Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

Lawton and I got into a fight today. Or more accurately, I got extremely pissed off at Lawton today.

Brief history about Lawton and me: we met when we worked together a week before he moved to Denver. We had instant ‘chemistry’ (for lack of a better word)… or the ability to relate and get along so well. We stayed friends for two years while he lived across the country. Now, we have had feelings for each other (so strong that I actually broke up with Mike-one of the many times- because I had such strong feelings for someone that wasn’t my boyfriend and felt wrong about being with Mike) but they have developed into a strong friendship. A platonic friendship that has worked its way into a business partnership. And a business partnership that has worked its way into a marriage. We bicker about the dumbest things, but balance each other out so well. He has truly talked me through some difficult ‘life things’, and I can only hope I have done the same for him. And somehow it all works. So, as my business partner, he restrains me from making irrational decisions, and I keep him on a focused, organized path. And as friends, we are so completely honest that we can very easily hurt the others’ feelings, yet have a blast hanging out and very well making fun of the other for those issues we are so honest about.

Lawton and I got a Verizon phone plan together in order to simplify our business expenses, communication and expedience in which he received a Florida telephone (when he was moving from Denver). He picked out the Blackberry Pearl so he could receive his emails, text easily, etc, and I order it, set up the plan, get the phone to him and help him with the Blackberry set up. Well, apparently the part the holds the battery to his phone clicks. It like isn’t completely intact and therefore annoys the hell out of him. Neurotic as it is, when you spend $250 on a piece of electronic equipment, you expect to be satisfied. And satisfied he is not. So, I tell him I will call Verizon to try and remedy the situation. I tell dear Linda of the issue and after 10 minutes of discussion and holding, she informs that I must go to a Verizon retailer to verify there is an issue with the phone and “they will know what to do from there.” There is a Verizon store across from our office, so after lunch, I suggest we stop in there… again, to alleviate HIS problem that I am so graciously handling. We go into Verizon and dealt with a pleasant girl that was just diagnosed with cancer, broke her pinky toe, lost her cheating husband to her mother and had a chip on her shoulder bigger than Mt. Everest. Needless to say, she was pleased to make us her “number one priority.” She opened another Pearl which did the same thing, we tried a different back and Lawton was still not satisfied. So, Katie decides to call Verizon and ‘verify’ our issue to try to get him a new phone, regardless of whether or not she feels there is a problem. Perhaps she dealt with Linda as well, and after a long period of holding and ‘research’, hung up the phone. During this 45 minute period, I am waiting and the counter and Lawton is playing with other phones and looking around the store. For the moment Lawton was at the counter, seeing my frustration, he has the nerve to say, “Well you ordered it!” (“Yes please, can I have the refurbished one with the malfunctioning back? I mean, if you’re out of those, I will just be put on the waiting list…”) Katie then tells us she will give Lawton a new back, we try yet another back on, and it still clicks. I’m irritated. Lawton is irritated. Katie just plain hates life and therefore is extremely irritated. She tells him “it’s just the way it fits”, so which Lawton so kindly (sarcasm) rebuts, “you mean the way is DOESN’T fit?!” To this I am not only irritated, but embarrassed. So Katie tells Lawton he can exchange the phone for another if he brings in the box and the charger and all the accessories. Obviously, no more can be done right here or right now. So I thank Katie for her patience and attempt as assisting and we exit. Lawton then proceeds to say, “Well that was a great idea.”
Ugh- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!
I respond, “What?” And he says it was a great idea to stop at the retailer. Like I thought it up and promised him a resolution to HIS problem. I am furious. I yell at him in the parking lot about how I am going out of my way to help him with his neuroticism, handle everything and he shows his appreciation with a lack of respect and continuance of blame towards me?!? I sit in the car, fold my arms and refuse to speak to him… at this point; he could probably see smoke out of my nostrils as I exhaled. We get back to the office and he keeps asking me if I am okay, if something is wrong and if I am mad at him. I tell him I am mad and that I want to finish working and go home. So I finish working, he sits there as I do not include him or even allow any of his effort toward my task and get up to leave. He’s talking to me in the parking lot about tomorrow and I am short with him and cut him off by getting in my car. He calls me on the way home to find out what is going on with me.
Now, I don’t know if it is a woman thing, pride thing or a man thing- the way all of this went down. I do know that it is very stereotypical; guy makes comment, girl gets pissed, girl refuses to talk to guy and continues to tell him she’s ‘fine’. So he calls and asks what my problem is… and I tell him. I tell him that his lack of respect is unacceptable and that I was only trying to help him and furthermore, his lack of appreciation and recognition for my efforts are exhausting. He then tells me he was joking and that he thought I ‘knew him better than that’. I explain to him that he was pissed at the Verizon clerk, then snaps as me and I am supposed to know that flipped the switch from pissed to joking?!?! Really? So he explains that we are both under a lot of pressure, we want to get this business started and we will be fine once we start working and making money. I tell him I’m done talking about it and get off the phone.
Tonight, I get this email:

Hey,

I'm sorry for the way I talk to you sometimes. I honestly do forget, since we are such good friends, how it can come across when in a professional setting. I promise to stop doing that, immediately! I know we're both anxious to begin. That is an understatement. It really has come together quickly when you think about it. I just think we're so excited and ready for it to begin that we lose patience. I do appreciate all that you do and have done, and I need to let you know that more often.

I believe so strongly in what this can be Alicia. I am absolutely confident in both of our abilities to make this a great success. It is ours. It may not be much now, but when we sit down a year from now, it will be with a steadily growing book of business, and a company that is on the way to becoming financially strong. Security will come. It will happen. I couldn't think of one person I would rather be involved with. I truly mean that. Ttyl.

Lawton

I joke with him about how I “don’t know if I can do this”, working with him everyday and dealing with him as my friend and business partner. We get frustrated with each other, but we still deal- simply for the fact that we have such aspirations for our business and the others’ ability to balance it out and make it all work in the end. I was a bit surprised by his email, but nevertheless satisfied. It really proved that no matter how much he pisses me off, this really can work. I know I’ve mentioned balance a hundred times already, but it’s really what we do. And regardless of how much PMS-ing, bitchiness or moodiness he deals with, he’s still there for me and willing to apologize. I am well aware that I probably overreacted but yelling at him and refusing to speak to him, but at least he admitted fault for the initiation of it. Not to mention he didn’t give up. He called me after we left and then wrote me an email when he got home. His persistence is refreshing… and since I consider it a work-marriage, I am encouraged by the fact that he would go to lengths to settle the issue. I will never understand him, and he will never understand me; but we collectively, we understand that.

Chaos

I have come to the determination that I love chaos. Now, I know most of you are thinking, well duh, Alicia, we have always known this, why have you not? For years I have just said I like to be busy. I like to work multiple jobs, coach soccer, see my family and spend time with my friends… plan it all, do it all, and live it all. I think my love for chaos is directly related to my problem with procrastination. For example, I cannot get something done right now because later, if I have nothing to do, then I will really have nothing to do. (My ADD is in full affect as I write this blog, so please; try to stay with me here.) If it is Saturday and I have nothing going on (and by nothing going on, I mean no meetings, soccer games, lunches or punctual plans), I think to myself, I can clean my room, do laundry, vacuum, etc. So I go to the living room and find a movie on TV. (I am dissecting my mind here, I am never aware of literally thinking like this.) Because if I don’t watch this movie, and I clean my room, do my laundry, clean the house and later… maybe Sunday, if I have nothing going on, there may not be anything on TV, my ‘chores’ will be caught up, and I will really have nothing to do. And Lord knows my ADD butt cannot have ‘nothing’ to do (being a grammar freak this sentence makes me cringe). So I think that is why I put things off and put things off. Not to mention create more and more tasks for myself. I find no peace in the word simplify (ironic because I never find peace- see I can’t even find peace with peace). Maybe this is why I like yoga… or sleep so much, because it involves peace. Which is interesting because I have begun (and by begun I mean that I am halfway through) reading Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. I love this book so far. I cannot tell you the countless self-help books, or work tool books I have begun reading and stopped because I get distracted or bored. This is a story, an escape, of this woman’s life and yet I am taking so much from it, reading it as a self-help, or as I’d prefer, a self-discovery book. I am truly digesting her experience and learning the things she writes about. I am digesting and learning so much that I broke out the highlighter and have begun highlighting important points, things relatable to me and my life. And I relate, oh, how I relate to this woman. Currently, I am in India with Liz (metaphorically, not literally), at a Yogic ‘University’, where we study mostly meditation for now. Meditation is something I never understood. Yoga was never something I understood. I play soccer. I run miles. I cannot sit on a mat, stretch, chant and meditate. Ignorant, stubborn me, oh how God works (which is a-whole-nother blog we will get to one day). I was instructed to do yoga by my dermatologist because he said I needed to relax. I need to relax because my psoriasis is stress related. Obviously, with chaos and busy-ness in your life, stress is a prevalent aspect; and one in which I have come to love. So you see, if my life is chaotic, I am stressed, and if I am stressed, then I have psoriasis flares, and if I have flares, then I have worry, and if I busy being worried, then I have chaos. Vicious circles. My life. Back to the doctor. When he ‘prescribed’ yoga to me I laughed. Literally. And neglected his order. I did phototherapy, took pills that required blood work weekly and eventually resorted to injections. Nothing has cured me, most have helped momentarily, but none of these powerful attempts have cured me or cleared my skin completely. And I am not here to pose witness that my psoriasis was healed from yoga. But all the while, I started doing yoga about 2 months ago (approximately 2 years after my doctor suggested I try it). It was such a peaceful experience. Something so unlike the rest of my life. It was a retreat from my busy, chaotic life, and as hard as it may have been, truly allowed me to relax. The sessions are usually concluded with meditation. Again, something that I never understood. This is probably because it is difficult for me, and to be frank, things that are difficult to me, I do not understand and therefore do not attempt. But I lay, relaxed, focused, meditating, and I fall asleep… and this sleep which may sound so simple, is really the essence of the meditation. Because I am not actually sleeping, I am in a meditative state, which I call sleep because I do not know any better. The greatest part of my ‘nap’ is when they ring this bell, which is more like a xylophone, and it gives this high pitch ding, that if in this state, literally electrifies throughout your body. You feel it in every vertebrae of your neck and spine, through your legs and down to your toes. It is a pretty incredible experience. Especially for me, the skeptic. Which is good because if I felt nothing, I probably wouldn’t have gone back. Now, back to the point, I am relating to this writer and her ‘monkey-mind’ as she meditates. I have a serious case of his ‘monkey-mind’, especially when I try to focus on yoga or meditating, where my mind jumps from limb to limb and doesn’t stop. My ex-boyfriend, Mike, and I used to be having a conversation about something, we’d be silent for say, 30 seconds, and I would ask or say the most random off topic thing. I would try to explain how my mind works (“See we were talking about x, which reminded my of y, which is something A experienced, whose uncle is a movie star, which made me think about LA, which made me think about the low carb diet.”) but he would never understand. So, this ‘monkey-mind’ theory made me analyze my life and why I am this way. Why am constantly jumping from one task/thought/passion to another? If I don’t find instant gratification or satisfaction is something or one thing, I skip onto the next, never fully completing the original task/thought/passion. Since I am not at any peace with my life or within it, I cannot discontinue this ‘monkey-mind’ way of life.

Therefore, I have come to realize my life is extremely chaotic- there is no peace, there is not a lot of understading. Furthermore, I have realized that I take pleasure in the chaoticness of my life. And I don’t think I want to anymore. I am pretty sure that I want this out of my life, or the controlled aspect of it, out of my life.

Interestingly enough, I looked up the meaning of chaos. I got these definitions:
1. a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order.
2. any confused, disorderly mass: a chaos of meaningless phrases.
3. the infinity of space or formless matter supposed to have preceded the existence of the ordered universe.
Case and point: I first titled this blog Organized Chaos. But then saw the first definition and decided that is an oxymoron and I am really not organized. I have extremely high organization tendencies- but I am not organized. At least right now I am not. The second definition pretty much sums up this blog. And the third struck me as I am relating my chaos to a state in which I yearn, meditated. I am aware that I cannot have a peaceful, focused, meditative ability in a self induced chaotic life. So I find it funny that the third definition describes the order of the universe… and that chaos is was allegedly what preceded the order of the universe. [To bring it ALL home] Consequently, I am embarking on a more peaceful, and more focused life, an ordered universe that will follow the chaos that identified my life for the past 22 years.

Becoming an adult.

At what age do we cross over from young adult to authentic adult? Until now, I had always imagined there was some sort of fantasy adult threshold you cross sometime shortly after college and before getting married. However, I am continuously being proven wrong. I assumed after graduating college and entering the “real world” (possibly extending young adult life a little longer until one is reproducing) that women stop creating caddy ‘reality-show-esque’ drama, men forego speaking of how they ‘hit it’, and both parties alike discontinue illicit and illegal drugs, keg stands, beer pong, flip cup, jager bombs, tequila shots and partying until they heave. Don’t get me wrong. Many aspects of my life consist of some of the aforementioned activities… but I am 22 year young and use those as my last little hope of holding on to my youth. And maybe that’s really what it all boils down to. These people that have so recently crushed my delusion of adulthood just want to think they are still young.
I am one to spend time with a melting pot of individuals. We all know I like to talk, am fairly talented at get others to talk and take pleasure in the mere event of socialization. Whether a child, teen, adult or dirty old man, I take it where I can get it. As I mature, I have been integrating an older assembly of friends into my life- that have brought my dreams of adulthood to a screeching halt. I spent some time drinking with friends between the ages of 30 and 35, men I have gotten to know pretty well, some married, some not. They still speak of women (for lack of a better word… obviously not verbatim, nevertheless, I intend to keep the vowel intact) whom- in their glory days I’m sure- they once ‘hooked up with’ or how their single friends ‘hit that’ in Vegas. On another occasion, I sat with a 32 year old friend and discussed the times I ‘experimented’ with marijuana in high school. He then informed me he had a plant of weed growing in his backyard at one point. The backyard of his house. That he owns. That is on a golf course. Really? Really. Another friend, about 35 years old, described how he loved marijuana, cocaine, and above all, ecstasy, but refrained from doing them on a regular basis since he had an addictive personality. Then he proceeded to order another round of jager bombs. Since I am not completely sexist, I have to divulge some of the examples of careless female adults as well. As much as I do not like to expose my own kind, I must not bestow a biased opinion. A 35 year old mother and teacher at a local elementary school recently depicted a night of drinking ‘at the property’ (think back to the keg parties in the woods when we were in high school- bon fire, beer, big trucks- this time with children running around probably pretending they are Nascar drivers) when she was, AND I QUOTE, “shit-faced hammered”. She then advanced upon about her flashing her breasts to her husbands friends, throwing up down the side of her truck and passing out on her lawn (albeit momentarily, the event still occurred). A 40 year old woman I previously worked with created Hills-worthy drama within the office, to the point where she was let go because of it. Hell, the informant of all gossip within Outback-Bonita is one of the oldest employees we have. She knows everything. And disperses it continuously.
Now, as I am far from sheltered, I assumed their would be Van Wilder type men out there that relive their ‘old glory days’ and speak of how many ‘hoes’ they pulled, their pledge class drinking record still hanging at their frat house, and the time they won a beer pong tournament without drinking a single cup. Frankly, I have multiple friends that will end up like this. I also pictured the 40-something, typically blonde, counterfeit-breasted ‘lady’ wearing Forever 21, Charlotte Russe, or my personal favorite, Rave, sliding down her stool at the bar as she slurs discusses the difference between highlights and lowlights. Perhaps a depiction of a family member, this type is not in which I would not socialize among, nor will any of my friends result in. I just never presumed the epidemic would be this prevalent. I just thought ‘growing-up’ happened. Apparently, I am mistaken. And maybe advertising is to blame. Everyone wants to stay young, attractive and sought after. Luckily, I have learned this lesson early enough to not be completely disappointed and prevent myself from this ugly path.

The majority of these events have unfolded within the past six months. Shocked, I digest these stories and begin to ponder. Is this how my life will unravel in my thirties? I know I want to continue to have fun, have girl’s night out, drink martinis during happy hour and have a glass of wine with my fictitious husband before dinner. Will these activities lead me down a reckless path of attempting to clutch on to my youth? I yearn to sip happy hour cocktails and discuss politics; the stock market; and why Roth IRA’s are so beneficial (picture me sitting at the country club with my husband and our close couple friends as our children attend golf and tennis lessons). Does this mean my life will be boring? That I will no longer relate to 20-somethings? Be it if it may, I wish to arrive at the brink of my adult threshold with beauty, class and a dirty martini.