Rainy Day

It's black. It's white. I look outside and all I see is grey. But alas, there is peace.

Gentleman's Jack, Part II

Another Saturday night rolls around, it's been a solid two-three weeks since we first met, and in the meantime, I've met don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover guy. I'm at dinner with some college friends, which tends to be an early night kind of crowd, so I make plans to meet friends in town. I leave a message for my southern gentlemen and tell him that I'll be in the neighborhood later, and that I'd call to see if he's out and about. Well, during dinner at my friend's house, my phone must have rung no less than a thousand times, seriously. So I talk to him, tell him I'm heading out, and he suggests I meet him at a "party" at his friend's place. I was early and had some time to kill before my friends emerged from the sporting event of the night, so I figured why not. This party was just a stone's throw from the arena anyways. My friends could join me there after the game.

So, I know in my past I've had the reputation of being a bit naive, but I thought that I had outgrown it. I show up at this "party" only to find him and a couple of friends hanging out watching more college football and drinking. He was exceedingly affectionate, which objectively I would say is quite flattering. It was an awkward grouping. I don't like public displays, and his friends appeared to have the personality of a rock. There came a point where they (the friends) went into the kitchen, and it was suggested that I don't look. Yes, there were hard core drugs in use that night. My gentleman declared he had never nor would ever use such substances, but had no problem drinking his weight in alcohol. Now, I wasn't about to go call the cops. I wasn't born yesterday, I know these things go on. But the night was beginning to spiral, my friends had left the game and were now at a local bar, and I was getting antsy.

So we leave with me as designated driver. The memory is faded, but for some inexplicable reason, we stop by his place before heading to the bar. It was in the neighborhood, but I'm sure it wasn't merely a show-and-tell visit. We got to his place, and he poured a glass of wine for each of us. Now one thing I remember from our first meeting was the physical chemistry the two of us had. This is a very important aspect of a relationship and should not be taken lightly. Well, that night was no different, except that the moons had aligned that day and pretty much guaranteed that there was a hard and fast line that night. I was not to be toiled with, completely. Never have I felt physically threatened until that evening. I have traipsed down urban streets on my own, drunk, and felt completely safe, but that night I was hanging on by a mere thread. Any time I objected he kept telling me to relax. Any time I tried to escape he overpowered me. There was a distinct moment where I felt completely helpless. I was at the brink, and I refused to be a victim. I gave a defiant no, I'm leaving, which certainly killed any illusion of any mood. I was apologetic implying that it's my fault, I shouldn't have gone upstairs with him, blah, blah, blah. Respectable people don't get accused of rape, attempted or otherwise, and I was trying to avoid that sentiment. There was much drinking involved, things started getting out of hand, but bottom line, they didn't. Night's over, let's move on.

Which was what I was thinking, night's over, I'm meeting my friends at the bar. Except that it wasn't over. He insisted on joining me. So there we were at the bar having yet another drink, meanwhile my friend's are within shouting distance and we're not talking to them. Now, there were still moments as we sat at that bar, as he ordered drink after drink and quite often without even touching the previous one, that I was still indescribably attracted to him. Physical passion is a dangerous thing. But I couldn't deny the fact that I was experiencing first-hand a complete and total train wreck, and I had to leave. I walk out the door, twelve untouched drinks later, bid him goodnight, and leave. I could finally breathe. I was proud of myself for not waiting for him to decide to go, to take control of my happiness and at that moment most importantly my safety.

The icing on the cake of the night that will live in infamy in my mind came the morning after. I got a message from the gentleman asking where I had disappeared the night before. My simple response, "don't you remember me saying goodbye?"

Gentleman's Jack, Part I

Whiskey. A popular drink amongst Southern men. If I'm not mistaken this is what the charming, aforementioned Southern gentleman was drinking the afternoon we met. Yes, it was afternoon. College football was on. I had secured a seat at the bar with a friend of mine and was enjoying watching my team play. There was a newspaper on the bar, left by the previous inhabitant of my seat, which the charmer asked to look at. That opened all lines of communications. As I've said before, I can talk to a brick wall, and when that brick wall is cute with a southern drawl, I'll talk its ear off. So we got along quite well, and talked for a couple of hours (sound familiar?), much to my friend's dismay. It is not appropriate cat and mouse game play, you see. I don't subscribe to that behavior. If I like someone, I like someone. If I don't, I don't. Now, I can't prove my theory is better than any other, but it's certainly more suited for my personality. So that afternoon numbers and business cards were exchanged, and not in the sleazy, I'll ask but never use it sense. He actually, quite enthusiastically I might add, asked me to dinner the following Monday. Wow, this one swept me off my feet. He left early to meet friends at another bar, and we parted for the day. My friend wouldn't haven't it any other way.

So Monday came and there was no word from his end, so I feign an insane workload and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps he was just drunk and didn't seriously invite me to dinner. I gave him an out, and myself a graceful exit. I thought I'd never hear from him again, when he responds claiming death in the family, he had to go home but will call upon his return. Have I mentioned that his home is the same as the beloved vacation spot of me and my family? Match made in heaven, right? So he returns, and I think there was another mismatched outing, but I refused to give up.

In a land far, far away

Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.

As I was road-tripping out of town last Friday night, I noticed a bright light in the sky in front of me. I was debating whether or not I was seeing a plane or a star or even possibly a UFO. When the light stayed in one place, I ruled out plane, and being of sound mind, I pretty much declared not a UFO either. That left star, and then I thought, duh... It's bright, it's constant, it's practically the first star in the sky... must be the North Star. And then I remembered... I was heading south.

We're always told not to judge a book by its cover. I must admit that I am frequently sucked in by eye candy. We're so conditioned to immediate, rapid response that we can't be bothered to open the cover and read the inside flap. I try to restrict my shortsightedness to the retail world, but every now and then, it bites me in everyday social interaction. I believe this is why I was so quick to leave my new acquaintance empty-handed on that oh-so fateful night many moons ago.

I was not immediately drawn to him. He was on the short side (still taller than me I might add), thin, and didn't ooze masculinity. I have very traditional views on male and female roles, and he didn't scream protector, provider to me at all, which is really funny because if someone tried to tell me that a woman's place is barefoot in the kitchen, I would tell them precisely where they could shove it. But against my instinct I went out with him. And then I went out with him again. And might I mention again?

He worked hard just to see me those first weeks. You might say that he chased me early on, but I'd hate to use such a trite phrase to describe the situation. It implies my disinterest, which was certainly not the case. I liken the situation to that age-old remark... A beautiful person, the better you know them, may become more and more unattractive. An "ugly" person, the better you know them may become more and more beautiful. I pause to use the term "ugly" here... that's something he's made me very aware of. It's a horrible thing to say about something that's completely out of someone's control... (please ignore the hoards of plastic surgeons standing in line to perform the next extreme makeover) Now, I am not implying that he's unattractive, just that I was so willing to throw this one away because the cover wasn't exactly what I was looking for right there, right then. Have I mentioned yet the charming, Southern gentleman that I had met the day before that still had me swooning that following evening? So, while I inadvertently made him chase me, I will openly admit it wasn't long before I was completely smitten.

Once upon a time

It's been five months since I've started down this path that I now find myself on. If I step back and look at things I wonder how on earth did I get here, and how on earth did that become this. It's amazing the shift that has occurred in this relationship that I am in. The night I met my guy, I had absolutely no romantic interest in him. I found talking to him interesting, his life experiences, but that was where it ended. Yet, at the end of the night, I found myself in an awkward place. Him asking me for my number, and me not at all inclined to provide it. This is where the problem lies. I felt exceedingly guilty for telling him no, so always aiming to please, I told my friend (whose house we met at) that he could give him my number. So a couple of weeks later, precisely mid-move into my first house, he called. I truly was busy, completely preoccupied, and above all still not interested. But fearing the abuse of our mutual friend, I returned his call... several days later. To the unbiased outsider, it appeared that I was playing hard to get. That notoriously female role that I don't at all subscribe to. No, I was not playing hard to get. I still was not convinced that this was anything worth pursuing, but I agreed to meet him for drinks anyway. That night I became more and more convinced that he had no romantic interest in me. What guy discusses the people that he is dating while on a date? That was a first for me, and I was completely ready to kiss this one goodbye. But as we were heading out to the car, he did something that I still remember vividly. He grabbed me around the waist, pulled me towards him, and kissed me. At that moment, my eyes were opened.

The end of the day

Have you ever been at the moment of truth and been completely incapable of speaking it? I feel as though I hit that moment tonight. I cooked dinner tonight for my socially inept, non-boyfriend, significant other. And when it comes down to it this wasn't just any dinner. This was THE dinner. The best I have in my repertoire. I'm a fairly competent cook and can whip up many a gourmet feast without sweating it... too much. I've tried this dish on one other occasion... the man that came before this one. It's something I pulled out when trying to impress, to win his favor. Tonight was under no such circumstances. I just felt it was time. To show my appreciation, to show him I'm in this, to show him he means something to me.

Much to my dismay, we were both in a funky mood, which didn't lighten upon his arrival. He had been working most of the weekend and was rushing to finish up tonight before hurrying over to my place. One thing he hates, and rightfully so, is rushing to have a good time. I agree. It's not worth it if you're going to be completely stressed getting there. So he's grumpy when he arrives and makes said comment, which I have heard all too many times, and what do I say? It's grey now, but something along the lines of if you don't really want to be here, don't let me drag you out. And with that, he left. At first I thought it was just to the bathroom, and then after a couple of minutes have passed, I thought he really left. And then, a couple of minutes later I thought, o god, he's in the bathroom still, broken up about how he's going to end this, which leaves me in the kitchen having visions of tears and food flying. He was in the bathroom, but when he returned there was no further conversation on the topic. My window had passed, which it seems to do all too often. We proceeded to enjoy a fantastic meal, and as the night wore on, it had to come to an end. Work is looming, and the clocks jumped forward this weekend, which just exacerbates that fact. As he's leaving I experience those all too familiar feelings. Hollowness and emptiness. And perhaps it's just completely unrequited longing. These are strong words, but at the end of the day, I'm not willing to give up just yet, which makes it no less difficult for me. He has a fan club of one in my life, and I often feel like I'm not enough to fight for both of us, which leaves me second guessing my every move and is completely unfair to him.

There were a couple of moments tonight where I had about fifty million questions on the tip of my tongue but could never spit them out. So here I am a victim of my own silence. Perhaps it's not as bad as it seems, and tomorrow, once this wine has faded, things will look up. One can only hope.

God's chosen people

Flashback to Saturday night... Poker Night. This was held at a friend of a friend's house. If you remember, my friend that invited me along was trying to introduce me to new people, especially those of the single, male variety. While I have been dating the same socially inept guy for five months now, I still am open to meeting single guys. As I have mentioned to my friends, he is not my boyfriend. I wouldn't call him that, so no one else should either. I AM A FREE WOMAN... sort of.

So, I'm milling about the house Saturday night, new faces coming and going, when finally I'm introduced to the host. My friend has mentioned him several times especially in a sales-pitch manner. My first thought was this is a guy I could be interested in... he has those blue eyes that I'm such a fan of, a great smile, very outgoing personality, fun-loving guy, seems very successful, great house. What more can a girl ask for? Being the host of a large poker gathering, apparently he had many things to attend to, and most unfortunate for me, I wasn't seated at his table, so there really wasn't much (read any) time for chit chat until much later into the evening. Also unfortunate for me that freed me up to meeting stalker 1 and 2.

As the evening ran down, I found myself trying to cross his path more often. And by the end of the night, I was very slow to leave, which made me one of the final guests standing outside sharing a few parting words with him. I felt desperate to get his attention, but didn't want to appear desperate... very tricky. In the end, my friend and I left without a major breakthrough. I was to remain somewhat a woman of mystery. As my friend was driving me home, I starting thinking aloud how I found some of his friends quite interesting, which led to him inquiring as to which ones. I was about to pronounce that I was oddly fascinated by the host, which could result in my friend crossing our paths again, when I stopped and thought what's the point.

You see, many of the gatherers that evening were Jewish. And one thing that I took away from that evening is the glaring fact that I do not have a single Jewish person in my life. This is not by design by any means, I just haven't crossed paths with any that stuck with me. It probably goes without saying, but you have probably already assumed (correctly) that I am not a Jew. So what is the significance of all of this? The host is. Now, why forge a relationship or even attempt one, when deep down, I know it would never work long term. Why put my heart on the line, when I know it will just wind up broken in the end? The eternal optimist right now is saying you never know. It could work, somehow. I've actually had SATC delusions about pulling a Charlotte and converting for the man of my dreams. And as long as we're in fantasyland, why not? Clearly it's too early in this non-relationship to have such philosophical debates, but I really don't want to let Mr. Right pass me by either without my giving him a second glance. Perhaps I won't let this little complication get in my way just yet. After all I still have major issues, such as my non-boyfriend, complicating my dating life.

The American Physique

Fat America. Our reputation proceeds us worldwide. In any public forum, you see it. It's widespread, it's rampant, and there's no denying it. Obesity is a serious problem in this country, which really makes light of my rant from yesterday. No matter how the definition is spun, I don't think it's possible for me under any circumstance to be classified as such... currently. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like a beached whale as my size 2 pants felt overly snug on my ballooning ass and thighs today. I was miserable today as I was stuck at the office all day unable to slip into my elasticized pajama pants and oversized T-shirt. It doesn't help that, in spite of yesterday's rant, I still ate a small handful of girl scout cookies for breakfast. You can see I'm trying hard to regain control of my weight. What's my problem? Why can't I be happy with a comfortable size 4? Flashback to Sunday night.

I went to a concert with a friend, which meant I was out with the people. Not that this is a rare event, but a large number of people in a concentrated space will inevitably lead to some interesting people watching. As I began to notice those around me, I saw too many women wearing articles of clothing that were entirely inappropriate for their bodies, which only drew my attention to their imperfections. Horrible I know, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice. The two women sitting immediately in front of me were another prime example. I often wonder how people their size fit in the seats of such public arenas. Somehow they wedged themselves into their seats and looked completely uncomfortable the entire time they were seated. Now, I don't say this to mock or demean these people. I say this because I often wonder how people wind up 50, 100 or more pounds overweight. It doesn't happen overnight, and it doesn't happen on purpose. Yet, somehow it does happen, and I often think these people wake up one day and don't recognize themselves and don't know where to begin or have the strength or courage or support to begin. It's sad, and it makes me want to shake these people and get them to break this vicious cycle.

So what does this have to do with me and my size 2 skinny ass ranting self? I have this fear, that one day I too will wake up and look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I think left to my lazy ways, I'd inevitably gain that 50 pounds or more, which is why when I get to feeling the way I've been feeling lately, I rant and then take action. Tonight, I got off my ass finally and dusted off the treadmill. It felt great. The runner's high hit me afterwards, and I felt absolutely fantastic. So my strategy to keep this up? Not sure yet, but I am breaking this girl scout cookies for breakfast habit now!

I feel the earth move under my feet

This is not an ode to Aretha Franklin or Patti Labelle or whoever it was that sang that song. No, this is a rant about none other than me. Or my uninspiring physique these days. A week and a half ago, a friend of mine and I went and saw "The Spirit of the Marathon." What an amazing film. It documents the lives of runners, ranging from the casual runner next door to olympic and elite-level marathoners, as they train for, participate in, and complete the Chicago marathon. Truly a remarkable and awe-inspiring movie. As I left the show that night, I made the comment if that doesn't inspire me to get moving and try my hand at the 26.2 mile event, nothing will. I am one of those casual runners. I've participated in a half marathon once and have always said I want to try it again, the half, if not the full. Last December, I participated in the local marathon relay event. 5 miles, no problem, but we were intermingled with the real marathoners. I covered miles 10-15 with them. It's just amazing to be out there with them, watching the human spirit conquer any array of physical ailments. I love that runner's high I get after participating in any event or cruising along on the treadmill, so then why the rant? My running shoes have been collecting dust since that relay. Keep in mind, it's now the beginning of March. I can feel the muscle in my legs turning to mush and can see the layer of gush is what I like to call it forming on my stomach and thighs. I hate this feeling. Now, I know there are plenty of people out there that would look at me and think what does she have to complain about. I'm a size 4, and on occasion have been known to squeeze into a size 2. Yes, call me a skinny bitch, but I will part with this one thought... perspective does strange things.

Poker Night

It's Sunday evening, and I'm finally feeling human again. It only took several hours on the couch, a couple of catnaps, gallons of fluids, and a hot shower to get me here. Last night I played a little Texas hold'em and drank just a little beer. But that was after spending some time on the driving range, then on the patio also drinking a little beer. I'm not a lush really, but yesterday seemed to get away from me fast, and before I knew it, the night was winding down and I counted the remains of 9 beers in my wake. To my surprise last night, I remember thinking at 2am just how great I felt after said 9 beers. What a difference a few sleepless hours can make. Dogs don't seem to understand what sleeping in or hangovers are. So yes, I survived, but I can't say the same for my $25 buy in.

The poker outing was held by a friend of a friend. My like one guy friend is trying to introduce me to new circles (ie find a replacement for my guy), so he invited me along to meet his grad school friends. I had never met any of these people before, and only knew him, but still to my amazement, this wasn't a problem. Somewhere in my adult life, I developed this ability to talk to a brick wall. I'm not sure where it came from since I was quite the wall flower in my youth, but I've got it now, and I enjoy exercising it. What I have discovered is that this talent for talking to complete strangers has opened me up to some very bizarre situations. I was telling a friend this today. I seem to attract some strange guys I think purely because they find me very approachable. I'll talk to anybody. The problem is, in the feeble minds of men, this often gets misconstrued as interest. Last night was another prime example. But first, the really bizarre part of the evening.

We arrive at the house, and everyone's getting geared up to start playing some cards. We weren't the last to arrive, so as we waited for the stragglers to roll in, everyone stood about chatting. One arrival seemed to be inexplicably drawn to me. It was like there was some magnetic field drawing us together. And to put it nicely, he was an "interesting" guy. Not to say he was unattractive, but he was just a very unique individual. He was a world traveler with work and was moving away from the city in a handful of months... whew, he's not hitting on me... or is he? He was truly bizarre. We were talking amidst a small group, yet he ignored the rest of them completely and focused on me. He followed my movements about the house like he was my shadow. I admit, over the course of the evening, there were times when I was in the bathroom (remember the 9 beers?) thinking he was going to walk in on me at any time. Luckily, we had assigned seats for the poker game, and thanks to the luck of the draw, he and I wound up at separate tables. I did see him making a move towards the seat next to me before realizing, he would be playing on the patio. Ahhh, peace at last. Let the games begin.

My ability to chat up strangers, led to the next stalker of the evening. The guy to my left at the poker table. As the game rolled on, so did the table talk and flow of drinks. I made an early exit at my table (let the record show I was not the first one out of the night) and became the permanent dealer. So we continued to chat (we being me and the whole table), and as the numbers dwindled, it became time to consolidate tables. I leave my seat and mingle a bit, only to discover, that my neighbor (also an early exiter) is following me like a puppy. What is it with me and strange guys? Ironically, the original stalker was the big winner of the evening. Perhaps I should have humored him and somehow gotten my $25 back. I'm not sure it would have been worth it, but there is something extremely flattering about a guy paying that much attention to you.

The beginning of the end

It's a slow Saturday morning, my favorite kind, and I'm sipping my coffee and easing into the day. Last night was a girl's night. The plan had been formulated early in the day, morning if I'm not mistaken. A friend of mine was on a men are socially inept rant, and a couple of us were more than willing to join her. Look at me. I'm an expert on the men are socially inept rant. I actually initiated the talks of going out. It has been all week, since I've heard from my guy. This is the pattern these days. After Monday, I don't hear from him all week until about 5 o-clock Friday when he calls to see if I'll join him for dinner or drinks. And, up until now, I always answer his call, and I always am available. This week I decided I'm not going to be available. No last minute planning for this girl, so the location was set and out on the town we rolled. And promptly at 10:30, we were back. Party animals we were not, but we still had a good time.

So, slightly later than expected, I got the call. It was near 7 pm, and of course being technically challenged, I haven't figured out my new cell phone. So he couldn't leave a voice message because I don't know how to set it up, at least that's the excuse I'm going with. Now if it were me and I'm trying to get a hold of someone and I couldn't leave a message for whatever reason, I would try back later and perhaps more than once. Did he? Of course not. So clearly, he wasn't that interested in seeing me, and was just giving me the courtesy call. I'm so over this behavior. This is what leads me to believe this weekend might be the beginning of the end. I really have no motivation to call him, so really is it possible for this relationship to keep on keeping on? He won't call. I'm sure he'll be busy working or too self-absorbed to bother thinking about me. Ahh, this is such a healthy outlook! Ironically, the season finale to that most horrific show that we watch together is on Monday. Could the timing have been any better?