financial guidance and business opinions. More than that, her love and support kept him going. Growing up I always smiled at the magnet on their fridge that said "Happiness is being married to your best friend" because for them it was so true. He would sing "Here she is, Miss America" as she brought our dinner to the table. Well into their seventies they would sneak a little hand holding in church. Seeing them kiss at their 50th wedding anniversary is one of the few reasons I still believe in love and marriage. It also helps that there is no doubt in my mind that he loved her just as much the day he died as the day he married her. There is no doubt that she is still loving him the same way.

Sadly, I have lost a lot of grandparents in my life - I often joke that the worst part about having three sets (my mom's parents were divorced) is when they start passing away - but losing my grandpa was by far the hardest. It still is. I don't think there is a day that goes by that I don't think of him or thank God that I was able to properly say good-bye. Yet, there is a comfort in knowing that he is in a better place where he no longer has to suffer. There is the comfort of the memories and knowing that I was blessed to have him as long as I did. There is the hope that somewhere in this world there are still men like my grandpa and that maybe someday I'll be lucky enough to find one half as great."