On this day fourteen years ago...
Dear Diary,
Christian means everything to me. He looks even sexier this year than last. Amanda told me that today when coming out of a class, he said, "Yo Homie!" and slapped hands with a friend. That is just the thing I would have done. I LOVE his personality. But even though I've been praying since last November that we'd have a class together, we have not.
(Note from 8/27/10: I was going to comment on the multitude of reasons this entry is ridiculous, but I feel that would be redundant, as hopefully those reasons are fairly self-evident. I will say that at the time it was written, I had never even spoken to the boy in question that I claimed meant "everything to me." Yet in defense of stirrup-legginged seventh-grade me... Christian was a pretty smokin' twelve year-old).
Friday, August 27, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
You Are A Puzzle
Alright friends, I've been a bit of a delinquent poster as of late, but here is the latest installment. It's a long one, so grab a Snickers!
All of the stories with which I have regaled you so far have been tales from the past. It's much easier to write about burns once they no longer sting. Now I wish to tell you about my latest run-in with the heartbreak monster.
While walking back to the train from a friend's apartment last month, I approached a handsome stranger, standing on the curb, clutching a camera and staring up at a balcony. Being accustomed to passing goodlooking men on the street, I paid him no mind, other than the customary glance in his direction. However, this time proved a little different from previous instances of walking by a hottie because this time, the hottie spoke to me: "Excuse me, can you whistle?"
I'm really not a very good whistler. Not at all. And I am particularly poor at performing on command, but I'd rather good-naturedly make a fool of myself in front of someone than let him down... especially a fine male specimen such as the one I found standing before me. I gave a feeble attempt at whistling and was met with disastrous results, but at least succeeded in making Studly McStudlerson laugh. He then explained that there was a giant great dane that lived in the apartment we were in front of and he was trying to lure it out onto the balcony to take a picture of it. The dog (whose name we found out is Charlie) eventually returned to the balcony, the handsome stranger (whose name I found out is Marc) snapped his photo, and Marc and I ended up walking up the street together.
He explained that he was only in town for a few days and did not know anyone in NYC. We spent several minutes talking as we walked together, so when I reached my train stop I offered Marc my phone number so that the next time he visited NYC he would know someone to call. Marc countered my offer with an offer of his own: "Do you have to go somewhere right now, or would you like to join me for a drink?" Luckily, I did not have anywhere I needed to be and I wanted nothing more than to join this mysterious man for a beer.
Over drinks, I learned a number of things about Marc: the source of his extremely sexy accent (Zimbabwe), his job (travel writer / photographer), and two of the three things he generally looks for in a woman (must own less than 13 pairs of shoes and have that special spark in her eye that says you can tell her anything and she can be trusted). Marc also romantically read my palm, lightly trailing his fingers over my skin, spoke intelligently about literature and current events, laughed genuinely at my lame jokes and made me laugh heartily at his own. He had gorgeous, lucid light blue eyes and looked like Cary Elwes circa 1988. I was extremely taken by this man, but not yet 100% convinced he wasn't just a smooth operator.
Post drinks, I walked him back to where he was staying and he invited me in, insisting he had a book to share with me. I was hesitant to follow him inside, but the hallways were full of people so I felt rather safe. Up in Marc's deserted hallway I became less sure of myself, but held my ground and did not follow him into his room, even after he got my blood flowing wildly by pushing me up against the wall of the hallway and kissing me harder (and much better) than I'd been kissed in years. Marc and I made out in his doorway for quite some time, and after several attempts to lure me further inside I decided it was time to go. I was not in the mood to play that game. However, Marc surprised me by suggesting that if I was not comfortable in his room, we should go back out and get dessert so we could at least still spend time together. I agreed that this was an excellent compromise, so we decided to venture back outside to search for the closest frozen yogurt vendor.
BUT FIRST Marc wanted to show me his third criteria he looks for in a female companian. He lifted my arm, placed his nose in my armpit, and sniffed. I laughed at his silliness and of course immediately began making protests... after all, I'd been walking around all day and it was 95 degrees outside! However, Marc informed that I had passed his test. He claimed that if a woman could spend the day outside in that kind of heat and still smell as sweet as I did, then she was worth keeping around. So there you have it: my armpits smell rockin'!
But anyway... we found a Pinkberry and walked our delicious frozen treats to Central Park to enjoy them. We sat on a bench and Marc told me that he was planning on moving to NYC from his current home in Los Angeles. He had previously been 99% sure he was going to make the move and had just been waiting for the final sign to tell him it was the right decision. He claimed that after meeting me, that sign had hit him right in the face. I told him I was flattered and would of course love if he lived closer and I would be able to get to know him better, but that he should never base such a drastic decision on a woman, especially one he had just met. Marc came on very strongly, but I liked him. I was by no means smitten, but he was extremely fascinating and it seemed clear he liked me.
(I never did get that book he wanted to share with me, though he claimed that was not simply a line and just forgot to give me the book. His arguement was that if he wanted to feed me a line he'd come up with something far better than book-sharing).
We parted that night and I awoke to a text from him the following morning: "12 hours and no text - I feel used for my kisses!" I replied that I felt equally used for my awesome whistling skills and we texted on and off throughout the day, agreeing to meet for lunch the next day before his flight back to L.A. At lunch, Marc recited me the poetry of William Butler Yeats. The date was very laid back and just a little awkward because we: 1.) had just met, and 2.) were soon to part ways for the forseeable future. After we parted again I received the following text message: "You are a good egg, renewed my faith in people. I don't know what the future holds, but you gave me Central Park by lamplight so I wanted to share the gift of Yeats. He had his Maud Gonne (his love), but she didn't look nearly as sensational in pearls."
I know that sometimes girls have a tendency to read into signs from men, but I thought it was pretty safe to say that this guy was totally digging me. However, he was returning to L.A. and I was going camping and would be off the grid for the next week. I decided that it would be nice to hear from Marc upon my return, but if I didn't, well... at least it had been a fun whirlwind romance that went nowhere.
As it turned out, I did have a text from Marc when I returned to civilization. He wanted to let me know he was back in NYC, but would be leaving again the morning after I returned from vacation. He agreed to meet me at Penn Station when my train got in so that we could spend several hours together until he was once again whisked away. We walked to a pub and shared tales of our various adventures over a few beers. He was very flirty, but announced that he still hadn't quite made up his mind regarding whether or not he should sell his house in L.A. and make the move to the East Coast. I was a little surprised since he had previously seemed so sure of this decision, and even more surprised to find that I was disappointed.
At one point Marc turned to me and said, "You are a puzzle." I replied that I am certainly not a puzzle. I am completely honest and straight-forward; all one needs to do is ask. He said he didn't have a question for me per se; the puzzle was that he didn't want to sleep with me. That was not at all what I had expected to hear. "You don't want to sleep with me now? Or ever?" I asked him. Marc answered that he did not want to sleep with me now, which was a relief because I also did not want to sleep with him at that precise moment. He further elaborated by explaining that he could tell I was a "gentle soul with a good heart" and wouldn't want to take that step with the future unknown, as it could potentially hurt me emotionally (Work with me; I'm paraphrasing here).
Some people I have spoken to think that was a weird thing for him to tell me. I don't. It was an observation and he hit the nail right on the head, so to speak. I do not jump into bed with just anyone, and I'm not at all quick to get under the covers with someone I really like. There are many factors contributing to that thought process, but yes, one of them is that I know I would get very hurt if the relationship fizzled quickly thereafter.
Eventually Marc had to head back to his hotel to pack, so I walked him "home." At the door, I realized I had to pee. Badly. I wasn't sure I'd even make it back to the main street to look for a McDonald's or Starbucks. With this in mind, I followed Marc up to his room with the sole intention of using his bathroom, Girl Scout's honor. But after doing my business I decided that while I was up there... well, it couldn't really hurt to fool around just a little bit... So I told Marc that I could leave, or we could make out for a while. His choice. To my surprise, Marc said that he didn't think that would be a good idea because he's very persuasive. Though I assured him that if anything happened it would be because I wanted to and it was my choice alone, Marc wrapped his arms around me, pulled me onto his bed, and... did nothing. For twenty minutes we lay intertwined and he made not a single move. No one spoke. It was kind of awesomely perfect.
I eventually broke the embrace, said my goodbyes, gave Marc a final kiss and reached for the doorknob to make my exit. Halfway through the door, Marc grabbed my arm, pulled me back inside, pushed me up against the wall and with a growl announced, "I changed my mind." Various articles of clothing went flying, though certainly not all of them. I was fully prepared to stand by my previous decision to not sleep with Marc. Or do too much other stuff. Oh, but he wanted to. He tried damn hard. And Marc was just like a delicious slice of chocolate cake. You want it; you know if you have it that it will be the best thing you've ever experienced, but that cake is so bad for you. Resisting the cake got more and more difficult, so I again prepared to make my exit. Marc released me from his clutches, but again wrapped his arms around me at the door. I asked when I would see him again and he said he didn't know. So I said, "But will I see you again?" He again said he just didn't know, that I shouldn't think about it.
Confused, but proud of myself, I went home.
Mark texted me later that night to say, "May love and fortune shine upon you." I never heard from him again. I know I never will. And I'm okay with that... it just bothers me that I can't figure out what this guy's motives were. Did he genuinely like me and decide that it wasn't nice to string me along if the move to NYC wasn't going to work out? Did he originally think that I was easy bait to lure into his bed but as he got to know me decided he couldn't go through with it, thus his hesitations? Or was that the intention all along, the "nice guy" shtick merely a routine, and when I repeatedly turned down his sexual advances, he tired of me? Marc, you are a puzzle.
All of the stories with which I have regaled you so far have been tales from the past. It's much easier to write about burns once they no longer sting. Now I wish to tell you about my latest run-in with the heartbreak monster.
While walking back to the train from a friend's apartment last month, I approached a handsome stranger, standing on the curb, clutching a camera and staring up at a balcony. Being accustomed to passing goodlooking men on the street, I paid him no mind, other than the customary glance in his direction. However, this time proved a little different from previous instances of walking by a hottie because this time, the hottie spoke to me: "Excuse me, can you whistle?"
I'm really not a very good whistler. Not at all. And I am particularly poor at performing on command, but I'd rather good-naturedly make a fool of myself in front of someone than let him down... especially a fine male specimen such as the one I found standing before me. I gave a feeble attempt at whistling and was met with disastrous results, but at least succeeded in making Studly McStudlerson laugh. He then explained that there was a giant great dane that lived in the apartment we were in front of and he was trying to lure it out onto the balcony to take a picture of it. The dog (whose name we found out is Charlie) eventually returned to the balcony, the handsome stranger (whose name I found out is Marc) snapped his photo, and Marc and I ended up walking up the street together.
He explained that he was only in town for a few days and did not know anyone in NYC. We spent several minutes talking as we walked together, so when I reached my train stop I offered Marc my phone number so that the next time he visited NYC he would know someone to call. Marc countered my offer with an offer of his own: "Do you have to go somewhere right now, or would you like to join me for a drink?" Luckily, I did not have anywhere I needed to be and I wanted nothing more than to join this mysterious man for a beer.
Over drinks, I learned a number of things about Marc: the source of his extremely sexy accent (Zimbabwe), his job (travel writer / photographer), and two of the three things he generally looks for in a woman (must own less than 13 pairs of shoes and have that special spark in her eye that says you can tell her anything and she can be trusted). Marc also romantically read my palm, lightly trailing his fingers over my skin, spoke intelligently about literature and current events, laughed genuinely at my lame jokes and made me laugh heartily at his own. He had gorgeous, lucid light blue eyes and looked like Cary Elwes circa 1988. I was extremely taken by this man, but not yet 100% convinced he wasn't just a smooth operator.
Post drinks, I walked him back to where he was staying and he invited me in, insisting he had a book to share with me. I was hesitant to follow him inside, but the hallways were full of people so I felt rather safe. Up in Marc's deserted hallway I became less sure of myself, but held my ground and did not follow him into his room, even after he got my blood flowing wildly by pushing me up against the wall of the hallway and kissing me harder (and much better) than I'd been kissed in years. Marc and I made out in his doorway for quite some time, and after several attempts to lure me further inside I decided it was time to go. I was not in the mood to play that game. However, Marc surprised me by suggesting that if I was not comfortable in his room, we should go back out and get dessert so we could at least still spend time together. I agreed that this was an excellent compromise, so we decided to venture back outside to search for the closest frozen yogurt vendor.
BUT FIRST Marc wanted to show me his third criteria he looks for in a female companian. He lifted my arm, placed his nose in my armpit, and sniffed. I laughed at his silliness and of course immediately began making protests... after all, I'd been walking around all day and it was 95 degrees outside! However, Marc informed that I had passed his test. He claimed that if a woman could spend the day outside in that kind of heat and still smell as sweet as I did, then she was worth keeping around. So there you have it: my armpits smell rockin'!
But anyway... we found a Pinkberry and walked our delicious frozen treats to Central Park to enjoy them. We sat on a bench and Marc told me that he was planning on moving to NYC from his current home in Los Angeles. He had previously been 99% sure he was going to make the move and had just been waiting for the final sign to tell him it was the right decision. He claimed that after meeting me, that sign had hit him right in the face. I told him I was flattered and would of course love if he lived closer and I would be able to get to know him better, but that he should never base such a drastic decision on a woman, especially one he had just met. Marc came on very strongly, but I liked him. I was by no means smitten, but he was extremely fascinating and it seemed clear he liked me.
(I never did get that book he wanted to share with me, though he claimed that was not simply a line and just forgot to give me the book. His arguement was that if he wanted to feed me a line he'd come up with something far better than book-sharing).
We parted that night and I awoke to a text from him the following morning: "12 hours and no text - I feel used for my kisses!" I replied that I felt equally used for my awesome whistling skills and we texted on and off throughout the day, agreeing to meet for lunch the next day before his flight back to L.A. At lunch, Marc recited me the poetry of William Butler Yeats. The date was very laid back and just a little awkward because we: 1.) had just met, and 2.) were soon to part ways for the forseeable future. After we parted again I received the following text message: "You are a good egg, renewed my faith in people. I don't know what the future holds, but you gave me Central Park by lamplight so I wanted to share the gift of Yeats. He had his Maud Gonne (his love), but she didn't look nearly as sensational in pearls."
I know that sometimes girls have a tendency to read into signs from men, but I thought it was pretty safe to say that this guy was totally digging me. However, he was returning to L.A. and I was going camping and would be off the grid for the next week. I decided that it would be nice to hear from Marc upon my return, but if I didn't, well... at least it had been a fun whirlwind romance that went nowhere.
As it turned out, I did have a text from Marc when I returned to civilization. He wanted to let me know he was back in NYC, but would be leaving again the morning after I returned from vacation. He agreed to meet me at Penn Station when my train got in so that we could spend several hours together until he was once again whisked away. We walked to a pub and shared tales of our various adventures over a few beers. He was very flirty, but announced that he still hadn't quite made up his mind regarding whether or not he should sell his house in L.A. and make the move to the East Coast. I was a little surprised since he had previously seemed so sure of this decision, and even more surprised to find that I was disappointed.
At one point Marc turned to me and said, "You are a puzzle." I replied that I am certainly not a puzzle. I am completely honest and straight-forward; all one needs to do is ask. He said he didn't have a question for me per se; the puzzle was that he didn't want to sleep with me. That was not at all what I had expected to hear. "You don't want to sleep with me now? Or ever?" I asked him. Marc answered that he did not want to sleep with me now, which was a relief because I also did not want to sleep with him at that precise moment. He further elaborated by explaining that he could tell I was a "gentle soul with a good heart" and wouldn't want to take that step with the future unknown, as it could potentially hurt me emotionally (Work with me; I'm paraphrasing here).
Some people I have spoken to think that was a weird thing for him to tell me. I don't. It was an observation and he hit the nail right on the head, so to speak. I do not jump into bed with just anyone, and I'm not at all quick to get under the covers with someone I really like. There are many factors contributing to that thought process, but yes, one of them is that I know I would get very hurt if the relationship fizzled quickly thereafter.
Eventually Marc had to head back to his hotel to pack, so I walked him "home." At the door, I realized I had to pee. Badly. I wasn't sure I'd even make it back to the main street to look for a McDonald's or Starbucks. With this in mind, I followed Marc up to his room with the sole intention of using his bathroom, Girl Scout's honor. But after doing my business I decided that while I was up there... well, it couldn't really hurt to fool around just a little bit... So I told Marc that I could leave, or we could make out for a while. His choice. To my surprise, Marc said that he didn't think that would be a good idea because he's very persuasive. Though I assured him that if anything happened it would be because I wanted to and it was my choice alone, Marc wrapped his arms around me, pulled me onto his bed, and... did nothing. For twenty minutes we lay intertwined and he made not a single move. No one spoke. It was kind of awesomely perfect.
I eventually broke the embrace, said my goodbyes, gave Marc a final kiss and reached for the doorknob to make my exit. Halfway through the door, Marc grabbed my arm, pulled me back inside, pushed me up against the wall and with a growl announced, "I changed my mind." Various articles of clothing went flying, though certainly not all of them. I was fully prepared to stand by my previous decision to not sleep with Marc. Or do too much other stuff. Oh, but he wanted to. He tried damn hard. And Marc was just like a delicious slice of chocolate cake. You want it; you know if you have it that it will be the best thing you've ever experienced, but that cake is so bad for you. Resisting the cake got more and more difficult, so I again prepared to make my exit. Marc released me from his clutches, but again wrapped his arms around me at the door. I asked when I would see him again and he said he didn't know. So I said, "But will I see you again?" He again said he just didn't know, that I shouldn't think about it.
Confused, but proud of myself, I went home.
Mark texted me later that night to say, "May love and fortune shine upon you." I never heard from him again. I know I never will. And I'm okay with that... it just bothers me that I can't figure out what this guy's motives were. Did he genuinely like me and decide that it wasn't nice to string me along if the move to NYC wasn't going to work out? Did he originally think that I was easy bait to lure into his bed but as he got to know me decided he couldn't go through with it, thus his hesitations? Or was that the intention all along, the "nice guy" shtick merely a routine, and when I repeatedly turned down his sexual advances, he tired of me? Marc, you are a puzzle.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Dear Diary 7/31/01: Woe is me. Boys are poo.
On this day nine years ago...
The following is a diary excerpt regarding Ryan, an itty bitty crush and Adam, the first boy I truly loved (as opposed to all the crushes that came before him with whom I thought I was in love). Nearly a decade letter, I can recognize the feelings I had for Adam as the real deal. The below entry was written about half-way through this bout of unrequited
love.
Wow, so much has happened since I last wrote! Where to start? Well, I found out Ryan wasn't on a date when I saw him at the movies. Way to go jumping to conclusions! Anyway, on the last day of school I gave Ryan my phone number and screen name. He never called, but he did IM me and we've been talking online a while now. Tonight I asked him if he wanted to hang out sometime and he said no because he's kinda seeing someone, but maybe some other time. He was so nice and told me he'd talk to me tomorrow. Am I sad? I don't know; kinda. It sounded kinda like I'm his choice B and that's just fine cuz he's my choice B, too. I still have faith Adam will come around. I still talk to Adam online several times a week and I actually get to see him on Sunday! I am so excited cuz I have not seen him for 4 months! I have a list of 40 things I love about him. 40!!! The only thing which bothers me about him is he talks about himself a lot. However, that could just be because he knows how interested I am in his life... or maybe that's just what I want to believe. Ryan actually showed interest in what was going on in my life, which was something that drew me to him. I really want to ask Adam if I'll ever have a chance with him, but I don't want to mess up our friendship. Of course, there's always the chance it could get better! Plus, the last time I asked him out, things were completely normal; not weird at all. I just don't want to count on that happening again, only to be disappointed. Oh, I am so confused! Adam is the only guy I can remember having made me cry, and it wasn't cuz he'd hurt my feelings, but because I was so sad to leave him. He is just such a great guy! I haven't seen him for four months and the yearning for him remains. Woe is me. Boys are Poo.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Want to find love fast? Don't try Speed-Dating.
I am not embarrassed to admit that I've tried speedating once. I am, however, slightly embarrassed to admit that I've tried speedating twice. On the first occassion, I ventured into the unknown with my friend Rebecca. The evening provided a good deal of handsome men in suits that thought they were out of my league because they had salaries and health benefits. To be honest, they were out of my league. I was a newbie to NYC at that time and had just started a job which paid a weekly stipend of $50. I was also decidedly not cute. There were some gentlemen in the mix that, in the five minutes I was allowed to converse with them, seemed to be worth giving more of my time. Somehow I managed to match with four men, though I honestly think they probably selected "all" on their ballots to increase match quantity, in the event of less than stellar match quality. This belief is further supported by the fact that three of them, when contacted, ignored my advances. Danny, however, called me to set up a lunch date, so my first speed-dating experience was not a total bust.
Or was it?
Danny had the amazing ability to hold one's attention for no more than five minutes. Since that was the maximum amount of time we were permitted to speak at the speed-dating event, my dating radar did not pick up on this fact. While on the date, I found myself fighting to keep the conversation going, which is something I rarely struggle with. At one point, when I asked the typical first date question: "What do you like to do for fun?" Danny replied, "Smoke the hookah." He offered no further information so I asked if there was anything else he did in his free time and he said, "I go to Astoria. To smoke the hookah."
And that was the most exciting conversation I had with Danny. At least he paid for lunch!
Despite the letdown of my first speed-dating experience, I had fun at the actual event and so decided two years later to rally some friends and give it a second go. The pickings were slim, but I selected two men that I was interested in speaking with further. As these were the only two guys that were worth a second look, my friends all picked them as well and when the matches were sent out, we were met with very incestuous results. I planned a date with Mark and so did my friend Valerie. We both went out with him in the same week, promising that it would cause no rift in our friendship if we both decided we liked him. Though we each had a decent time with Mark (I met him at a bar and we played Connect Four and he offered decidedly better conversational skills than Danny), luckily neither of us were interested in pursuing anything further and therefore did not have to release the claws for a girlfight.
A few days after Valerie and I had our respecitve dates with Mark, we were discussing the humor of the experience in the kitchen at work. A co-worker came in, began making her sandwich and soon had a confused look on her face. "I'm not trying to eavesdrop," she said, "but... did you two date the same guy?" Valerie and I just looked at each other and giggled, embarrassed to divulge the secrets of our speed-dating shenanigans.
Or was it?
Danny had the amazing ability to hold one's attention for no more than five minutes. Since that was the maximum amount of time we were permitted to speak at the speed-dating event, my dating radar did not pick up on this fact. While on the date, I found myself fighting to keep the conversation going, which is something I rarely struggle with. At one point, when I asked the typical first date question: "What do you like to do for fun?" Danny replied, "Smoke the hookah." He offered no further information so I asked if there was anything else he did in his free time and he said, "I go to Astoria. To smoke the hookah."
And that was the most exciting conversation I had with Danny. At least he paid for lunch!
Despite the letdown of my first speed-dating experience, I had fun at the actual event and so decided two years later to rally some friends and give it a second go. The pickings were slim, but I selected two men that I was interested in speaking with further. As these were the only two guys that were worth a second look, my friends all picked them as well and when the matches were sent out, we were met with very incestuous results. I planned a date with Mark and so did my friend Valerie. We both went out with him in the same week, promising that it would cause no rift in our friendship if we both decided we liked him. Though we each had a decent time with Mark (I met him at a bar and we played Connect Four and he offered decidedly better conversational skills than Danny), luckily neither of us were interested in pursuing anything further and therefore did not have to release the claws for a girlfight.
A few days after Valerie and I had our respecitve dates with Mark, we were discussing the humor of the experience in the kitchen at work. A co-worker came in, began making her sandwich and soon had a confused look on her face. "I'm not trying to eavesdrop," she said, "but... did you two date the same guy?" Valerie and I just looked at each other and giggled, embarrassed to divulge the secrets of our speed-dating shenanigans.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Eric - The Saga Continues
Back in May I posted "Eric -- The Saga Begins." I think it is now
high time the saga continued. Ladies and Gentlemen, fasten your
seatbelts; this may be a very bumpy ride.
After my initial horrible experience with Eric at the Poe reading, I
decided not to talk to him anymore because he refused to acknowledge he
had done anything wrong, let alone apologize. At first, he honored my
wishes by not contacting me, but I would soon realize that following
directions was not exactly Eric's forte. Three months later, he IMed me
with an apology so heartfelt that I decided I could let him back in,
but only in a friendship capacity. After all, people make mistakes,
they realize their wrongs, say they're sorry and don't deserve to be
punished for all eternity for one screw-up, right? Am I right? And
thus communication with Eric resumed and two months later I found myself
driving back to New Jersey to visit him. And the month after that,
too.
Eric was a high school track coach and had a meet in the morning. He had invited me to wake up early to go with him, but I declined in favor of sleeping in. My decision also had to do with the fact that Eric did not want his students to see him with a girl that he would later have to explain to them, yet another issue I convinced myself was unimportant. He never wanted to hold hands in public and was always cautious when we went out to dinner, the mall, etc. for fear that we would be spotted and he'd have questions to answer from hormonal teenagers. I pretended to understand, but in actuality thought, "Why can't you just tell them you're dating someone? What's the big deal?" I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure what Eric really meant was this: If he had to define the situation to his students, he'd also have to define it to himself. And while, despite all the shit he put me through, I still believe Eric truly cared about me, he never knew what he wanted. He never wanted to be exclusive; he never even wanted to talk about what we "were." On-and-off we dated, for two years, and he was never open to that conversation. And I pretended to be okay with it for two reasons: 1.) I never fully trusted him and was therefore cautious, and 2.) I'm a complete idiot who excuses blatant warning signs as personal paranoia.
But back in May 2007, I was sleeping in Eric's bed while he gently kissed me goodbye and headed to his track meet, set to return in the early hours of the afternoon. After I woke up and got dressed, I decided to check my email. I sat down at Eric's computer and saw he had left an IM window open. My intention was not to pry, but it was easy to see from a simple glance that the conversation was with a girl and the conversation was not only racy, it was the same conversation he'd recently had with me. This was obviously something he got off on. My heart was racing; I felt sick. I had to read more to allay my fears. Maybe it was just a joke, an old friend he was just goofing around with. Nope... it only got worse.
And then I started to notice other things that had slipped past my vision previously: A hair tie on the living room floor, an earring on the bathroom counter... Yes, it's possible they had merely been leftovers from female friends who had visited, but everything began to add up. I sat down to collect my thoughts. Was I over-reacting? After all, we weren't "exclusive," but on the other hand, he had told me he wasn't seeing anyone else. I took a few minutes to weigh my options, grabbed my overnight bag and left a note next to his computer: "I was only trying to check my email, Asshole." And I left.
Instead of driving home, I drove to Sesame Place to meet up with my sister and her in-laws. If a sister and Sesame Street can't cure heartache, nothing can. En route, Eric got home, received my charming note and called me, claiming to have no idea what my cryptic message meant or why I had left. I felt pangs of guilt when I pictured him arriving home to his empty apartment, going room to room looking for me and finding me gone. He said he thought I had been playing a trick on him, hiding, which I admit is totally something I would do, but not in this case. He finally fessed up to the IM, but insisted it was nothing and instead berated me for invading his privacy, which only served to infuriate me further.
I tried to enjoy my time at Sesame Place and I spent the rest of the weekend with my sister, who has been there through every single male I have ever shed a tear over. (I think she's getting a little tired of it, but remains supportive, regardless). Eric called incessantly throughout the weekend, but I ignored his messages, finally composing a speech to him that I left on his voicemail when I knew he would be at work and I wouldn't have to deal with actually speaking to him. I told him he had betrayed my trust by being dishonest with me and he had broken my heart because I had discovered I was in love with him, yadda yadda yadda. It must have been a damn good voicemail because Eric will later tell me that it made him cry. Good; I'm glad.
The bottom line, of course, was that for the second time, Eric had no idea he had done anything wrong and so for the second time, I told him not to call me anymore.
And for the second time, he will not listen. But that's a different chapter in this saga.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
The summer before my junior year of college I came home to a new love interest: his name was Jeff and I discovered him at my favorite hometown coffeehouse. I spent many a summer night there with various friends and on one special occassion, there was Jeff with his guitar, behind a microphone. This was no open mic night, ladies and gentlemen, this was a gig. This was big-time! And oh boy, did he make me melt! Those eyes! Those sandals! His voice was heaven and Jeff could rock an acoustic Billie Jean years before the idea ever crossed the mind of Chris Cornell. Jeff had me under his hypnotic spell and I knew I just had to do something. And so, at the end of his set, I nervously slipped my phone number into his tip jar.
I held onto the hope that I would hear from Jeff, but part of me knew we would probably never again cross paths. The following night I accompanied my mom to a dance recital that featured one of her students and as we entered the auditorium, a familiar voice filled my ears. I didn't even have to look at the stage to know who was up there providing pre-show entertainment. A sign! It was at that point I knew that Jeff and I were meant to be. Luckily, the show's program provided further information on this mysterious and beautiful creature. A performer bio, how fortuitous! I found out he graduated from a neighboring high school three years before me and graduated from a university a town over from my own college (another sign!), but the most glorious piece of information: his website. I went right home to look up when and where his next shows would be.
He was playing at my coffeehouse again the following week and of course I was there. And the next time. And the next. I'm not sure exactly when or how it happened, but eventually Jeff knew who I was. Perhaps I finally summoned the courage to introduce myself to him after a set, perhaps he just started to recognize me. I'm surprised I don't quite remember this juicy piece of information, but somehow we came to be somewhat of acquaintances. It wasn't the dream-wedding I'd been envisioning, but for the moment it was good enough for me. I'm not sure if he ever made the connection that I was the girl who left my phone number in his tip jar... but I suspect that he did.
I returned to college in the fall and though I did not forget all about Jeff, he moved to the back of my mind and I thought of him only with passing pangs of unrequited love when listening to his CD. And then one day, lo and behold, I received a MySpace friend request from Jeff! It was so glorious. I was flying high the rest of the week. Jeff wanted to by my friend! More importantly, he had not forgotten about me. We communicated sporadically and a few months after that Jeff sent me a message on MySpace inviting me to a show he had near my campus. Delighted, giddy, filled with hormones, I grabbed my roommates and we headed off to see Jeff. He was already playing when we arrived, but he looked up and smiled at me as I made my way to a table, friends in tow. An hour and a half later I introduced him to my roommates, he thanked me for coming, I bought his new CD and we had just started to casually chat when... Jeff peered around my shoulder, then back at me, then over my shoulder again. "Can you hold on just a minute? I'll be right back," he said as he touched my shoulder (sigh) on his way past me and out of the room.
One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes later I gave up hope that Jeff was to return and glumly exited the premises, only to find Jeff outside talking to a girl and asking her phone number. "Uhh... thanks again for coming!" he called after me. Devastated, I cranked Rob Thomas' This Is How a Heart Breaks on the drive home. Back in my apartment, I screamed and threw the new CD against the wall and never once listened to it.
Just for the record, I'd like to state the following: I now live in NYC and have a great job that I absolutely love in the film/television industry. When I was home for Christmas 2009, I hit up a local bar with a friend. And guess who was sitting in the corner behind a microphone, playing his guitar and singing along while people sipped their hot toddies and waited for underage girls to slip past the bouncer? That's right: Jeff. It's a terrible thing, but sometimes silently gloating is all one really needs to feel better.
Friday, July 2, 2010
OkCupid Hall of Shame: Part 2
I am leaving for vacation tomorrow morning and will be blissfully off the grid for the next week, but since I am told people are actually reading this, I couldn't leave without providing some serious insight for you to reflect on in the week ahead. And so, since I apparently have not learned my lesson and still believe men of quality and substance use the internet to meet women of quality and substance, here are some OkCupid messages I have received since my last OkCupid post. Ladies, these men are out there and they want you to love them. Watch out.
When eating french fries as part of my meal, I can sometimes be seen picking up french fries that are similar in length to maintain my image as an equal opportunity ketchup consumer. Why should a short fry miss out on the ketchup just because it was picked up with a longer spud? Although, I can also be seen with french fries on my plate and no ketchup whatsoever.
(I love french fries more than most things in life, but do you really have to devote that much time to french fry reflection? However, in this guy's defense, I would like to commend his spelling and grammar.)
You seem like my cup of tea, so let's get this private party started, okay?
(Okay! Earl Gray with two lumps, please).
I am honestly looking for a long term relationship but you cant say your not open to short term relationship b.c what are long term before they are long term you know what i mean?
(I never said I was opposed to a short-term relationship, but now that you mention it...)
I hope you a nice person to talk to and get to know and not the other way… lol. I hope we can soon or later sit and talk and have a normal conversation, laugh, and smile and have fun.
(What other way? You think maybe I is not a nice person to sit and talk to?)
When eating french fries as part of my meal, I can sometimes be seen picking up french fries that are similar in length to maintain my image as an equal opportunity ketchup consumer. Why should a short fry miss out on the ketchup just because it was picked up with a longer spud? Although, I can also be seen with french fries on my plate and no ketchup whatsoever.
(I love french fries more than most things in life, but do you really have to devote that much time to french fry reflection? However, in this guy's defense, I would like to commend his spelling and grammar.)
You seem like my cup of tea, so let's get this private party started, okay?
(Okay! Earl Gray with two lumps, please).
I am honestly looking for a long term relationship but you cant say your not open to short term relationship b.c what are long term before they are long term you know what i mean?
(I never said I was opposed to a short-term relationship, but now that you mention it...)
I hope you a nice person to talk to and get to know and not the other way… lol. I hope we can soon or later sit and talk and have a normal conversation, laugh, and smile and have fun.
(What other way? You think maybe I is not a nice person to sit and talk to?)
i know how to cook things lololol you seem pretty cool so i would really like to chat with you sometimes and see what happend would you like that?
(No, I would not like that, primarily because you sound like a creeper, but also... WHY DO THE MAJORITY OF THESE MEN FEEL THE NEED TO TYPE "LOLOL" IN THE MIDDLE OF SENTENCES?)
i live at home but rep non of the benefits
(I live at my home too, but my home does not include my parents, which is the point I think this gent was trying to make. Sir, if confessing you still live with your parents is your opening line, I fear for you.)
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