Tuesday, August 10, 2010


When I participated in Leadership Juneau, one of the exercises was to write my own obituary. I doubt I still have it, but I remember it reasonably well.

I think I went to law school or got a masters degree in something interesting, maybe environmental policy, I worked in the non-profit field and I started a charity, I was a world traveler, married just once, when I was older and wiser, maybe I had kids. The part that stands out is that I listed my cause of death as follows:

Melissa and her husband died in a small aircraft crash near Lake Baikal after attending a conference pertaining to the devastation of the surrounding environs. She was 91 years old.

Seriously, I decided that I'd be an old, old lady and that I'd die happy and accomplished in a friggin' plane crash.

We had to share our obituaries with another person in the group and I got paired up with a guy in his 50's probably. He was (still is) a put together guy, works in real estate, and he seems pretty rational. He told me:

"You don't live to be that old and then die in a plane crash."

Well, if former Senator Ted Stevens can live to be 86 and then die in a plane crash, John's theory is proven wrong. But, of course, now that Uncle Ted has done it, I need to pick a new way to go:

Melissa and her husband, both old as sin, died in a fiery explosion as their spacecraft collided with a meteor, saving the planet earth from certain doom. They were on their 65th anniversary "cruise."

Also, I eulogized today that it was "an epic death for a kind of epic guy." and I hope that when I go, I'll get an equally as awesome eulogy stamped on my tombstone.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Not My Fault

I've always been one to take responsibility for my actions. Almost always, in any case. Sometimes, though, I'm not to blame when things go wrong.

Today I did my hair and dressed cute so I could go get dumped, or so I assumed, because maybe you can't be "broken up with" by your not-boyfriend, but you can ALWAYS get dumped.

So, I have been "seeing" this guy, another smart one, a real go-getter. Problem with them is that Juneau is too small a town to contain that much ambition. He's been accepted to a PhD program and is headed out of here in September. Pretty much as soon as he found out, he started pulling away so I decided that I would open up the lines of communication.

I have this theory, you see, that open communication is a good thing. Let's test it out:

First I rambled about completely irrelevant things like making an enemy in an acquaintance's ex-boyfriend by getting in between them and helping her get into a cab and away from him and the bars (don't care, he's not worth my time anyway). Then I stated my case and because I am a sane and rational person, I apologized for Juneau's active sabotage of our not-relationship. You see, he did pull away, in part because he's leaving and wasn't sure what to do, in part because Juneau tried to force a label. Every time a girlfriend would ask "Is that your boyfriend?" and every time a friend would ask him "Where's your girlfriend" the impression building was that I was running around telling anyone who would listen that he was my BOYFRIEND and probably also that I wanted to have, like, ten-thousand of his babies. Only I wasn't.

I can say that we are clear about what we are not. I can say that we are clear about when what we are ends. I can't say I'm 100% clear about what the hell is going on between now and September, but I do know that we can figure that out pretty easily.

In any case. I've got another "failed relationship" under my belt but it's not my fault. It's not my fault that I like smart, ambitious men who go into PhD programs at prestigious universities. It's not my fault that there are no such prestigious universities in Juneau, Alaska. It's not my fault that gossipy Juneau tries to fuck with my casual dating mojo by forcing labels upon us.

It would be my fault if I didn't value this relationship for what it was. It would be my fault if I didn't gain some wisdom from this experience. It would also be my fault if I got disheartened and lowered my standards, going after less intelligent, less ambitious men.

Luckily, I'm doing this right.