Maculated Returns

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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