Maculated Returns

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maculated

Trad climber

San Luis Obispo, CA

Topic Author's Original Post - Oct 29, 2008 - 01:25am PT

I am posting this because I need a break from trying to revise this manuscript I have for a book . . . enjoy.

The day is July 6th and it's been 3.5 months since I had shoulder surgery to repair a torn labrum that I'd lived with for the past five years.

I still remember that day, with Art and Meg in Bishop. Because it was appropriately festive, I woke up in the Pit and blasted Outkast's "Happy Valentine's Day" to all the Cal Poly adventure club kids that happened to be there as well. Ahh, the day of Love. Love wasn't on my mind that particular year - just the climbing! Now we're down in the gorge - one of my favorite places to knock out a proud day's worth of routes. We've moved on from easier stuff and we're set up at the Health Club on "Bow Down to the Standard White Jesus."

That blasted sloper sidepull. The feeling of my humerus separating from its socket, only to pop back in again as I fell onto the rope. It was not proud, it was purely mundane: nothing a little vitamin IB couldn't cure.The saddest irony of all? When I took my friends back to it a few weeks before surgery, they decided the move was totally avoidable. I didn't HAVE to do it to pull it.

Homage to Johnny Cash in front of the route.

And yup, my shoulder hurt, but not so much that I didn't leave my partners the next day and drive into Lee Vining Canyon in full snow-regalia to catch a ride on an ice climb top rope that has been set up by friends from the college adventure club. Glissading down the slopes, laughing, driving back to the hotel singing the new Offspring album . . . I need more IB . . . but whatever.

The next few months are a series of frustrations - sending Froglands in Red Rocks trying not to use the arm, proctoring these huge humanities lectures with a 48" sling tied up to support my arm because gravity kills, lying on the cement outside my house stretching my arm so I can reach up again. Trying, and failing, at doing pull ups.

Then there was the temporary compartment syndrome thing at Red Rock Rendezvous - my arm would get tired immediately and intensely and leave me totally useless. Frustration in Eldo Canyon on 5.8s I just couldn't send . . . bouldering at the old SLO Op and never being able to get strong enough to reliably send V2.

The passion waned. I loved the people, but I slowly stopped leading, and then I slowly stopped following. I was always, always the weakest link. I took up mountain biking and road riding, but it's not the same. I tried surfing, but I was never strong enough to paddle fast enough . . . and finally, it just hurt sitting and typing at my computer.

Three doctors later, I am sitting in this little exam room with a window looking out to the parking lot for more than an hour. The Kerlan Jobe clinic. I walked into its fancy marble entrance, looked around and the enormous athletes hobbling on crutches, and spent my alone time rewinding in my head all the, "We won't do surgery on you." You're too heavy. You're not fit enough. Your joints are too lax. Try a different pastime. I was plumb-scared. I never get scared. Tears welled a bit in my eyes, and here I was in Los Angeles after a four hour drive, in this little cave of a room, and I honestly wanted my mommy.

The doctor walked in and smiled at me as I went through my whole speech. He did his tests, "Does this hurt? Does this hurt?" No, nothing ever hurt. It would hurt in an hour or two. Then he sat back easily and said, "We can fix this. Talk with my nurse to schedule surgery." That's it? No explanation, no excuses. "But, but, I'm too fat?" He smiles pathetically at me. "What's my success rate? Other doctors told me 40%." He smiles again: lips tight, eyes patronizing - "Oh, I'd say 90%." Oh. Well. Okay.

And here I am, calling the nurse and setting the date. March 21st. Coincidentally, this is the traditional first day of the astrological year. It's not lost on me, how people check the heavens and stars for clues and here I am . . . on the cusp of a radical life change that's going to affect me in so many ways, I don't even know.

People told me to get my hair cut, to buy industrial-wedding-day strapless bras, to prepare for months and months of pain and discomfort. I bought a myriad of button-down shirts because t-shirts weren't going to be an option. I stocked up on bromelaid, turmeric, glucosamine, MSM, and chondritin. I did push ups and weights every day. I did everything I possibly could because I wanted to be one of those amazing recoveries and success stories. No drinking, lots of protein, only the best.

Surgery came and went, and my father accompanied me through it. When we got home and I took photos of my eyes all dilated from the nerve block and settled into my massive DVD collection, my dad looked at me and said, "Clearly, I am more in your way than a help" and drove home to the Bay Area. Yes, not four hours after surgery, I was going to be just fine.

Don't get all excited. I'm wearing a tube top. Check out my mismatched dilated eyes from the nerve block.

The recovery story isn't that good. It didn't hurt much, and I came to appreciate little things like being able to shave my armpits and put my hair up in a pony tail. T-shirt donning was a red-letter day. Getting on a bike and riding a mile pain free was a blessing. I even went for a run (even though I am no longer advised to thanks to multiple past dislocations and hard core cartilage damage) just to feel the distinct lack of discomfort. Suddenly I was able to carry the laundry basket, or reach for something on the top shelf. It just felt good.

My physical therapy has just been weight training, mainly. My PT says I'm a shark bumper: one of those people who get their legs bit off while surfing and don't even notice. I thank my lucky stars. My doctor tells me for months that he is "worried" about my lack of restricted range of motion and pain, but on my last visit, that little tight smile was there again, and this time he said I was healing nicely and looked better than 99.9% of the people he's seen.

A month after.

I started up a weight training program shortly after that, tentatively playing with barbells and inclined push ups, steadily pushing it and recording it until I realized that trying a little climbing wasn't anything more than I already was. I visited the SLO Op, put on my shoes, and grabbed onto a V0 in the back corner, grinning like a kid off his Ritalin in a candy store themed with dinosaurs and pictures of Fergie bending over. The passion, it was still there! I felt as good as the first day I tried my hand at the slippery fake walls at the Crux climbing gym.

First there was the trip to Pine Mountain - and mounting a V0 seemed a little too daunting as I perched near the top. Yammering about my arm, I down climbed and left a bit of my dignity there, but luckily it was only my good friends around to see it and promptly forget the spectacle.

Then there was the advice to build a traverse in the gym, so that my freak out would not occur again. I met Austin for an afternoon and constructed a fairly easy, but fun, traverse across the SLO Op. If you have ever set a route, you'll know that it can be just as tough as working a problem, if not more so. No shoulder unhappiness, and this was duly appreciated. As much as the reports that everyone who tried it, liked it.

I decided that I would have to make a return to easy trad sometime in June and the invite came from Yishai, who wanted to do some bouldering at Pine Mountain. Well, I thought, bouldering is stupid for me right now, but there is Sespe Gorge, just down the way - and before I know it, I had a cadre of guys sardined into my 4Runner on a Sunday afternoon on the first weekend in July.

As everyone piled out to drop Yishai off, comments about how tempting it would be to stay had me put the brakes on that plan and nearly threaten to leave them all there. As we careened down the side of the mountain on the pitted road, my sense of excitement grew to near-candy-store proportions. Not wanting to be obnoxious, I kept it to myself and assumed the "Kristin teaching position" in which I get a touch bossy and far more serious than usual.

The Sespe Gorge crew was a bit of a mish-mash:

Of course, we had the Fury. Can't leave the ultimate crag dog behind, can we? I parked her in the shade and readied the gear - half surprised it wasn't rusty and ugly since I really hadn't had to use it for months. The Fury is a pretty good dog to take climbing. She'll amuse herself by digging and chewing sticks, making all kinds of funny-dog noises and generally staying out of the way. Can't ask for much more.

There's Owen, who I've gotten to know over the years through Yishai and Josh both as a bike shop kid and as a reliable crew member when putting on adventure races. He is always begging me to teach him to climb, and though his 6'6" frame works against him, he is always enthusiastic, laid back, and good natured about everything. I'm definitely going to take him on some long alpine climbs. Everytime I hang out with Owen, I appreciate him that much more.

Owen had invited Justin, who was the youngest of the group, but gives me this impression of being much older. His girlfriend and he run a dog care service. I mean, what's not to like? Climbing AND dogs? My GOD! Anyway, I don't know much about Justin except that everytime I'm at the SLO Op, he's there, and he's always got a smile on his face.

And I'd invited Chris, whom I've had the good fortune of getting to know recently. Fellow grammar aficianado, energetic, passionate, adventurous. He's been sport climbing, but not really trad climbing and he wanted to try it. Actually, I didn't know how much experience he had except I'd seen photos of him all over the country on rock so I figure that, paired with the fact he has a good head on his shoulders, had to mean something. I already knew he'd be good company either way.

I think the first place I went wrong was inviting more than one person with no trad experience on this trip. I mean, if I really wanted to get back in it, I probably should have led, and that means my natural choice would have been to leave it at Owen. The thing is, what if my shoulder sucked and we went all that way and we couldn't do anything? No, we needed a leader. I instantly thought of Chris, since I had pretty good faith in his ability to suck it up and lead all day should we need to, but when I made it to SLO Op later in the day, Owen'd already invited Justin.

And, well, I am one heck of a stupidly accomodating person. The more the merrier! Logistics be damned.

Which, of course, brings me back to the five of us smashed into the 4Runner, limping up the grades at 35 mph (hey, what do you want from a 4-banger 4WD?). It was not so painful for me as a driver, nor as a passenger in the "bitch" position (one I'm very accustomed to, ha ha), but I understand the slight queasiness of three boys all smooshed together for a long period of time, especially when they don't know eachother (I think Owen and Yishai could have happily sat on eachother's laps, but that's just a hunch).

So here we all are, trad gear displayed, and I ask, "Okay, so, do you want me to start from the beginning, or what?" They agree that the beginning is right - so I take out all the gear and announce its use and racking strategy and dole out gear. Chris has got his own lovely C4s (to my Camalot Jrs and whatever the BD cams can be called pre-C4 . . .), so shiny and new, so I give him the interesting stuff like hybrid Aliens and Trango Max cams. "Hie thee to cracks," I announce, "And plug at will." I think I said that. Something like that.

And they diligently set off, battling angry fire ants and lizards for crack real estate as I followed along behind making comments and instructing about the importance of opposing nuts and multidirectional first placements. And now the time has begun.

See, there's always a catch. I've been to this particular part of Sespe Gorge before, but, well . . . I never remember beta. And my guidebook has been snatched from the library by my super shoulder buddy, Dan, who will not be climbing for a long, long time. So, no guidebook, and no memory of past beta . . .

But! A quick glance at RC.com the night before confirmed that no line on the wall was over 5.7 and both my leaders (that's Chris and Justin) claim at least 5.10s on sport in the past. They'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

So, who's up? Both the guys look at eachother. Justin, the eager one (and possibly this is more because of youth and inexperience, but I like to think of it as chutzpah), finally steps up to the plate and picks his line. "You can make an anchor, yes?" "Yes." Okay then. And away he goes. He gets to this big tree with bolts on it and here's another "but" - but the tree looks like it's not that far and i tell him to keep going. Hey, Kristin, you dummy, that's the end of pitch one . . . of a three-pitch climb.

By the time I realize my mistake, Justin is still chugging up the side of this thing, not a peep out of him that i can tell. The rope gets shorter and shorter. I'm almost at the end. Now, here's the dilemma - do you TELL a new leader this and panic him when he can't do anything, or do you . . . yup, I did it . . . simulclimb. It's 5.7, remember? So, there I am, following him up this wall, not saying a thing until we get past that first pitch and I realize now why there were some rocks coming off, and also why he wasn't shouting "rock"- because he didn't know to.

Justin, not having done much leading or following, simply didn't know how to route find and was leading through virgin choss. And, ladies and gentlemen, this is sandstone - his gear is behind loose, expanding flakes, and I am slowly progressing upward holding my breath that things don't break and I don't fall and drag him onto his pieces.

Let me tell you that simulclimbing behind a new leader making questionable placements on virgin rock - it's mentally exhausting. There were angry thoughts running through my head about how I should have known better, I should have asked more questions, how I was too experienced to get into these stupid positions, how this is what I get for taking people I don't know climbing. It was the delerium of "Return to Climbing" what did it. It still doesn't make it right.

I get to this one place where I can't really go anywhere and I think he's at a place to make an anchor. "Justin!" I shout across the canyon to the other wall to make it echo back to him, "Am I on belay?" "OH!" he shouts. It could have been "oh." Also, "yo." Or, "No." Or . . . yeah. I realize this is pointless and that if I just basically freesoloed two pitches, I can freesolo the next one. I commit, cursing under my breath and keep slogging.

At some point, Justin makes the target tree (the off-route target tree, but I told him to go there and that's my fault, too) and sets up a belay. I feel marginally better, but I'm maybe forty feet under him and mentally exhausted. I just want to get down now. The arm, however, is great. I have been pulling hero moves on it, trying to avoid the munge and flakes and little bushes while towing another rope (because that is one piece of beta I remember, you need two ropes to get down). But hey, guess what, you lame-o - you gotta go up to go down. So I sit there for a bit and steel myself for the final thing, and maybe I take it out a bit on poor Justin, telling him honestly and hopefully not too harshly that what he pulled was just plain dangerous.

And then, ever the optimist, I realize that what he pulled was also brave and successful and I know that if we both survived that, he's going to be a good partner and an excellent climber in the future. We both learned, eh? (But later, in the car, we fight over who is more sorry about what happened and Chris suggests a bar fight. Of course, that doesn't work because when I declare that I would likely fall on the ground, clutching my broken bottle, and cry, Justin, too, would do the same. And we'd just have a big cry fest. So, I guess we both better get over it.)

Rapping down was fairly simple aside from the massive rope clusterf*#k that's not to be avoided when you're throwing it through munge. I was happy to get down so it was no deal. Of course, no rest for the weary, I still had an enthusiastic and patient aspiring leader in Chris and a follower in Owen waiting for their fearless leader.

So, without much hesitation, I tell Chris to get himself ready. "You sure?" "I'm sure." No, I wasn't sure. But he had picked the most aesthetic line on the rock and I wanted to sink my hands into some jams and forget the horrors of loose sandstone flakes and moss I had just endured (and some of which had found its way into my bra and eyes making the rest of the day fairly uncomfortable - boob debris is the worst).

Here's the photo Chris took from the first pitch's belay.

This climb goes without trouble, but we also only pulled off a pitch because, well, the munge-fest took something like two hours to complete. His placements were perfect (and poor Justin kept saying, "Well, he had places to PUT THEM!") and his anchor was kinda funny for a sport climber, but we're not going to point fingers, now, are we? We rapped down and set up a top rope so Owen could get his climb on.

As we were coming down, Yishai arrived by Jeep and we convinced him to lead Owen up a multipitch, as the gentle giant was really amped on the whole idea. He'd patiently waited hours and hours all day for some action and Yishai, knowing he was getting himself into something rather interesting, agreed to do it anyway - my hero. I didn't really want to go for another epic and the sun was setting.

They got up the climb with no problem, but when it came time to rap . . . it was dark. "Kristin!" I could hear Yishai calling, "Where am I going?" By then, he was just a slightly lighter patch on the black wall. We got out headlights and ate avalanche bark (you really should try some) and watched the drama ensue from the car up on the road for a bit. The guys thought they could better help by going back down to the base and I turned the car onto the road and pointed the lights at the wall. It was interesting, sitting there in the car as oncoming traffic first detected the situation and then - only at the last minute, mind you - swerved away from my truck's tail-end. Visions of getting hit and knocked into the little gorge danced in my head.

But, in the end, nobody was the worse for wear, but it was pitch black, some of us were hungry (Yishai), some of us had grading to do (me), and the rest of them seemed to be pretty happy with the whole ordeal. It ain't a day climbing with Kristin if it ain't an epic, I guess. Why did I expect anything different?

And that's what's so funny about this full-circle episode. I'm back, mostly. I am already pulling down on 5.10s, and soon I'll surpass where I once was. Riding a bike is fun, I can do a couple pull ups, and in the course of a year, I've really found myself and who I'm about. It was poetic for me to be able to share all of that with a bunch of people with positive attitudes, some who I've known no more than a week or two, and some for five years, and how we all put faith in eachother when we climb. There is no other pastime, I'm sure, that creates such a bond. We choose to risk ourselves to a high degree at times (trad climbing, ice climbing, and mountaineering especially), and it's the people we spend that time with that really test our mettle and constitution. As someone who is slow to put faith in individuals, sharing a rope and working as a team seems to short-cut that process for me.

From this weekend, after doing a "5.11" that we think was more like a 10.

Lynne Leichtfuss

Social climber

valley center, ca

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:38am PT

Great Story, Good Send and really nice Pictures...hope to meet ya someday...Lynne (kinda new here at the Taco Stand : ))

Fluoride

Trad climber

Hollywood, CA

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:43am PT

Glad to hear you're back on the stone Kristin! Sounds like quite the journey. Congrats and climb on.

Mighty Hiker

Social climber

Vancouver, B.C.

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:43am PT

Thanks for the nice report, and good grammer!

Glad that you've weathered a few bumps successfully, and are back adventuring. Life does tend to throw these things at us on occasion.

All that, and then if I remember rightly a bike crash two years where you broke your helmet and were unconscious. Wow!

ps You spell it "Kristin". Do you pronounce it "kris-ten", or "kris-teen"? Cousins and friends in Norway with your name pronouce it as the latter.

HighDesertDJ

Trad climber

Arid-zona

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:44am PT

Woot!

maculated

Trad climber

San Luis Obispo, CA

Topic Author's Reply - Oct 29, 2008 - 01:49am PT

"Kris-tin." Like the foil. :)

MH, totally impressed you remember the bike crash. :)

Jaybro

Social climber

wuz real!

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:13am PT

Congratulations and thanks for the TR, Kristin.

The next logical step, Would be to you to drive North tomorrow for a return engagement on Gary's crack in Sunol.

Phil_B

Social climber

Hercules, CA

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:14am PT

Cool! Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed the read.

Mungeclimber

Trad climber

sorry, just posting out loud.

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:22am PT

hah! a big welcome back...

YUR GUNNA DIE!

seems appropriate

lol

cheers,
M

Ed Hartouni

Trad climber

Livermore, CA

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:24am PT

welcome back KMac!
don't forget to be gentle on that shoulder and break it in for the first 3000 miles (or so).

up2top

Big Wall climber

Phoenix, AZ

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:44am PT

God, I've missed you.

Congrats on the return! I know you had a miserable couple of years battling the shoulder problems. My gear is dustier and rattier than yours, but I've been working on a come back, myself, the past six months. Maybe I'll catch you out there next spring.

Kick the Fury for me. ;-)

Ed

neebee

Social climber

calif/texas

Oct 29, 2008 - 02:47am PT

hey there maculated... kristin... say, i dont know you, but that was one heck of a good report, about life, friends, rocks of the past and present... (well, mabey not the damage, of course, that is never good, or at least not until it is FIXED proper)...

say, welcome back to the rocks, and back to your life being on track again... say, perhaps my life will someday get back on track again.... though my difficulties are no where near the same as yours were... you DID great, there, krisin!

god bless!

perswig

climber

Oct 29, 2008 - 07:27am PT

Excellent "Firestarter" pic post-op.

vegastradguy

Trad climber

Las Vegas, NV

Oct 29, 2008 - 09:08am PT

welcome back, mac- glad to hear you're recovering well!

MisterE

Trad climber

My Inner Nut

Oct 29, 2008 - 09:24am PT

Welcome back to the climbing world, Kristen! Yay!

Erik

Anastasia

climber

Not there

Oct 29, 2008 - 09:52am PT

Maculated,
I love your writing, I love what you did and... You are super human cool!
Plus, that picture during the climb shows that you are a real beauty. The kind that will always look good, even when you become old and gray. So, if you are ever near Northridge, CA. please look me up! It would be nice to hang out with such a great inspirational soul.
Smiles,
Anastasia

GOclimb

Trad climber

Boston, MA

Oct 29, 2008 - 10:36am PT

Thanks for the TR - it's fun to read! And congrats on your recovery. It really sounds like a best-case scenario.

GO

looking sketchy there...

Social climber

Latitute 33

Oct 29, 2008 - 12:08pm PT

Congratulations on your successful surgery and coming full circle (and maybe even a bit further).

HighDesertDJ

Trad climber

Arid-zona

Oct 29, 2008 - 12:16pm PT

What happened to the creepy dry humping thread?

maculated

Trad climber

San Luis Obispo, CA

Topic Author's Reply - Oct 29, 2008 - 12:19pm PT

I decided the demographic for said book was not SuperTopo, and I had been away long enough to remember how people like to pick ad nauseum at things that didn't need picking at. :)

I missed you guys, too!

Beatrix Kiddo

Mountain climber

Littleton

Oct 29, 2008 - 12:23pm PT

Owen? As in Owen Wilson? Hook a sista up. ;-)

Glad you're getting back out.

klk

Trad climber

cali

Oct 29, 2008 - 12:50pm PT

congrats on the comeback. and we want to hear more about the book . . ..

Brunosafari

Boulder climber

Redmond, OR

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:01pm PT

I love "comeback kid" stories Mac, so much the more since I can connect to the shoulder recovery experience and SLOtown roots.

What Op? Do you know the "Tuber?"

Good Papa you have, nice heel hook, & easy on the epics for a tad longer, okay? Loved your writing, Mac.

You are a Poly Royal, a regular galloping Mustang.

Brian in SLC

Social climber

Salt Lake City, UT

Oct 29, 2008 - 01:44pm PT

Go, K Mac!

Great story and this must mean I can look forward to you being my rope gun...!

Cheers,

-Brian in SLC

SteveW

Trad climber

The state of confusion

Oct 29, 2008 - 03:25pm PT

That's great news Mac.
I'm having problems with my rotator cuff now.
It hurts. I don't want the knife. Period.

maldaly

Trad climber

Boulder, CO

Oct 29, 2008 - 04:46pm PT

The Mac is back! Let's go climbing sometime!
Mal

nutjob

Stoked OW climber

San Jose, CA

Oct 29, 2008 - 05:22pm PT

Nice success story on the repair job!

And good karma points for showing folks the ropes :)

burp

Trad climber

Salt Lake City

Oct 29, 2008 - 06:11pm PT

Welcome back, Mac!

Gives others hope!

burp (recovering from broken ribs and a re-injured bicep tendon)

Jaybro

Social climber

wuz real!

Oct 29, 2008 - 06:15pm PT

Yeah, what's this book talk? I have some prime reading time coming up.

I missed something by going to bed early last night, didn't I?

Barbarian

Trad climber

all bivied up on the ledge

Oct 29, 2008 - 07:56pm PT

Glad you're back! Great story....let's here more about the book.

maculated

Trad climber

San Luis Obispo, CA

Topic Author's Reply - Oct 29, 2008 - 08:08pm PT

Well, I tried to post a little bit of it last night but everyone was horrified for some reason (weird, because the last public exposure it got was all laughs and praise). LEB: this is not a book that substituted for therapy. It's honestly just a bunch of funny things that happened to me.

The date is basically trip reports on boys.

Having bad luck in the dating arena and having a talent for caustic writing = humor book about the battlefield of dating. It's partially a "look at the idiots that are out there" and a "look what an idiot I am" laugh at the clown type of book. :)

I'll try again on posting up a different (unedited) story for a taste:

The Telephone Game

Do you know where the phrase, "Jump in the sack" originated? I do. It's one of those gems you learn when you're an English grad student. And you thought I just read good.

Here's how it went down: back in the day, people didn't all live in cities and have cars, and the towns were so small that basically you were looking at incest if you had your eyes on your next door neighbor. People would walk and walk to church socials and hootenanies, and what have you. They'd meet, make eyes, maybe wrap a ribbon around the maypole - you know, really dirty stuff.

And then, there'd be that spark.

And frankly, I am still flabberghasted. Here we are in the digital age and I very rarely feel that spark, even though I encounter hundreds and hundreds of people in a week.

I remember driving through Kentucky backwoods with Travis on a climbing trip and seeing people in real, honest-to-goodness hovels with tires piled high. They'd be sitting on their decrepit porches like two happy clams. How did they meet? And I quoth the Travis: "Kristin, in my town there are the Bryans and the Griggs's. And if I hadn't got out of town, I'd have had to go with the Bryans. Incest is NOT a lie." Ahhhh, good to know.

Anyway, so our fair maiden would catch the eye of a ranch hand without even a horse to call his on, much less a Model T, and he would take off from dirty hard work in the coal mines and walk one hundred miles (or five hundred, if you're the Proclaimers) just to be the one to fall down at her door (tell me you get this joke).

Well, she'd be tickled pink, and her parents, wanting to offload the dead weight, would escort her to the conversation chair for chaste bonding time.

Stylish, and no chance of accidentally touching naughty bits!

Well, it would quickly be time for the whole family to go to bed, so to encourage the natural bonding process, and because it would be really mean to send the young chap back out into the darkness and the dreaded diseases and evils that lurk in it, they'd take a burlap bag and sew him into it so just his head stuck out. He'd be lying down in the same bed with our young lass, but could not so much as get up to take a pee.

Oh yes, spend all night sweating in a burlap sack, unable to move or itch or do anything, but next to the woman you love. A man could not WAIT to JUMP INTO THE SACK. And thus the phrase began. Ironically, the current phraseology reflects the complete opposite of the sack's objective.

Anyway, back in the day, the guy really had to work for the girl. All that walking, talking, and sack sweating really tested the mettle of a man.

And yet today, we have telephones. Hooray.

Now a guy can flatter you by asking for your phone number and if you're sprung enough, make you wait by the phone for aeons. It's wonderful.

Or, a girl can call at any time of the day, all day, just to see what you're up to. This is otherwise known as "unhealthy stalking."

Where is the work? Where is the mettle testing? Gone, gone with the wind! Just dial a number. And heck, thanks to programming, you don't even have to remember the digits, much less her name.

So, being a massive tomboy, I do not like phones. Granted, when I was younger, I loved them. I loved getting calls because it meant I was cool. I remember when Jesse Jenkins called me that time in Junior High and utterly faked being interested in dogs for an hour just to talk to me. I was so cool! Or running to catch the phone before my mom did so I wouldn't have to be embarrassed in high school that - GASP - I lived with my PARENTS!

And then I grew up and started realizing that most phone calls weren't that fun. So, yes, okay, sometimes I screen my calls. Not because I hate you, but because I am just so NOT in the mood to talk to you.

This is kind of funny, because I have this Five Favorites cell phone plan specifically because Yishai calls me like twice, three times a day and if I didn't have the plan, I would be over minutes all the dang time. I thought boys hated phones? Not him. I have to be like, "Dude, you are seriously taking me away from work, go away!"

Pretty funny.

Now, there are all these rules to dating and phones. Don't call right away or you'll seem to eager. Girls, hang up first. Blah blah blah. Generally the maxims have good rationale behind them, but when you like someone, you ignore the reasons and think, "My, it's so refreshing that someone is willing to break the Dating Rules!"

Or I do. I am quickly realizing the correct reaction should really be, "My, this is a red flag for a psychological issue." Sad. Yet still, I maintain my naive faith that "this one" is different.

Enter Dog Park Guy. (Oh, another one, you say - I told you . . . ) Met in the usual way (Fury decides he's cool, drops the ball at his feet, he picks it up, throws it, repeat: Instant Conversation Starter. My dog is such the pimp.), my usual 20 minute fetch-fest with the mutt managed to stretch into a two-hour one. That's usually a good sign. He's quite a bit older, but he's interesting and kind of cocky (which is something I tend to mistake for confidence, but yeah).

As I drive away, I'm disappointed that I won't see him again, but I do! It turns out that he's a very competitive cyclist (and I've had quite enough of these, thank you), and as such, he frequents places I do. It didn't take long for him to crop up. I ask a mutual friend what his story is: recently broken up with serious girlfriend, looking for more, and through my intercessor, Dog Park Guy finds out I'm interested and calls me up.

And talks and talks. Cool, I think. I hang up. A few hours later, he's back. Again? Well, I guess this guy knows what he wants! Go him! Break those rules!

We get to hanging out, I go over to his house to watch that crab fishing tv show that's on late at night, and no move is made (oh, are we seeing a pattern here?). I run into him on my bike and we go to lunch. Meet up for a dog play date.

Nothing happens. Except, thinking about it, he did pat my head once. So, clearly, the chemistry isn't there.

So why is it that he's calling me two, three, four, five, SIX times a day?

I'm on this softball team and he wants to talk to me before, during, and after a game. I suggest he comes out to watch instead of calls, but he doesn't.

He has to go away for a week to Wisconsin. He calls me late at night, drunk and filled with bratwurst. "I wish you were here, you'd be having so much fun with me." Awww.

He gets back, and we arrange to meet at the dog park. He gets there and instead of sitting next to me on the bench, selects a completely different one, meters away. He's awkward. Conversation is bad. Say what?

We both end up in San Francisco one night and we go out to one of my favorite Irish pubs with one of my best friends. I am smashed. He is smashed. It's late. Suddenly we three find ourselves on a beach together. My friend wanders off. Before I know it, he's hugging me from behind, watching the moonlight lap the ocean crests and valleys. I breathe in . . . finally, finally . . . and . . . NOTHING. He lets go and backs up slowly, "I think we should find your friend."

We spend the night in his hotel room, but my friend and I share a double bed he has as a spare. We say goodbye in the morning, grab bagels, and head off. My head is filled with that stupid chemical that produces excitement, twitterpations, along with a killer hangover headache, and other such nonsense. Soooooooo close.

He calls twice that next day.

This, my friends, is what we call "Feeding the Beast." Give me just enough to keep me guessing and I'm yours forever. I am that stupid.

Finally, I have had enough of this phone palling. I give him one final shot: call him up, invite him out to a live show, and no - he can't. He has to go to bed. At eight p.m. He would rather sleep than hang out with me. It's stupid, it's ridiculous, and I quit playing the game.

The phone calls peter off after I start screening. I'd sit there, looking at the phone as he called five times a day, just plain wondering - what is up with this guy? Does he just like phones? Did he like me, but he just couldn't deal in real life? Dunno.

What I do know, however, is that the phone makes life so easy - but it's life that you need to make.

And don't get me started on texting . . . but that is for another day.

MisterE

Trad climber

My Inner Nut

Oct 29, 2008 - 08:32pm PT

The "boyfriend number1, 2, etc" bits you wrote on Facebook were hilarious, K. Thanks for telling the stories. Really enjoyable...

Are they part of it?

Erik