Secret Agent Man

This one has been a long time coming. I think the shock of this situation has been replaced by new even more shocking events that totally eclipse it in every way.

In 2004, I met a nice man, Adam (who will eventually become Secret Agent Man), on Yahoo Personals. Internet dating had progressed past infancy into adolescence, although it was still not as acceptable as it is today. Many of us were secretly searching for someone special with the aid of online services. Yahoo Personals would eventually become Match.com. I was living in Asheville at the time and working for a facility serving adjudicated adolescent males (Yes, it was a prison). My long-term boyfriend was constantly playing games. We had broken up. Adam was quite a bit younger, almost fresh out of college and working as a chemist in a healthcare facility just down the mountain. We connected immediately and made plans to meet. Several attempts failed and in those days, I hadn't quite got the memo on suspicious behavior. Several months into our online courtship, I received an email that he had recently met someone but was still interested in me. I don't know why I entertained it.

Adam was an exhibitionist. He loved to send photographs of himself often wearing only his birthday suit. One time I convinced him to masturbate on his webcam. He was a ham and loved having an audience. The issue of the "girlfriend" did not seem to deter him. Over the years that passed, Adam repeatedly declared his love for me. We were both going through transient times in our lives. I moved away to Boone for graduate school, he to Raleigh to pursue a career in the SBI. We lost touch, but then his access to records made me easy to find. I could never understand how the girlfriend would settle for moving around the state, for someone who couldn't quite take the next step. During the interim, I met my daughter's father and became pregnant. Our relationship was doomed from the beginning. It seems that Adam was always there.

The beauty of an online relationship is like that of old school penpals. It was easy to confide in each other, our fears, our dreams. As I moved into my new role as a mother, Adam came to visit on his wasy from here to there. We took my daughter to the park and had dinner. She was all but six months old. Many times he told me that I was the woman he'd always dreamed of, if only our timing was different, or that we lived in the same area. Almost the day that I was able to move back to Asheville, he had sold his home there and had accepted a position with the FBI in western Tenessee. I could map out a clear timeline of his life (clothed and unclothed photographs included)... his training for the SBI, FBI, SWAT... all of it was there in eight years of emails.

In the winter of 2011, he had plans to attend a court hearing outside of Asheville. We had planned to get together for months. That winter was a particularly harsh one. It snowed almost every week. That week was no different. The day before our long-awaited meeting, a heavy winter storm blasted most of the southeast, leaving the mountain passage from Tennessee to North Carolina completely impassable for several days. He was relieved of having to testify. It seems that time, nature, and the universe in general was against us.

Almost a year passed when we made plans to meet in Nashville for my birthday. Again, he had to work. After years, I was getting annoyed. I hadn't dated after my daughter's birth, so being blown off was just unacceptable. He sent several more emails over the coming months.

Adam attended NC State for his undergraduate degree. Every time I've seen Wolfpack merchandise or travel to Raleigh, I would think of him. In February, I was hired for my new position and in early March had a one-weekend search for a rental property. On my long trip back to Asheville, I began texting him about the move. It was then that he said that he would be travelling to Asheville in a week on his way to Quantico for training. It seems that all the pieces were coming together.

On a beautiful Sunday in March, I met him at his hotel. Now, I know what you're thinking, why would I do this? We had been friends and built up the moment for so long, that the only fear I had was that we didn't have the connection, that it was all unreal. That was not the case. Our time together could not have been staged by any film director. We had amazing sex, then went out into Asheville for an great dinner and chocolate (at my favorite chocolatier, of course!). Among all the dates I've had in my life, this one ranks on top. I was elated as we strolled through downtown, his arm around my waist. It was perfect. I found out that he had the option of flying to Quantico and that he chose to drive so that he could see me. I couldn't have been happier.

The next morning was hard. I didn't want to leave him; he didn't want to leave me. We held each other in the longest embrace. But the reality of the day and our professional obligations took over. On my way to work, I reflected on our time.... and then a dark feeling started to creep in. I told several of my best friends at work about the amazing time I had, but that I also felt something was amiss. I had even asked him if there was anything I need to know about him. There was just nothing. His response was, "That my life is boring".

So I Googled him. And that's when I saw in the search the name "Amanda" associated with him. And that's when it all became clear. This girl never settled. He was married. A property record search confirmed what I suspected. She was the missing piece. When and how long? My daughter's father cheated on me and I couldn't imagine how this would affect her. I always maintained that I wanted to know. Everyone in our social group knew about his extra-curricular activities. I would have approched the situation differently. I was tasked with communicating what I knew to his wife or to sit in silence.

In the end, I decided to call. I would want to know. Knowing the amount of cowardice that I had seen previously, I knew he'd never fess up. I dialed the number, mu guts were churning, and waited. A lady answered....

the power of education and choice

Now, I know that I already stated that I can't really talk about work. I have no problem reflecting on my career.

There are key components of my being that have shoved me down my current career path: the desire to learn and the belief in choice.

Since I can remember, I have always learned. I'm self-motivated and often would write research papers at very young ages because I liked to do research. My parents sacrificed a lot to provide a set of encyclopedias for my enjoyment. I read them, the whole set of World Book Encyclopedia in fifth and sixth grade. My first official research paper was over 20 pages not including an extensive appendices and index (I'm a little bit of an over achiever... I was 12).There's no surprise that by the time I was in high school, I was dissatisfied with the mediocre offerings of my local school. There were no challenging academic elective courses nor were there any rigorous arts courses. In the school system I attended, there was a great disparity between the five high schools.

One of my other traits, and one that I am proud of is that I can take any rule, tear it to shreads and expose any loophole within... then take advantage of it. That's exactly what I did. In order to serve my own desire for improvement, I worked the system to attend a different high school. This school offered a nationally- recognized choral program  and an innovative theatre arts program. I immersed my self in both. This was in 1993-1994 before the advent of school choice in North Carolina, before the era of charter schools.

Charter schools have come a long way since their inception. It is no secret that the original legislation provided enough challenges to make one believe they were never meant to succeed. The folks who have come together to create schools of choice do so for many reasons, but what they all have in common is that they believe in a school that may never open its doors to children. Yet, they invest their time, their money, and their love to go through the gruelling process to bring the school to fruition.

I believe in the power of choice. I'm a capitalist. I believe that a competitive market for the one property right given to every person in this country is a powerful motivator to ignite innovation and rigor. Not every school can adequately serve the needs of every child. I look at my own education and see that is truth. And it's not that my assigned high school was bad. My parents and my siblings attended the school, and I eventually walked across the stage to graduate from that very school (as a junior, which is a whole other story of loopholes). But it did not serve my needs.

As a parent, I believe in my ability to choose the best education for my child. She is finishing up an amazing year of kindergarten at a fantastic arts-integrated charter school in western NC. I made the sacrifice of that education by taking on my new position here at the pink palace supporting charter schools. Her name was not pulled in any local charter lottery. However, we were afforded the opportunity to choose our local school through a new program in the traditional school system.

My work with charters has not always been grand. I worked with a school that closed down. The experience opened my eyes to the issues facing charters on a daily basis and how a few bad decisions can destroy years of work. I had a vendor employee threaten me to silence by stating that if I ever wanted to continue to work in charters in this state, I had better close my mouth (I was just a teacher and had uncovered and exposed illegal operations). Since that day, I've gone on to serve two other schools, both models of academic excellence and fiscal responsibility.

When I drive from my country road each morning as the sun rises on the the city, I remember the uninformed people I have encountered who promote the misinformation about charter schools and the gentleman (whose photograph I keep hanging over my desk) who threatened my work. I believe in what I do. I believe in the power of choice. I believe in education. And I dedicate my career to supporting all the folks in this state who believed in the impossible.

What's going on with that cheese?

Most of you know that I am not a neat freak. I spent most of my life listening to my parents tell me that they would love to park a dumpster outside of my window and toss everything I own into it. Clutter does not bother me. I wish it did, and I wish that I actually cared, but I just don't. Laundry left in the dryer (when I actually use a dryer-- I'm a fan of clotheslines), dishes in the sink, etc., I don't worry about it. There are so many things in this world to worry about. 

My siblings will corroborate that our mother is the opposite. We could never win growing up. One pillow out of place and the whole house was deemed a disaster area. I appreciate that she is the way she is while also acknowledging that I never will be. A dirty fork in the sink will never be the cause of a sleepless night. While I know that I probably need a partner to balance me out a bit, I know I can't sustain a relationship with someone on the OCD side of things.

"What's going on with that cheese in the casserole dish?"

"Um, I just finished eating it. I'm probably going to eat the rest for breakfast. Why?"

"Well, I was just wondering if I was going to wake up tomorrow and find it still on the counter."

"No, I'm taking it to work for breakfast."

"So you're going to leave it out all night? Is that a good idea?"

I was over at Mr. Burgerman's. He eats very late (like 10pm). I cannot do that. I each lunch at 11:30 am religiously every day. At that time of evening, my blood sugar is crashing and I turn into the Exorcist (minus the pea soup). I opted to bring a hunk of brie and some bread (a favorite standby) over for my own dinner. I love brie. I love it melted. It's the best of the dairy worlds... butter and cheese. Divinity. We're one of the few countries in the world that imposes insane food safety practices. A piece of cheese left out overnight isn't going to kill anyone (despite the public service announcements that say otherwise). If that were the case, I'd be dead ages ago. When I travelled around Europe I frequently had a piece of cheese, fruit, and bread in my backpack... for days. But this wasn't about food safety. It was about the cheese left for mere moments on the counter. And it was a very passive-aggressive way to get me to clean it up. 

I did clean up the cheese because I understand the what he was feeling was the same anxiety my mother always felt when something was out of place. On the same note, it was a clear sign (if the other issues weren't enough) that Mr. Burgerman was not Mr. Perfect-for-Me. I love my mom, but I don't want to be married to her.

Home Sweet Home

This blog isn't all about love. I mean, if I were to live my life solely in search of a mate, I'd miss out on all sorts of other things like...

1970s wallpaper.

As I mentioned, I just relocated to Raleigh for work. I can't actually talk about work because it would be a breach of my confidentiality agreement. I do top secret government work. Not really. Most of what I do is public knowledge, I just can't go around blogging about it. I'll let the media do that for me. Please don't take my silence about it as a lack of passion. I love what I do and the difference the office I work in makes for education.

But there is an issue of 1970s wallpaper. In 2009, I purchased a fantastic new home in east Asheville on a half acre of property. It was new so it had new everything. I've spent the last 2.5 years making it mine. So now (actually next Monday), I will have left this home for a rental home here in Raleigh.

I try to see any glass as half full (ok, you got me, it's always half empty-- I'm a realist). This rental home has all sorts of good things going for it. It hard lovely old hardwood floors, it's located on 12 acres of forest, it's within 15 minutes of downtown Raleigh and Cary, it has a charming woodstove in the den, there's tons of space...

It was also built in 1975 and hasn't been updated since. Now the good thing is that the land ladies gave me permission to de-1970s the place. The areas that need a new paint job like the bedrooms are quite easy. However, half of the house is plastered in 1970s wallpaper. The kitchen was brown and orange with drawings of counter canisters in a repeat pattern. Other areas have garish, glittery textured print. The two bathrooms feature green and gold in one and orange and gold in the other. It's a nightmare.

Thanks to the help of family, we were able to take care of the kitchen, and two of the three bedrooms. I've half-stripped the dining room.

I just can't bring myself to even touch the bathrooms. Besides the gilded wallpaper, they have gold-flecked counters (which sadly, I will not be investing any time or money into removing). I have this dream that one day as I sink down into the rather large, deep bathtub, that I open my eyes to see that some gnome did all the work me. But then again, if I had the power to conjure up magical gnomes to do man-chores, that I would be able to conjure up an actual man.

Gnomes are cute, but I'm not into beards.

Falling forward

"Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you."-- Richard Bach

I am a believer in the cosmic threads that link us all to one another. As a teen, I felt an unexplainable magic in the universe, a sixth sense that told me that there is no such thing as coincidence. Each person, each event part of an elaborate weaving that makes guides each of us on our path, points out the truths we all know deep within the core of our being, and makes us the complex and beautiful creatures we all are. From Richard Bach's Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah to James Redfield's "The Celestine Prophecy", I know I'm not the only wacko that embraces this feeling. 

I won't venture to predict who is the master weaver, if there is any one master weaver only that there seems to be a purposeful placing of texture and color in each encounter of our lives. These purposes imprint upon us, and if we are lucky, we learn about ourselves and are prepared for the next experience. We are given the answers to the deepest questions of our psyche.

Most of us are too busy in our lives to notice. I've always felt sensitive to the interworkings of the world around me. I notice the subtle changes in the angle of the sunlight as it brushes the earth in fall, almost the one day where the rays are longer and more golden than in the days before them reaching down like ribbons. You may think I'm crazy, but pay attention in September. One day the world around you will just be a a little different.

My quest for Mr. Perfect-for-Me has been quite a journey thus far. As I reflect on loves lost, I think of how each lesson I learned became a foundation to prepare me for what was next. You'd think I'd have all the answers by now, but I haven't always listened. I haven't always utilized the information. You'll see the patterns, the chain of mistakes I've made, some so similar, you may even hold your head and wonder why anyone could have been so stupid to repeat situations that seem quite obvious.

All tragic heros (or heroines) have a flaw, an achilles heel of sorts. Mine is that I follow my heart, ignore the warnings my mind sends, and have repeated the same mistakes over and over again. I can count very easily the men I have loved so deeply that I lost myself in them. And each time I was crushed, how I emerged fragmented, yet somehow more whole than when I began. I long for a love that the fibers of time cannot break, but only strengthen. If I am ever to find it, I have to continue to be willing to fall head-first with faith. 

A few disclaimers

Several folks have asked me about my ability and comfort on not only airing some really risque' aspects of my life, but the lives of others. I feel like I need to address it. I mean, while this blog is a way for me to process some insane experiences, it's also meant as entertainment. Each and every blog is written from my perspective (which is a little warped at times). I attempt to tell each story as my memory and, oftentimes, my heart remembers while also changing up the identifying information of the people I have encountered. I make pretty raw and crude judgments at times. These aren't readings for the meek and easily-offended. If you don't like profanity or sex, you shouldn't even bother with it. Stop reading now. And whether you're a friend, a friend of a friend, or a complete stranger, I hope you'll have a laugh along the way. I poke a lot of fun in these musings, mostly at myself. After all, I am getting myself into these situations in the first place. I make no apologies for anything you feel is inappropriate or rude. So sit back, grab some pork skins, and enjoy!

Fido rules the roost

Mr. Burgerman and I started spending more and more time together. At first it was mostly out and about town, trying new restaurants, etc. Then we began spending more time at his house. I'm a very much a leap-into-anything-head-first kind of person, so I can say that our relationship moved really quickly in a very short time. That is until I realized that the dog ruled the roost. I am an animal lover. I've had pets my entire life. I love my cat. I even love the six chickens we had back in Asheville.

Fido was the alpha male in the house. He would constantly pester us during meals. He did not like my being around, which to an extent, I could understand. Pets often take time to warm up to new people. But like children, giving in to attention-seeking behavior only re-enforces the behavior. So instead of telling him to go lay down as he would parade around the dinner table with toys, he would get up and entertain him. And more than once during us laying on the couch together watching television, I would find him missing only to discover that he was laying with the dog on the dog bed. (Folks, I wish I could make this shit up. I don't know what can kick your self-esteem in the ass faster, being ignored by your partner or finding that he prefers the warmth of his pet?)

On top of that, I made several invites to different activities like lunch (we both work downtown and have flexible schedules). Nope. Fido gets walked three times a day for at least an hour, which Mr. Burgerman records on an app on his phone, for what reason, I don't even want to know. I can put up with all manners of behavior (I mean have you read any of the other entries here? I haven't even gotten into some of the long-term courtship disasters yet!). But I cannot and will not compete with a canine.

It came to a point that Mr. Burgerman just did not have time to interact with me because of his self-imposed obligations to his dog. I finally drew the line when our dinner plans were postponed until a ridiculous hour and when I showed up I found Mr. Burgerman not at home. Fido was being anxious and he just had to walk him. He just couldn't wait ten minutes for me to arrive. He didn't have a pet, he had a spoiled child that he indulged at every whim.

If I couldn't sustain his attention in the honeymoon of our relationship, what would it be like six months from now? I also realized that any hopes of having cute coupley trips would be marred by the beast. You know he does not go anywhere without the dog. As my mind inserted the dog in every scenario (and I mean every scenario), I knew I just couldn't do it. Besides, it seemed they had a very good thing going, and who was I to interfere?

I guess I'm more of a cat person anyway.