If You Belonged Here

Goldfish Memory

Goldfish are smarter than you think. Not that you think about it. But I think about it. Because, well, because I think about it. Perhaps I should be thinking about other things, but I can't remember what they are.

There was a rumor circulating that Goldfish only had about 8 seconds of memory. I'm pretty sure Mythbusters cleared that up, and of course, since you all watch Mythbusters, there's no reason to tell you that goldfish can navigate mazes and remember directions.

Which is more than I can say for myself.

Not that I feel bad about that. Goldfish got game, people, but I got GPS. No contest. Unless of course, I end up driving off a cliff because Margot (that's what I call my GPS voice--trust me, it totally fits) tells me to drive off a cliff and I--being too distracted by talking on my cell phone whilst texting and shuffling my iPod to actually use common sense--comply. That is what I refer to as death by navigation but what people who drive near me might call poetic justice. Or leaving room for Darwin.

Anyway.

Goldfish have been proven to have memories lasting up to three months. Possibly longer. Perhaps these results were obtained through well-funded studies with impeccable controls. It's possible. But I'm guessing grad student thesis projects, so who knows if the data weren't botched, skewed, or invented. Unless, it was a government study. If that's the case, forget I said anything. Government grants have to be renewed--you know how that goes.

Remember the lemmings annual cliff run, people? Total hoax.

B*stards.

Whatever.

This is the thing. Time for me, unlike the unfairly maligned goldfish, seems to have lost all meaning. I seem to have the mythical, if not the actual, goldfish memory. Case in point: eight seconds after I started this post, I forgot what it was I intended to say.

Kidding. I never had any intentions.

I just blog as a form of procrastinating doing the dishes. Don't get me wrong, I'm not apologizing for it. You just read my blog as a way of procrastinating doing whatever the heck it is you're supposed to be doing. It's what we around here like to call codependency.

Don't panic. There are support groups. You just won't find them here.

In any case, I like to reminisce about when I used to be able to remember stuff. It's this whole fantasy I have about a time when I just knew, months in advance, what day and time I was expected at the dentist and then, when that day came, I arrived on time.

There is a chance, that like the lemming run, this never happened, but I like to believe it is true. And there are no government studies proving otherwise, although in all fairness, Mr. Poppins probably has contrary anecdotal evidence. But he doesn't have documentation, people, so let's just stay with me here.

I used to be on time and had a good memory.

I could remember all kinds of things. Like that a group of crows was called a murder.

Seriously, both The Dol and Mr. Poppins wrote me immediately to correct me when I called a group of crows a coven. Sure, it took The Dol a week to respond to Kokology and Mr. Poppins still hasn't, and probably never will respond, but call a flock of crows by the wrong archaic label and suddenly they got time. Whatever.

The point is I don't know anymore, not without checking. Not what to call a group of crows, not where I put my car keys, and not even how old I am. There are no blink-fast, jeopardy quick reflexes at work in my brain anymore.

At first this bothered me. Now I just kind of shrug a lot.

The Lizard

My yard, should you choose to believe it, is quite the wild kingdom. All .25 acres of it.

We've got these huge black bumble bees, flies--house, dragon, & butter--and spiders of all sorts. There's the occasional rat, you know, in the grill, or dashing behind the garden shed. We have all kinds of birds including a coven murder of crows. Yeah. A freaking coven murder of crows. Although, to be truthful, mostly they stay at the neighbors. There are worms, snails, and these weird creepy bugs called silverfish that live under our doormat. 

And then there are there lizards.

The lizards are funny. Sometimes they sit on top of the fence or on a bench doing these adorable little lizard pushups. Sometimes they chase each other under the teak table. Sometimes they just sun themselves on the sandstone slabs.

You know. Lizard stuff.

But the other day I was cutting through the garage, taking out the trash. Literally, taking out the trash. Not a euphemism of any kind. And when I opened the garage door, this gigantic lizard--maybe like a gila monster baby, if those are only about eight inches long--but seriously, gigantic when placed next to my bare foot--dashed into the garage, nearly knocking me over as it swerved past me on its way to Hank-knows-where.

That lizard had been lying in wait.

Now, I did what I always do under these circumstances. I called Mr. Poppins. Texted him. And called him again.

He was in a meeting. I used the word emergency. After all the lizard, so far as I could tell, was still hiding out in the garage. Where I park my car. Not that I planned on going anywhere at that particular moment. But eventually I would want to go somewhere. Maybe. And when that happened, I would need a plan.

Mr. Poppins was not nearly as impressed by the gravity of my situation as you might have expected. Now, you probably didn't expect much. But, I assure you, this was way less than that. He just didn't even care.

In an effort to impress upon my darling husband the extreme and vicious nature of the aforementioned lizard, I said, "I always knew I had my own personal serial killer stalking me, waiting for me to let my guard down, but I never expected that he would be so small and so green."

Mr. Poppins chuckled and told me to leave the garage door open in case the lizard wanted to leave, which, as far as I'm concerned would be all well and good. But what if the lizard wanted to stay. And invite friends.

I did not approve of that scenario at all. And yet, what else was there to do but chance it?

A week later, and I'm still not at peace with the situation, I have no evidence that the lizard, in all his menacing wickedness, has left or that he hasn't got a coven murder of evil creatures gathered waiting to attack and, you know, touch me on my skin. Or get stuck in my hair. Or clothes. Or any of any number of equally squeal-worthy scenarios.

Because this is how I like my nature: contained. And where I like my critters: at the zoo. And how I like my surprises: planned for.

I'm thinking that we need a web cam in the garage so that I can monitor the activity. Make sure the coast is clear. Whatever.

Pandora: Let the Distance Keep Us Together

(Because this post is about a break up and I'm an indie kind of girl, here's a playlist that I found about a year ago and love.)

Remember when you first met me and I told you that I didn’t do relationships? Remember how I said that I hated clingy and hated the thought of being tied down.  

Well, I, Pandora, decided to embark on a journey where few 19 year olds have gone. I decided to go the distance, literally.  I found a boy who I decided was worthy of letting myself go for.

He was cute.

He had a personality.

He was going somewhere in life.

He quit smoking for me.

However, he just happened to live in Ohio......

How did a Californian like me meet an Ohioan like him?

Simple:  London, England and drunk dials.  

We met on a summer school trip in Europe and we happened to hit it off.  Numbers were exchanged. Months went and there were no phone calls made until I received a drunk call from him.  

Drunken phone calls were made weekly.

Then, sober phone calls were made daily.

We made plans to see each other.

He flew here and I flew there.

Sparks happened and we decided to date.

I mean, how do you say no to a boy who’s flown across the country to tell you that he wanted to be with you and would do anything to make it work?

Those twenty days of togetherness ended, but we decided to keep the relationship strong.  We were already talking every day, we thought that it wasn’t going to be any different then it was before.  Now, it was just more official and there was commitment involved.  

I was on a cloud. This was relationship was perfect for me. I had space, I had someone who cared for me, and most importantly I had my life.  

Two months later, my best friend and I decided on making an epic road trip up to Washington to see her friends from college. Up in Washington, I met my best friend’s best college friend who happened to be a boy.  Don’t freak out, nothing happened with said boy. This boy was male Pandora with a little less confidence. Apparently my best friend likes to make best friends with people who give her good music and do stupid stuff to entertain her. So naturally, we became inseparable that weekend. 

We could both talk for hours.

We both could talk about bands that no one else knew about.

We both felt so comfortable spilling our lives out to each other.

He isn’t the reason I broke up with my ex. What this boy made me realize is how much I loved that connection between human beings. As a girl, I have needs.  I wanted someone physically there.  No, I’m not talking sexually.  This Washingtonian made me realize how much I love the connection that humans have with each other. 

He made me realize what I’m missing out on with having an out of state boyfriend.

Though I knew he would if he could, I couldn’t just call my boyfriend to hang out.  It’s kind of impossible to make spontaneous surprises when you’re 2441 miles away from each other.  I had reached the point in which my cloud was crumbling.  I was a wreck when I left him in that Pittsburgh airport.  How could I go through that each time?  I stopped using my heart and starting thinking with my head.  How could I build a serious relationship with a guy I would only get to see four times a year?  I looked toward the future and the idea of him moving out here freaked me out.  Him, leaving Ohio just for me, was immense pressure that I didn’t need. 

I’ve known for the beginning that he’d go to the moon for me.  However, I started thinking, would I do the same for him?   

I broke the news to him a couple days ago. It was one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do.  He understood, but I don’t think that he wanted to. I tried not to blindside him, but I don’t think that I did a very good job with that. We haven’t spoken since it happened.  I know he needs time to heal.  People, I really did crush his heart.  I’ve never crushed anything in my life.  I even avoid crushing most bugs.  The feeling wasn’t a good one.  

I don’t have any regrets dating him.  I learned more in two months from him than I have from most people. Though, I think right now he regrets dating me. I don’t think I made any mistakes. His friends hate me. I can understand why.  It just wasn’t fair to either one of us.  I didn’t want to miss out on something in college. If my feelings for him were slipping, why hold onto him any longer and let him hurt more later?  

The only thing that makes me sad is that I fear we’ll never be friends. I fear that because we dated, we can never go back.  The Dol is a firm believer in this. I’ve always thought I could do it. Then again, I always thought I could do the distance.  

I know this all sounds so deep for a two month relationship, but it really was real. We cared for each other. We weren’t in love, but we did have love and respect for each other. I’m glad he was part of my growing up. 

So, I, Pandora, am a changed woman.  

I want a boy physically there for me.  

I want that boy who I can look pretty for and go on dates.  

I want that boy to kiss me goodnight and hold my hand.  

I’m 19, is that so much to ask for? 

I just realized that I have neither told The Dol or Polly about this break up. Unless they’re bigger Facebook sluts than me (which I highly doubt) and saw my changed relationship status. Well, surprise! I’m sure there will be a conversation when I make it back down south. I’ll try to bring the wine.