After I went a little (okay, a lot) crazy over a plethora of things, Dave broke up with me today over the phone. Yes, that's right, ladies and gents. Over. The. Phone.
I saw it coming. Knew why he was calling. And was totally devastated.
This is a particularly sensitive time in my life with my divorce two weeks away and insecurity at the job I've had for four years looming its ugly head. And one little thing completely set off a chain of events that I would never have imagined would occur today, the day before I was going to meet his parents for the first time. Three days before he was going to meet my mom. Yawn. Sigh. Vomit. Repeat.
I fell in love with someone emotionally unavailable. Someone so busy working on his new career that he has little spare time. Someone that had such a difficult marriage, it seems, that he may never be able to cohabitate with anyone ever again. And, for what it's worth, he fell in love with me, too. I'm just not enough for him. Not what matters to him. His future is what it's all about, and it is, for all intents and purposes, pretty much meaningless to him whether I'm part of it or not. But it's been fun.
From what I can tell, that isn't supposed to sting. That's supposed to be okay. Acceptable.
I drove to his house to return the camera that had sparked the veritable explosion in my love life. And because I just couldn't BELIEVE he had dumped me over the phone. The phone. Fucking A!
And now he says the ball's in my court. He says I can decide whether we stay together or not. But that he's not going to have a lot of time for me over the next two years and that he really wants to move away when he's done with school. He said he wouldn't let me get in the way if he's offered a job somewhere else he'd like to live. Be still my beating heart. No. Seriously. 'Cause this love shit sucks balls.
I am beside myself as I try to make a decision by tomorrow morning, when he told me to let him know. "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" Easy. It's only a broken heart. It's only tearing me apart.
If you've read this blog, you probably know how this will end. Back on the market, wishing just once I would find someone that really loves me and really gives a shit. Someone with whom I am a priority. Someone that makes me laugh. Someone that takes me to new heights of ecstasy. Someone who is my best friend. Someone that makes every other person I've ever met seem meaningless. Someone worth shaving my legs for. Forever. Or some close facsimile thereof.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I Can't Believe I Daved For This
When you know, you know. When you don't know, well, you know then, too. And I know this much is true: When someone loves you - really loves you - it shows. And when you're not a priority in someone else's life, well, that shows, too.
I have fallen in love with Dave, one of the most self-centered people I have ever met. "Self-centered" is a not an insult, but, rather a valu- neutral description. It's a fact. The sky is blue. Kittens are soft. Dave is self-centered. Now, don't get me wrong: He's not selfish, per se. He's not a jerk. He's not a mooch. He likes to volunteer. He gets pleasure from helping others. But he doesn't seem to be making plans that involve me. He often talks about moving, which, as a woman in the midst of a divorce who will be ordered by the court to maintain a residence in the area in which I currently reside for custody of my child, is extremely hurtful. He says that "if things go well" and if I "keep being as awesome" as I am, he'd like me to move with him when the time comes. How nice.
The other day he let me know he had been looking at jobs in Hawaii. Not jobs in two or three years, but actually looking for jobs in Hawaii for right now. Now, to give some background, I tried to break up with him about a month or so ago BECAUSE he's planning to move in a couple of years. He promised me that he would take me in consideration and that he would like me to potentially relocate with him. So imagine my surpise when he casually mentioned he had been looking for jobs in Hawaii. He informed me that he had decided Hawaii is too expensive, though. Be still, my beating heart!
I constantly try my best to understand his way of thinking and not let myself be hurt or offended by it, but the truth is it IS hurting me. More than he realizes, I am sure. It's tearing me apart. I woke up two days ago crying. When I mentioned something in passing yesterday to him about my "bad mood" the day before, I and he asked why I felt that way, I couldn't bring myself to tell him that it involved him. I woke up today feeling insecure about this situation. And how could I not?
He says that our relationship is new (almost five months now) and that I'm getting too serious. With every other relationship I've ever been in in my life, we were already living together. How different this is! I think it's healthy that we haven't begun cohabitating. It's nice to be with someone that isn't needy. But, gosh, I never wanted to be with someone that was borderline unattached. Yet whenever I try to leave because I think we're on different pages, he makes me feel like he really wants me in his life. And I stay.
Here I am once again ignoring countless warning signs. When will I learn?
I know that love itself isn't enough to be in a relationship with anyone. I know that I'm a single mother and I need more emotional support and help being a parent than this person seems to want to provide - at least not anytime soon. I know that I'm beautiful and funny and intelligent and kind and creative and fun. I know that there are billions of people out there. So why do I stay?
Perhaps it's because we get each other's jokes. Perhaps it's because we finish each other's sentences and say the thing the other one's thinking. Perhaps it's because he makes me laugh. Perhaps it's because we have fun together. Unfortunately, fun - like love - isn't nearly enough. Laughter, on the other hand, has gotten me through almost anything. And we have plenty of that. At least when I'm not crying over him...
There's nothing funny about being with someone that from all appearances isn't invested in having a future with me. There's nothing funny about waking up crying because I feel like I have to choose between Dave and my son. And there's nothing funny about taking everything so seriously, either.
Sigh. I know what needs to be done, I just don't wanna! Breaking up really is so hard to do...
I have fallen in love with Dave, one of the most self-centered people I have ever met. "Self-centered" is a not an insult, but, rather a valu- neutral description. It's a fact. The sky is blue. Kittens are soft. Dave is self-centered. Now, don't get me wrong: He's not selfish, per se. He's not a jerk. He's not a mooch. He likes to volunteer. He gets pleasure from helping others. But he doesn't seem to be making plans that involve me. He often talks about moving, which, as a woman in the midst of a divorce who will be ordered by the court to maintain a residence in the area in which I currently reside for custody of my child, is extremely hurtful. He says that "if things go well" and if I "keep being as awesome" as I am, he'd like me to move with him when the time comes. How nice.
The other day he let me know he had been looking at jobs in Hawaii. Not jobs in two or three years, but actually looking for jobs in Hawaii for right now. Now, to give some background, I tried to break up with him about a month or so ago BECAUSE he's planning to move in a couple of years. He promised me that he would take me in consideration and that he would like me to potentially relocate with him. So imagine my surpise when he casually mentioned he had been looking for jobs in Hawaii. He informed me that he had decided Hawaii is too expensive, though. Be still, my beating heart!
I constantly try my best to understand his way of thinking and not let myself be hurt or offended by it, but the truth is it IS hurting me. More than he realizes, I am sure. It's tearing me apart. I woke up two days ago crying. When I mentioned something in passing yesterday to him about my "bad mood" the day before, I and he asked why I felt that way, I couldn't bring myself to tell him that it involved him. I woke up today feeling insecure about this situation. And how could I not?
He says that our relationship is new (almost five months now) and that I'm getting too serious. With every other relationship I've ever been in in my life, we were already living together. How different this is! I think it's healthy that we haven't begun cohabitating. It's nice to be with someone that isn't needy. But, gosh, I never wanted to be with someone that was borderline unattached. Yet whenever I try to leave because I think we're on different pages, he makes me feel like he really wants me in his life. And I stay.
Here I am once again ignoring countless warning signs. When will I learn?
I know that love itself isn't enough to be in a relationship with anyone. I know that I'm a single mother and I need more emotional support and help being a parent than this person seems to want to provide - at least not anytime soon. I know that I'm beautiful and funny and intelligent and kind and creative and fun. I know that there are billions of people out there. So why do I stay?
Perhaps it's because we get each other's jokes. Perhaps it's because we finish each other's sentences and say the thing the other one's thinking. Perhaps it's because he makes me laugh. Perhaps it's because we have fun together. Unfortunately, fun - like love - isn't nearly enough. Laughter, on the other hand, has gotten me through almost anything. And we have plenty of that. At least when I'm not crying over him...
There's nothing funny about being with someone that from all appearances isn't invested in having a future with me. There's nothing funny about waking up crying because I feel like I have to choose between Dave and my son. And there's nothing funny about taking everything so seriously, either.
Sigh. I know what needs to be done, I just don't wanna! Breaking up really is so hard to do...
Friday, May 20, 2011
There's Something About Marry
Once upon a time, there was a little girl that believed in fairy tales. She knew that someday her prince would come. And he did. But he turned out to be a total asshole, so she broke up with him. Then another prince came along. And he was certainly much better than the last, but still wasn't nearly as charming a prince when she didn't do everything just so, so one day she said, "Enough!" and went her separate way. Then one fine day, another prince came along and he was even BETTER than the one that was better than the one before. But once he thought he had her in his clutches, he began to abuse her profusely. So, once again, she packed up her closets of clothes and boxes of sentimental valuables and pots and pans and ventured into the unknown, for another uncertain, but certainly better, life.
Yet another fairy tale had ended like a horror movie, but she never seemed able to divorce the concept that someday "he" would come - a savior, a best friend, a companion. She set the bar lower and lower, and, oddly enough, higher and higher at the same time. Because the things that she once thought were so important changed as she began to let go of all of the preconceived notions that she, and most everyone else within her society, had clung to for so very long. And so one day, as she considered one failed relationship after another, she began to let go of the idea that there was someONE out there that was meant just for her.
At least, that's what I told myself four months or so ago. I thought that perhaps I didn't ever want to get married again because variety is the spice of life. Because I like falling in love. Because things haven't worked out well so far anyways, so why look towards a lifelong commitment that could easily end in disappointment? But then I met a person that I just couldn't help but to fall head over heels in love with. And, as luck would have it, he fell for me, too.
He made comments about marrying me - quite early on - that would normally freak me out, but coming from him, it was sweet music to my ears. The remarks ranged from putting his last name after mine to hypothetically discussing being my son's stepfather someday. And then he stabbed my little heart by saying something about how we "joke" about getting married.
He and I joke about a lot of things. In fact, it's safe to say that humor is the main basis of our relationship, although I would be remiss not to mention that our physical connection is incredible. But marrying me isn't something anyone should joke about. And even though I thought that I probably wouldn't (or shouldn't) ever want to get married again, delusional daydreams about marrying him sneak in to my otherwise-logical brain. And the idea that all of those things he said were insincere confounds me.
In the midst of all of the lovey-doveyness, reality has set in. We have had our first fight or three. He has hurt my feelings in a way that only the people I let in closest can on several occasions. He has gotten far more comfortable being "grouchy" - as he calls it - around me. He is incredibly busy focusing on his future, which involves a great deal of time and effort on his part in the present. So much so, that even though he lives ten minutes from me, I often go several days to a week without seeing him. I often find myself feeling lonelier than I ever felt before I had someone to miss.
I have been very uncertain that our love for one another is enough for me to continue being in this situation. And that makes me happy, because it shows that I'm growing. And it makes me sad, because I truly want to share my life with someone wonderful. And, in so very many ways, he is that and more. But timing is everything, and I'm just not so sure that the timing for us is right or that we want the same things.
Every serious relationship I've been involved in prior to this one started with us moving in together rapidly. And, honestly, I don't really want to be in a long-term serious relationship with someone with whom I don't live. I want to wake up next to the person I'm in love with every day. And make dinner together. And watch TV together. And go on dog walks together. And run to the grocery store together. I don't want to do EVERYTHING together, but I want a companion to share my life with - not just a few moments here and there when he's available.
All of this wanting more time with him has made me realize that wedding ring or not, what I want is someone to share my life with in an incredibly intimate way. I got married because I wanted a life filled with loving kindness and joy with my best friend. If I had known the person I loved at that time was so mentally ill, I would have waited instead of getting jaded.
Evidently, I haven't given up on long-term monogamy, even though I no longer think I HAVE to get married to be with someone for the rest of my life. That being said, Disney dreams do not die without a fight, and if the right person proposed, I might just have to say, "Yes!" Because maybe - just maybe - happily ever after isn't a fairy tale after all.
Yet another fairy tale had ended like a horror movie, but she never seemed able to divorce the concept that someday "he" would come - a savior, a best friend, a companion. She set the bar lower and lower, and, oddly enough, higher and higher at the same time. Because the things that she once thought were so important changed as she began to let go of all of the preconceived notions that she, and most everyone else within her society, had clung to for so very long. And so one day, as she considered one failed relationship after another, she began to let go of the idea that there was someONE out there that was meant just for her.
At least, that's what I told myself four months or so ago. I thought that perhaps I didn't ever want to get married again because variety is the spice of life. Because I like falling in love. Because things haven't worked out well so far anyways, so why look towards a lifelong commitment that could easily end in disappointment? But then I met a person that I just couldn't help but to fall head over heels in love with. And, as luck would have it, he fell for me, too.
He made comments about marrying me - quite early on - that would normally freak me out, but coming from him, it was sweet music to my ears. The remarks ranged from putting his last name after mine to hypothetically discussing being my son's stepfather someday. And then he stabbed my little heart by saying something about how we "joke" about getting married.
He and I joke about a lot of things. In fact, it's safe to say that humor is the main basis of our relationship, although I would be remiss not to mention that our physical connection is incredible. But marrying me isn't something anyone should joke about. And even though I thought that I probably wouldn't (or shouldn't) ever want to get married again, delusional daydreams about marrying him sneak in to my otherwise-logical brain. And the idea that all of those things he said were insincere confounds me.
In the midst of all of the lovey-doveyness, reality has set in. We have had our first fight or three. He has hurt my feelings in a way that only the people I let in closest can on several occasions. He has gotten far more comfortable being "grouchy" - as he calls it - around me. He is incredibly busy focusing on his future, which involves a great deal of time and effort on his part in the present. So much so, that even though he lives ten minutes from me, I often go several days to a week without seeing him. I often find myself feeling lonelier than I ever felt before I had someone to miss.
I have been very uncertain that our love for one another is enough for me to continue being in this situation. And that makes me happy, because it shows that I'm growing. And it makes me sad, because I truly want to share my life with someone wonderful. And, in so very many ways, he is that and more. But timing is everything, and I'm just not so sure that the timing for us is right or that we want the same things.
Every serious relationship I've been involved in prior to this one started with us moving in together rapidly. And, honestly, I don't really want to be in a long-term serious relationship with someone with whom I don't live. I want to wake up next to the person I'm in love with every day. And make dinner together. And watch TV together. And go on dog walks together. And run to the grocery store together. I don't want to do EVERYTHING together, but I want a companion to share my life with - not just a few moments here and there when he's available.
All of this wanting more time with him has made me realize that wedding ring or not, what I want is someone to share my life with in an incredibly intimate way. I got married because I wanted a life filled with loving kindness and joy with my best friend. If I had known the person I loved at that time was so mentally ill, I would have waited instead of getting jaded.
Evidently, I haven't given up on long-term monogamy, even though I no longer think I HAVE to get married to be with someone for the rest of my life. That being said, Disney dreams do not die without a fight, and if the right person proposed, I might just have to say, "Yes!" Because maybe - just maybe - happily ever after isn't a fairy tale after all.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Love, Actually OR It's Merely a Flesh Wound
Not that long ago, I opened myself up to the universe and said, "Okay, Universe, I'm ready to meet the person I'm supposed to spend my life with." I say a lot of stuff, though, and one might think that in all of the years that I've subjected myself to the intermittent misery and joy that comes with connecting with other people, that JUST ONCE I would have said that. But I didn't. And yet I chose to embark on potentially lifelong adventures and heartaches with people that just didn't pass muster in the end.
But today? I'm different. I've learned some things. I'm slightly more evolved. I'm almost exactly the kind of person that I would want to match wits and feelings and socks with for the rest of my days.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm still in training. I'm still alive. I am confident that I still have a great deal to learn about interacting with others. But I'm open to change, to growth, to more learning.
And I met him. Well, someone that seems a lot like "him." And by him, I mean me. For the first time in thirty-something years, I THINK I have met someone that actually meshes with me exactly where I am right now and someone who possesses the intangible qualities that make me think - even for just a moment - that he and I could grow and laugh and make love together indefinitely.
The hopelessly romantic sap in me wants to say "Forever," but I know that routine all too well. And so, for now and until I am no more, I can only count on how things feel right now, and right now, life is good.
I need personal space and I've found someone that needs it, too. I need someone affectionate and kind to other living things and he goes beyond that. I need someone that doesn't exhaust me trying to connect with him and he's been easier than Sunday morning. I need to feel loved and I've found someone that doesn't have to tell me he loves me for me to know that he does. It's all still so new, though, and things have felt perfect before.
I thought I knew that "he" was out there, but I still don't know that this will last. I don't know that I have anything figured out. I don't know that we'll be able to make our lives work together in the long run, but I know that right now, having him in my life and feeling loved is making all of the difference in facing everything else.
I haven't forgotten how easily he can hurt me - I mean, he's hurt my feelings unintentionally a time or two and I realize that he has the power to break my heart, but I'm pretty much okay with that. Without risk, there is no chance for success. Or damage. But, I've been hurt before, and I know I'll get through the tosses, turns, bumps and burns, regardless. I'll heal one way or another. But maybe - just maybe - I'm not wasting a second with this one. Maybe - just maybe - I've met the love of my life and I won't ever have to wonder if I should have shaved again or not. But I will anyways. He likes them that way, and so do I.
But today? I'm different. I've learned some things. I'm slightly more evolved. I'm almost exactly the kind of person that I would want to match wits and feelings and socks with for the rest of my days.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm still in training. I'm still alive. I am confident that I still have a great deal to learn about interacting with others. But I'm open to change, to growth, to more learning.
And I met him. Well, someone that seems a lot like "him." And by him, I mean me. For the first time in thirty-something years, I THINK I have met someone that actually meshes with me exactly where I am right now and someone who possesses the intangible qualities that make me think - even for just a moment - that he and I could grow and laugh and make love together indefinitely.
The hopelessly romantic sap in me wants to say "Forever," but I know that routine all too well. And so, for now and until I am no more, I can only count on how things feel right now, and right now, life is good.
I need personal space and I've found someone that needs it, too. I need someone affectionate and kind to other living things and he goes beyond that. I need someone that doesn't exhaust me trying to connect with him and he's been easier than Sunday morning. I need to feel loved and I've found someone that doesn't have to tell me he loves me for me to know that he does. It's all still so new, though, and things have felt perfect before.
I thought I knew that "he" was out there, but I still don't know that this will last. I don't know that I have anything figured out. I don't know that we'll be able to make our lives work together in the long run, but I know that right now, having him in my life and feeling loved is making all of the difference in facing everything else.
I haven't forgotten how easily he can hurt me - I mean, he's hurt my feelings unintentionally a time or two and I realize that he has the power to break my heart, but I'm pretty much okay with that. Without risk, there is no chance for success. Or damage. But, I've been hurt before, and I know I'll get through the tosses, turns, bumps and burns, regardless. I'll heal one way or another. But maybe - just maybe - I'm not wasting a second with this one. Maybe - just maybe - I've met the love of my life and I won't ever have to wonder if I should have shaved again or not. But I will anyways. He likes them that way, and so do I.
Friday, January 28, 2011
It's Like, You Know?
If you know me in person - really know me - then you know that I give and give and give and sacrifice for the people I love. You probably also know that I love an abundance of people from all walks of life. Your strata, skin color, mythological beliefs and clothes do not determine how much care I have for you. And despite the fact that I have been attracted to many people in my life, I still possess a capacity for commitment to others that is honorable and, sometimes, self-destructive. In the same token, I have known when to walk away and when to run - usually later than I should - but it's always been better than never.
And, while I've had two or three guys in my life at one time with whom I shared a mutual interest, I am a one-track woman, I don't seem to have the capacity to be REALLY attracted and into more than one person at one time. I wish I did. Often. Because it's so hard to know if I'm wasting my time or making the most of it when all I can think about is this one person.
And he's in my head right now. For months, it seems. And I don't know how it happened. I didn't think he was a big deal at first because I met someone else the same week that I liked WAY more. But then Yoko broke up the band, and the next thing I know, I can't stop thinking about him, even though I know he's probably not really a good fit for my life. Even though he's a flake. Even though he walked out on dinner. As I said that infamous night, "You don't get a second chance to make a fifth impression."
And you know what else I know? I probably should stop wasting my time with him, because when you know you know. And when you don't know, you know.
And, while I've had two or three guys in my life at one time with whom I shared a mutual interest, I am a one-track woman, I don't seem to have the capacity to be REALLY attracted and into more than one person at one time. I wish I did. Often. Because it's so hard to know if I'm wasting my time or making the most of it when all I can think about is this one person.
And he's in my head right now. For months, it seems. And I don't know how it happened. I didn't think he was a big deal at first because I met someone else the same week that I liked WAY more. But then Yoko broke up the band, and the next thing I know, I can't stop thinking about him, even though I know he's probably not really a good fit for my life. Even though he's a flake. Even though he walked out on dinner. As I said that infamous night, "You don't get a second chance to make a fifth impression."
And you know what else I know? I probably should stop wasting my time with him, because when you know you know. And when you don't know, you know.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Type? Oh! Negative.
Recently, someone asked me what turns me on. I found this inquiry too complicated to respond to with any accuracy. You see, what I like and what I consider my "type" continues to grow as I do. And it becomes more simple and more indescribable as time goes on.
Here is my response:
"What turns me on is something that is neither quantifiable nor qualifiable. Chemistry is simply magic. If I were to name the things that make me like other human beings, it would take pages. The same likely goes for those qualities which I dislike.
I am a ridiculously lucky person, in spite of a series of tragedies. I am too smart for my own good, so I make stupid choices to spite myself. I am talented, but modesty is my best quality.
I cannot fit myself into some kind of special box that illustrates who I am or the person I might become. But you are welcome to get to know me despite my facts, foibles, failures and fortitudes. Just don't expect something so simple as an explanation of what my turn ons are. Life is far too complex for that."
What is my type? Oh, you know, your typical responsible-irresponsible-handsome, but not too pretty- tattooed, but clean-cut-intelligent without being nerdy-dorky without play WOW-athletic without playing professionally-funny without making me feel like a joke-sweetheart without being a total pussy-kind of dude. Good luck. Because I could go on and on.
What does he like? The music I do and the movements I follow. What does he love? Being in my presence and being kind to others. What does he keep? Sentimental treasures, but not secrets from me. What does he need? Me, but not in a desperate way. Why do I waste my time? Because I think he's out there, as much in need of my presence as I am of his.
Is he a "he?" I don't know. Some of the best dreams I have dictate otherwise. But still he haunts me. Ripping off my clothes, tearing at my heart.
And time flies as I sit here staring into this vast digital world. I wonder if I'm wasting it waiting for him to say all the right things. To wear the right cloak. To laugh at my jokes. To pull my heart strings. To tell me everything. But I've got nothing better to do. Except be myself.
What's your type? Oh, is it me? Fuck it.
I see a little of me in every one of you. And maybe that's what makes you so worthwhile to me: ME.
I get you. I understand you. I love you. Because, in some way, you are me and I am you.
Yet you all remain so totally different from who it is that I am, that you're still worth getting to know on some level. Because I'm totally my type, once I get to know me. And so are you.
Here is my response:
"What turns me on is something that is neither quantifiable nor qualifiable. Chemistry is simply magic. If I were to name the things that make me like other human beings, it would take pages. The same likely goes for those qualities which I dislike.
I am a ridiculously lucky person, in spite of a series of tragedies. I am too smart for my own good, so I make stupid choices to spite myself. I am talented, but modesty is my best quality.
I cannot fit myself into some kind of special box that illustrates who I am or the person I might become. But you are welcome to get to know me despite my facts, foibles, failures and fortitudes. Just don't expect something so simple as an explanation of what my turn ons are. Life is far too complex for that."
What is my type? Oh, you know, your typical responsible-irresponsible-handsome, but not too pretty- tattooed, but clean-cut-intelligent without being nerdy-dorky without play WOW-athletic without playing professionally-funny without making me feel like a joke-sweetheart without being a total pussy-kind of dude. Good luck. Because I could go on and on.
What does he like? The music I do and the movements I follow. What does he love? Being in my presence and being kind to others. What does he keep? Sentimental treasures, but not secrets from me. What does he need? Me, but not in a desperate way. Why do I waste my time? Because I think he's out there, as much in need of my presence as I am of his.
Is he a "he?" I don't know. Some of the best dreams I have dictate otherwise. But still he haunts me. Ripping off my clothes, tearing at my heart.
And time flies as I sit here staring into this vast digital world. I wonder if I'm wasting it waiting for him to say all the right things. To wear the right cloak. To laugh at my jokes. To pull my heart strings. To tell me everything. But I've got nothing better to do. Except be myself.
What's your type? Oh, is it me? Fuck it.
I see a little of me in every one of you. And maybe that's what makes you so worthwhile to me: ME.
I get you. I understand you. I love you. Because, in some way, you are me and I am you.
Yet you all remain so totally different from who it is that I am, that you're still worth getting to know on some level. Because I'm totally my type, once I get to know me. And so are you.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
R-O-L-A-I-D-S
Relief.
Priceless.
I talked to the guy that left the other night when we were still eating dinner. I may have misconstrued his actions to mean more than they did. He says was tired - not terrified. But I was still mortified at the time.
Timing is everything. Along with kindness, consideration, respect, confidence, trust and beer, of course. And it seems that given his timing, I may have taken his behavior to mean that he had taken my words to heart and completely panicked.
Dating is a funny thing. And by funny, I mean that it sucks and hurts and scares the bejeezus out of me. And I love it. I love the uncertainty. I love the heartbreaks and high points. I love the thrill, the opportunity, the self-love that it fosters. Because, if you don't love you in spite of the discomfort that is bound to come when you put your name in the hat, you can never love another person in a satisfying manner. And if you can't love them (and by that I mean you), how on earth can they love you (and by that I mean them) back?
When I thought he didn't like me anymore, I shook off the rejection and chose to revel in how wonderful I think I am, and how amazing my friends that I think are amazing say I am. And, sometimes, liking yourself more than anyone else does is just what the doctor ordered. There's nothing narcissistic in being okay with yourself no matter how foolish you may feel, and giving yourself a mental hug every now and again is good for the soul.
Sometimes in my lucid dreams, I find myself running from things I can't put my finger on in a lucent state; I just recall my need to escape and the knowledge that I am in control. I am generally successful in barely eluding my lifelong captor, who, oddly enough, happens to be me. That running-running-running that has haunted my subconscious existence often segues into reality. So it goes with dating. I expect the unexpected, the gratifying and the disappointing all rolled into one tall glass of water. And, boy, am I thirsty!
With experience comes wariness. With trusting comes doubt. With love it often seems there is a dose of hate from some wound in the past waiting to ruin everything good. And when one shoe drops, I inevitably wait for the second reassuring thud that never ceases to reinforce that I was meant to fail; that it is my destiny.
Tonight, however, I'm just thankful that despite all of dating's complications and calamities, I haven't become bitter or jaded. Because that would totally suck. And I might unintentionally make a mountain out of a molehill.
"What? Me worry?"
Yes. But just this one time.
Priceless.
I talked to the guy that left the other night when we were still eating dinner. I may have misconstrued his actions to mean more than they did. He says was tired - not terrified. But I was still mortified at the time.
Timing is everything. Along with kindness, consideration, respect, confidence, trust and beer, of course. And it seems that given his timing, I may have taken his behavior to mean that he had taken my words to heart and completely panicked.
Dating is a funny thing. And by funny, I mean that it sucks and hurts and scares the bejeezus out of me. And I love it. I love the uncertainty. I love the heartbreaks and high points. I love the thrill, the opportunity, the self-love that it fosters. Because, if you don't love you in spite of the discomfort that is bound to come when you put your name in the hat, you can never love another person in a satisfying manner. And if you can't love them (and by that I mean you), how on earth can they love you (and by that I mean them) back?
When I thought he didn't like me anymore, I shook off the rejection and chose to revel in how wonderful I think I am, and how amazing my friends that I think are amazing say I am. And, sometimes, liking yourself more than anyone else does is just what the doctor ordered. There's nothing narcissistic in being okay with yourself no matter how foolish you may feel, and giving yourself a mental hug every now and again is good for the soul.
Sometimes in my lucid dreams, I find myself running from things I can't put my finger on in a lucent state; I just recall my need to escape and the knowledge that I am in control. I am generally successful in barely eluding my lifelong captor, who, oddly enough, happens to be me. That running-running-running that has haunted my subconscious existence often segues into reality. So it goes with dating. I expect the unexpected, the gratifying and the disappointing all rolled into one tall glass of water. And, boy, am I thirsty!
With experience comes wariness. With trusting comes doubt. With love it often seems there is a dose of hate from some wound in the past waiting to ruin everything good. And when one shoe drops, I inevitably wait for the second reassuring thud that never ceases to reinforce that I was meant to fail; that it is my destiny.
Tonight, however, I'm just thankful that despite all of dating's complications and calamities, I haven't become bitter or jaded. Because that would totally suck. And I might unintentionally make a mountain out of a molehill.
"What? Me worry?"
Yes. But just this one time.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Humilidashun
humilidashun
hum-il-i-da-shun
[hyoo-mil-ee-dey-shuh
n]
-noun
the painful loss of pride, self-respect or dignity experienced when a person is shunned by someone they have been dating
hum-il-i-da-shun
[hyoo-mil-ee-dey-shuh
n] -noun
the painful loss of pride, self-respect or dignity experienced when a person is shunned by someone they have been dating
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Still Crazy After All These Tears
"Dating." The word alone strikes terror in the hearts of both the young and old, male and female, straight and gay, wealthy and impoverished, short and tall, thin and obese. It evokes uncertainty and discomfort whether you're the beauty or the beast.
It's hard for me to believe, but I recently realized that I've been dating for twenty years. To you kids, that may seem like a long time. And to you happily-ever-afters, it might sound like a lot of dating. And you're both right.
In those two decades, I've spent close to fifteen formidably formative years in serious relationships with five different guys, two of which resulted in marriage and divorce. In the meantime, I've easily gone on a hundred first dates with a variety of prospects, most of whom offered nothing aside from mild to severe disappointment, and, in the best cases, a good friendship here and there.
Although I have never had a problem meeting people in person, there was a time when I broadened my horizons with the assistance of the internet. It only led to being let down in more geographically diverse locations than I could have ever imagined without actually VISITING those places first. My internet dating days went so badly that I have sworn it off completely. I always say that internet dating is like shooting a fish in a barrel... and then going on a date with it.
In my quest for Mr. Right, I have happened upon a thousand Mr. Maybes and at least as many Mr. Maybe Nuts. I have dated actors, athletes, atheists, Bible beaters, bartenders, brainiacs, chemical engineers, chemical dependents, co-dependents, car salesmen, contractors, con men, detectives, dealers, deadbeats, dorks, deejays, emcees, environmentalists, evolutionists, esoterics, fanatics, freaks, givers, heavy hitters, homosexuals, instigators, jerks, jokers, kooks, lawyers, liars, loners, losers, musicians, mechanics, models, manic depressives, nerds, optimists, pessimists, perverts, philanderers, political activists, punk rockers, professionals, preps, quacks, revolutionaries, rejects, rebounds, starving artists, social butterflies, sociopaths, students, teachers, talkers, takers, unacceptable behaviors, victims, winners, writers, waiters, xenophobes, yellow bellies, Zen Buddhists, Boy Scouts, frat boys, beardy boys, pretty boys, skater boys, surfer dudes, tattooed guys, funny guys, younger guys, older men, wealthy men and mooches.
I have disregarded countless warning signs. I have followed my heart, my mind, my gut, the advice of friends, the wisdom of strangers, self-help books and the Yellow Brick Road. I have waited, watched and wondered why he didn't call. I have put out, put up and played putt-putt. I tried Buddhism. I tried prayer. I tried acting like I just don't care. And it all has led to the same outcome.
The thrilling highs and inevitable lows on the romance roller coaster are nothing new to me, but I always seem to hold onto my hope. And, occasionally, when I meet someone in particular, I wonder the age-old question: "Are you the one?"
Astoundingly, the response has always been a resounding, "NO!" And still I try.
After an unfortunately brief, painful marriage, I find myself single once again. But this time, I'm not alone. I have an incredible son.
Having a child can be death in the dating world. It's pretty rare for a guy to NOT date a woman because she doesn't have children, but it's quite the opposite once kids are involved. And it's scary. I mean, in the past I was a picker and chooser of users and abusers, but now who I date isn't just about me anymore. It's about him. It's about us.
Dating has become an even more complicated, potentially brutal journey that, for me, takes more than a little courage combined with a boatload of amnesia. Honestly, after all of the horrible relationships and first/second/third dates I've experienced, I don't know how I continue this quest. I don't know what intangible quality or quackery it is that fortifies me to face another face. But it's still there laying in wait. And even when I tell myself that I'm just going to be single and work on me and that I can't handle another heartbreak and that I can't trust my judgment when it comes to the opposite sex, it remains within my being, barely latent, waiting for that someone special to lock eyes with me, to make me laugh, to take me to new heights of ecstacy, to be my best friend, to share the rest of my life in such a fulfilling way that it makes every other person that's ever crossed my path seem trivial... which is why I still shave my legs.
Years ago, I often intentionally didn't shave on a first date - an old wives' prescription for chastity (which is usually the best first date bet for a second date) - and every once in a while I would embark on one that went so well that I'd think, "I can't believe I didn't shave for this." How embarrassing.
However, that was not the case last night. Instead, I was left wondering why I bothered meticulously shaving at all. I was left with soft, smooth legs and a look of sheer shock and disgust etched on my face, staring at my not-quite-finished plate as I tried to digest the fact that my date had gotten up and left before I was even done eating the meal that I had prepared for us.
To be fair, up to that point, it had gone rather well, considering that a friend in dire straits had come over in the middle of our evening together because she was upset about being pregnant. Whatever amorous endeavors we might have engaged in disappeared into thin air. Needless to say, the topic at hand caused some discomfort and, after I said something about not having unprotected relations on a regular basis with someone you couldn't imagine having a family with, he bolted. Magical.
This morning, I woke up with that hopeless/hollow/something-in-my-world-is-painfully-not-right feeling that I realized I get when I've been dumped or when someone I care for deeply has passed away. I find the similarity in sensation fascinating, and by fascinating, I mean that it sucks. Especially since I hardly even KNOW this guy. And, I mean, he's JUST a guy for Heaven's sake! It's not like someone important in my little world had died.
Yet I was beside myself. I suppose it's because I realized that if things aren't going to work out with him, then I'm going to continue to be subjected to the disheartening possibilities of rejection, disappointment, socially awkward moments and occasional loneliness that come with being a single person hoping to meet their match in a world filled to the brim with people that AREN'T "the one." From a statistical standpoint alone, looking for the mythical "one" amongst the billions of people on this lonely planet is far more hopeless than finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Sometimes all of the planning in the world can't prepare you for the world's plans. And last night's disaster was no different. It was a cutting reminder of how very sensitive I remain after surviving a series of exceptionally horrible events and relationships. I realized how quickly I can still let someone into my heart and how easy it is for them to bust it up once that door is cracked. And it made me wonder once again how it is that I can still put myself out there. I guess I'm still crazy after all these tears.
It's hard for me to believe, but I recently realized that I've been dating for twenty years. To you kids, that may seem like a long time. And to you happily-ever-afters, it might sound like a lot of dating. And you're both right.
In those two decades, I've spent close to fifteen formidably formative years in serious relationships with five different guys, two of which resulted in marriage and divorce. In the meantime, I've easily gone on a hundred first dates with a variety of prospects, most of whom offered nothing aside from mild to severe disappointment, and, in the best cases, a good friendship here and there.
Although I have never had a problem meeting people in person, there was a time when I broadened my horizons with the assistance of the internet. It only led to being let down in more geographically diverse locations than I could have ever imagined without actually VISITING those places first. My internet dating days went so badly that I have sworn it off completely. I always say that internet dating is like shooting a fish in a barrel... and then going on a date with it.
In my quest for Mr. Right, I have happened upon a thousand Mr. Maybes and at least as many Mr. Maybe Nuts. I have dated actors, athletes, atheists, Bible beaters, bartenders, brainiacs, chemical engineers, chemical dependents, co-dependents, car salesmen, contractors, con men, detectives, dealers, deadbeats, dorks, deejays, emcees, environmentalists, evolutionists, esoterics, fanatics, freaks, givers, heavy hitters, homosexuals, instigators, jerks, jokers, kooks, lawyers, liars, loners, losers, musicians, mechanics, models, manic depressives, nerds, optimists, pessimists, perverts, philanderers, political activists, punk rockers, professionals, preps, quacks, revolutionaries, rejects, rebounds, starving artists, social butterflies, sociopaths, students, teachers, talkers, takers, unacceptable behaviors, victims, winners, writers, waiters, xenophobes, yellow bellies, Zen Buddhists, Boy Scouts, frat boys, beardy boys, pretty boys, skater boys, surfer dudes, tattooed guys, funny guys, younger guys, older men, wealthy men and mooches.
I have disregarded countless warning signs. I have followed my heart, my mind, my gut, the advice of friends, the wisdom of strangers, self-help books and the Yellow Brick Road. I have waited, watched and wondered why he didn't call. I have put out, put up and played putt-putt. I tried Buddhism. I tried prayer. I tried acting like I just don't care. And it all has led to the same outcome.
The thrilling highs and inevitable lows on the romance roller coaster are nothing new to me, but I always seem to hold onto my hope. And, occasionally, when I meet someone in particular, I wonder the age-old question: "Are you the one?"
Astoundingly, the response has always been a resounding, "NO!" And still I try.
After an unfortunately brief, painful marriage, I find myself single once again. But this time, I'm not alone. I have an incredible son.
Having a child can be death in the dating world. It's pretty rare for a guy to NOT date a woman because she doesn't have children, but it's quite the opposite once kids are involved. And it's scary. I mean, in the past I was a picker and chooser of users and abusers, but now who I date isn't just about me anymore. It's about him. It's about us.
Dating has become an even more complicated, potentially brutal journey that, for me, takes more than a little courage combined with a boatload of amnesia. Honestly, after all of the horrible relationships and first/second/third dates I've experienced, I don't know how I continue this quest. I don't know what intangible quality or quackery it is that fortifies me to face another face. But it's still there laying in wait. And even when I tell myself that I'm just going to be single and work on me and that I can't handle another heartbreak and that I can't trust my judgment when it comes to the opposite sex, it remains within my being, barely latent, waiting for that someone special to lock eyes with me, to make me laugh, to take me to new heights of ecstacy, to be my best friend, to share the rest of my life in such a fulfilling way that it makes every other person that's ever crossed my path seem trivial... which is why I still shave my legs.
Years ago, I often intentionally didn't shave on a first date - an old wives' prescription for chastity (which is usually the best first date bet for a second date) - and every once in a while I would embark on one that went so well that I'd think, "I can't believe I didn't shave for this." How embarrassing.
However, that was not the case last night. Instead, I was left wondering why I bothered meticulously shaving at all. I was left with soft, smooth legs and a look of sheer shock and disgust etched on my face, staring at my not-quite-finished plate as I tried to digest the fact that my date had gotten up and left before I was even done eating the meal that I had prepared for us.
To be fair, up to that point, it had gone rather well, considering that a friend in dire straits had come over in the middle of our evening together because she was upset about being pregnant. Whatever amorous endeavors we might have engaged in disappeared into thin air. Needless to say, the topic at hand caused some discomfort and, after I said something about not having unprotected relations on a regular basis with someone you couldn't imagine having a family with, he bolted. Magical.
This morning, I woke up with that hopeless/hollow/something-in-my-world-is-painfully-not-right feeling that I realized I get when I've been dumped or when someone I care for deeply has passed away. I find the similarity in sensation fascinating, and by fascinating, I mean that it sucks. Especially since I hardly even KNOW this guy. And, I mean, he's JUST a guy for Heaven's sake! It's not like someone important in my little world had died.
Yet I was beside myself. I suppose it's because I realized that if things aren't going to work out with him, then I'm going to continue to be subjected to the disheartening possibilities of rejection, disappointment, socially awkward moments and occasional loneliness that come with being a single person hoping to meet their match in a world filled to the brim with people that AREN'T "the one." From a statistical standpoint alone, looking for the mythical "one" amongst the billions of people on this lonely planet is far more hopeless than finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Sometimes all of the planning in the world can't prepare you for the world's plans. And last night's disaster was no different. It was a cutting reminder of how very sensitive I remain after surviving a series of exceptionally horrible events and relationships. I realized how quickly I can still let someone into my heart and how easy it is for them to bust it up once that door is cracked. And it made me wonder once again how it is that I can still put myself out there. I guess I'm still crazy after all these tears.
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