On being lady-like.
On Saturday night, a guy friend said to me, “You’re kind of like a guy.” This has become the running joke about me, and I can’t say I’ve done a single thing to refute it. I’ve rarely minded when my lady friends make this joke, because I have had a tendency since my youth to be more tomboy than the average gal. I think this is the first time time a guy said it to me, and it hit me oddly. The feminist in me wonders what that’s supposed to mean (both the comment, and why it bothers me coming more from a guy than a gal). The self-conscious girl in me who was often told she looked like a boy in her adolescence wonders if whatever it all means is the secret reason behind my urge to grow my hair out again.
I got home rather tipsy that night and tried to write down my thoughts on it in a word document. It was bad. I suppose this is the aftershocks or the ripple effect of that, if you will.
I later had a dream that night that I was sailing the Bering Sea with the Time Bandit crew. At first I thought the dream was a heavy-handed metaphor for the turmoil of my current state of affairs, trying to figure out how to leave New York City, how to not be deadbeat broke, how to get my career back on track, how to meet men, romantically, again, (but not until I figure out where or if I’m going anywhere, first), and above all, how to find my motivation again, because I’m pretty sure it’s out at the corner bar getting a beer, complaining to the bartender about how it works and works and works and never gets any respect.
The dream probably was a heavy-handed metaphor for the turmoil of my current state of affairs, because there are other things it could be. It could be about my therapist, who keeps insisting that my problems stem from my daddy issues/lack of a father figure/dead father, and also keeps insisting, in relation to that, that all I really want is to be taken care of by a man (which is funny considering p1). It could be about the fact that I feel a strange relation to fishermen, the love of isolation and nature, the hunt for something elusive, the bravery in the face of uncertainty, the feeling like there’s just one thing on this earth that you’re born to do. I could be about the fact that I really like Johnathan Hillstrand in particular, for reasons there is no point expanding on because probably very few of you have seen the show. (Though you really, really should, but consult me on which episode to start with, or just watch it with me.) I could be about the aforementioned jokes about being like a guy. It could be all of this or none of it. It could be that I was reading something about Deadliest Catch right before bed.
But skipping before Saturday night, to Friday night, the reason I got all those texts from Erica (aside from her being hilarious and awesome, that is), is because I was running late to meet her after running into an old flame. (An old flame, who, speaking of dreams, I used to have a recurring dream about, taking place in the park that now separates the blocks he and I live on, long before either of us lived here. Anyway!) I bumped into him while walking down the street and he pulled me in to a bar and bought me a drink. And you know what he said to me (while I sipped whiskey and thought to myself that I was glad I had decided to put on my new dress before going out)? He said, “You look like a lady.” In hindsight, it feels like he knew I’d need that, somehow.