You love me

I’m incredibly excited to share that I’ve been given my first award by fellow blogger ctrlcandv and I’ve got nothing but love for her for doing so.  Being that my writing is an exercise in honesty, I guess this award means I’m doing what I set out to do.  So thank you for recognizing that!

The TMI Blog Award honors those blogs that discuss everything in detail and do it well. These bloggers aren’t afraid to discuss their most awkward, embarrassing and intimate experiences with honesty, humor and little to no filter.

Being new to the blogosphere, I understand that there are a set of rules that go along with this award:

1. Thank the person who presented you with the award.
2. Link back to the blogger who presented the award to you.
3. Share an awkward, embarrassing and intimate story in 250 words or less.
4. Copy and paste the blog award on your blog.
5. Present the TMI Blog Award to 5 – 10 deserving blogs.
6. Let them know they have been chosen by leaving a comment at their blog.

I will admit ahead of time that I don’t expect I’ll have 5 bloggers to present this award to with sincerity, by virtue of the fact that I haven’t been here long enough to do so.  I will, however do my best to follow the rest of the rules, the main one being my own embarrassing story.

It was 1995, and I was in the hospital after a pretty serious accident that I was in on my honeymoon.  One day, following one of many surgeries, when things were looking pretty bleak, my mom asked if we had the video of our wedding.  My then husband took this as a chance to lighten the mood a bit and went home to transfer our wedding video onto a VHS tape that we could play in the hospital room.  What he failed to do was 1) make sure he rewound the tape all the way before making the transfer and 2) make sure what he was taping over wasn’t something we wouldn’t want our parents to see.

Where did this lack of preparation leave us, you ask?

Well, it left me in a room with my mother, my father, and my grandmother, watching the a tape that – before the wedding portion of the video started – was the quintessential homemade porno.  And all I can remember is being so doped up on morphine that reaching for the remote on the bed felt like a lifetime to achieve.  And in the silence that remained after pressing that “stop” button, the only words spoken came from my mom: “Was that you?”

Those words reverberated throughout the room, until my mom noticed my embarrassment, then began a story of her own.  One of those “been there, done that” stories that you’d rather not have your parents share.

And speaking of sharing, I’m pleased to offer this distinguished award to the one and only: Only Partly Erotic, because he alone makes up for the other 4-10 I could possibly list.

 

The Waiter: Revealed

So much for making assumptions with regard to one of the men in my life.  Since I have a feeling he isn’t going to be going away anytime soon, I’ll go ahead and give him a name: Joshua (changed to protect the guilty). The waiter.  The DWIer. Yes, that one.  I’ve gone through the motions of writing him off more than once already, but each time it was a bit premature and frankly, immature on my part.  When all is said and done, the poor guy has to be incredibly humiliated about his problem.  Unlike many of the boys who’ve come into my life, only to cut and run when they’ve revealed something embarrassing and raw about themselves, this one always seems to make his way back.  He owned up to acting like a douche bag for not responding to me around the time he got into trouble.  I guess I don’t blame him.  I’ve been in the position of not wanting to be social at all for fear of having to talk about something uncomfortable or have a discussion during one of my more depressing times in life.  So how did it come to be that he’s present?  I asked him about a week ago what the latest news was and his answer was a bit bleak, although he did throw in a joke about possibly needing a place to hide out.  Funny, when you think I was putting that thought out there to the universe at some point.  Ask and you shall receive?  I did respond that he’s welcome at my place anytime.  And…

Joshua: Awh, thanks.  Sure we could find something to do in our spare time.

Me: Damn straight.

I’ll spare you the details beyond that, but let’s just say that I was quickly reminded of the reasons why I like this guy so damn much, and why I spent two years of my life putting forth the effort to write him while he was incarcerated.  We can start with the simple: He writes in complete sentences and words via text. It might seem anal to you all, but to me?  That fact alone speaks volumes.  If you can’t spell it out (correctly), or form complete sentences, regardless of the medium you are using to communicate, then we have a problem.  Furthermore, he’s intelligent in his words. Those complete sentences I was just talking about? They are witty and well thought out.  I’m a word whore.  I admit it.

Then there’s the sexual side of him, which is also intelligent.  My loves, when you can combine the attributes listed above with a sexual drive to match mine, we call that “winning”.  Oh, and the photographs I ended up with didn’t hurt his cause either.  I had what my mom would call a 60s flashback when those came my way – another reminder of why I invested all that I have in this guy.  Shortly after that, we were trading our favorite memories of our time together and I couldn’t help but wish I could kidnap him and keep him locked away here indefinitely.

(I can hear your collective sighs right about now.)

Don’t you worry your pretty little heads.  This is one situation I have under control.  I am fully aware of the potential pitfalls and disasters, as well as the good things, that could come from this.  Don’t forget, you’re dealing with a Grade A analytic here.  I spent the drive home from dropping off my girls thinking about what could happen here, what I won’t let happen, and what I really, really would like to have happen.  The only thing that really matters here is the last, since the first two have a) not presented itself and b) I know what to do when/if it does.  As for my happiness?  All I need, at the very least, is one weekend of pure bliss with this man.  And if I know him as well as I think I know him, that’s all he’ll let happen.  Why?  Because he respects my place as mother to two incredible children too much to be a burden.  And while I have a great deal of optimism in this man, this feeling in my gut that he’ll get his shit together, I know I can’t wait around for that to happen.  It would take a hell of a lot of changing on his part.

I’ll admit it. I’ve imagined a life where he quits drinking.  He gets his life in order and out of this downward spiral he’s been on for the past 3 years.  He spends a lot of time with us in this place of peace and realizes how simple life can be when you just slow down and take it all in.  I think how incredible he would be with the girls when that all starts to fall into place, and how much they would love to have him around.  To explore in the woods like they did once upon a time.  To fix bicycles and make dinner and play with the dog.  It did happen, once upon a time… brief and wonderful.  Who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?

And then I wake up and think…

You’re fucking crazy.

The Waiter: Revisited

Kiss me out of desire, not consolation. ~Jeff Buckley

Remember this entry?  You know, the one where I promised myself and the universe that I was letting someone go?  That “someone” being the repeat DWI offender who stole my heart years ago?  Well, I contacted him. And it turns out that his lack of communication was a result of his getting thrown in jail again for violating his parole.  He spent 70 days in jail before being released and now he’s out and weighing the option of facing potential prison music, or literally skipping town.  Our conversation centered around the circumstances under which he found himself in trouble again – celebratory drinking then driving of course. Now, before you start placing judgement on this man you’ve never met, allow me to vouch for him as a good human being.  Drinking problem aside, he has a good heart.  If you know me, you know I don’t typically associate myself with degenerates, so take my word, he’s just a good guy with a problem.  Like the rest of us.  And I suppose that’s what makes it so easy for me to continually find myself in these positions of wanting to help and be there for others.  I know we’re fallible.  I know we all have potential…and I saw a lot in him.  I guess you could say that feeling is waning now that we’ve reconnected.  For one, he’s not speaking in positive terms.  The closest to positive I heard in his voice was when he talked about moving to Mexico and living on the beach.

Where this guy sets apart from others is in his ability to admit when he’s done wrong.  ”I was such a douche bag for not calling you or coming to see you,” he said. “I wanted to, but the time just never felt right.”  We talked a bit about my life and the girls and he seemed genuinely interested and excited about where we were headed.  He told me he’d try and get to see me soon – perhaps to spend a weekend together before he goes wherever it is he ends up going.  I told him to let me know if there was anything I could do.  He seemed moved by that, but it was hard to tell if there was an bit of bruised pride at the thought of needing help.  Later on, I texted him that it was nice to hear his voice, that I was glad he was safe, and I’d connect with him on Facebook so he could keep up with our antics.

“I’m probably going to be deleting my account.”

“Gotcha. Well, take care.”

Forgive me for expecting too much, but his response just rubbed me the wrong way.  Whatever happened to “that sounds great, but…” or simply pulling yourself out of the misery that you put yourself in long enough to know that someone truly cares about you.

Yes.  I care about him.  Deeply.  I put him right up there with the few men who have touched me in such a lasting way that I can’t quite shake it off.  I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that we spent over 2 years in communication via written word – a level of intimacy not often reached these days.  Or maybe I was the only one of the two of us who saw it that way.  So is that where the problem lies?  How men and women perceive our interactions?

I can’t help but think back to the boy who I credit for getting me off my ass and starting this journal in the first place.  He said all the right things.  He had his night of passion.  He conquered.  And left.  Why?  Because he thought he wasn’t what I needed.  So you tell me… is that just another lame ass excuse?  Or is the boy really that insecure?  Why spent a night of bliss with a woman admittedly care about, only to disappear?  Why spend 2 years in conversation with a woman, having genuine interest in her well being, showing interest in being with her intimately, then drop off the face of the earth?  Is it pride?  I can handle that perhaps it’s embarrassment in both cases; the first for a reason I shall not disclose, and the second for continuing to make the kind of mistakes that prevent him from having a normal life.

And then I think to the truly available men in my life.  What does it say about me that I cannot see myself with them in the same way I see myself with the others?  I refuse to accept the “challenge” theory – that old idea that we don’t want someone who is too available to us.  Granted, I have had my share of men who I had to ask politely to step back a bit.  The problem is, I just haven’t found chemistry with those available men.  But I know it’s possible.  My last boyfriend, was more available than most men in my life and we made it work (at least temporarily) because there was chemistry.  I guess I just need to find a nice balance between chemistry and availability, eh?

It’s also been suggested that men don’t want a woman who is self-sufficient.  That they need to be needed.  Couldn’t the same be said for the good guys?  Perhaps women don’t always go for the good guys because they have their shit together enough to not be needed the way a woman wants to be needed.  Catch 22.  The closest I got to the “not too available” and “loads of chemistry” situation was in the guy that was the subject of The Other Woman entries.  Oh, the irony.

So where does all this back and forth, round and round, mind numbing analysis leave me?  In the knowledge that someday, I’ll meet someone in the middle.  Until then, I stop making promises to myself I can’t keep.  I’ll understand that my nature is to nurture.  And I’ll only give as much as someone is willing to receive. I know, harder said than done – but I’m always up for a challenge.

The Other Woman: Revisited

Jack: Well, I guess she is staying in town. I will keep working at it to see you.

Me: Meh.

Ok, so maybe I’m not okay with it. I’ll admit I spent yesterday really looking forward to spending time with this man.  It’s interesting when you think about the fact that his strange behavior before … his constant change of plans … his inconsistent communication style … affected me in a very different way.  I stand by my assertion that I haven’t been overly consumed by this guy the way I’ve been about others, but I can point out the fact that back then I took his lack of response and his few acts of flakiness personally.  Now? Now that I have the real reason behind his last minute cancellation? The response in my heart and in my mind are different, but for once the heart and mind are in agreement.

Meh.

I suppose what made his message this morning cut a bit deeper than expected was my belief in his acceptance of where he was in life; in his decision to obtain his own freedom.  I guess I lost a bit of respect for him, and we all know that respect, for me, is what makes the heart grow fonder.  I would have been fine having a purely sexual relationship with this man following our previous conversation that included his acceptance that he needed to move on.  What I’m trying to say is, I was okay being “the other woman” only when that status was supposed to be a temporary thing.

Or maybe it’s another thing entirely.  Maybe I let my heart start to open up again.  I actually called this potential time with him a “date” and did so in front of my kids, mostly in jest.  For the record, I’ve been divorced for almost 7 years now and have only had one true relationship since then.  My girls are old enough now to really want me to date.  In fact, they have even been putting the pressure on me to do so, which I find both encouraging and uncomfortable.  Do I seem that desperate and alone to them?  Or is it just a product of their adolescence? “Mom, there’s a hottie for you!”

Perhaps it’s in them that the heart always comes into play for me, and yesterday was no different.  Upon hearing my “jest”, my youngest turned our house into what could have been the set for “What Not to Wear” and set about picking out the perfect outfit for my date.  In between calls and on my lunch break, we narrowed it down to one fantastic dress – ironically the dress that a dear friend gave to me a while back and one I’ve been wanting to wear out for the longest time.  My daughter even went as far as picking out shoes and jewelry and offered to do my hair for me.  I’m pretty sure she was channelling  Stacy London when she said something to the effect of we don’t want you looking like you just came out of school or work. She even went as far as picking out the heels I bought a year ago, but have yet to wear.

In all honesty, it warmed my heart.  Not only because I know she’s doing it out of genuine interest in my happiness, but because I am.  It felt good to be preparing for something potentially gratifying – to think about the look on his face when he saw me (and secretly imagining how he’d go about getting underneath my skirt).  But the entire time, in the back of my mind - I knew.

And I know.

I know this isn’t the kind of guy I want to be putting so much effort into.  I know this isn’t the kind of guy I’d waste a cent of gas on so that we can be at his place rather than mine – been there, done that. I know this isn’t the kind of guy I’d wear those shoes for – the ones I’ll have to train my injured ankle to wear again.  So why was I even thinking about going there?

He’s just one of those intriguing men… and I got sucked in to the dream.  He used all the right words and I fell for them like a sad, pathetic girl.

And in the spirit of Poe’s Raven, I went with this:

Me: I appreciate that you think I’m cool and all, but I don’t think I’m “cool” enough to be the other woman. I trust you understand that just ain’t my style.  Best of luck, sweetheart.

The Other Woman

Do you have those people in your life you just can’t shake off for one reason or another? In some cases they’re a constant intrusion on your time and your only recourse is to not respond at all? In other cases, it’s someone you kind of wish didn’t have the hold they have on you? I have to admit that for the first time I’m at a pretty even level in both regards. Boys seem to be getting the hint that I don’t like to be in constant contact, and conversely, I understand that men don’t like the feeling of a woman up in their business 24/7. Kind of interesting when you’ve finally found yourself on both sides of the fence, how easy it is to catch yourself being that person.

Okay, so where was I going with this?  Oh, right…. Jack.  Of Jack and Jill?  I’ve done a really good job of not being that person with him.  In fact, it hasn’t even been a struggle.  It just feels natural to not need to hear from him every day.  We talk when we talk still and the only time I ever found myself up in arms about not hearing from him was in that particular moment of weakness related in the above entry.  Another interesting point about this man is the lack of “future proofing” I’ve found myself doing.  What do I mean by that, you ask?  I mean, I don’t find myself trying to fit him into my life.  I’m not looking for ways to bring him into the mix.  I’m just glad to have the conversation I do have with him and the potential for more face-to-face time in the future.

So, why even have an entry dedicated to him? Because it’s new, that’s why.  I’m not used to having a sexual relationship with a guy who isn’t completely wrapped up in me and with whom I’m not compelled to wrap myself up with.  Granted, we’ve only seen each other once.  But the desire for more is evident on both sides (we’ve made plans to see each other this weekend) and our conversations are full and of a nice depth, as well as lightness.  I guess what bothers me is the fact that he was seeing someone when he initially approached me.  And then again, it doesn’t bother me. On the fence, I sit… which is usually when I find myself breaking shit down and coming to conclusions.  Popcorn anyone?

First of all, I like to think I have a great deal of self respect.  Actually, I don’t like to think that, I know it.  Regardless of crappy decisions I’ve made in the past, I always come out with my self esteem in check and a new badge of honor to my name.  So, does the fact that I continue to give this guy the time of day, in the knowledge that he’s having second thoughts about his current relationship, make me less of a person?  We’re always told the old standby “if he’ll do it someone else, he’ll do it to you”.  But I’m not even thinking in terms of being in a relationship with this guy at this point, so should it really matter?  I guess what I’m feeling uneasy about is the fact that, for all intents and purposes, I am the other woman.  And I don’t think I’ve ever been that person.

Here’s his deal: He’s been in a 2 and a half year relationship with a woman who has 4 children.  The relationship started mainly with just the two of them spending time together and before he knew it, he was knee-deep in kids, the ex-husband BS and future planning.  Until one day, he realized he was in too deep and feeling – from what I can see – suffocated.  Enter: Me. He says he saw in me a really cool woman and he believes his interest in me was a result of his own struggle to work through his issues – confront his demons.  He admitted that he’s pretty sure the family life is something he wasn’t ready for and he’s just looking for his freedom.  So, I guess you could say I embody that freedom.  Or at least, that’s my psychological assessment of things.

During our conversation today, I asked him what he wants and he flat out said that he’s not ready for the kind of everyday life a permanent relationship with this woman would mean.  So I did what I always do, and laid it all out there – brutally honest.  ”You’re being incredibly unfair not only to her, but to her kids.”  I think my honesty irritated him, only as much as he knows it, and has obviously been working out in his mind how he needs to proceed.

“So, I guess it would never work between us – being that I have kids, eh?” I asked.

He laughed.  We talked a bit about his views on it and I shared my understanding about the position that I’m in in that regard.  I don’t expect anything from this man.  A first for me.  I’m just glad that he’s in my life: friend, fuck buddy, whatever.  I’ve given a lot of thought to the fact that I am that woman.  And as much as I’ve mulled it over, put the shoe on the other foot, considered his reasoning, as well as my own… I’m okay with it.

Gathering the Ashes

It’s been a while since I’ve written about the subject of my ex-husband.  Frankly, there hasn’t been much to write about.  I’ve dealt with any issues that have presented themselves timely and in a way that didn’t require much analyzing or venting.  Today, however?  I’m finding myself in desperate need of the latter.  Let’s backtrack a bit, shall we?

Over the past year, my daughters have shared with me the reality that their step-mom is incredibly injurious of their spirits.  She drinks heavily and says some of the most nasty things a person could say to a child.  At first, I expected that their dad was stepping in and making sure this behavior was kept under control, but there came a time when I couldn’t stand idly by any longer.  I called him up after a particularly disturbing story that my daughters shared with me and basically told him that if he didn’t get shit under control with his wife, I’d be doing something about it.  From then on, he said he’d do his best to keep the peace when they were in his care.  I actually remember him using the words “when she has to deal with them”…. as if they were a fucking burden.

The thing that blows my mind most about this is the fact that I always thought of him as a good father.  Someone I knew I could count on to think of our children as his first priority.  But I was quickly learning that in the time since our divorce, the priority seemed to be switching.  ”I have the rest of my life to spend with the girls,” he’s said repeatedly in response to potentially less time with them.  That, my loves, is sad.  To accept that you’ll just put off their formative years to keep the peace? What the hell happened to this man?

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when the girls came home to share yet another unsettling step-mom story.  At this point, I decided to grow some balls, follow the advice of Mary, and offer the girls an alternative.  That alternative being, they could see their dad whenever they want, under the condition that his wife wasn’t present.  This way, their relationship could continue to be the positive one it has always been, without the added stressors of being emotionally abused by another adult.  They accepted this approach, and we decided to have a talk with Randy.

Before the conversation got underway, Randy started by saying that he understood why we were meeting.  He said that he and his wife talked about the issues and realized how much drinking plays a part in their uprisings.  He explained to the girls that her behavior isn’t directed only at him, that he has to deal with it when they aren’t around.  Simply put, he wanted them to know that he is aware of where the problem lies.  After that, the girls each had a chance to speak, as did I, and we all came to the conclusion that the comfort level for each of us is low when the girls are in the presence of their step-mom.  So the outcome ended up being, they will see Randy whenever he can, without her being around.  They will no longer spend weekends with him, but will spend time with him when he is able to pick them up and visit.  This decision was accepted by all, and while difficult, I could tell it lifted a huge amount of weight off the girls.

In the aftermath, step-mom decided to not only post a disgusting status update on Facebook (which was viewable by my youngest daughter), but called me from Randy’s phone to let me know that she’d left him.  ”He mopped the floor with me after your little talk,” she said.  So she took his phone, took his van, and said she’d handle it like a big girl.  Why she felt the need to call and tell me these things, I just can’t fathom.

As you can probably guess, my youngest felt responsible for all that transpired.  After all, she takes the burden of the world on her shoulders for everything… all the time.  So for the past few days she’s been beside herself.  Feeling awful for her dad.  Feeling bad for not being able to see him. And on.  And on.

Until today, when we get the call that Randy and his wife are back together.  They had a long talk and made amends.

Now you tell me.  What kind of message does that send to your children?

1. Their value is less than the person who manipulates and injures on a daily basis?
2. Physical violence is okay?
3. It’s okay to put up with abuse of any kind?
4. All of the above

The strange thing about the tenor of this house this morning?  I’m the only one who seems the least bit concerned about the future.  And I’m a freaking optimist.  Explain that one to me, kiddos.

[Title from "Bridge Burning" by Foo Fighters]

The Waiter

It didn’t dawn on me until I pulled up the empty palate on which I now type, that the story I came here to tell relates somewhat to that of Whitney Houston’s.  And while I don’t want to be one of many who associates her with addiction on the day after her passing, I can’t help but do so since it relates to the subject at hand.  And in the end, maybe that’s the struggle I’ll always have – trying to look past someone’s faults and frailties because I want to honor the good and the beautiful.  I never really thought this was a bad quality – seeing only the good in people.  In fact, I always wished I could pass that message along to the world.  To some extent, I still believe it’s a good way to live.  But when it gets in the way of the bigger picture, when it clouds one’s vision to the sick and unhealthy, the destructive and downright wrong, you simply have to retire the rose-colored glasses.

Journal Entry October 25, 2009: He moved like the sunset

We all have those people who occupy a huge place in our hearts, even though they aren’t present in our everyday lives.  I certainly have my share of those.  But one in particular has weighed heavily on my mind over the past year.  I’ve mentioned him briefly on a few occasions – once as a reminder of how deeply I tend to involve myself in the “messy lives of others”, and another in my entry about my dry spell.  Yes, the man in question happens to be the last to go there.  And while I’m sure we could all use a nice, juicy entry right about now, that is the furthest thing from my mind.

If you haven’t noticed by now, much of my actions follow from intuition and strong perceptions.  I’m lucky enough to be blessed with a high level of connection with others – or rather a deeper connection than most – and I do my best to not ignore when I feel something in the pit of my stomach.  That feeling hit me this afternoon and didn’t let up until I began to do a little searching…searching that led me to the address of a prison in Hunstville, Texas.

Lost?  Of course you are.

Around this time last year I found myself incredibly connected to a gem of a man who embodied that perfect combination of sweet and strong that every woman looks for.  But what sealed the deal for me was the way this man interacted with my girls.  Rarely did I find someone who not only stimulated me mentally, sexually, etc., but who made my girls feel so comfortable and so valued at the same time.  Too good to be true?  I don’t like to think of it that way, but when all the cards were laid out, I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Not long after we met, he got arrested with his second DWI and was facing certain prison time.  Being the optimist, I tried to keep his spirits up the best I could, but I felt him slipping away almost as quickly as he came…until he eventually disappeared altogether.  It would be easy for me to write off someone in a similar situation if I didn’t feel the least bit of respect for him.  But we’re talking about a man who knew the position he was in and communicated his reluctance to get involved not only in my life, but in the lives of my daughters in light of his circumstance.  Not that I disagreed, but I found it very difficult to disengage completely.  I dropped him a line every now and then letting him know I was thinking about him, but that was the extent of my interaction.

Until today.

I felt that unmistakable pull of the universe this afternoon – with his name in the center – and I began to search for any sign of his whereabouts.  It didn’t take long before I was staring at his date of sentence, current location, and date of projected release.  Somehow I was surprised… as if I never really thought it would happen.  The interesting thing is that the last time I felt a similar pull – and let him know he was in my thoughts – was the day before he was sentenced and taken in – a reality I wasn’t aware of at the time.

So I sat there – looking at the screen with his new form of identification and his potential parole date – thinking about how shitty that must be – and hoping that this ends up being a positive thing for him.  I know the statistics.  I know the potential.  And I know that if there’s anyone in the world who can come around, it will be him.

One of my readers at that time left me the following note: “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself incarcerated someday.”

I immediately sought clarification for metaphorical versus literal meaning and my suspicions for the metaphorical side proved to be true.  But I didn’t seek further clarification – an act that I know was a necessary evil.  I’m a huge advocate for asking “what do you mean?”  And 9 times out of 10, it’s an appropriate and healthy way to respond.  But this time?  In this context?  It just happened to be one of those unknowns that needed to remain that way.  It’s a truth about myself that he couldn’t define…only I can.

In the two years that followed, I wrote him on a regular basis while he served out his prison sentence.  He taught me a bit about being realistic during that time, but he never wavered from his constant encouragement of me as a woman, as a mother and a professional, as a human.  He was a brilliant man – well read and practical.  Our letters were anything but surfaced and I suppose you could say we actually got to know each other within those pages.  There was a time when my writing stopped because I was feeling that all-too familiar feeling of foreboding – not knowing what was to become of this thing we were doing.  But I got over that and our written communication continued on a regular basis until I received a text message one day that read simply: “I’M FREE!!!”

Since that time, we spoke on the phone a few times and he said he’d be in my area sooner than later to visit family and wanted to see me as well.  I felt so happy for him for having done his time and for sounding like he was making a change in his life.  Two text messages later, he is gone.  Calls go directly to his voicemail now – something I realized when the girls and I called to wish him a happy birthday back in December.  That fact alone – that he didn’t respond to us singing him happy birthday – makes me fear the worst.  And I honestly don’t know how to feel about that.

Is it wrong to let optimism take such a front seat? I am aware that one of my biggest personal obstacles to overcome is the need to make a difference in lives – to encourage improvement. Fucking hell, I live for helping people through tough times.  Most of the time, I can tell when it’s something that isn’t worth my time.  This man, however?  There’s just something that has kept me drawn in and motivated.  I’ve always had this great deal of faith in him, without really…. I mean really knowing him.

But today? I’m letting it – and him – go.

Biting my lip

A girlfriend once said to me that she loves calling and catching up with me because there’s always some new story to be heard – some new interesting chapter in my life. A boss of mine once said to me that no one could tell a story like I could. My best friend once told me I should wield the pen and change the world. Truth be told, encouragement for my continued writing abounds, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pressure on a daily basis to create something magnificent – and powerless to know what that something really is. I know what I do have – and it’s been happened a hell of a lot more in recent years than in the many eons ago when I started writing.

Stories of Men. Loads of them.

If I could encapsulate each and every story surrounding the men that have come in and out of my life over the years – the kinds of stories I’ve shared with each of the three people mentioned above – I’d have a collection for every woman’s side table and every man’s bathroom. It’s always being said to write about what you know – and boy do I know men. Every gritty, grimy, dirty, sexy detail.

How do I claim to be an expert, you ask?

• As a former “cam girl”, I spent over a year learning their fetishes and could easily write a book on taboo sexual fantasies alone.
• My marriage was relatively open, which brought the kinds of encounters with men (and women) that allowed for much observance of the male approach to unorthodox situations.
• I have a pretty insane intuition and way with reading people.
• Men open up to me about things they’d never share with their buddies.
• I’ve spent the years since my marriage trying every approach a woman could possibly try with men and have seen just about every possible reaction.

While I think that the first two points are enough to keep the interest high, I know the more down to earth, everyday involvement with men at different levels is just as, if not more, amusing. I’m not sharing this to introduce some new direction or goal with my writing, because god knows when I do that I never make it happen.  Instead, I’m just throwing it out there – to the universe – and whomever might be reading – that I could practically burst at the seams with all the gems of male behavior I could serve up.

Let’s get started, shall we?

Remember the guy from this entry? Oh, and this one? It’s okay, I can wait while you catch up.

…

All good? Great!

So the other night I sent him a text message that said the following:

Thinking about you!

Now… before we move on… this was nothing different for me.  Our messages have ranged from overtly sexual (and even visual) to really innocent.  So the next morning I got two calls from an unknown number at 8:00am (still in bed and without coffee obviously) followed by the following text from said number.  NOTE: Spelling has not been corrected – my apologies for that.  Oh and names/employers have been changed to protect the innocent.  Here goes:

Unknown texter: Who is this and r unseeing my boyfriend, Jack? No angry, just saw ur text this morning and need to know please

Me: Just a friend

Unknown texter: Why oil u send Gina text saying thinking of u?

Unknown texter: A text

Unknown texter: Did u know he has had a GF for 2.5 years?

Me: Similar issues and frustrations at our jobs maybe?

Unknown texter: Issues? I work at Acme too.  Maybe I can come by and chat with you.

Me: That would be great.  Always nice to have.

Unknown texter: So u don’t work at Acme?  Where did you meet Jack? Last question I promise.

Me: Work.  Sorry you’ve misunderstood my intentions.

Unknown texter: U should never send a man Ina relationship a text like that. U never know who may see it.

Me: Lesson learned. Thank you.

Unknown texter: Did he say he was single?

[Enter radio silence]

Sorry, darlin’ – methinks you already used your last question.  First of all, this is wrong on so many levels.  I would break up with a guy if my level of trust was such that I felt I needed to check his phone.  I don’t invade your privacy, you don’t invade mine.  The last boyfriend who found the need to check up on me via my text messages and emails is long gone (and probably fucking someone else over as we speak).  No thank you.  So, by reading Jack’s text message without his permission was just plain nasty.  Contacting and interrogating me was beyond stupidity. Can I also say how fucking proud I was of myself for keeping my cool – especially pre-coffee?

Yes, I spent one night with him.  Yes, we do keep in touch.  I’m hardly “seeing” him.  But that’s all beside the point.  Whether or not he told me he was in a relationship is of ZERO consequence.  The subject never came up, which means that it wasn’t important to either one of us at this point in our friendship.

So, where is Jack during all of this?  Well, he did leave me a message that morning which was hard to understand, but was essentially a warning that those calls would be coming.  He did end up calling me after the flurry of text messages finished and I told him exactly what was said so there’s no way either one of us could be incriminated.  He thanked me for being so sweet and said it was a blessing in disguise actually – that things have been going downhill for a while and this really needed to happen.  ”I guess we’ll be getting together for drinks sooner than later,” he said.

“I’m kind of curious though, why you didn’t mention being in a relationship before,” I said.

“Well, we’ve only seen each other once. And if I recall, there’s a little something you didn’t tell me about either,” he said – with an obvious smile.

Touché, Jack…. Touché

We’ll make it happen

Around this time last year I was diagnosed as Bi-Polar Type 2. I remember this time clearly because I had only recently begun embarking on the first serious relationship since my divorce 6 years earlier. The timing, I guess you could say, wasn’t the best to be starting a new relationship, but then again I was doing lots of things back then that I wasn’t really thinking through. The clearest of moments was sitting on my front porch and having my then boyfriend talk me out of being medicated. Granted, I’d spent most of my life thinking I was in complete control of my own mental and emotional state – and content with the occasional trip to my therapist to work through current issues. Looking back, it was the first of many attempts at control that this boyfriend imposed over the course of our short-lived, but oh so heavy relationship (we’re talking Hollywood stuff here). But in the months that followed our break-up, and the realization that I was willing to sacrifice so much of myself for another person, I called the doc up and had another visit. In the time since that visit, I have been seeing my mental state more clearly. Most notably I’ve been able to understand why it was I was allowing someone so manipulative to shape and mold me to his liking for any longer than that first date.

But I didn’t really come here to write about him. I came here to write about how easy it is to fall into the trap of believing that every situation, every relationship, every dating man is created equal. You see, I’ve spent all those dating years since my divorce falling for men from every angle you could possibly imagine. I kept second guessing my approach so I kept telling myself that there must be some other way. There were the one-night-stands. The co-workers. The emotionally unavailable and the insecure. And with the advent of Facebook, the guys I always wanted to be with in high school, but never had the chance. Oh, come on… we’re all guilty of that. I have pages upon pages of written word from my just trying to understand why something fell apart, or what the hell was wrong with me, or what would I do differently next time. Why wouldn’t a guy like me to bring him chicken soup when he was sick? or How could a guy stay up until morning with me, taking absolute care of me mind, body and soul, then send a presumptuous text message about my unattainable desire for him? Fuck it all, I thought after that one. I’m tired of even trying. Drama and misunderstandings? I’ll just take the sex and be done with it.

Enter trip to Austin. Actually, I didn’t go to Austin with the intention of having sex, although it was always in the back of my mind how nice it would be to get some. And there still remained a bit of a sting that I couldn’t spend the night with the guy I really wanted to be spending the night with while there. So drinks ensued with some friends of mine and before long we were invited to join a group of kids sitting next to us. Drinks continued at another bar and before you know it, I was going home with a guy easily 10 years my junior (who looked strikingly like Dave Grohl I might add). It was fun, I suppose. I can’t quite come to grips with the way I truly feel about it. Well, at the time I couldn’t. A week later? It’s had the chance to digest… fully. Now, I’ve always been an advocate for casual sex. But this… this was just plain dirty. In fact, I haven’t felt this disgusted with myself in a long time.

Enter depression.

One week of one of the lowest lows I’ve felt in a while. Granted, hormones have played a part, but the fact that I’m medicated definitely brings to light the cycle at play here. The manic-depressive tendencies have probably always been present, but always slipped under the radar. They grew and grew as the week progressed until I got a text message from my person of interest in Austin, asking if I was free Saturday night. Now, most rational people would take such a message and smile. Actually, I know I would have had I been in a more clear state of mind, but I read it as “booty call” and punished him for not being at my disposal the week before when I was off galavanting with the young boys.

My mom and step dad are in town helping me clear some brush. That was it. No smile. No apology. Just cold-shoulder bullshit. And like any rational person would do, he didn’t respond. So I started feeling crappy for my response. What ensued after that was a serious attempt to backpedal, followed by the kind of message that suggested I was moving on. Remember that scene in Swingers when Mike fumbles his words over and over until he finally just gives up all together? Yeah, it felt a bit like that. Ok, so not that bad, but I’m pretty sure I felt like that much of an idiot. But in my case, he called.

Not only did he call, but he explained his understanding for where I was and wanted to give me a chance to talk it through. I had a hard time explaining at first, maybe because I’m still not sure where I’m coming from with him. We’re talking about a guy I spent one incredible night with, who I continue to keep in touch with on a regular basis, and was the subject of the following entry. If you’ll recall, I liked the fact that I didn’t need to hear from him 24/7 or every week even and conversely, he wasn’t giving me grief for not contacting him on a regular basis. It felt good. But there were two occasions when I initiated possible time together and both times he was too busy. So … I … crumbled. Then I shutdown. Hence, my cold response to his invitation. What I failed to realize was his attempt, and his sincere apology the time before for not being able to make it happen. I just assumed the worst, which I guess is easy to do when you’ve been used to lame bullshit excuses for so long.

So, here he was… picking up the phone. In that one conversation he made a point to remind me how beautiful I am and what an incredible woman I am. I explained to him how much I’d like to just start slowing down and have a bit of consistency in my life and he’s in very much the same boat. My heart started pounding – wanting so badly to tell him how much I wanted to see him again, but not wanting to ruin it by being pushy or sounding needy. And before I even had the chance, he said “We’ll make it happen – I want to spend some time with you really soon.” In my almost 37 years, I don’t think those words have ever been taken out of my mouth.

And with that, I’ll be heading back to the doc to tweak my meds. I can’t have anymore “Mike from Swingers” or “Cougar night out” episodes again.

You’re impervious?

You know that moment when just a tiny bit of doubt creeps into your subconscious? It starts as just a speck. Tiny. Almost non-existent. But it’s there. You’ve felt it many times before. But you tell yourself that this time, your confidence will win the fight. You’re certain that any feelings of rejection or second-guessing that came before won’t this time because you’re in a better place. You’re impervious. No one and nothing can knock you down. But you’ve put yourself in this position by meticulously choosing how you think your relationships should look. By promising yourself that you really only want her for sex… or you really only want him for the friendship. Then reality hits and you were fooling yourself the entire time. What you really wanted was to just have someone.

Once upon a time there was a girl. We’ll call her Jill. Jill was a very strong-willed and intelligent woman (I know I said girl initially, but just roll with it) who happened to be in a really unhealthy relationship. One day, an acquaintance of Jill’s, we’ll call him Jack (creativity is lacking tonight as you can tell), reached out to Jill to see if she’d be interested in meeting him for coffee. There’s no doubt that Jill found Jack a bit intriguing, but being that she was in a committed relationship, she declined. He made a witty remark about waiting on the sidelines (more clever than stalker) and they kept in touch in a purely platonic way. Jack was very honest about his interest in Jill, but never pushed the issue and she liked that.

Time passed in this land of hills and pails of water, and before long Jill came to her senses and ended the aforementioned unhealthy relationship. It took her some time, but she eventually bounced back to life and for the first time Jack had the chance to see her energy and even commented on how much he liked it. Flirting ensued via text and phone, but there was never any great deal of pressure felt on either side to do anything about it. It was nice. Comfortable.

Eventually, the two made plans for a night together and what felt like the beginning of a clear-cut “fuck buddy” scenario. As an outsider looking in (more stalker than clever), the sex was incredible. And the next day had a very “ok it’s been great, time for you to go” feel to it. And they both seemed to be okay with that. There was zero weirdness. There was zero need for a phone call or a text. This was a first for Jill and she liked it.

After a visit with her therapist, Jill began to wonder about her approach to sex. Not the fuck-buddy part, but the fact that she rarely had a conversation with a sexual partner about STDs, birth control, etc. Jill’s approach had always been that as long as protection was used, that conversation wasn’t really necessary. Jill’s therapist was surprised at this and her surprise caught Jill off guard, mainly because Jill never really thought she was doing anything out of the ordinary, and the most recent person that this affected was Jack. So she felt obligated to drop him a text.

Jill: Do you think it was unnatural for us to just hop into bed without a conversation regarding STDs and birth control?
Jack: No silly! I’m clean, are you? Besides, I can’t have babies.
Jill: Well, I do have an STD, but I’m always safe. I’d never put another person at risk.

The conversation that followed via text was the most cool and understanding one Jill had ever had with a sexual partner regarding her STD. It was like she’d just told him what her shoe size was. Similar conversations with other sexual partners were very strained and humiliating. Jack… well… he was just laid back. Come to think of it, that’s how he seemed to approach everything.

More time passed and their communication was at the same level it had always been – not too much, not too little. She didn’t feel this overwhelming urge to hear from him, which again was a first for her. She’d always been told that the kind of guy who she didn’t feel like she had to hear from, would be a good one for her. And vice versa, of course.

Then something happened. It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly, but happen it did. If you’ve been there as many times as Jill has, maybe you’ve reached a point of knowing and can share your wisdom. Here’s the scenario going forward:

Jack sends Jill an unexpected and suggestive message to her work chat.
Jill doesn’t quite know how to respond, so she sends him a suggestive message via text.
Jack responds in kind saying he can’t wait for their next rendezvous.
Jill says Jack needs to get his ass into gear and make it happen.
Jack says “yes ma’am”.
…Aaaaand scene.

Nothing set in stone. No big deal. But the interest is apparent on both sides.

Until, a few days later Jill sends him a lighthearted message that she’ll be in his town on Saturday and he should put his money where is mouth is.

Jack doesn’t reply.

[Enter speck of doubt]

Jill sends another message a little later letting him know that she’ll be meeting some friends for drinks so maybe after?

Silence.

[Open Floodgates]

So why the silence? And why is her first assumption that he is playing games? But the million dollar question is… when did not hearing from him start to matter?