Allison Unfiltered

'Cause I'm a real catch, after all.

This was the view on a me-date in Montpelier I took today. 

It's the first me-date I've taken in years.  And damn, it felt good.  I got to Vermont under my own power, rented my first car ever.  When my advisor asked for an update on my personal life during a group meeting -- and I always feel he's looking for red flags that might disrupt my writing -- I was able to say, "Y'know, I'm doing really, really good."  And I meant it.

For the first time I don't really have drama in my life.  I have little life stuff to worry about, things with my daughter, worrying about getting my manuscript right, projects at work that I need to finish.  But they're all first-world bourgie concerns. 

For the first time after taking the reins of my own life I'm able to take a breath, look around, and think, damn, this grown-up thing ain't half-bad.

First world complaint: Why bureaucratic processes suck donkey balls.

I am telling you the story of my week, my dear internet elves, so that if any of you are women who think changing your name might be even the least bit romantic... you can now consider yourselves forewarned:

IT SUCKS THE SWEATIEST, HAIRIEST, WRINKLIEST BALLS IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF RUMINANTS.  Side note: I don't know why I gave it up, but now that I have it back, I am keeping my name forever and ever and ever and ever.  The End.

At the bank:

"Um, you didn't change your name on your driver's license?"

"No, I will in a few days.  The bank's closer so that's what I have time for."

"Do you have anything with your new name on it?"

"My divorce papers aren't enough?"

"Uhhh..."

"Here's a triple-A card I never changed."

"Oh good!  But do go get your driver's license changed."

"Yeah, yeah."

At Social Security:

"Uhm, what are you here for?  OH!  That letter was a mistake."

"So I didn't need to come in after all?"

"Uh...  I don't... think so."

"So I just waited an hour and a half to be told it was a goof?"

"Yeah."

Sigh.  "Okay, while I'm here I need to change my name anyway, so..."

"I need to see your paperwork."

"Here's what the courthouse sent me."

"Yeah, no, I need to see the original."

"That's what the courthouse sent me."

"Yeah, yeah -- you have to go to the courthouse and pay them money to give you a certified copy." [draws a big dollar sign on my form with an arrow pointing to the word "Court"]

"Okay, so I can't do anything here today?... Well, I don't really have the time to leave work and come in again, can I just mail in the paperwork next time?"

"No, you want to bring it in.  You REALLY want to bring it in." *meaningful, sinister glance*

At the MVA:

"Uhhhh.... Do you have your divorce decree?"

"Here."

"Hold on." *taps at keyboard*

"You didn't change it with Social Security."

"Not yet, I went the other day, but I still have to get some paperwork."

"You need to change it with Social Security."

"I know, I gotcha.  I will."

"No, you need to change it with Social Security..."

"I said --"

"...'cause that's where we draw our information from.  If your name change isn't in their system I can't give you a corrected license."

"Oh. Okay.  [beat] You open Saturdays?"

"Yep.  Have a nice day."

"Uh-huh."

At the courthouse:

To woman behind Desk A: "I need a certified copy of my divorce paperwork."

"Central Files."

"Huh?"

"Central Files. [mumbles]"

"What?  I'm deaf."

"[mumbles louder]"

"Can you write that down?"

[Sighs, points finger across hall at a sign: "Central Files."  Nods and then waves me off.]

To the guy behind Desk B: "I need a certified copy of my divo--"

"Yeah." [Points at huge sheet full of blanks with numbers and signatures on it.]

"What?  I just want a certified copy of--"

"Write down your case number."

[I write it.]

"You forgot to sign and print your name."

[I write some more. He scans some barcodes with a bleepy bloopy thing and then walks away. Another guy comes to the desk, asks me what I need.  He does the exact same thing, interrupts me and points at the sheet. I say, no, that guy did that already.  He nods and walks away.  I stand alone at the desk for a few minutes.  A woman comes to the desk, tries to help me.  I wave her off.  First guy comes back with a blue folder with my case number on it and holds it out.]

"[indecipherable]"

"What?"

"[indecipherable]"

"Are my copies in here?"

"[Getting impatient but still indecipherable]"

"Can you just write it down, please?"

[He sighs, beckons.  We walk out of the office and through a maze of hallways.  He takes me to a room with a sign that says "Copy Room," sticks the folder in my hands and waves goodbye with a polite-but-not-really smile.]

To guy behind Desk C: "Hi, I'm looking for a certified copy of my divorce papers."

"How many?"

"Huh?"

"How many?"

"Oh!" [I tell him, he nods and turns to a copy machine for a minute.  He does some bleepy bloopy stuff to the folder too and then turns back to me with the copies and the blue folder.]

"Take those to Desk A."

"Again?  I just came from there."

"Yeah, I know.  They're the ones who certify the copies."

"These aren't certified?"

"No, I just xerox them."

"Ah, huh.  Thanks." [I manage to find my way back to Desk A, my shitty sense of direction notwithstanding.]

To the (different) woman behind Desk A: "Hi, I--"

"You want certified copies, right? Gimme. [She reaches for the papers I've been carrying around the whole damn courthouse.  Praying this is the last stop, I hold out my credit card.] We don't take credit. [I hold out some cash.] Okay, 30 minutes."

[35 minutes later, I walk up to the window]: "It'll just be a few more minutes."

[5 more minutes]: "Can you give us a few minutes?"

[10 more minutes]: "Oh, hold on, let me check... [taps at computer].  It's in the system, just a few more minutes."

[10 MORE MINUTES LATER, GODDAMMIT]: "Uh, I don't think it's rea-- OH! Found it.  Have a nice day!"

"You too."

Deaf kids and adults in bubbles

I've recently started reading Free Range Kids, and yesterday's post bowled me over.  Lenore posts a letter from a 34-year-old who is only now finding the confidence to use public transit (and says as a result, a driver's license is in the near future). 

Why "only now?" 'Cause the adult in question is partially deaf and still harbors anxiety passed on from parents related to that deafhood.

It's reading stuff like this that makes me grudgingly glad my mom was as hardnosed as she was about making me do stuff on my own.  In other ways, though, I've still got issues from my childhood I'm working out.

One example: I absolutely quake at the thought of complaining about service. I always had my mom -- and later, a husband -- to intervene for me.  So I never quite learned to go get the stuff I needed and to fix things when the things given me weren't quite right, even the mundane little stuff I know shouldn't be so hard. 

Not saying this is Momsie's doing at all -- not intentionally, anyway.  I still have very clear memories of sitting in a booth with my parents when I was still an only child one night at Chi Chi's Restaurant (before they closed after that dirty scallion scandal) and being bored by the table conversation.  A waiter walked by and I flagged him down and asked him for more Sprite.  I must've been going nuts with boredom, 'cause that's something I'd never do.   Like, ever.  So much easier to tug my mom's elbow and put in a request ... and protest that I didn't understand anyone or didn't want to use my voice when she urged me to get my stuff myself somehow.

My mom heard me talking, and then after a second it registered that I wasn't talking to either her or my stepdad.  She turned around, said, "What'd you do?!"  I told her I'd just run out of Sprite, that's all.  She gaped at me until the waiter brought me my new glass.  And then rained compliments and gushing praise down on my blushing little head.  My head spun with the audacity of what I'd just done.  I was seven. 

Still, I have never been able to do that little stuff anxiety-free.  I perceive it as making a fuss and becoming that trouble-making, rude, self-entitled deaf girl.

It's only now, as a single mom, that I'm learning to do that little stuff, anxiety be damned.  When L'il Red got the "boy" toy in kids' meals, it was really hard for me in the beginning to work up the ovaries to go ask to switch it out for the girly one (which annoyed the shit outta me, but that's a whole 'nother post).  But now I've got the task of teaching my kid to fend for herself.  And on my own, no one else is going to teach her as well as I can.

Many times, she tells me she won't do things like this because people are hearing.  That's a huge slap in the face for me -- I feel like I haven't taught her not to be intimidated.  It also reminds me it's a work in progress, putting that anxiety in its place.

I think being deaf influences my perception of experiences, sure, but that's not the whole of it either.  That's why I was so glad to see a deaf commenter named Anouk respond to Lenore's post in part:

If you instill fear in your children your children will fear, too. ... I drive, I work, I’ve travelled, I have a family (my husband is also deaf btw)...

Mothers who find themselves again

Got surprised the other day when I clicked on the yahoo mainpage and found one of my Goddard teacher's faces looking back at me.  Reiko Rizzuto has an essay up on Salon, "Why I left my children," which I absolutely adore.  Go read.  I commandeth thee.

For school, I also read Maria Housden's memoir Unraveled: the True Story of a Woman Who Dared to Become a Different Kind of Mother, which I didn't much like, but related to anyway because of her search for the self she'd lost in marriage and childbirth.

It's funny... It's the 21st century, so I'd like to think we're evolving as a society past the medieval urge to marry and procreate at any expense, but still...

I am constantly surprised to read about and meet mothers like this -- mothers who decide to opt out of the 50's mindset that being a parent means overwhelming emotional and menial labor and -- more importantly -- the loss of yourself.  It's particularly telling that these women are getting published for doing what men have done for centuries: separate their selves from the parent roles they play. 

Like Reiko and Maria's, my marriage did not survive. 

But my relationship with my daughter did.

I am no longer the harried housewife worrying about food, daily routines, and the emotional wellbeing of my daughter at the expense of myself.  Instead, she and I have actual conversations.  Since moving into my own place, my daughter and I have talked about love, travel, languages, relationships, friendships, marriage, sex, politics, future plans, feelings.  She has become a whole human being in my eyes, something she wasn't before.

A few months ago I caught L'il Red telling one of her friends, "My mommy's sweet and nice to me.  She doesn't say no."  She's said it several more times since then.

Well, I do say no (I'm her mom, not a doormat), but I'd like to think Leah's saying that sort of thing 'cause she's noticed I've mellowed out; I'm not so hung up on the "supposed to"s and "have to"s of wifehood and motherhood anymore.  I'm more interested in the daily realities of our lives and individuality as two girls together.

And by the way, I am entirely convinced that the reason I am able to see her this way is because I decided to do the same thing for myself.

Top 10 no-nos when on a date with me

10. Trust the deaf girl.  Unfortunately, I never earned my bachelor's in Mime, but if I did, I'm pretty sure you'd flunk every class.  If you don't know how to sign and I give you other ways to communicate with me, follow my lead.  I've been deaf all my life, and trust me, I know how to do this. Acting like a stoned monkey when I'm hoping for a stud is a bonerkiller. (Appendix A -- In no way does pretending to jog and then tracing the outline of a square convey to me that you're a "digital sound engineer."  Write it down if you have to, for chrissakes.)

9. Assume your date has interesting things to think about -- and find out what they are.  If I stop you and tell you to ask me a question, take the cue: YOU'RE TALKING TOO DAMN MUCH ABOUT YOURSELF. (Appendix B -- Don't take a snooty philosophical tone with me and tell me asking me questions "steers the conversation in an unnatural direction." Dude, dating is unnatural. Go with the flow.)

8. Avoid stalkerish behavior on the first date.  Bringing a mental list of things to talk about based on a google search you did on me is just creepy.

7. Remember that seduction techniques involve patience and social skills. I'm a shy girl.  Holding hands and staring into my eyes and sighing within the first 10 minutes is rushing it. So is running your hands through my hair (which I worked on for an hour, by the way. Can I have it back?).

6. Dirty mouth does not equal dirty girl.  No trying to undress me in public.  No, no, no. NO.  Really.

5. Hands off the fast-forward button.  If we're meeting for the first time, it's a test run, not a commitment for a second date or a future.  The song that's playing when I walk in may be heartbreakingly sentimental for you -- maybe wait until later to tell me, "it's our song"?  Just a suggestion. Yeah.

4. Man up and transport yourself.  Walking alone to the restaurant and then staring at me expectantly afterwards in the parking lot when I'm getting out my car keys is a one-way ticket to loserville. (Appendix C -- when I say I'm going home alone, it's probably not good last impression to whine about how I'm "not being cool.")

3. Subtle is smooth.  I'm more than willing to navigate the deaf-hearing thing.  But guess what?  There's lots of interesting signs to learn.  I'll teach you cuss words or cool classifiers, but the first one you ask me for shouldn't be: "LUST."  Especially if you're going to use it in every other sentence afterwards.

2. Boobs are off-limits till I say so.  I wear low-cut shirts often.  Deal with it. They slim me and don't choke me. That's why I wear them, not to give you eye candy.  It's certainly not a license to stare and then giggle about how much you're staring.  Or to make comments like, "Oh, my god, they're so beautiful," "Here, eat some more, maintain those curves!"  (Appendix D -- It DEFINITELY doesn't mean you can reach across the table to cup my boob in your hand, no matter how lovingly.)

1. Keep the porn on your laptop and out of our date. Slipping your dirty foot out of your sandal and putting it up between my legs... and then trying to rub my crotch with your toes in a public restaurant? Uh-huh.  You're going home alone, boy.

P.S. Upon request, here's my little full disclosure statement: Yes, I went on dates with these people in real life.  And yes, these things all happened. True Story.

I'm legal!

Well, no, not that kind of legal.  Dirty pervs, you.

For the first time in more than a decade, bringing to you the first-ever bona fide pic of me single:

Photo credit: Jess.

The best single-person advice I ever got

I was kinda pathetic when I became single two years ago. Wait, it's been two years already?! 

Okay, scratch that.  I am the world's most pathetic rational-minded closet-romantic dork who happens to be single. In January of 2009 I was still raw from deciding to live life on my own.  Raw as in I was a walking, gaping, festering emotional wound; to make matters worse, my usual salve was the guy from whom I'd just separated, and so I had no clue how to take care of myself. 

Over the next few weeks and months I sought rescue from any and everyone.  My poor friends.  I would have been anyone's Valentine at that point for the trifling price of allowing me to trail their every footstep, simpering and cooing at their backs. 

But I do know some pretty great people, and it doesn't matter if it was just to get me off their backs; they yielded a few nuggets that I have never forgotten and that have helped me navigate over the rocky terrain of "no-longer-with-him" to the more mild valleys and rolling hills of "being me."

"Find the little things every day that make you happy.  Coffee with a friend. A funny movie.  A me-date with a magazine and a glass of wine.  Treat yourself once or twice a day.  You'll be lonely sometimes, but pretty soon you'll learn you're pretty damn good company too" -- from a perpetually single woman (who I'm convinced will play a role in the greatest love story someday)

"How often do you get to re-invent yourself?  It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  Sieze it and go find out who you are.  And if you find something you don't like, there's no better time to change it.  It's a gift, a real gift, this time in your life." -- from a guy divorced a few years earlier

"Get up every morning, look in the mirror, and remind yourself that you're worth it." -- from a woman who was just that moment falling heads over heels in love

Too sappy for you? Ah, well.  Shit happens and sometimes sap is what sticks you to your feet.

Let's all go aww at the cute deafies looking for a date!

Ok, so I'm a little slow on the uptake, but apparently my foray into online dating was misdirected. I should have gone the ASL-friendly route and signed up for speed-dating at Gallaudet.

That way I wouldn't have missed out on being written up as someone who communicates via "exaggerated arm movements" and sacrifices all privacy because I'm, um, visual.  And goddess knows I always jump at the opportunity to be more "adult-like," especially when I'm attending Heaven University.

My romantic little heart has never needed speech, fortunately. But after reading that piece I did need a defibrillator after LMAOing a bit too much.

No words.  Seriously. No words.  No arm movements either.

Why I spend more time on Twitter than blogging

Posted at some point earlier today on my QueenAlpo feed:

Why do sound engineers and musicians ask a deaf girl out? Me no understand.

The responses I got:

@jaelstrom: Bec they want to open your eyes to the world! Change you/fix you/inspire you! I don't know.

@[lockedaccount]: opposites attract.

@veeelpo: Maybe so y'all can make beautiful music together...?

@MannyJohnson: bad musicians and sound engineers ask deaf girls out for obvious reasons

@[lockedaccount]: Same reason a gynecologist might ask a man out?

@beandsp: I think maybe when they get home you won't have to complain about how bad their music sounds.

@[lockedaccount]: The unreachable reach, the challenge ;)

@MegThinks: Bc they can get complete control of the radio :)

[anonymous]: Maybe they want to teach you how to play their trombone. :-D

Booyah! 

To answer my own titular question: Because it's a lot easier to be a single girl tweeting than it is to be a wife blogging. 

There's also a lot more instant gratification, and not always of the trombone-blowing variety either.  My lips are too sore for that anyway.

Not quite being flip.

I saw a guy today at an intersection holding a sign. 

I didn't read the sign, didn't have to. His layers of jackets and grimy face told me what he was using it for.  The light turned green and as the line of cars he was walking alongside began inching past him, he turned around and I saw the back of his sign: "Single?  Meet someone today! mdsingles.org"

It's not the first time I've seen these signs appropriated for more wanting means.  But the poetry of the juxtaposition touched me.

Maybe it's because it's been a rainy Monday.  Maybe it's because for the last month I haven't seemed to have any energy, and all I can do is sit and hope my body's cruise control doesn't conk out on me.  Maybe it's because I'm well past the one-year anniversary of singlehood now and the nuances of life on my own are staring me in the face in high relief.

How evocative is the image of that sign?

Two kinds of loneliness: hopeless romantics throwing a try at love out there into cyberspace, flipped and hidden behind desperate optimism and blind faith in the ability of human kindness to sustain one more day.