High atop the Emerald City, in a penthouse pad that's suitable for a
Superhero (which, by the way, I understand is worth in the ball-park of a
cool $10 bills), a certain guy tries to work his magic to throw one of the most elegant and
well-appointed shin-digs you'll find this side of La-La Land. Be
impressed (he wants you to be). And I was... Truly.
For the first time in four years, I will not be attending "his" Oscar Party, and, I should say, I have mixed emotions. He, by the way, is my Ex's very dearest friend in the whole world, "Little Lord Flaunts it A Lot, " or maybe, for better taste sake, "Mr. Opulence," "The Big O," or for simplicity sake, just, "B.O."
Actually, full credit for the affair does not go to B.O, but to his
ex-lover of almost 20 years. B.O. broke up with him two years ago, and like
all couples, they had two sides, two distinct personalities that
blended into one. B.O. was the "serious" side,
and his partner, who was the gregarious, the bubbly, and the effervescent one, created the social veneer. He was the straw who stirred the drink, organized the affair, circulated among the guests, and B.O. paid the bills, and looked eternally flustered and furtive.
Just imagine sashaying through Titanic-sized rooms, daintily nibbling on delectable finger-foods while chatting with a Pantheon of guests. While traipsing along, you peer through a seemingly endless glass window overlooking, on two sides, the entire lighted city night-scape. On the third side is a panoramic view of the charming, yet rugged Puget Sound. If you're not careful, you will be seduced by the natural beauty, but the show is inside.
The piece de resistance is the eleven-seat home movie theater fully equipped with deep-cushioned leather theater seats and temperature control. If that's too cushy for you, you can always move out to the living area where a Godzilla-Vision TV Screen awaits. And I know that if you really needed your privacy, there'd still be several sets available in one of bathrooms, bedrooms, or sitting rooms in that 3-story Xanadu.
Like any veneer, after Lover left, the social side of B.O's veneer began to crack and fade. In 2011 and 2012, the Oscar Parties were still opulent, but the crowd dwindled substantially, and the spirit was rather polite and subdued, almost melancholic. For all that was said about the ex-lover, he did know how to throw a great party, and make guests feel at ease. The same could not be said of B.O. Let's say that if you had to equate the level good times to that of an aroma, B.O's parties lived up to his nick-name.
A couple of days ago my Mother said, let's have an Oscar Party, and I all I could think was... B.O - well, not just him, but the our circumstances right now... Mom, me, and my step-father who is in an Alzheimer's, nearly vegetative state. The Picture of the Year is "Lincoln," a film about the hard, cold, tragic Civil War - the bloodiest conflict in Human History. I almost said no, then I thought about B.O, and how hard he tried to create an ambiance. Then I thought about us with the ambiance of "What Ever Happened Baby Jane," and I realized, that is Hollywood! Pass the Ritz Crackers and Cheese Whiz. Now that smells like fun...
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Mystery of it All
I knew my part in the break-up - I'd been depressed for over a year, and I just couldn't get my feet under me.
Yes, I was slipping and sliding down the slope of life. I was tired, despondent. I'd lost hope and purpose, and through it all, I couldn't land a job. I tried - a lot.
In 2012, I had approximately ten interviews, not to mention several technical phone screenings, and not one bloody job was to be had out of that lot. My confidence was shot, and I didn't know which way to turn. I was living off credit cards and borrowing money. She was supportive, but something was telling me that what she said was not the whole truth, just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath, was the rest of the monster mass of frozen water, the kind the Titanic ran into.
I needed help, and I sought it. At first I went to a counselor for a scaled fee: 60.00 for an hour session. He was okay, but he was ten to fifteen years younger than me. Part of my affliction was dealing with Middle-Age, realizing, perhaps, that my career in Software Development was coming to a close. In my unemployment, I'd lost a step or two technically, and the gap seemed harder and harder to close. Also, I was not certain if it was truly the field for me. I am not a geek, more of a people person, and I'd been feeling like it was an ill-fit.
After four sessions and $260.00 more on my credit card, I decided the counseling sessions were an ill-fit. I told the counselor that I could no longer afford the sessions, and we ended our meetings.
I'm also an Alcoholic. I gave up drinking almost three years ago. Being booze-free has been a boon to me. I was a binge drinker, mostly drinking heavily when I was under lots of stress. My fear, when I stopped drinking, was that I was going to feel more anxious than I did when I drank. But much to my amazement, it had the opposite effect. For once in my life, the monkey was off my back, and I was happily learning to cope without alcohol.
Though, I was finding a reason for living through sobriety, the struggle to find work and all the fall-out from that was killing my self-worth. I was not pleasant to live with. I was angry and frustrated. Sometimes, I'd be short with her, and start arguments to relieve stress. Sometimes I'd lament that life was not worth living. I know it took a toll on her, but I needed someone to talk to, probably another counselor.
I met a man on Facebook. He took an interest in me - a rather keen interest, and showed it by posting hearts with arrows through them, airbrushed bouquets of flowers, and other slogans of endearment - the kind that are seen on Hallmark Cards on Valentine's Day. He posted these on my page. I thought it was sweet, but it made my girlfriend jealous.
I assured her our association was jovial and superficial, but she was not buying it. She once told me, "I know what you are capable of," meaning that I'm kinky, twisted, and would do anything to satisfy my libido, which is not quite true - close, but no cigars. She laid down the law, and told me that I was not to contact this man again.
By this time, our situation was getting more and more dire. We were starting to dislike lots of things about each other. At night we'd sit on opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking. Sometimes we were fine, but other times, the tension was palpable. Maybe I could have done more to mitigate the situation, but perhaps, it was just the natural course of things.
The next evening, I called my friend on the phone. He posted about it on Facebook. We spoke of he, my ex, and I getting together for dinner. I thought it was a great idea.
The next day, while at work, she discovered the post. I'd completely forgotten about it. She called me after she saw it. In a nutshell, she broke up with me. At the time, I was shocked, but now, it all seems so surrealistic. Did it really happen? Was our entire relationship just a dream? Once again, I'm brought back to something my father used to say. In the end, everything fades into mystery.
Yes, I was slipping and sliding down the slope of life. I was tired, despondent. I'd lost hope and purpose, and through it all, I couldn't land a job. I tried - a lot.
In 2012, I had approximately ten interviews, not to mention several technical phone screenings, and not one bloody job was to be had out of that lot. My confidence was shot, and I didn't know which way to turn. I was living off credit cards and borrowing money. She was supportive, but something was telling me that what she said was not the whole truth, just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath, was the rest of the monster mass of frozen water, the kind the Titanic ran into.
I needed help, and I sought it. At first I went to a counselor for a scaled fee: 60.00 for an hour session. He was okay, but he was ten to fifteen years younger than me. Part of my affliction was dealing with Middle-Age, realizing, perhaps, that my career in Software Development was coming to a close. In my unemployment, I'd lost a step or two technically, and the gap seemed harder and harder to close. Also, I was not certain if it was truly the field for me. I am not a geek, more of a people person, and I'd been feeling like it was an ill-fit.
After four sessions and $260.00 more on my credit card, I decided the counseling sessions were an ill-fit. I told the counselor that I could no longer afford the sessions, and we ended our meetings.
I'm also an Alcoholic. I gave up drinking almost three years ago. Being booze-free has been a boon to me. I was a binge drinker, mostly drinking heavily when I was under lots of stress. My fear, when I stopped drinking, was that I was going to feel more anxious than I did when I drank. But much to my amazement, it had the opposite effect. For once in my life, the monkey was off my back, and I was happily learning to cope without alcohol.
Though, I was finding a reason for living through sobriety, the struggle to find work and all the fall-out from that was killing my self-worth. I was not pleasant to live with. I was angry and frustrated. Sometimes, I'd be short with her, and start arguments to relieve stress. Sometimes I'd lament that life was not worth living. I know it took a toll on her, but I needed someone to talk to, probably another counselor.
I met a man on Facebook. He took an interest in me - a rather keen interest, and showed it by posting hearts with arrows through them, airbrushed bouquets of flowers, and other slogans of endearment - the kind that are seen on Hallmark Cards on Valentine's Day. He posted these on my page. I thought it was sweet, but it made my girlfriend jealous.
I assured her our association was jovial and superficial, but she was not buying it. She once told me, "I know what you are capable of," meaning that I'm kinky, twisted, and would do anything to satisfy my libido, which is not quite true - close, but no cigars. She laid down the law, and told me that I was not to contact this man again.
By this time, our situation was getting more and more dire. We were starting to dislike lots of things about each other. At night we'd sit on opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking. Sometimes we were fine, but other times, the tension was palpable. Maybe I could have done more to mitigate the situation, but perhaps, it was just the natural course of things.
The next evening, I called my friend on the phone. He posted about it on Facebook. We spoke of he, my ex, and I getting together for dinner. I thought it was a great idea.
The next day, while at work, she discovered the post. I'd completely forgotten about it. She called me after she saw it. In a nutshell, she broke up with me. At the time, I was shocked, but now, it all seems so surrealistic. Did it really happen? Was our entire relationship just a dream? Once again, I'm brought back to something my father used to say. In the end, everything fades into mystery.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
My Mind is a Haunted House
We still live in that place, the happy couple who met that April day, in the Sculpture Park, next to the behemoth steel work that looks like the hull of a ship. Maybe I was lonely or wanting to experience the thrill of meeting a woman like some cad does in the movies.
"Maya?" She looked at me with a cock of her head, squint of her eyes. "Maya, is that you?"
"No, I'm not Maya," she replied.
"Funny, you look so much like Maya," I answered.
I remember how bright the sun shined, especially on a day when it probably should have been raining.
Things that don't make sense excite me. If it had been cloudy would I have said hello to her? Then we could have avoided the break-up nearly four years later, and I would have no memories of any of the events. They float through my head like ghosts in an attic.
One thing I know for certain, is that if it had been raining, she wouldn't have been sitting outside next to the sculpture, and I wouldn't have said hello to her.
Maybe it was the sun that brought us together. It's hard to know - so hard to know. We are not together, and looking back on our relationship, everything is so surrealistic, like it never happened. Before, if you asked me, "Have you ever seen a ghost?" I would have said, no. Now, closing my eyes, and remembering our love, I can sincerely say, yes, I have seen ghosts, and they live in my memory like it is a haunted house.
"Maya?" She looked at me with a cock of her head, squint of her eyes. "Maya, is that you?"
"No, I'm not Maya," she replied.
"Funny, you look so much like Maya," I answered.
I remember how bright the sun shined, especially on a day when it probably should have been raining.
Things that don't make sense excite me. If it had been cloudy would I have said hello to her? Then we could have avoided the break-up nearly four years later, and I would have no memories of any of the events. They float through my head like ghosts in an attic.
One thing I know for certain, is that if it had been raining, she wouldn't have been sitting outside next to the sculpture, and I wouldn't have said hello to her.
Maybe it was the sun that brought us together. It's hard to know - so hard to know. We are not together, and looking back on our relationship, everything is so surrealistic, like it never happened. Before, if you asked me, "Have you ever seen a ghost?" I would have said, no. Now, closing my eyes, and remembering our love, I can sincerely say, yes, I have seen ghosts, and they live in my memory like it is a haunted house.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
To Date, or Not to Date...
For the last five weeks, I've been posting and answering ads on Craigslist. The results have been mostly no-goes or one-trick pony dates. There've been several where I've emailed back and forth twenty or thirty times, and after agreeing to meet at a certain location and time, the woman disappeared without a trace. I've come to the point where I snicker and move on without much of a thought. Having gotten back into a writing state, I see it as fodder for the fires, and relief that I don't have to get too involved, which begs the question of, why bother at all?
In my mind, I've not been dating. I've been calling these encounters "Coffee Dates." Simple diversions to meet a woman and have a conversion. Being a social creature, I need connection. Maybe, at times, I'd like something else - a fling, a one night stand, Friends With Benefits, maybe even, a real friend, but mostly, I'm happy to share a couple of cups of coffee and a brief, fleeting moment of socializing. And I don't limit my encounters to women. A man answered my ad and asked if I would consider having sex with him? I said it wasn't my desire, but I'd be happy to meet for coffee and conversation. He, agreed, then never showed up.
I think all humans are Connection-centric. We spend our lives behind cubicles, in offices, alone in our minds and thoughts. Every once in a while, maybe every other day, we need to venture out to reaffirm that we are, in fact, made of flesh and blood, and someday will die. Maybe, each other is all we have to cling onto... Or, maybe, all we have to live for...
I received and email from one of my Craiglist connections. A month ago I answered her ad, and ever since then we've been trying to carve out a time to meet, but to no avail. Yesterday, she said she had time, would I like to meet in the early evening? Of course, I responded. Two or three emails later, we were poised on the brink of meeting.
As I waited for her at this particular cafe, the guilt-ridden voice of conscience invaded my mind... You've only been out of your four year relationship for three months... You've moved cross-country, and now need to find significant employment... You must take care of your step-father with Alzheimer's...
Suddenly, I began hoping for failure. I hope I'm not attracted to her... I hope she finds me repulsive... I'll throw caution to the wind, and speak about anything that comes to my mind like why I think paper clips are one of the most ingenious inventions in the history of humankind... I'll do anything so I won't have to face the prospect of rejection. And yet, I was there for a connection - a chance to meet another who shares this existence with me, and maybe, when we parted, I'd look up at the stars, and say to myself, "It's worth it - I'm not alone."
I didn't know what she looked like, and neither did she know what I looked like. In our haste to meet, we'd failed to exchange pictures. That seemed like a good sign because it meant, perhaps, we were both looking for something that went beyond the surface. Maybe we could be friends, or, perhaps, something more...
Time passed. I watched customers enter. Is that her? No, she's staring straight ahead at the menu board high above and behind the counter. She's got coffee on her mind, not a date.
Men and woman entered, ordered, sat down, or left. You always know when you're going to get stood up, but this wasn't one of those times.
I looked to my right, in the direction of the door, and my eyes locked with those of a beautiful woman. She was about 5'4", petite, long black hair, perhaps in her late 20's/early 30's, casually, yet stylishly dressed, and most amazingly, she had the most bright and wide smile across her face. It was a beam of grace. I instantly shot up in my seat. Unable to express words, I gesticulated in pantomime-manner something to the effect of "this is it" or "here we are," and it felt wonderful.
The time we spent was memorable. It was so joyous and animated that I decided to turn a "Coffee Date" into full-fledged date. We went to an Indian restaurant, but she hadn't eaten much Indian food, so she asked for my opinion on what to order. We had lots of fun deciding. She ordered a lamb dish and I ordered Chicken Tikka. For bread, we had Parata and Poori. I turned her on to Mango Lassis. It's a always great sharing new things with someone new. The world, truly, becomes new again.
Where do we go from here? I still have doubts as to whether I should be seriously dating at this point. I really should get a more stable job. Most likely when I do, my mind will not be asking. I'll know.
But there is the memory of last night and how beautiful she was... And since life is not perfect, and truly a work in progress, and we're never really as complete as we could be, is it possible that we could still see one another, and before you know it, I will have things in place?
As they say in Latin, Videbimus...
In my mind, I've not been dating. I've been calling these encounters "Coffee Dates." Simple diversions to meet a woman and have a conversion. Being a social creature, I need connection. Maybe, at times, I'd like something else - a fling, a one night stand, Friends With Benefits, maybe even, a real friend, but mostly, I'm happy to share a couple of cups of coffee and a brief, fleeting moment of socializing. And I don't limit my encounters to women. A man answered my ad and asked if I would consider having sex with him? I said it wasn't my desire, but I'd be happy to meet for coffee and conversation. He, agreed, then never showed up.
I think all humans are Connection-centric. We spend our lives behind cubicles, in offices, alone in our minds and thoughts. Every once in a while, maybe every other day, we need to venture out to reaffirm that we are, in fact, made of flesh and blood, and someday will die. Maybe, each other is all we have to cling onto... Or, maybe, all we have to live for...
I received and email from one of my Craiglist connections. A month ago I answered her ad, and ever since then we've been trying to carve out a time to meet, but to no avail. Yesterday, she said she had time, would I like to meet in the early evening? Of course, I responded. Two or three emails later, we were poised on the brink of meeting.
As I waited for her at this particular cafe, the guilt-ridden voice of conscience invaded my mind... You've only been out of your four year relationship for three months... You've moved cross-country, and now need to find significant employment... You must take care of your step-father with Alzheimer's...
Suddenly, I began hoping for failure. I hope I'm not attracted to her... I hope she finds me repulsive... I'll throw caution to the wind, and speak about anything that comes to my mind like why I think paper clips are one of the most ingenious inventions in the history of humankind... I'll do anything so I won't have to face the prospect of rejection. And yet, I was there for a connection - a chance to meet another who shares this existence with me, and maybe, when we parted, I'd look up at the stars, and say to myself, "It's worth it - I'm not alone."
I didn't know what she looked like, and neither did she know what I looked like. In our haste to meet, we'd failed to exchange pictures. That seemed like a good sign because it meant, perhaps, we were both looking for something that went beyond the surface. Maybe we could be friends, or, perhaps, something more...
Time passed. I watched customers enter. Is that her? No, she's staring straight ahead at the menu board high above and behind the counter. She's got coffee on her mind, not a date.
Men and woman entered, ordered, sat down, or left. You always know when you're going to get stood up, but this wasn't one of those times.
I looked to my right, in the direction of the door, and my eyes locked with those of a beautiful woman. She was about 5'4", petite, long black hair, perhaps in her late 20's/early 30's, casually, yet stylishly dressed, and most amazingly, she had the most bright and wide smile across her face. It was a beam of grace. I instantly shot up in my seat. Unable to express words, I gesticulated in pantomime-manner something to the effect of "this is it" or "here we are," and it felt wonderful.
The time we spent was memorable. It was so joyous and animated that I decided to turn a "Coffee Date" into full-fledged date. We went to an Indian restaurant, but she hadn't eaten much Indian food, so she asked for my opinion on what to order. We had lots of fun deciding. She ordered a lamb dish and I ordered Chicken Tikka. For bread, we had Parata and Poori. I turned her on to Mango Lassis. It's a always great sharing new things with someone new. The world, truly, becomes new again.
Where do we go from here? I still have doubts as to whether I should be seriously dating at this point. I really should get a more stable job. Most likely when I do, my mind will not be asking. I'll know.
But there is the memory of last night and how beautiful she was... And since life is not perfect, and truly a work in progress, and we're never really as complete as we could be, is it possible that we could still see one another, and before you know it, I will have things in place?
As they say in Latin, Videbimus...
Friday, February 15, 2013
A Second Chance
Misunderstandings have been common. Even though she is my mother, and I am her son, sometimes the gap between us is as wide as an ocean. Clear communication has always been a problem. I love her dearly, and she is an incredible person with a great heart, the personification of Matthew 25:35, 'when I was a stranger...', but when it comes to making herself understood, it is often a challenge to know what she really means.
This morning it was time to take Pepito out for his morning relief session. The sun was shining, but not into the dark corners of my mind, where the voices of doubt and dismay were whispering their diabolical prognostications. "Oh, that's not possible, Monkkey, you had your day, now it's over. Just move over, and let the world pass you. Atta Boy. Good Monkkey..."
"But Mr. Bluster, " I said, to myself, to the doubting voice. "If I was to put forth a gigantic effort - like they say about faith moving mountains..."
"Over-rated," snickered the voice. "Now get yourself to the end of the line. Eventually, something will fall in your lap, meaningless as it may be...."
By the time I reached the kitchen where my mother was standing, holding a ripped open envelope, my mood had turned into spilled battery acid. She held up the envelope. I mustered a "good morning," but it had all the of emotion of a robotic telephone voice. I passed pretending not to see the envelope. I led Pepito to the back door, opened it. He went out, and I followed.
When I came back into the kitchen, there was Mom still holding the envelope. She opened her mouth, but no words were coming out. Her eyes were shut, her face strained to force out syllables. And then, I couldn't help but remember all those times growing up when she stood there about to tell me something that I already knew the answer to, but couldn't spit it out.
"The thing came for you in the mail," she finally said. "Thing" being a ubiquitous term for something others should fill in the blanks for, because Mom always expected everyone else to know what she was thinking, because that's the way Mom thought, and that so badly pissed me off.
What it turned out to be was a doctor's evaluation of my lab results. Rather than just saying, "Hey, my Doc read your results. All is well," Mom had to waffle and fumble like she does when she misplaces car keys for the eighth or ninth time during a day, or rummages around for her pocket book for her bank card like she's on an Easter Egg Hunt. I admit she's gotten better, but even hunting for the card three times a day as opposed to five or six becomes very old very quickly.
"Mom, communication is very difficult with you, " I said before I could contain myself. "I mean why can't you just say, the results are in, and all is well?"
"Why do I always have to say what you want me to say?" she snapped. Her eyes closed, her body tensed.
"I don't know what you mean by 'thing,'" I said. "I'd just like it if you could be a little more clear - that's all."
She didn't respond. She stood at the counter, fixing a bowl of cereal. In past times, I would have pressed her until we'd argue back and forth, which would result in a shouting match at the top of our lungs. But for me, these were different times, and I was going to do my damnedest to change.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said. There was a pause. She clenched her teeth, then turned to me with the ferocity of a cornered animal. "Why is it you're always right, and I'm always wrong? Why are you always putting me down?" she blurted out.
"I'm offering you an apology," I said. "Why is it you just can't accept it, and we move on?"
We stared at each other long and hard. I was quite pissed at her, as she was probably with me, but there didn't seem to be any reason to battle each other anymore. Too much time had passed. There had been too much pain and too much hurt from the both of us towards each other. It was time to learn to make peace.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really do mean it."
Her eyes fell to the floor. "I know," she said. I watched her for a few seconds, then I reached forward, and touched her upper arm with my open hand. She forced a small smile, continued to stare at the floor. I lowered my hand to my side, stood for a moment, then slowly walked out of the room.
This morning it was time to take Pepito out for his morning relief session. The sun was shining, but not into the dark corners of my mind, where the voices of doubt and dismay were whispering their diabolical prognostications. "Oh, that's not possible, Monkkey, you had your day, now it's over. Just move over, and let the world pass you. Atta Boy. Good Monkkey..."
"But Mr. Bluster, " I said, to myself, to the doubting voice. "If I was to put forth a gigantic effort - like they say about faith moving mountains..."
"Over-rated," snickered the voice. "Now get yourself to the end of the line. Eventually, something will fall in your lap, meaningless as it may be...."
By the time I reached the kitchen where my mother was standing, holding a ripped open envelope, my mood had turned into spilled battery acid. She held up the envelope. I mustered a "good morning," but it had all the of emotion of a robotic telephone voice. I passed pretending not to see the envelope. I led Pepito to the back door, opened it. He went out, and I followed.
When I came back into the kitchen, there was Mom still holding the envelope. She opened her mouth, but no words were coming out. Her eyes were shut, her face strained to force out syllables. And then, I couldn't help but remember all those times growing up when she stood there about to tell me something that I already knew the answer to, but couldn't spit it out.
"The thing came for you in the mail," she finally said. "Thing" being a ubiquitous term for something others should fill in the blanks for, because Mom always expected everyone else to know what she was thinking, because that's the way Mom thought, and that so badly pissed me off.
What it turned out to be was a doctor's evaluation of my lab results. Rather than just saying, "Hey, my Doc read your results. All is well," Mom had to waffle and fumble like she does when she misplaces car keys for the eighth or ninth time during a day, or rummages around for her pocket book for her bank card like she's on an Easter Egg Hunt. I admit she's gotten better, but even hunting for the card three times a day as opposed to five or six becomes very old very quickly.
"Mom, communication is very difficult with you, " I said before I could contain myself. "I mean why can't you just say, the results are in, and all is well?"
"Why do I always have to say what you want me to say?" she snapped. Her eyes closed, her body tensed.
"I don't know what you mean by 'thing,'" I said. "I'd just like it if you could be a little more clear - that's all."
She didn't respond. She stood at the counter, fixing a bowl of cereal. In past times, I would have pressed her until we'd argue back and forth, which would result in a shouting match at the top of our lungs. But for me, these were different times, and I was going to do my damnedest to change.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said. There was a pause. She clenched her teeth, then turned to me with the ferocity of a cornered animal. "Why is it you're always right, and I'm always wrong? Why are you always putting me down?" she blurted out.
"I'm offering you an apology," I said. "Why is it you just can't accept it, and we move on?"
We stared at each other long and hard. I was quite pissed at her, as she was probably with me, but there didn't seem to be any reason to battle each other anymore. Too much time had passed. There had been too much pain and too much hurt from the both of us towards each other. It was time to learn to make peace.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really do mean it."
Her eyes fell to the floor. "I know," she said. I watched her for a few seconds, then I reached forward, and touched her upper arm with my open hand. She forced a small smile, continued to stare at the floor. I lowered my hand to my side, stood for a moment, then slowly walked out of the room.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
No Valentine Blues for Monkkey
I love chocolate - there's no doubt about that. Since I stopped drinking alcohol, chocolate (among other vices) has become my drug. There's something about it's sweet, creamy nature that makes me come back for more. I'm not fussy, either. A great high end like Knipschildt or Noka is stupendous, but I'm also happy with a Snicker's Bar or a pack of M + Ms, peanuts or plain.
I also love love, or the idea of it, especially romantic love. There's nothing like a new love to make my insides quiver, my pulse quicken, and the world, boring and bothersome as it is much of the time, to appear to be a new and strange place. Now that is one of the greatest miracles known to humankind.
Today is Valentine's Day - the perfect day to combine my favorite loves, chocolate and love. But this year there is no combining the two. There is no love in my life, neither new or old. There is just me, and I am quite content not to be bound to someone else. I hear so many people despairing about how they would love to have someone in their lives for Valentine's Day, but I'm telling you, count your blessings if you don't. Ask your married friends - the ones who have been married for five years or more. Sure they'll say that marriage is great, but buy them a couple of drinks, and see what really comes forth. See who's smiling now.
Perhaps next year, a year after my relationship has ended, I'll be singing a different song, but for now I'm content not to have filled out some silly card, bought a dozen ridiculous roses, or spent a fortune on high-end chocolates that I wouldn't be eating myself. No, I can just lay back and let the rest of them squirm and waste their money. Happily, I will eat my chocolates alone.
I also love love, or the idea of it, especially romantic love. There's nothing like a new love to make my insides quiver, my pulse quicken, and the world, boring and bothersome as it is much of the time, to appear to be a new and strange place. Now that is one of the greatest miracles known to humankind.
Today is Valentine's Day - the perfect day to combine my favorite loves, chocolate and love. But this year there is no combining the two. There is no love in my life, neither new or old. There is just me, and I am quite content not to be bound to someone else. I hear so many people despairing about how they would love to have someone in their lives for Valentine's Day, but I'm telling you, count your blessings if you don't. Ask your married friends - the ones who have been married for five years or more. Sure they'll say that marriage is great, but buy them a couple of drinks, and see what really comes forth. See who's smiling now.
Perhaps next year, a year after my relationship has ended, I'll be singing a different song, but for now I'm content not to have filled out some silly card, bought a dozen ridiculous roses, or spent a fortune on high-end chocolates that I wouldn't be eating myself. No, I can just lay back and let the rest of them squirm and waste their money. Happily, I will eat my chocolates alone.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Reality at the Beach
My favorite prayer is, God, don't let reality crush me. I love and hate this life. If it wasn't for all the day to day responsibilities, disappointments, heart-breaks, let-downs, failures, and betrayals, I might call this place Nirvana or Heaven, but maybe that's why it's called Life.
I get it that I'm supposed to adjust and cope. I know that you have to create your own version of reality, and you reap what you sew, there's good times and bad times, and you gotta roll with the punches, and I've heard all the cliches that support the fact that you have to deal with it, but I still dream of being a kid again when reality was that thing beyond the hills and mountains of forever, and that, maybe, it was possible to never have to face it.
Last night I didn't sleep well. I went to Starbucks, and drank coffee. It kept me up till almost 3 a.m. I woke up bleary-eyed and feeling like my joints were glued in place. Pepito sprang from his den of blankets, furiously licked my face. It meant pee-pee time. I had no choice but to stretch and heave and push my body out of bed to take him out. I ambled downstairs like a bear emerging from hibernation, and went out into the morning light.
My eyes were blinded by the explosion. Few things are better than bright sunlight glinting off snow. I was jolted back to life, and even though I was a bit fuzzy-headed, I knew I had to make the most out of this day. I went back inside, and ordered Coleton to get dressed so we could go for a ride to the beach. I love how that kid can go from idly pushing his Lego cars and trucks one second to a state of full-tilt-throttle-open-Indy-car roaring to the finish line the next. That kind of enthusiasm can either make you crazy, or make you say, geez, I wish I was a kid again. At that moment, I fully embraced kid-crazy enthusiasm.
The catch-phrase was, "That's so five seconds ago." All the way to the beach, he kept baiting me with it. It must have been from one of the cartoons he watched, but when I'd show animated mock-enthusiastic disapproval, he erupted in laughter, Pepito being buffeted and jolted on his lap.
"Hey, that's so 4 seconds ago," he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes.
"What?" I cried out, as if kicked in the stomach. "Four seconds. I can't even breath in that time." More uncontrolled laughter. The countdown went to three, then it went to two, then to one not long before we drove into the parking lot.
Of all the beaches in town, South Pine Creek Beach gives the illusion of something a bit wild. It's not deep, maybe 40 feet at its greatest point, and not long, probably about two football fields in length, but it's far enough away from the few adjoining houses and buildings that you feel like you're on the edge of a point of no return. It's the perfect place for a boy and a dog to cut loose, and lose themselves in the moment.
While we walked, I took plenty of pictures with my cell phone. Boy and dog joyfully ran in the wind. The sun sparkled off the water. Waves rose and broke with a crash and a hiss on the well worn light-coffee-colored sand. Pepito whizzed about in butterfly bursts, turns, and stops, sniffing the sand and rocks. Coleton stood at the water's edge shouting out at the surf, sun, and sky. It reminded me of a primordial praise song and dance to the Gods and Goddesses. To high-minded academics and critics, it could have contained endless symbolism. To him it was probably just a lot fun - the unbridled urge-fulfillment that kids indulge in on a regular basis. It's the stuff that most adults, save for those in the Arts, have lost. To me, it was a view on the most wondrous, precious parts of my reality.
I didn't want to leave, like I always don't, but there comes a time when you have to. Reality has a voice, and it was calling. Besides, there was that other voice - that of Coleton telling me he was hungry, and a Seven-Eleven was not far away.
I get it that I'm supposed to adjust and cope. I know that you have to create your own version of reality, and you reap what you sew, there's good times and bad times, and you gotta roll with the punches, and I've heard all the cliches that support the fact that you have to deal with it, but I still dream of being a kid again when reality was that thing beyond the hills and mountains of forever, and that, maybe, it was possible to never have to face it.
Last night I didn't sleep well. I went to Starbucks, and drank coffee. It kept me up till almost 3 a.m. I woke up bleary-eyed and feeling like my joints were glued in place. Pepito sprang from his den of blankets, furiously licked my face. It meant pee-pee time. I had no choice but to stretch and heave and push my body out of bed to take him out. I ambled downstairs like a bear emerging from hibernation, and went out into the morning light.
My eyes were blinded by the explosion. Few things are better than bright sunlight glinting off snow. I was jolted back to life, and even though I was a bit fuzzy-headed, I knew I had to make the most out of this day. I went back inside, and ordered Coleton to get dressed so we could go for a ride to the beach. I love how that kid can go from idly pushing his Lego cars and trucks one second to a state of full-tilt-throttle-open-Indy-car roaring to the finish line the next. That kind of enthusiasm can either make you crazy, or make you say, geez, I wish I was a kid again. At that moment, I fully embraced kid-crazy enthusiasm.
The catch-phrase was, "That's so five seconds ago." All the way to the beach, he kept baiting me with it. It must have been from one of the cartoons he watched, but when I'd show animated mock-enthusiastic disapproval, he erupted in laughter, Pepito being buffeted and jolted on his lap.
"Hey, that's so 4 seconds ago," he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes.
"What?" I cried out, as if kicked in the stomach. "Four seconds. I can't even breath in that time." More uncontrolled laughter. The countdown went to three, then it went to two, then to one not long before we drove into the parking lot.
Of all the beaches in town, South Pine Creek Beach gives the illusion of something a bit wild. It's not deep, maybe 40 feet at its greatest point, and not long, probably about two football fields in length, but it's far enough away from the few adjoining houses and buildings that you feel like you're on the edge of a point of no return. It's the perfect place for a boy and a dog to cut loose, and lose themselves in the moment.
While we walked, I took plenty of pictures with my cell phone. Boy and dog joyfully ran in the wind. The sun sparkled off the water. Waves rose and broke with a crash and a hiss on the well worn light-coffee-colored sand. Pepito whizzed about in butterfly bursts, turns, and stops, sniffing the sand and rocks. Coleton stood at the water's edge shouting out at the surf, sun, and sky. It reminded me of a primordial praise song and dance to the Gods and Goddesses. To high-minded academics and critics, it could have contained endless symbolism. To him it was probably just a lot fun - the unbridled urge-fulfillment that kids indulge in on a regular basis. It's the stuff that most adults, save for those in the Arts, have lost. To me, it was a view on the most wondrous, precious parts of my reality.
I didn't want to leave, like I always don't, but there comes a time when you have to. Reality has a voice, and it was calling. Besides, there was that other voice - that of Coleton telling me he was hungry, and a Seven-Eleven was not far away.
Monday, February 11, 2013
A Taste Sweeter than Love
Like a good detective story or a forensic investigation, after it's over and done, it's fun to go back and try to find out where it went wrong. Was it the final kiss - the one where she nervously back pedaled to the door with a look on her face that seemed to say "I really have to get back to work, and I don't want to kiss," yet you insisted, grabbed her, and planted one on her lips?
Was that the point where the whole deal crashed and burned? Maybe, but a couple of seconds later, after walking into the building, she turned, faced you through a glass door, and gave one long, final, earnest stare. What did that mean? "Hey, the kiss was actually an okay thing to do?" Or was she thinking, "You're a nice guy - I should like nice guys, but I don't. Thanks for trying, you pathetic fool?"
Sadly, or perhaps mercifully, the dumpee has no idea why he got dumped. How can he know - there's so little to work with. Let's see... There was the initial spontaneous meeting at a beach, some emails, some texts, a couple of phone calls, a second beach walk, and then the fateful, last meeting. Who was that woman who seemed so terrific with her uplifting nature, the Piafesque waif wearing a gypsy-peasant dress, head framed by long, wavy chestnut hair that curled into ringlets just past her shoulders. On her feet were embroidered Chinese slippers. Her coat like her smile was open to the world. Her ears, protruding a bit like George Harrison's, furthered her cute/sexy appeal. She was articulate and witty, and she rolled so fluidly with your nonsequitur nature. When you said, "What would you think about meeting up again for another walk and chat?" her instant affirmation in her East Texas twangy-talk made you think, we got something here.
You met two days later on Thanksgiving. The walk and conversation rolled in and out as easily as the waves gently unfolded on the sun-drenched beach. You caught yourself staring at her as she talked, her glance lazily cast off into the sea and sky. When she turned to you, your head snapped forward again seriously, yet you quietly sipped in her essence through the corner of an eye, weighing the image, her being with blessed seascape moving past. Later, in retrospect, to add further confusion to the evolution, in the parking lot, you stood face to face, less than an arm's length apart, and without fuss, fell into each others arms, lips meeting for a sweet, delicious kiss.
In matters of dating and love, nothing is easy. Yesterday's kiss, is today's clever evasion.
She invited you to meet her at her work place, then go to lunch. She actually had two lines of work. One was as a ESL teacher the other was as a Rolfer. You remember someone's girlfriend who enjoyed a good Rolfing. You once watched boyfriend Rolf girlfriend. It had to do with him taking a piece of wood, somewhat in the shape and length of a baseball bat, though slightly skinnier, and, while girlfriend lay stretched out on a hard wood floor, boyfriend proceeded to push the object into her back, while she let out loud, deep grunts. According to the duo, they were grunts of pleasure and release. To you, they sounded like prisoners being worked over by their captors at Guantanamo Bay.
Before you started your journey, you asked her, "Will you be tutoring or Rolfing?" She said, Rolfing, and as they say in horror movies, you had a bad feeling about this one.
In the end, you met up with a woman who was not the woman you walked with on the beach. Funny how that happens, but you're not her, and whatever she was thinking, she never let you know, but she sure did show you. For nearly the entire time you sat with her in that bake shop, she had a cell phone pressed to an ear. Occasionally, she'd take the phone off the ear, and apologize, saying, "Sorry, I'm not usually like this", while you spooned away at a tasty piece of apple crumb caramel pie, she barely touched.
Where did Piaf go? You thought as you watched her pacing up and down the sidewalk engaged in another animated conversation with whom and what ever the hell it was she was engaging in. There was only one Piaf, the one and only Sparrow, but probably hundreds or thousands of birds like the one outside the window, plying their trades from sea to shining sea. You would never find out what made her tick, or what was the reason you'd never meet again, but there was the pie. Award Winning. Light, flaky crust, apples, streusel, buttery-sweet caramel - just perfect.
In the end, you'd arrive at the bake shop in hopes of finding love, but leave with the knowing you'd found the most delicious pie you'd ever tasted.
Was that the point where the whole deal crashed and burned? Maybe, but a couple of seconds later, after walking into the building, she turned, faced you through a glass door, and gave one long, final, earnest stare. What did that mean? "Hey, the kiss was actually an okay thing to do?" Or was she thinking, "You're a nice guy - I should like nice guys, but I don't. Thanks for trying, you pathetic fool?"
Sadly, or perhaps mercifully, the dumpee has no idea why he got dumped. How can he know - there's so little to work with. Let's see... There was the initial spontaneous meeting at a beach, some emails, some texts, a couple of phone calls, a second beach walk, and then the fateful, last meeting. Who was that woman who seemed so terrific with her uplifting nature, the Piafesque waif wearing a gypsy-peasant dress, head framed by long, wavy chestnut hair that curled into ringlets just past her shoulders. On her feet were embroidered Chinese slippers. Her coat like her smile was open to the world. Her ears, protruding a bit like George Harrison's, furthered her cute/sexy appeal. She was articulate and witty, and she rolled so fluidly with your nonsequitur nature. When you said, "What would you think about meeting up again for another walk and chat?" her instant affirmation in her East Texas twangy-talk made you think, we got something here.
You met two days later on Thanksgiving. The walk and conversation rolled in and out as easily as the waves gently unfolded on the sun-drenched beach. You caught yourself staring at her as she talked, her glance lazily cast off into the sea and sky. When she turned to you, your head snapped forward again seriously, yet you quietly sipped in her essence through the corner of an eye, weighing the image, her being with blessed seascape moving past. Later, in retrospect, to add further confusion to the evolution, in the parking lot, you stood face to face, less than an arm's length apart, and without fuss, fell into each others arms, lips meeting for a sweet, delicious kiss.
In matters of dating and love, nothing is easy. Yesterday's kiss, is today's clever evasion.
She invited you to meet her at her work place, then go to lunch. She actually had two lines of work. One was as a ESL teacher the other was as a Rolfer. You remember someone's girlfriend who enjoyed a good Rolfing. You once watched boyfriend Rolf girlfriend. It had to do with him taking a piece of wood, somewhat in the shape and length of a baseball bat, though slightly skinnier, and, while girlfriend lay stretched out on a hard wood floor, boyfriend proceeded to push the object into her back, while she let out loud, deep grunts. According to the duo, they were grunts of pleasure and release. To you, they sounded like prisoners being worked over by their captors at Guantanamo Bay.
Before you started your journey, you asked her, "Will you be tutoring or Rolfing?" She said, Rolfing, and as they say in horror movies, you had a bad feeling about this one.
In the end, you met up with a woman who was not the woman you walked with on the beach. Funny how that happens, but you're not her, and whatever she was thinking, she never let you know, but she sure did show you. For nearly the entire time you sat with her in that bake shop, she had a cell phone pressed to an ear. Occasionally, she'd take the phone off the ear, and apologize, saying, "Sorry, I'm not usually like this", while you spooned away at a tasty piece of apple crumb caramel pie, she barely touched.
Where did Piaf go? You thought as you watched her pacing up and down the sidewalk engaged in another animated conversation with whom and what ever the hell it was she was engaging in. There was only one Piaf, the one and only Sparrow, but probably hundreds or thousands of birds like the one outside the window, plying their trades from sea to shining sea. You would never find out what made her tick, or what was the reason you'd never meet again, but there was the pie. Award Winning. Light, flaky crust, apples, streusel, buttery-sweet caramel - just perfect.
In the end, you'd arrive at the bake shop in hopes of finding love, but leave with the knowing you'd found the most delicious pie you'd ever tasted.
Friday, February 8, 2013
A Moment of Grace
I posted on Face Book just before, which is sometimes a forced, polite duty to acknowledge the thoughts and kindness of strangers. Down the corridor, though muffled, I hear my nephew's bright voice calling out, No school today!
The snow deadens the imposing sounds of the world, quiets the heart and mind, it allows my body to slow down, and my senses to open to possibilities of unbiased thought.
I think of the last three months, not just the end of a nearly four year relationship, but the possibilities offered by returning to home ground. Finally, I'm feeling grounded in mind and body after free-floating and falling in a state of anxiety for nearly two years. I felt truly cursed. It was a time of constant employment rejections, my skill-set diminishing along with my confidence. It was a time of Sisyphean climbs and slides; of interviews, scribbling pseudo-code and logic on blackboards in front of audiences who knew damned well, that no matter what, they weren't going to hire me, nor call me back to let me know they wouldn't be.
It tore me apart and tore me down. I was depressed and despondent. At times, I thought the Hamlet is-it-worth-it speech. I could not be the partner, lover, boyfriend that's needed to keep a relationship going or afloat. I became bitter, angry with all around me. At times, I was hateful. There were days when even when the Sun shined, its light was a glint of nothing, a bloodied sword catching sunlight on a muddy Killing Field.
Outside, the snow falls, and my eyes are soothed by the white covering. I sip coffee from a white cup. My 10 pound Chihuahua, Pepito, sleeps under a white comforter. My Clothing Chest is white, so are the closet and bedroom doors. Even though the walls are painted a light beige-cream, my newly purchased lamp is white. Enough already... It's good to be home with a new sense of hope and peace...
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Broken Eggs and Loose Change
My favorite moments are the little, lost, perhaps forgotten happenings in the course of a day when a grocery store isle or a cafe line becomes the place of non sequitur conversation, which are the angel wings that lift us up above the fundament of boring-painful everyday life.
Such was the way it was in Trader's Joe's today as I waited to check out my bag of Chile-dried Mangoes, Chocolate-Drop Butter Cookies, Pistachio Cookies, Orange-dried Cranberries, and some other snacks I bought to fortify mind and body in my quest for Coffee Dates. It is a hungry and thirsty business.
I had the choice between two lines. One was clearly 10 items or less, and the other was of the any-quantity goes variety. The 10 item or less line, had four customers. The regular line had one. I chose the regular line. The woman who was supposedly in line, was not. She had drifted a few feet away, and had her back turned to me. In the check-out space, there were no groceries. I was home-free. But as I put my groceries down, the check-out clerk informed me that she-with-her-back-turned was before me.
"Well, it looked like she was finished," I said. The clerk smiled. Hell, I was in no hurry. As a matter of fact, I felt so spaced out from all the pain-killers I was taking for my sprained left knee that I could have watched seagulls fight over french fries all day, and would have thought it was the Second Coming of Christ.
I eyed her groceries as the clerk pulled them out from behind the counter. That's why I hadn't seen them - they were so well hidden. There were a lot of groceries. The clerk looked at them, then looked at me. "That's a ten item or less line," she nodded her head in the direction of the line to her right.
"No," I said, "if there's one thing I've learned in life.... Never change lines in a grocery stores. If you do, it's a sure guarantee that you'll end up going slower in that line than the one you left."
My line-mate in front immediately chimed in. "Ya know, that's true..."
"Of course, it's true," I said. "Of all the things that I've learned in my life, that's got to be one of the truest... I also know that if you're stranded in the Wilderness you should stay in the same place, and you're more sure to get found."
Don't ask me what happened, but from there on, the conversation took off. We talked about tranquilizers, bad love affairs, sex at Noon-time... She asked me if I worked in advertising writing copy. I said I'd thought about it at one time, but would never take myself seriously if I did. I probably should have - I'd have made a lot more money.
As her items were getting checked out and the conversation got weirder and weirder and people started taking notice, the check out clerk noticed that there was one broken egg in her dozen. She rang the bell to summon a clerk. He came, and took away the defective box.
"Always guard your eggs, " I said to my line-mate, Sue. We laughed. Soon after, the clerk returned with a new box of eggs. It was packed up, and Sue went on her way.
A short time later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Sue. She leaned over to me and said, "Broken Eggs and Loose Change - that should be your next blog...."
Well, Sue, thank you. Here it is....
Such was the way it was in Trader's Joe's today as I waited to check out my bag of Chile-dried Mangoes, Chocolate-Drop Butter Cookies, Pistachio Cookies, Orange-dried Cranberries, and some other snacks I bought to fortify mind and body in my quest for Coffee Dates. It is a hungry and thirsty business.
I had the choice between two lines. One was clearly 10 items or less, and the other was of the any-quantity goes variety. The 10 item or less line, had four customers. The regular line had one. I chose the regular line. The woman who was supposedly in line, was not. She had drifted a few feet away, and had her back turned to me. In the check-out space, there were no groceries. I was home-free. But as I put my groceries down, the check-out clerk informed me that she-with-her-back-turned was before me.
"Well, it looked like she was finished," I said. The clerk smiled. Hell, I was in no hurry. As a matter of fact, I felt so spaced out from all the pain-killers I was taking for my sprained left knee that I could have watched seagulls fight over french fries all day, and would have thought it was the Second Coming of Christ.
I eyed her groceries as the clerk pulled them out from behind the counter. That's why I hadn't seen them - they were so well hidden. There were a lot of groceries. The clerk looked at them, then looked at me. "That's a ten item or less line," she nodded her head in the direction of the line to her right.
"No," I said, "if there's one thing I've learned in life.... Never change lines in a grocery stores. If you do, it's a sure guarantee that you'll end up going slower in that line than the one you left."
My line-mate in front immediately chimed in. "Ya know, that's true..."
"Of course, it's true," I said. "Of all the things that I've learned in my life, that's got to be one of the truest... I also know that if you're stranded in the Wilderness you should stay in the same place, and you're more sure to get found."
Don't ask me what happened, but from there on, the conversation took off. We talked about tranquilizers, bad love affairs, sex at Noon-time... She asked me if I worked in advertising writing copy. I said I'd thought about it at one time, but would never take myself seriously if I did. I probably should have - I'd have made a lot more money.
As her items were getting checked out and the conversation got weirder and weirder and people started taking notice, the check out clerk noticed that there was one broken egg in her dozen. She rang the bell to summon a clerk. He came, and took away the defective box.
"Always guard your eggs, " I said to my line-mate, Sue. We laughed. Soon after, the clerk returned with a new box of eggs. It was packed up, and Sue went on her way.
A short time later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Sue. She leaned over to me and said, "Broken Eggs and Loose Change - that should be your next blog...."
Well, Sue, thank you. Here it is....
John, I'm Only Dancing, but not really Dating...
If I was really dating, I'd have a full-time job, and I would not be in the process of transitioning from Seattle to Connecticut. The job search is a full-time job, and it does remind me of finding a relationship. Send resume. They check it out. If they like what they see, they contact you. If they like what they hear, they grant you an interview. And if they like what they see and hear, you get an offer. My search for coffee-dates on Craigslist is much the same. Post an ad or respond to someone's ad. If they like what they hear and see (granted you've included a pic), they email you. It goes back and forth until someone gets disinterested or someone finally says, "Shall we meet for coffee."
Yesterday, was a wonderful day CL and real life-wise. While at a favorite Starbucks the night before, I sent messages to several woman's posts on the CL NYC Woman for Man offerings. To my great delight, a very beautiful woman answered my call. I looked at her pictures. She was in her 20's, with the complexion of luscious espresso; hair, long, flowing down to the mid of her back like a dark waterfall; shapely butt and breasts that were accentuated by just the right tightness of skirt and shirt, perfectly color-coordinated; she wore a sexy red pair of strap-on heels, and you just knew by the quality and styling of the fabrics of clothing that she had to be involved in fashion in some way, shape, or form. She also met the camera with the most lovely and disarming smile this side of Cutie-Pettootie. I was hooked.
That's all nice and good, but I hadn't shared a photo with her. Let's face the music, I'm middle-aged, about 30lbs overweight, and at 5'7", have always been cute, but not really handsome. Them's the cards, but even to this day, I curse God, and say, why not just 2 or 3 inches more. When people say, good things come in small packages, or it's all about personality or intelligence, or some other beatitude that's supposed to make you feel better, you know it's bullshit. In the world of on-line dating height often does matter. Have you ever seen a woman make the announcement, "Tall guys need not apply." Or "Looking for someone 5'9" and under?" I really didn't give it much thought. I just sent the photo, and went away to do something else. I've learned not to take this game too seriously.
An hour later. I got a reply. I chuckled like anyone who discovers a 20 dollar bill on the ground. Her response was, "I'm still in college but I majoring in Business and Fashion Marketing .. But I must say it sounds like you have accomplished a quite lot in your life... very nice :)"
This is a very good sign, but you have to play it right. Do you feign ennui, and don't respond until the next day, or hours later. Is this someone who is really genuine, who is not only physically beautiful, but is also spiritually developed? It's like knowing you're close to The Holy Grail.
I gave it a bit of thought. "To thine own self be true," were the words that rang though my head. I wasn't looking for a relationship or a dating situation. Like I said, I'm still in transition, and I need to take care of the basics first. But a date with a stunning, intelligent, soulful woman - now that is as dreamed of, hoped for, and as sought after as having a drink with the ghosts of William Faulkner and Papa Hemingway together. So I did what I normally and naturally do, I sent an almost immediate reply.
It was, "I have. But there's been up and downs, nothing's perfect. I recently moved from Seattle to Fairfield to be closer to my family. My step father has Alzheimer's and is at home.... I broke up with a girlfriend of almost 4 years, but I think it was for the best. I'm enjoying my transition to this area. Where do you go to school? What do you like to do for fun?"
Within a short time another response came, "I go to St. Johns and I'm not much of a Party girl but I do like to party My fun right now consists of school and working and I work as a Model for A&F .. So what were you looking for and when are you free to meet up?"
I felt good - no, I felt great, like a batter must feel when he's on a 30 game hitting streak. You could throw anything at me, and I was still going to hit it. I was feeling like my giddy ol' silly self, and I was going to say exactly what I wanted to say.....
"I hope your work is also fun.....
What was I looking for? I was looking for meeting a woman who inspires poems and can talk about the merits of dive bars as well as her favorite painting at the Museum of Mod Art.... Someone who puts herself on a run-way, stage, or improvised stage of a cafe to read bits and pieces of her latest machinations of mind whether be fiction, non, or diary because she must... I was looking for someone to share commonalities and differences that connect and disonnect us to this world... Share a laugh, perhaps.... A cup of coffee... No great expectations.... A chance to meet a great person."
I was not thinking at that point, I was so happy, and since I knew she was involved with Fashion and probably watched "Project Runway," I threw in this tidbit....
"I was looking for someone who thinks Tim Gunn (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
I didn't get a response. An hour passed, two hours passed, but still none came. I went from being that silly, giddy 17 teen-year-old-esque boy to the sober 40-something man who's been through two marriages, several significant relationships, and a slew of dating experiences. I can't say I felt bad-bad, but it was a slight let-down. I fired off a semi-apologetic email (which according to be-true-to-thyself, I shouldn't have), but that was 18 hours ago, and in the world of on-line dating, that is years ago...
Yesterday, was a wonderful day CL and real life-wise. While at a favorite Starbucks the night before, I sent messages to several woman's posts on the CL NYC Woman for Man offerings. To my great delight, a very beautiful woman answered my call. I looked at her pictures. She was in her 20's, with the complexion of luscious espresso; hair, long, flowing down to the mid of her back like a dark waterfall; shapely butt and breasts that were accentuated by just the right tightness of skirt and shirt, perfectly color-coordinated; she wore a sexy red pair of strap-on heels, and you just knew by the quality and styling of the fabrics of clothing that she had to be involved in fashion in some way, shape, or form. She also met the camera with the most lovely and disarming smile this side of Cutie-Pettootie. I was hooked.
That's all nice and good, but I hadn't shared a photo with her. Let's face the music, I'm middle-aged, about 30lbs overweight, and at 5'7", have always been cute, but not really handsome. Them's the cards, but even to this day, I curse God, and say, why not just 2 or 3 inches more. When people say, good things come in small packages, or it's all about personality or intelligence, or some other beatitude that's supposed to make you feel better, you know it's bullshit. In the world of on-line dating height often does matter. Have you ever seen a woman make the announcement, "Tall guys need not apply." Or "Looking for someone 5'9" and under?" I really didn't give it much thought. I just sent the photo, and went away to do something else. I've learned not to take this game too seriously.
An hour later. I got a reply. I chuckled like anyone who discovers a 20 dollar bill on the ground. Her response was, "I'm still in college but I majoring in Business and Fashion Marketing .. But I must say it sounds like you have accomplished a quite lot in your life... very nice :)"
This is a very good sign, but you have to play it right. Do you feign ennui, and don't respond until the next day, or hours later. Is this someone who is really genuine, who is not only physically beautiful, but is also spiritually developed? It's like knowing you're close to The Holy Grail.
I gave it a bit of thought. "To thine own self be true," were the words that rang though my head. I wasn't looking for a relationship or a dating situation. Like I said, I'm still in transition, and I need to take care of the basics first. But a date with a stunning, intelligent, soulful woman - now that is as dreamed of, hoped for, and as sought after as having a drink with the ghosts of William Faulkner and Papa Hemingway together. So I did what I normally and naturally do, I sent an almost immediate reply.
It was, "I have. But there's been up and downs, nothing's perfect. I recently moved from Seattle to Fairfield to be closer to my family. My step father has Alzheimer's and is at home.... I broke up with a girlfriend of almost 4 years, but I think it was for the best. I'm enjoying my transition to this area. Where do you go to school? What do you like to do for fun?"
Within a short time another response came, "I go to St. Johns and I'm not much of a Party girl but I do like to party My fun right now consists of school and working and I work as a Model for A&F .. So what were you looking for and when are you free to meet up?"
I felt good - no, I felt great, like a batter must feel when he's on a 30 game hitting streak. You could throw anything at me, and I was still going to hit it. I was feeling like my giddy ol' silly self, and I was going to say exactly what I wanted to say.....
"I hope your work is also fun.....
What was I looking for? I was looking for meeting a woman who inspires poems and can talk about the merits of dive bars as well as her favorite painting at the Museum of Mod Art.... Someone who puts herself on a run-way, stage, or improvised stage of a cafe to read bits and pieces of her latest machinations of mind whether be fiction, non, or diary because she must... I was looking for someone to share commonalities and differences that connect and disonnect us to this world... Share a laugh, perhaps.... A cup of coffee... No great expectations.... A chance to meet a great person."
I was not thinking at that point, I was so happy, and since I knew she was involved with Fashion and probably watched "Project Runway," I threw in this tidbit....
"I was looking for someone who thinks Tim Gunn (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
I didn't get a response. An hour passed, two hours passed, but still none came. I went from being that silly, giddy 17 teen-year-old-esque boy to the sober 40-something man who's been through two marriages, several significant relationships, and a slew of dating experiences. I can't say I felt bad-bad, but it was a slight let-down. I fired off a semi-apologetic email (which according to be-true-to-thyself, I shouldn't have), but that was 18 hours ago, and in the world of on-line dating, that is years ago...
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Is this my Lake Wobegon? No primates there. It'd be more like, The "Old Divide" Gorge, where we meet at the watering hole to catch up on our tales of life on the Savannah. And the "Old Divide?" For me, it is how much should I reveal, and for who's benefit am I revealing it. To those who know me, I'm mostly an open book (I'm rationalizing), and I'm not very good at keeping feelings close to the vest. My Poker Face is almost non-existent. Maybe that's why I never played Poker, or had an interest in card games. Another piece is, I don't want to seem like I'm bragging if I should get laid - not that it's going to happen like magic, because in my experience with on-line dating (dating, in general), and the way men versus women usually feel about casual sex, it just doesn't happen serendipitously. Also, if I include dialogue that is a bit racy, it's done to keep a certain verisimilitude. I want you to experience my experience as close to reality as possible, like it was an aural/oral documentary. Yes, like all boys, I've done my share of ass/back slapping with the guys, but this is not what I want here. I want to share my experiences with you so that the world is not such a lonely place. Besides, connection feels good. You feel.. connected. So, therefore, maybe I just answered my own question about honestly revealing and stating my feelings. Yes, I promise to tell my truth in spite of my guilt-riddled Catholic background because to my mine own self, I must be true...
I was asked to share my thoughts on dating, but I think the topic also includes love, life, sex, and death, and a plethora of other topics that float up from my lower innards during the course of a day. I think we all exist like this. So in essence, this blog is about, connection - the need for all of us primates to examine and share what makes us the same and different...
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