Anti-Social Media

I really need to stop posting bad poetry. Sometimes I’m 15 again. I don’t even know where the urge comes from – I’ve never been terribly interested in writing poems. I do appreciate poetry, and I enjoy poetic language, but this teen-angsty crap has got to stop! It’s just sitting there, mocking my from the top of the page. I really just needed to post something to move it out of the way. Hmm… do I need embarrassing incentives to keep me writing?

Plus, things are looking up. There is something about this time of year that makes me happy: the extra daylight, the warmer (but not too hot) temperatures, the mosquitoes are non-existent, BBQs, campfires, festivals… Seriously, I have no reason to be whining.

I tweeted this last week:

Friends are awesome, but life is too short to stay home when you don’t have a date. My new philosophy: if you want to do something, do it.

marsha (@amanova) June 01, 2012

I was referring to how I’ve started flying solo at more events, even if I don’t know anyone who’s going to be there. This is new for me, and it’s going well so far. Plus, after putting this out there I got a reply that included a link to an amazing blog post on How to Have the Best Summer Ever.

Yes.

In fact, I’m going to eat my lunch outside right now.

This post was imported from an old wordpress.com blog I used to have.

My heart is an M&M
One of many in a little glass bowl
Placed on a coffee table.
Pick me!

I’ve been nibbled at, chewed up, sucked on
I’ve been peanut and plain
I’ve been red, yellow and green.
I’ll melt in your mouth.

I am a blue dark chocolate M&M
You want to bite into me, devour me, taste me
But I’m the last one in the bowl.
Saved? Overlooked? Unwanted?

Exercising patience you pick me up
Place me in the palm of your hand
Turn me over, studying my m.
Your fingers turn blue.

I soften at your touch
Your heat and the pressure
My shell begins to crack.
Will you still want me if I’m damaged?

Pop me in your mouth
Savour me, feel me, know me
I want to experience you from the inside.
I am not afraid.

This post was imported from an old wordpress.com blog I used to have.

Amanova

THEM: Amanova. What kind of name is that?
ME: What do you mean? [I know exactly what they mean]
THEM: Where is it from? What nationality?
ME: It’s not from anywhere, I made it up.
THEM: You what?!
ME: I made it up.
THEM: So, it’s not your real name?
ME: No, it’s my real name. It’s my legal name, I just made it up.
THEM: Huh?
ME: It’s a long story.

And it is, but I enjoy telling it. Just not in the checkout line at the grocery store.

In 2002 I was engaged to be married. It was kind of strange, considering that I wasn’t one of those girls who cared about getting married, but I loved my boyfriend, and could see myself spending the rest of my life with him, so when he surprised me with a proposal, I got caught up in the idea and said yes.

We had a year to figure out all of the details, and one that was extremely important to me was the name. I was willing to call myself his wife, but I did not want to take his name. I had a few good reasons:

1. I’m a feminist
2. I think it’s important to question and challenge traditions
3. His name is very ethnically-specific and hard to spell

Let me try to explain that last one, because it really just makes me sound shallow. I spent the first 27 years of my life as Marsha Jones. One of the most common surnames in the English-speaking world. I had no cultural connection to my last name, in fact, I always thought it was embarrassingly boring. I’m a woman and an only child, so my parents had never concerned themselves with the idea that there would be no one to carry on the family name, so there was no worry there. His was a different story. The Onuczko family is Ukrainian and proud of their background. I think that’s awesome. So it was a lot harder for him to just walk away from his surname. Although I always felt that I was a welcome addition to their family, and I appreciate, respect and enjoy their cultural heritage, I never felt that it was mine, and to take their name as my own didn’t feel right to me. Plus, I’m a bit shallow and didn’t want to have to spend the rest of my life spelling out my last name. Fortunately, my future husband agreed with my reasonings and together we explained them to his family. They were incredibly understanding, and I’m sure it didn’t hurt that they had a younger son who probably wouldn’t marry someone as challenging as I am.

My dilemma was that I didn’t want to keep my name, I didn’t want to take his name, and don’t even get me started on the idea of hyphenated last names. How is this a good idea? Which name do you give your kids? Both? OK fine, so now they have a ridiculously long last name. What are they supposed to do when they fall in love and want to marry another poor kid with a hyphenated surname? 4 names?! So, that wasn’t an option.

And here’s the thing, I may not have been dreaming of getting married since I was a little girl, but I am a romantic. And I really liked the idea of us having the same last name. After all, we were starting a whole new limb on the family tree. So we decided that we would both change our names. The perfect solution. But now the task was to find the perfect name.

We started out trying to combine our two names into something new and awesome. We failed. Miserably.

Jonesko. Onones. Nescko. Ozone? Cojones? Um, no. We even tried adding our mothers’ maiden names to the mix, but we still didn’t find anything we liked.

OK, how about we just find a really great name and go with that? This approach was inspired by a couple whose wedding a good friend of mine had attended. They changed their names to Skywalker. I’ll let that sink in for a minute…

– – –

We searched everywhere for the perfect name. We would each compile a list of possibilities and then get together to discuss them. I focused on literature and everyday words. His fondness for fantasy novels and video games produced a few interesting possibilities, but nothing was quite right. We wanted something that would be meaningful for both of us, sounded beautiful and combined well with our first names. It wouldn’t hurt if it fell near the beginning of the alphabet. We began to talk about not just claiming an existing name, but creating our own word, our own unique name. He had done this for characters in the RPGs he played. I was taking a Latin class at University, and was impressed by how many words come from Latin roots. I wanted to try to create something that would have a deeper meaning.

Amare verb: to love
+
Novare verb: to create or make new
= Amanova

We scoured phonebooks and googled it. We didn’t find much. A professor in San Diego, someone in Kyrgyzstan. We wanted something unique, but were willing to accept that there aren’t too many completely original names. We decided that the few we found were acceptable. We were never concerned that someday someone from the Amanova family would track us down and try to claim us as their own.

Of course, I’m no longer married, but I’m still Amanova. He changed his name back after the divorce, but I wanted to keep it. It’s who I am now.

Anyway, that’s the story of my name. I think it makes for an interesting tale. Most people seem to enjoy it, but I don’t think I’ve inspired anyone else to do the same. There have been a few minor bumps along the road, but nothing that would make me regret my decision. I did have a relationship with one guy who never liked the idea of me keeping the name I created with my ex. And I met one person, a Czech woman, who upon hearing my story was convinced that what I’d done is akin to blasphemy – stealing a name! Fortunately, my irreverence doesn’t keep me up at night.

Every once in a while I’ll search google just to see what comes up: a French musician, lots of Polish pages. I haven’t tried it for awhile, but today ‘s search found something new that’s a bit strange and made me laugh out loud:

I wonder how much it would cost me to buy that domain?

This post was imported from an old wordpress.com blog I used to have.

I am a strong, intelligent woman. And yet, I have this tendency to be a bit boy crazy.

I recently felt the need to cool things off with a guy I was pretty into. We had known each other for a while, but had only been on a couple of dates. What I wanted to tell him was,

So… I don’t think I can see you anymore since I’ve fallen head over heels for this other guy I just met who lives with his girlfriend in a different city, and who I’m pretty sure feels the same way about me, but we aren’t going to see each other until July so who knows what’s going to happen, but I wouldn’t feel right not telling you about it, and even though I think you’re really sweet and yes I’m attracted to you, you just don’t really compare to this other guy who I can’t have. Can we be friends?

I mean, that’s the truth. But that’s not what I said. What I actually said was more along the lines of,

I really like you, and yes, I’m attracted to you, but the problem is that I really think I need to focus on me right now. And if we keep going along this trajectory I know what’s going to happen: I’m going to put all of my energy into you. Into learning about you and thinking about you and wanting to spend time with you. Because that’s what I do when I’m into someone. I know it sounds selfish, but I really just need to put that energy back into me. I’ve told you about my recent slap-in-the-face discovery that I need to refocus my energies and reevaluate my life and I don’t know if I can do that while starting something with you. And you know that I recently ended a medium-serious relationship and the last thing I need to do right now is jump headfirst into another one. Can we be friends?

A pretty different story, and yet, still true. I just saved myself the discomfort of having to explain the out-of-town impossible guy that I fell for in 3 short nights to a guy who I had just started dating.

And he was really cool and understanding about it. And I’d like to think that we are friends, even though I still haven’t told him about the other guy. The one I can’t stop thinking about. The one I’ve been putting all of my energy into. The one I want to spend all of my time with. Woah.

So. Time for a reality check. I am OK with the fact that I’ve totally fallen for someone situationally inappropriate, and with the fact that it’s pretty much an impossible situation right now. I’m thriving on all of the energy and anticipation and the excitement of the many optimistic imaginary outcomes that I have been able to dream up. But, I need to remember to breathe. I need to remember to be me. I’m much happier and far more interesting when I’ve got my own things going on.

There’s a fine line between enthusiasm & passion and addiction & obsession. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to stop feeling this way. I don’t want to let go of any of my wanting, desiring, intense feelings; I just don’t want to go over the edge into scary, needy, craziness.

I’m just going to keep it awesome. And keep having fun. And keep singing this song:

This post was imported from an old wordpress.com blog I used to have.

I have had this book on my bookshelf for over 15 years. I’ve started reading it a few times, but never gotten very far. And yet I can’t bring myself to toss it, recycle it, sell it or give it away, even though that’s what’s become of hundreds of books that I’ve owned in this time period.

I’m a big believer in helping yourself, but I cringe at the term “self-help.” But I bought this book for a reason, and I’ve hung on to it all these years for a reason. So why haven’t I ever gotten through it? It’s not that long. And why can’t I let it go?

I think deep down I believe that I need it. Or something like it.

Is it possible that this silly yellow book could be the key, or even just one of many, that might help me unlock the chains that have been holding me back all of my life? The idea of that is just too scary. I’m afraid of this yellow book. I’m afraid that either it will not help and I will continue to fumble around in the darkness, trying to figure out what I really want, or that it will work and then what? What lies beyond me figuring out what I really want?

I pulled this book off of the bottom of the bookshelf tonight. I opened it and started reading. And I recognized myself in the first few pages. Hope bloomed. And I immediately stopped reading and got on my computer and started typing.

What does that mean? And what happens next?