Message in a Google Search

Just for the hell of it, I looked into what terms people are Googling to get to my blog. Interesting, to say the very least.  Especially since one of the findings was “[my real name], if you need a man to pleasure you then im all game”.  Now you tell me, would that creep you out just a little bit?

Then there’s “for argument’s sake, cougar women age”.

I’d marry you, but I’m so unwell

Yes, sweetheart.  You are fucking crazy.  But as Seal so eloquently put it, we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy.

I spent the day yesterday in an emotional heap over this incredible loneliness I feel when the girls are gone.  Believe it or not, I got a call from Jack checking in on me.  In a way, it felt good because I was able to finally vocalize what hurt so badly about the situation with him.  When all is said and done, he led me on.  You can’t reach out to someone, say you want to get to know them, have them over for a night, continue to stay in contact, and then AFTER the truth comes out about your girlfriend, continue to be in contact.  It doesn’t work that way, dude.  You need to figure out why it is you’re seeking out the company of other women in the first place, and if it’s because you’re lacking something in your current relationship, fix it.  If you can’t fix it, then move on.  Look, I’ve been on the side of the fence of “if it feels good, do it” for most of my life.  But there comes a time when selfish needs affect others and you have to take into account the feelings of others.  Otherwise, you’re just an narcissistic asshole.

Allow me to give you a little background on my experiences, so you know I’m not just making an assessment without anything to back up the argument.  My marriage was a relatively open one.  We weren’t full-on swingers, but we did have couples we’d get together with for fun.  We did this for years under the assumption that sex can be separated from emotion; that we would all stay in check, so to speak.  But sex is a powerful thing, folks.  It does things to the psyche that I don’t think scientists can even comprehend.  We are predisposed to connect chemically with others, and no pact can prevent that from happening.  And while my marriage didn’t break up over one person forming an attachment to another, it did break up over the illusion of this; over the idea that someone else was connecting with me in a way that my husband couldn’t.  Emotion got the better of him, and he snapped.  Granted, this was a special situation, being that the extramarital sex was consensual.  But you can see where the dividing line washes away with that thing we call the heart.

Over the years I’ve had many friends come to me and admit they’ve cheated on their spouses.  In each instance, I’ve been understanding and non-judgemental, because I’m aware of what drives people into the arms of another person, and I’ve come awful close to doing the same.  Taking sex entirely out of the equation, I did have an emotional affair with someone online while I was married.  But there came a time when I needed to stop, refocus my efforts on my marriage, and see if there was some way of salvaging what we had so that I wasn’t seeking out others.  In the end, our relationship just wasn’t right.  Why continue to go through the motions when there’s something so amiss?  It wasn’t fair to him that I was seeking out emotional connections, and the fact that we were actively seeking out sexual connections didn’t help either.  When I really step back and take a hard look, we had nothing connecting us but our children.

Every relationship like this has some connection keeping it going, otherwise the cheating partner wouldn’t stay.  In the case of Jack?  He has built such a strong connection with his girlfriend’s children, that he feels like he’d be abandoning them if he didn’t stick it out.  I find that honorable.  To stick around and try and work things out for the sake of someone else’s kids.  How wonderful is that?  But if you’re going to continue to lie and manipulate so you can have your cake? That’s just wrong.  ”For the sake of the kids” has always baffled me.  Why?  Because I can honestly say that I’ve been a better parent to my kids since I’ve been divorced than when we were together by virtue of the fact that I am not spinning my wheels to make something work.  Nor am I feeling miserable or guilty because I can’t make it work.

My last relationship?  My first taste of truly being cheated on.  And we weren’t even married, so I can’t imagine how badly the knife stings when those vows are involved.  But does being married make it more acceptable? Why would a wife sit across from her husband and say she understands such an act, while a girlfriend can say “go to hell”,  pack her entire car with her belongings from his place in a matter of 5 minutes and drive the hell off.  The logical answer would be, the wife has more invested.  And to that answer, I would have to agree.  But if you’re inclined to do it once, you will be again.  So either way, 6 months in or 6 years in, why put up with it?

I’ll say it again: Figure out why it’s happening, try and fix it, and if you can’t, then move on.  In the case of my last relationship? It was just the last in a long list of asinine things this boy did, so there really wasn’t anything to fix.

Also, ask yourself this: Would you want it done to you?  If you answered, “I really wouldn’t mind,” then you’re full of shit.  That’s just a sad justification for your continued disregard for your partner’s heart.

And as someone who has reached an age where I want someone to love unconditionally and vice versa? Someone who wants to protect what we have as a couple?   I get a bit frustrated with those who do have someone to come home to, and yet they take that gift entirely for granted by stepping out of bounds.  Unless you’re truly trying to figure out what it is that’s making you blatantly disregard the person you’ve committed yourself to, then you’re being selfish.  And I feel sorry for you.

(Title from “I Kicked a Boy” by The Sundays)

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.

Friend to Stranger

Jack: I totally can appreciate that! And thank U!

For what? Letting you off the hook?  At least… that’s what I’m thinking.  Regardless, I spent the rest of the weekend working my ass off at my place – clearing my head – feeding my soul.  If there’s one thing I appreciate about myself, it’s the fact that there’s always a moment of clarity.  There’s always a moment when I say, Sweetheart, what the fuck were you thinking? I spent the rest of the day asking this very question while spreading mulch all over what I’ve come to call “The Sanctuary” at our place.  My place of peace.

Before a house even existed on this property, there hung a hammock.  From the beginning, it was the promise of peace for me… a vision of something remarkable in the works.  At some point during the year and a half since we’ve lived here, that hammock was broken – a day I will never forget – because it symbolized so much for me at that time. It was broken by him – split right down the middle.  We laughed about it at the time, but it’s safe to say, my peace went with it.  But as Sarah Blasko so eloquently put it, Winter wasn’t here forever. So I put aside my ignorant pursuit of a boy who is taken, picked up a shovel, and sweetened the space in which I will spend the coming Spring.

And in the hours that followed, isolation and loneliness withered away.  I found myself belting out “I never wanna die” at a Karaoke bar … not giving a flying fuck who might have been judging my over-the-top performance.  I did so in the knowledge that I was there with someone safe and with good intentions.  He is one of the good ones.  Someone I could easily say that my best wouldn’t be good enough for.  And even as I’m typing the words, I think to the very boy who prompted me to start writing again in the first place.  The very boy who said something similar to me before he jetted off to his part of the country – I can’t be who you want me to be.  Irony lies in the fact that I sent him a drunken message that very night…

I still can’t believe how you left things with me.  Presumptuous and sad.

I’ll admit, I have taken some time to consider the similarities in these two situations.  My telling the good guy of my disinterest in anything serious – compared to the boy’s admonition that whatever-the-fuck I wanted from him wasn’t anything he could provide.

If I sound bitter, I am.  And I won’t apologize for it.  Because when all is said and done, there is a distinction between the two, and it’s really very simple.  I never laid a hand on the good guy.  I didn’t tease.  I didn’t lead him to believe he would be getting any part of me other than my friendship.  And from the very start, he understood my lack of desire for him romantically.  Furthermore, every man I’ve been involved with knew what my intentions were from the start, and if anything changed without discussion – it was on their end and not mine.  Now, I do put stock in the theory that romance can blossom from friendship, but I have not crossed that bridge or planted that seed with this particular man.

As for the boy? Well… when you’re lifting a woman up onto a bridge, covering her body with your hands and your mouth, then sharing a very intimate and private moment with her, the signal, my loves… is desire.  So yes, my bitterness comes from the fact that absolutely zero responsibility has been taken by him in that regard.  It was merely handed to me with very little regard for asking me what my expectations were.  Only the assumption I had some that he couldn’t fulfill.  And for the umpteenth time in my life, a man I considered a true friend… became a stranger.

And when all is said and done, that’s the part that cuts the deepest.

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]

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.

Giving the Digits

Once upon a time I gave my contact information out to someone I shouldn’t have. Before I knew it, I was receiving a multitude of communications via various methods that not only sent me flying into overwhelmed mode, but made me not want to respond at all. You’ve been there. I know you have. I’m even willing to bet that you’ve been on the giving side of this fence. Yes, there are times when we meet someone who just captures our attention and we can’t turn it off for even a second. And when they don’t respond, it makes us want them all the more, right? Again, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been there. It’s the equivalent of jumping up and down yelling “I’m right over here… notice meeeee!” And all it does is make you more and more vulnerable each and every time you do it… until you’re not only beating yourself up for waiting by the phone for a response, but you begin making the other person out to be an asshole for not keeping the communication going.

Which is why I find it interesting that we don’t keep this in mind when we’ve hopped the fence from overwhelmee to overwhelmer. The subject of my current state of overwhelmed (or I should say, my former state) is a guy who used to be a customer of mine. We found that we had a really great level of chemistry that went beyond shop talk and at his request, and against my better judgement, continued our line of communication off the record, so to speak. Almost immediately, the emails poured in and when I didn’t respond right away, he would take it personally and prey on my sensitive side. This side, by the way, is the one that put myself in his shoes and could easily feel the sting of being ignored or not worthy of someone else’s time. So I eventually gave him my phone number. Seriously, folks… I can see you all shaking your heads now… no need to say it. I’m sure you can guess what happens next.

Texts flood. Calls begin. And the guilt-ridden, sadly pathetic attempts to get me to respond multiply. I have to say, this was the first time I got a really good practice with telling someone who’s been in his shoes how it is. But, “Dude, just because I don’t respond, doesn’t mean I have no desire to” said a million different ways never quite got through to this guy until I finally had to come right out and tell him I couldn’t do it anymore. His texts and emails were becoming possessive of my time – this from someone I’d never even met.

It was pretty interesting considering another customer of mine had recently given me the following advice: Your heart is a gift, guard it. I can see where people, especially online, would take advantage of your sensitivity. In fact, this piece of wisdom was written on a sticky and staring me down on a daily basis. It applied to my life not only as it related to that man, but to the man who’d broken me down only a few months prior.

Simply put, I was beginning to put to practice this art of taking care of my own happiness first, rather than feeling the need to save everyone else from their own misery. This guy was miserable and he was looking to me for light and joy. There’s no doubt this has been my weakness most of my life. But I didn’t come here to get all philosophical or reflective, thankyouverymuch. I came here to write about the beat it like a dead horse approach.

Friends, it doesn’t work. Being in someone else’s face 24/7 is not going to get you where you want to be. I’m not talking about playing hard-to-get either. There is a nice middle ground between being annoyingly available and having a superiority complex. What I’ve learned from being on both sides of the fence is that there is definitely something to be said for that quiet space in-between dialogue or physical contact. Think about how you feel when you haven’t seen one of your favorite movies in a while. It might not be on your mind all the time, but when it does pop in, your heart races and you connect. But there’s not this overwhelming need to watch it constantly. You get your fill, put it back in the box, and move on to your everyday business. However, if said movie were on constant repeat on HBO, you’d better believe you’d be steering clear of that channel.

My therapist once told me that the person who is going to work best with me is the one who I don’t feel a constant and persistent need to be in touch with, and who doesn’t feel a constant and persistent need to be in touch with me. I would think that should be the case for everyone, but I’m no professional, so I’ll refrain from offering you that same guidance. What I will say is, just chill.

So whatever happened to the subject of this entry? Well, I went quite a while without hearing from him. Yesterday, however, I received an email that he was clearing out his contacts and wanted to wish me and my family well and thanked me for my assistance when he needed it. All I’ll say is, I find it amusing that the subject of his email was “clearing” and that he used various references to “deleting” and “clearing” in the body of the message itself. I have to admit that the bitch in me wants so badly to respond “just do it already!”

But why?

So, we’ve come to the point where you’re asking “why”? My dear, why have you started this anti-bullshit project? I suppose you could say that the presumptuous text from the male friend in the first entry was the tipping point for me. I’d spent a solid six years getting close to men in some form or fashion and been repeatedly offered similar loads of crap without even broaching the subject of romantic interest with them. In each and every one of those cases, I was never even given the chance to speak to my level of interest in the other (be it sexual, friendly, or romantic), I was just given some random roadblock and their presumption that I was wanting something completely unattainable. But the sad thing is, I love people. And I love engaging in conversation. I love intimacy on various levels. And above all, I value my friendships. In each of these cases, I was never even given the chance to state my level of interest. I was always beat to the punch by some ridiculous road sign the equivalent of “don’t go there”. But I’m confident that in every instance, they lost a friendship they never even knew was possible.

The other reason I’ve started this project is because I’ve found myself in the shoes of my male friend a few times lately. I know it’s hard to believe, what with me being so charming and all, but I’ve rarely been on the side of the person letting someone else down easy. Is that what we call it? In the defense of all those men who’ve come before and left me with a preverbal slap in the face, I understand how hard it is to tell someone you aren’t interested. Case in point, I did this to someone recently. See? I’m not immune to taking the easy way out. But one of the reasons I’m here and writing is to remind myself and all of you that easy isn’t always best or right.

Not being absolutely clear with another person about your intentions or your level of interest as often as possible is incredibly important. Now, I’m not saying you need to start every conversation with a potential person of interest with a discussion about your level of interest or disinterest. But be clear. If you feel like someone might be becoming more of a romantic interest to you, say so. Conversely, if you think someone might be developing feelings, discuss amongst yourselves. Assumptions will get you nowhere fast in the dating world, folks. One of my best male friends has remained that way because we followed this approach.

And just so you know, there is no such thing as a “friend with benefits”, so don’t fall in to that trap. “Fuck buddies” are one thing and definitely doable (pun intended), the distinction of which I intend to cover in future entries.

Being Upright

Do you ever have those moments when you realize you’ve made it to another stage in life…and rather abruptly at that? Within the past 24 hours I’ve come to find that my tolerance for bullshit has significantly decreased. I wouldn’t say that I’ve developed a hard heart, but rather a firm grasp on what’s right and what’s wrong and I’ve learned how to put my shoulders back (rather than inward) and speak up when appropriate. Allow me to set the stage:

Breakfast with my brother, my nephew, my sister-in-law, and my mother. We’ve been seated and settled and we’re looking through the menu and making our decisions, when the waitress comes by and asks if we’re ready to order. I briefly tell her that I’m not sure and I look to my family members for the status of their decisions. I told her that I wasn’t quite ready, but that I’d have a decision by the time she got around to me.

“Are you sure?” she asked with an overt tone of condescension. Strike one, my love. I understand that you’re probably up to your eyeballs in the requests from other tables, but there is a respectful way to get that point across. We did, indeed, order and when the time came for me to order, I asked what my side-options were for the choice I had made. This inquiry was met with an incredibly rude roll of her eyes, followed a reach for the menu to point out my options, as if I should have known already. This response equalled to strikes two and three for me so I responded with, “is there a problem with my asking that?”

Let’s just say that if there were a visual equivalent of “did I think that or say it” this woman was in the midst of it, wondering if she really did roll her eyes the way she was inwardly. She immediately corrected herself and the rest of the breakfast was served with the utmost amount of respect from her. Likewise, I met her with the same level of respect. I know we’re human, and fallible, and affected by our surroundings. And I’m willing to give people the chance to make right when they’ve stepped out of that realm. She did, so I responded in kind. In that instant, that calling of her BS and my decision to not be treated poorly, our rapport was established and built upon nicely. My family members were amazed at the change in tone and my sister-in-law even asked about my approach and how I came to respond that way. “Must be an age thing,” I answered.

I’ve spent my life not wanting to rock the boat; not wanting to stand up for what I believed to be right. Granted, I wasn’t the kind of person to completely roll over and allow myself to be abused, but I always felt like it wasn’t worth the risk to speak up. I understand now why I did so. I now know that placing one’s shoulders back and speaking up when necessary requires a great deal of inner strength and self-confidence. The truth is, those things never quite solidified in me and while I’ve always played the part of having a tough exterior, that role fell short when it came to taking care of myself.

While we’re on the subject of low tolerance for bullshit, what ever happened to Tracy Bonham and her Burdens of Being Upright? I woke with one of her songs in my head yesterday and couldn’t help but call up her entire album. I find it interesting how many different ways people deal with and sort through difficult situations. Adele writes songs. I just plain write. I’ve spent the past 6 months getting to the point where a don’t have negative associations anymore. Up until then, there were constant reminders of what I now call my “six months of desperation” which usually left me saying something dramatic like: Oh, the theater we’re looking for is just past the street I used to turn on to get to fuckhead’s house. Now, I can put on a Dave Matthews song and feel like I did before I lost myself in said desperation.

Desperate.

What a sad word. Something I never could have used to define myself. But when you find yourself compiling a list of things you allowed to have happen to you on a daily basis, and ask the only professional worth seeing why you’re thinking about letting it continue and why you let it happen in the first place, and they respond “you were desperate”… it stings. 6 months and thousands of written words later, here I sit.

Upright. Unapologetic. Unyielding.

Only the real

“I’m not good enough for you.” You’ve heard it before. You’ve probably even said it before.

I’ll be the first to admit that when someone pulls a bullshit phrase like that out of his ass instead of “I’m just not into you”, my blood boils. The most recent utterance of similar bullshit came my way from an old boyfriend. I broke his heart back in high school and we’ve kept in touch off and on since then, with no level of caring lost. We’ve always had this way with talking; something we do rather well. I see him roughly once a year when he makes his appearance known in our hometown. Long story short, the most recent experience brought us a hell of a lot closer. Conversation was incredible. Intimacy was reached. This dude went as far as pulling out his guitar at the end of the night and singing to me. In the days that followed he slowly disappeared from the lines of communication. My messages to him were nothing different than what he was used to from me. Yet, in the end, he decided that the following was the most appropriate thing to send to me:

You know I can’t be who you want me to be.

So not only are we going to pull bullshit out of our ass, but we’re going to just go ahead and assume what the other wants. Normally, I’d enjoy a nice healthy dialogue in response. Instead I sent him the following:

I don’t think you’ve ever even asked who I wanted you to be. Take care.

“Take care” was a special zinger being that he always seemed to use that phrase to end a conversation and move on to his own charmed life… “it’s back to my west coast world and focus on myself” happened to be part of the same message. Now, I’m all for focusing on self, but let’s be honest with the rest of the world when we go about it, shall we? I suppose I’ve heard those words enough to know where they come from now. After all, it was only the night before when he admitted that being with me makes him want to read a book; that I’m intimidating.

“Intimidating” is a word I’ve heard many times over the years. But to say you’re not who I want you to be, well that’s just plain sad. It puts the responsibility back on me, when I wasn’t asking for you to be anything other than yourself in the first place. Therein lies the irony, my love.

But keep in mind that while we’ve all been angry for having heard those words, at one point similar words have left our mouths. Come on. Admit it. I’ll be the first to. I’ve been in the position of wanting to feel more for a person than I originally did. Of knowing they’d be good for me, but realizing that it just wouldn’t work, either for lack of chemistry or lack of common interest. Nowadays, I’m practicing the difficult art of honesty when it comes to situations such as these. I can see why the lame-ass excuse of “it’s not you, it’s me” is so damn easy to spew because it prevents hurt on the other side. But in reality, all it does is create confusion and frustration. I’d much rather know the truth, that I’m not the right size, or my feet stink, or my breasts sag, or whatever, so I can move on and appreciate someone who does appreciate those flaws in me. I don’t want to spin my wheels trying to make something work that won’t work because someone told me they have their own shit to work out. I’ve been there, many times, feeling like whatever the other person’s issues were could be worked through. The “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse does nothing but invite the response “whatever it is, we can work through it.” Come on, folks. That’s not what you were going for when you said that, right?

Let’s try it together, shall we?

I don’t feel chemistry with you.

Good, now put it to use, will ya? And throw that other garbage away.