Ah, crap! I think I hit an iceberg.

First of all, I’m not happy about the fact that my last couple of blog posts have been a bit rant-ish in flavor. But, I guess that’s what happens when you figure out that you’re living in hell and that your home is no longer your retreat. You turn into a grouch.

Before we get to my grouchiness, let’s flash back to me out with Chloe last night and how my outing with her, and some of the events that transpired, helped me to finally figure out that my situation with my neighbors has turned me into a kid looking for toys to smash (that’ll make sense in a minute).

Anyway, Chloe and I were having one last drink at a sport’s bar and after about 20 minutes of chatting amongst ourselves we soon became enfolded by a group of friends, about 15 guys, who had been standing just off to our right. These guys ranged in age somewhere between their early thirties to their late forties and were a mixed bag of Long Beach natives and Hollywood/L.A. livers. They were all out for the evening to help celebrate the birthday of one amongst them.

It was Birthday boy, a single guy, and one of his friends, who was also single and who looked like Taye Diggs, who had run Recon and first engaged Chloe and me. Then, little by little, almost like shift changes, wedding rings on their fingers or not, most of the guys from the group made their way over and joined the conversation. Each time two or three would meander away to get a new drink, a couple more would take their place next to Chloe and me. Then the new place takers would leave to get their new drinks and those who’d already been chatting us up would return.

They were a bunch of very nice guys. Chloe took a liking to the Taye look alike guy. Unfortunately, my beautiful, sweet Chloe was ever so slightly buzzed and had already given Birthday boy her phone number.

But I am a good wing woman, so just as we were about to leave I whispered into Taye guy’s ear and said, “Look. My friend really wants you to have her number. I think you are the one she is interested in.” “Really?” he said, “You think so?” Then I said, “I know so. I didn’t mean to say ‘think’, she said, straight out, ‘I should have given Taye guy my phone number, not Birthday boy. I’m interested in Taye guy.” (Chloe, of course, used their real names.)

Then I held my phone up in plain view for Taye guy to review. I did this so that if any of the guys from the group were to see Taye guy and I with our phones in hand they would surmise that he and I were exchanging phone numbers. Yet, I was scrolling down to Chloe’s number so that Taye guy could put her number directly into his phone. After Taye guy did that, he looked over at Chloe, who was not looking our way or paying any attention to us, and said, “Great. I am calling her cell phone right now so that she’ll have my number and can call me. When she sees the number, tell her it’s me and to call me.”

Whut!? My brain bounced in my head and I thought: Call you? She’s supposed to call you? Dude, I just told you that she’s interested in you and gave you her phone number so YOU could call her, not have her call you back. Would you also like me to call you tomorrow so we can schedule a time for me to come over and help you put your pants on? Be a man. WTF?

By the way, from the beginning Chloe and I didn’t think it would be completely cool for me to give Taye guy Chloe’s number when his friend had already just gotten got her digits, but Chloe and I discussed it, and she wanted Taye guy to have her number. Let’s also keep in mind that I owe Chloe the honor of girl code. I had no code with those dudes. What those dudes do, how they honor their friendships, that’s on them. I was Chloe’s wing-chick so my allegiance and assistance was to her, but for that dude to say, “Great. I am calling her phone right now so that she’ll have my number and can call me.” I thought that was chicken shit.

He’s supposed to be the guy. I could say that maybe he wanted Chloe to call him because it would make him feel better if she initiated the call, given the fact that his friend had already gotten her number, but he’d just accepted and already dialed Chloe’s number with the knowledge that his friend had her number. He doesn’t get to wuss out after that and pretend to have some moral code and leave the ball in her park.

But Chloe didn’t seem to mind. She told me she had no problem with the fact that he wanted her to call him. Then she told me that I am wired different. She didn’t have to say it out loud, but she basically was telling me that I have old fashioned standards like my grandmother. I didn’t take offense. I do have those standards. (Shit. That’s probably part of the reason I am still single.) I think men are supposed to behave like my grandmother told me they should.

I think everyone is supposed to behave like my grandmother said they should. Kids are supposed to say please and thank you. Strangers are supposed to help each other lift things into their car at the grocery store. And, people, like the husband of the neighbor butthead duo, shouldn’t spit at people. It’s just plain mean and wrong. (Yup. The jerko spat at me again yesterday as I was coming up the drive.)

And this brings me to my own personal iceberg. I think this butthead neighbor situation is what has been doing a number on me for the last couple of weeks. Ever since this situation erupted I’ve not slept. I’m jumpy. (Wait, I was jumpy before with these buttheads. One tends to be jumpy when loud crashes burst into the air space at least once or twice every hour on the hour between the usual incessant thumpity-thump of the regular intolerable noise.)

I’m getting spit at. The noise has not stopped; it’s getting worse every day. In fact, just tonight it sounded like they had a basketball team shooting hoops in their living room. How could that not drive anyone to become a bit grouchy? Ugh.

And sure, I feel like a relic when it comes to certain boy/girl standard operating procedures, because I know I am old fashioned. I accept that. But in the scheme of things, I know whatever annoyance I had with Taye guy’s cop out, him wanting Chloe to call him, rather than him call her, was disproportionate. Likewise, whatever disenchantment I’ve started to feel with the Mr. Fix Up situation hasn’t been proportionate either.

If I stand back, and look at the Mr. Fix Up situation for what it really is, and not how I am reacting to it because I seemingly need some sort of control in my life and also apparently want to complain about whatever I can because the buttheads have taken my safe home from me and have made me feel like I now have no control, I know whatever happens with this Mr. Fix Up, or does not, isn’t that big of a deal.

I trust my path in life, if Mr. Fix Up becomes part of this path, great, if he does not become part of this path, great. If some other guy becomes part of my path, great. If I end up moving to Mexico and shaking up with a cabana boy instead, also great. But…not so great is continuing to live next to the buttheads.

This brings Freud’s Iceberg Analogy to mind. This analogy is used to illustrate Freud's structure of the human mind. Just as only the tip of an iceberg is visible, while the vast percentage of the iceberg’s bulk is under water, only a fraction of our awareness, of or our conscious mind, is visible/apparent to us. This means that we’re rarely really upset about what we think we are upset by.

It’s kind of like how someone might break a nail and not cry over it, then, when all the shit in their life has hit the fan, a broken nail sends them into uncontrollable tears. Obviously, they’re not crying about the broken nail. The adult’s broken nail is no different than when young kids smash their toys or act out and start hitting. They are not mad at their toy. They don’t really want to hit.

Kids do not have the words to express what’s going inside nor do they understand why they are feeling the emotions they are feeling. Me? I don’t always get my feelings right away or get why I am reacting to something in a way I would not usually react, but when a disproportionate reaction does pops up or when my reactions start to feel strange, even for me, clarity usually makes its way into my understanding. And, I get it now, the stress and exhaustion of this neighbor thing is making me react to things I don’t usually get even slightly puffed over.

True, certain things will always bother me. I’m always going to be old fashioned. I will always think a dude is copping out if he puts the first call on the girl. But getting all buggered out about a guy I don’t even know not wanting details on me, that’s not me.

So when I woke up this morning, correction, when I was woken up this morning by a loud bang, that’s when I figured it out. I realized why little things have seemed to be bigger to me than they normally would be. It’s tough, you know, not having total control over a situation.

Until I know if I am going to get laid off, I cannot make a move away from my butthead neighbors. It would be stupid to plunk down $400.00 more a month on a place I am renting. That’s just too impractical. So, I have to wait. I have to wait to see if I am going to get to keep my job and wait to see if can even afford to move. This feeling of not having total control over my life makes me want to smash a toy that I am not even mad at.

Maybe I just need a stiff one. I need to use a tumbler tonight and pour a strong martini instead of a glass of wine.


Keep being fabulous!

Oh, and remember, if you are smashing your toys… It’s probably not the toy that you’re mad at.