Thursday, December 15, 2011

...And Then He Kissed Me

You know that I went on a date with The Engineer, right? And that it was...different. He was shy and charming and smart and a perfect gentleman. We laughed and talked about so much including, faith and family. As hard as I tried, I couldn't find one thing wrong with him. He even asked me out on a second date before the first was over. When I told him that it'd have to be in the afternoon, he said that he was definitely thinking night. And thus, the "Friend Zone" was successfully dodged.

He cancelled our second date hours before it should have begun. The demon, skepticism, came out and I was sure it had less to do with car trouble and more to do with him not knowing how to bow out gracefully. The hour came when we would have been sharing a pizza and my computer pinged. It was him. IMing me. We talked for over an hour and I went to bed placated.

Monday came and he lamented having to go to his company's Christmas Dinner alone. Naturally I assumed that he would ask me to accompany him. (Who am I if not a girl that jumps to ridiculous conclusions?) In the end we both agreed that it was a lot soon to meet the people he worked with and he asked me if we could start again.

Only a fool would say no.

We've talked everyday and made plans for Thursday (tonight!). He promised to tell me where we were going so I'd know how to dress. But honestly? I'd already picked up on his vibe. It would be nice. Grown-up even. Like, shave-your-legs-and-wear-a-dress-in-the-winter worthy. I was super excited. Wednesday came and I still didn't know where we were going to have dinner so I asked. And he didn't respond. All. Day.

Panic crept in and made a home in my heart.

I told my sister, my therapist, the girls at work, the birds, and the rain that it was over. I had been played. How? I didn't know but I was sure that the fairytale was over and I would never date again. Then, my phone chimed.

It was him. He was on his way back from Cleveland - a short business trip - and wanted to see me that night! Could I be there by 7p? No. But definitely by 8. Or 8:05. It definitely would have been 8 if I hadn't needed to try on four different pairs of shoes before going with my black knee-high boots. He called at 8:02 to make sure I was OK. And was waiting outside, like a gentleman, to walk me in.

We sat and he made it known that this date was in addition to and not replacing the one planned for Thursday. And it went perfectly. We were able to have intellectual conversations and a mutual exchange of opinions. Plus, he thinks I'm "stunning". Even when I dropped food on myself at dinner, he told me that it was OK and I finally felt better when I saw a shower of rice fall from his lap.

He walked me to my car and I stood there willing him to kiss me. I honestly don't' think I could have wanted it any more than I did that very moment. I had to literally restrain myself from grabbing him when he said goodnight and turned to walk away. Instead, I yelled out, "Wait! Um, where are we going tomorrow?". He looked at me, looked at the sky, and fumbled around for words and then looked at me and then... he kissed me.

Just a little. Just a peck. But it was absolutely perfect.

And now I've got to get ready for tonight!

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Burnt Toast

So, I guess I'm going to tell the story again after all.

Toasty was perfect. Cute, tall, charming, understanding, and an amazing cuddler. He said all these wonderful things. Like how he wants kids, would be willing to move to my town (He lives about 90 minutes out), that I deserve the best of everything, that I'm gorgeous. But then, on our second date, he wore sweatpants, made no plans, and expected me to put out.

I can't even tell you how upset I was. The man who said he didn't smoke, left to get cigarettes. "I only smoke when I drink", he said. But he'd also told me that he'd quit drinking. You know, after his second DUI and all. However, I did watch him single handedly down a bottle of Beringer White Zin.

Let's all be serious for a second. A grown man drinking pink wine is a major turn off. Especially, when it's something as cheap as Beringer. And let's not talk about how it was the 1.5 liter bottle. That's the equivalent of TWO bottles for those of us who know anything about wine. Two bottles of wine and five cigarettes in less than 2 hours by a man who quit drinking and doesn't smoke.

Then he asked if I wanted to "f**k" him and when I rejected his charming advance, he said, "That's OK. You can just get me off in the morning". Now, I'm not opposed to manual or oral stimulation but I was absolutely floored by his audacity.

Add in the fact that he told me that he was openly talking to other women and you can see why our two week relationship hit the rocks. His goodbye text went like this, "Hey.. Sorry I didn't get back to you.. I not sure about us.. I mean, you turned me down on alot of stuff.. I dont want a woman that turns me down.."

So, I told him that I want a man that's willing to compromise. Not someone who insists on controlling the remote even though I've expressed that I hate this particular show. Or who wants to take a picture of my naked breasts. Or who thinks that he's going to be having sex with me while chatting up other women.

He seemed so promising. He really put on an excellent show. And the whole time I was with him all I could do was wonder where the wonderful man I'd met just days before had disappeared to and what I would have to do to get him back. But I don't want him back. Because the man I fell for was never really there. Awesome.

It's amazing how hard it is to find someone that you actually want to spend time with. I'm talking to at least four different men right now which is absolutely ridiculous if you ask me. Plus, it's super stressful. Why couldn't Toasty just act right? Sigh. 

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Meeting Mr. Right On Time

We all know how hard it is to find someone that we would actually want to spend the rest of our lives with. For those of us that didn't come across him before age 28, it's getting harder everyday. For the umpteenth time, I've turned to online dating. Except, I went the free route. I can't even make you understand how awesome and yet exhausting it has been.

I met someone immediately who seemed like he was worth the time I was investing. He said all the right things. Remembered the smallest details. Schmoozed my mom and sisters by phone. Begged me to bring my dog to his place so that I could stay the night. And then... wore sweatpants. Like, actual grey sweatpants. He was SUPER comfortable in a relationship that was only weeks old.

I won't dwell on it anymore. I've told the story at least 4 times and each time I become even more exasperated. Let's just chalk it all up to a waste of time. Eh. It could be worse.

However, in a fit of spite and anger, I did plan a drinks date with someone else. Then, I told him I was doing it. Because I am a highly sought after woman! AND IF HE COULDN'T FIGURE THAT OUT ON HIS OWN THEN I WAS GOING TO SHOW HIM!

It might have come across as a tad bit crazy.

Oh, well.

Let's suffice it to say that I was none too thrilled about having to get dressed up again for another man that would very likely be wearing sweatpants. Especially one that didn't have the strong jaw and piercing green eyes.

But I was not let down. The Engineer is different. He has a career and a genuine interest in me. I found it funny that we flowed easily into a conversation about electrical work all because I caught him staring at the industrial ceiling. He gets my jokes. And when I told him about my beliefs, he accurately described it as "spiritual but not religious". I was so caught off guard that I could only stare wide-eyed.

He has brothers and sisters and gets why it's important for a kid to have both. And if you read our profiles, it looks like one plagiarized the other. We both love the local festivals and are eagerly learning the city. He even likes live music.

I don't know when I'll ever learn to stop judging books by their covers. I don't know that I ever will. All I know is that The Engineer wants to see me again... on Saturday... night... and I couldn't be more excited.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Reason, Season, or Lifetime

No one ever thinks about how long life really is. Every morning when you wake, you have 86400 seconds with which to work. You can do anything you want 86400 times! Meet new people, go new places, see new things. Anything.

31.5 million opportunities in a year to change your mind. And sometimes, you do.

I grew up way too fast. And now, at the ripe old age of 27, I feel like an old maid.

On more than one occasion, I have looked around me and wondered whose life I was living because surely, I would have made better choices. Regardless of where I thought I would be by now, I am where I am. And I am who I am. And who I am changes 86400 times every day.

I guess my question is: How do you tell people that you've changed? Should you?

I don't know what to do here. There are so many people that I can no longer find room for in my life. There's the guy who lied. But that's not new to me. What was new was the feeling that I deserved better than him. How am I supposed to goodbye to him? I've never done it before without an argument. The screaming and the yelling, the cursing and the blame. Those are my old normal. But they don't fit the new me.

The friends that I used to get in trouble with. How do I say that I don't do trouble anymore? They want to see me and I'm running out of excuses. All I really have are reasons. We are no longer alike and thus, there's no room in my life for them anymore. But I can't say that. Can I?

And what about the other people in my life? The ones that I never truly fit but I forced anyway?

I spent years feeling like a lost puzzle piece. Like something was wrong with me because I had this wonky corner. And there was always someone, their puzzle having a few missing pieces, that was more than willing to let me wiggle in and see if I fit.

You've been there before. You have that one weirdly shaped puzzle piece that has the right coloring and would fit perfectly if it weren't for that wonky corner. I have a wonky corner. And I pressed and pressed myself into other people's puzzles while knowing deep down that I didn't fit.

But I've started to accept my wonky corner and to love it because it makes me special. And as hard as it is, I'm pulling free from other people's puzzles. It's hard. I'm a little battered and bruised. A little bent and torn. But I'm still me. I'm still a little wonky. And I'm finally OK with it.

pic found here

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Strange Things Are Happening to Me

I have the best therapist in the world. You may think I'm exaggerating  but I'm not. I think that everyone should have a counselor as wonderful as mine. She listens and engages in real conversation with me. She never makes me feel like I'm crazy or invalid. Her ideas and solutions are relevant to my life and situation and she's as honest with me as I would want anyone to be.

So, when she tells me something, I listen. Intently. And I rarely hesitate to put her ideas and suggestions into action. She always applauds me for it. I can't tell you when the last time I felt like someone was truly proud of me. She makes me feel proud of myself. For who I am. Just the way I am.

It's like she gets me. So can you see why I was completely confused when she asked me why I continue to use her services? I...I...well, I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. Until, I looked up and she was not laughing along with me. She was dead serious. My therapist asked me outright why I continue to come see her and spend money when I have two people in my life giving me the exact same advice.

She said that they are wise and noble and love me. They love me. Just the way I am.

That's why C always gives me the lectures when I'm going to do something stupid. That's why C laughs when I dribble water out of my mouth and down the front of my shirt. Or is the only person who can hear my gimp when I walk in heels. C listens to me cry and whine and tell the same stories. She believes me when I tell her something new. Because she knows that for all my gossip, I keep some things close to my chest. C understands that just because I didn't mention it doesn't mean it didn't hurt and just because it hurts doesn't mean I won't forgive you. She'll ask me to say something nice about myself and when I come up with nothing, she'll ask me to name 20 things about her. When I'm done, my eyes glowing with pride and worship, C simply says, "You and I are a lot alike." I want to tell her how much she's touched me but I know that she can see past the grin on my face to the shock and sadness in my eyes. For all that I am, I am not self-assured.

E is the man I want to marry but know I never will. If it weren't for the distance and the fact that we don't want to see each other naked, it might be a possibility. Even my therapist thinks we should date. But, if we did, I would risk losing a wonderful friend. When I was racing head-on towards a cliff (and after C had given me three days worth of reasons not to do it), he wrote me an email that included: four thumbs down, a metaphor about a cliff, a confession that he had once been a cliff, a threat to shake me by the shoulders, and the reassurance that he was giving me all the credit in the world and that's why he knew that I deserved so much more than I was allowing myself to settle for. He tells me to get up and run when I just want to eat ice cream and weep. He tells me I'm worthy when I can't imagine that anyone could love me. E tells me that I'm funny when I'm just giving him a hard time. And whenever I try to thank him for something that he's done, he makes sure to razz me on how long it took to show my appreciation. For someone that's never even held my hand, E is one of my biggest cheerleaders and I wouldn't want it any other way.

When I think about C & E and how well they know me, I want to weep. I'm weeping now. Because they know me. The know happy me, sad me, lonely me, open me, angry me, scared me, me. And they love me anyway. C & E have never wanted anything except to be my friend and I've never felt required to do anything to make either of them stay. I'd never known that feeling until now.

To compare the other people in my life to them would be unfair. Because no one could ever give what they've given me. No one could ever come close. And that makes all the difference.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Ten Years Ago Today

I had been a high school graduate for all of three months and was still fighting with my parents about why I hadn't joined the armed services. They, after all, both served in the Army. My brother had chosen to enlist. Recruiters were calling me everyday.

April had just turned three on September 10th. Mom was making breakfast and I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I turned on the t.v. to get the weather. But there was breaking news. A plane hit a building in New York City. There weren't a lot of details so I turned to CNN.

They saw it differently. They didn't think it was an accident.

I yelled to my mom, "A plane crashed in New York!". She said a quick prayer and said this would probably be like the Kennedy assassination. People glued to the television all day but the news never changing.

And then, from the right side of the screen, looking like a home movie of a little boy playing with his toys, another plane hit the second tower.

This wasn't an accident. Someone was killing Americans. In droves.

America was on lock down. Every major city was being put on high alert. Armed Forces went on Operation Delta. Schools were locked down. And I just sat. And stared. And cried.

I cried as I watched people with no hope jump eighty stories to their deaths. I cried as I watched Tower Two fall like a house made of sand. I cried when Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon. And I cried when Flight 93 crashed into a field.

I prayed for it to be over. My mind couldn't stand anymore shock. My heart was cloaked in fear. It's hard now to think that it all only lasted ninety minutes. Because those were the longest minutes of my life.

Not knowing what city would be next. What metropolis was unfortunate enough to be the next target.

I was at home on September 11, 2001. I spent the entire morning standing in our living room glued to the television wondering what else could happen. Who else would die that day. Had anyone gotten a chance to say "I love you" one last time?

Never forget where you were in September 11, 2001. Never forget the feeling of oneness and comraderie that you felt that day. Never forget what a privilege it is to be an American. Never forget that freedom has a price.

God Bless America.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Truth Be Told

It's not everyday that I lose my cool and air all my business online. Yes, I know that I currently maintain four blogs and you should totally stop judging. But the reality of it is that I tell all my business to you. The chosen few who have decided that I can, at times, be entertaining.

I try to keep my internet and real lives from bleeding into each other too much. Which should explain why I was surprised that she knew my name. The Scropio's girlfriend, I mean. She knew my name.

I've been angry with him for months. Not because I can't trust him;  I already knew that. I've been angry because of all the lies. I'm naive enough to believe that if I give you license to sow your wild oats you should have no cause to spew falseness. Because even though I agreed to having string-less encounters, I never expected to be lied to. I should have known better.

Her name is Abrielle. And the 25th would have been their one-year anniversary. Would have. It's such a sad phrase. She came to me because in a fit of anger I blasted The Scorpio for being the "lying, cheating son of a bitch with no respect for anyone including [himself]" that he is. And I did it on Twitter. She saw it and wondered what would make another woman, a simple friend from high school, so angry.

So she messaged me and asked if we could talk. I'll be honest with you. Based on our brief encounter months ago, I was expecting to be yelled at by a gold-tooth-sporting, bra-less, God-less cretin . What I got instead was a kindhearted, soft-spoken, wounded, professional woman in search of the truth.

I told her that how he and I dated four years ago and that he cheated on me throughout our relationship. I never told any of you this, but none of his friends knew we were dating. They thought I was just another harlot in his harem. And if you ask him when he and I broke up, he'll give you the wrong story.

I told her how he tweeted me in February, how we had an easy-going dinner where he swore he'd never done any of the horrible things to me that he was admitting having done to past lovers. Then we started sleeping together in March and it continued through late May.

I told her how he called me by her name.  How that inspired an even bigger fight between us. I told her about being at his football game because he asked me to. She remembers the bet. He was smart enough to tweet about it.

I told her how I asked why he was still worrying with her. After all, she was just an ex that wouldn't let go. Someone that he had tried to block on Twitter but one of her suitors was feeding her information from his time line. I told her that he painted her as a wild woman who showed up at his job and attacked me online for no reason.

I told her how he would be in my house, on my couch with me while texting her. I told her how I asked him outright if he was sleeping with her while sleeping with me. I told her that he said yes.

At first, I'm sure she didn't believe me. Or at least, didn't want to. What woman wants to be on the phone with their boyfriend's lover? But it's hard not to believe someone with a vivid memory of the 13 weeks that they allowed your boyfriend into their bed. It also helps that I put a good bit of it on the internet for the whole world to peruse and explore.

I knew that every truth that spilled from my lips was a knife to her heart. But I couldn't stop. Not because I wanted to hurt her but because I wanted her to choose for herself. Abrielle has a right to know the truth and to make her decisions from that knowledge. No woman, no human being, deserves to be manipulated for another person's gain. Whether that gain be financial, romantic, or, simply, time.

There were some things that I kept from her because I was ashamed. I didn't tell her that I was jealous of her because I wanted to be validated in my righteous indignation. I wanted to be the wounded one and instead I was inflicting the pain. I didn't tell her how I cried the night I finally accepted that he'd been lying to me and that even the things he said then were more lies. I didn't tell her how he spoke softly and said that he was only trying to protect me. That he had hoped that one day I could find it in my heart to forgive him. (That's a quote.)

I didn't tell her about his half-birthday dinner where we talked about love and life and future. I didn't tell her that, at times, I thought that maybe he and I could start again. I didn't tell her that he swore that once upon a time, he had tried to show me that he loved me everyday.

I've been cheated on before. And I've been used in another man's scheme. Neither feels better than the other. They are both equal villains. I'm not ashamed of the role I've played in Abrielle's life and I'm not proud either. I'm sad that I was used to hurt her so deeply. I'm sad that it took me four years to see what I should have realized in three months.

I'm not going to 'thank' The Scorpio for being a douche canoe because he doesn't deserve it. This isn't something he should be proud of. But I will say that this time the  bridge has been doused in kerosene and set ablaze. And that's finally the truth.
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