Don’t you hate it when people read the last page of a novel before they take the time to enjoy the story? This irks me to no end, like fast forwarding to the end of the movie before you watch the beginning to make sure Julia Roberts does indeed give up a life of prostitution, or maybe googling the winner of American Idol from the east coast results before you watch your finale on the west coast so u can fraudulently psychically predict who loses. It’s just not right… like fixing your mindset on what to expect so nothing deviates and you’re confirmed of your outcome. I’m the kind of girl that gets wrought if I hear a whisper of what is to come, like Avril says in her teen anger and angst… “So much for my happy ending!”
Wasn’t sure if babysitter was in the cards again after he fled into the darkness of the hotel parking lot in a single bound. Yes, he had mentioned some mumbo jumbo about it not being about the red tide and he’d call. Blah, blah, blah, he’d call? Perhaps my cynicism of Big is getting the better of me, do any men use the phone anymore? At some point during the previous night I had asked him to the wedding reception, as had been invited with date, but only option at time was ACman and he seemed to view weddings and morgues in the same category and probably expected me to kiss him and maybe even do the nasty with him, and he is just too short, nice and I've decided too furry for that (I’m sorry…). So I invited the sitter and then immediately regretted it.
Who’s to know all the connotations surrounding inviting someone to a wedding?? Who knew it was such a big deal laced with innuendo!? Next time I’ll have to pick up a copy of The Rules I and II before I make a single decision about men! I mentioned extending invite to girlfriend and she just about doubled over and toppled over at my insanity. Dude, I invited him as my guest to a wedding not to rush the altar. But backtracking, inviting sitter to wedding is classic diarrhea mouth syndrome, this inane ability I have to spout out and do whatever I happen to be thinking at time and failing to consult the stars, the oracles, my shrink, or the scribes of etiquette before even thinking about talking to a man. Ok, so maybe the ladies have some cause for concern as did disappear to live in Mexico with Manuel after knowing him for a raucous week, causing father to not speak with me, and the end of my Masters at Cornell (which btw, saved me a lot of money). Like to think am genteel lady in mid 30s now and not so prone to such extreme whims of fancy… like to think.
So now had said invitation hanging overhead for next morning. Problems with making rash decisions is you then need to get up and find resolution or be plagued through the course of the day. Groan, of course not as rash as bounding into babysitter’s lap in moment of heated frenzy the night before and now having to live with wanton, so not cool flagrancies. Please don’t remind me.
Where to go from here? We all know the connotations with sleeping with a man on the first date, I never read the subtext, and does this include men in different countries? How about extraordinary zing? Cabana boys? Once in a lifetime? I’m not sure I need to give him that much kudos and he isn’t a cabana boy, though those can be fun too, right girlfriend (wink)? So while prancing through town with old buddies, babysitter kept popping to mind and impending communication. Much easier if he could be a rat bastard in which case would never hear from him again and could relegate this to the big mistake category, feel like an idiot and go on with life knowing never to trust my karmic feelers again. The part that makes me woman, is knowing that there probably was not an iota of this much thought going on in his world… in his world, we’re looking at basics, post-modern learn-to-read books: boy meets girl, boy snogs girl, girl bleeds on boy, boy leaves girl, boy chalks off bedpost and goes golfing.
Did I fail to mention that when we did come together off our night of champagne, bowling and double entendres, it was really quite magical? I had my apprehensions, can anyone really manifest outwardly what you believe you want and also deliver when all inhibitions had been stripped down and we became two people bare off all defenses? What if the knight didn’t ride me off into the sunset (serious, no pun intended but funny eh?) and completely failed, this would ruin all my libidinous fantasies about him and my Rabbit for months! Sometimes it is best to not know, as imagination usually presents a better tryst than actuality as one gets exactly what one wants. Unfortunately, even given all our setbacks of the evening, there did come oneness and tremendous warmth between two strangers, in our bodies, minds and air. So much so, that I willed my mind to turn it off and not release completely to the moment, emotion has a powerful strength over the mind and I was not willing to relinquish mine not knowing what it would do to me. Maybe this was the ultimate cause of my menstrual cycle, karmic bleeding????
So, again, day two dawns and we are back on the inevitable question in life, to call or not to call? To text or not to text? Of course to compound matters girlfriend had spoken to him as we drove in circles looking for a place to eat, surrounded by gorgeous, young, male surfer bodies (sorry, extraneous information) and he has mentioned probably not coming to the reception to her. Hold on, you aren’t going with her, I invited you, information through the messenger is so not hip, like soooo not hip (tally book is back out). Ok, now wouldn’t it make sense to tell me this?? I think men forget that in the grand scheme of life, women like to be in the know, we NEED to know, we are genetically engineered to implode if we don’t know and we cannot read minds (though truly try very hard). So was not impressed that we are now at lunchtime and still no word… except through girlfriend, which does not count.
Being completely brash I decide that all this crap about waiting for the man to contact you is a serious and complete waste of time. If he wants to think that I am not playing by retarded rules made up by bored spinster in colonial times then so be it. I had a wedding and reception to go too, and having planned many weddings (no, not mine), ultimately you save the bride some calamity by being able to tell her how many people plan to be at her soirée. So, I do the deed and text the boy, who comes back with the fact that I'm lame (my addition to the dialogue) and he is immersed in existential life thoughts and deep painting and I am worried about a place seating (also my addition)? Sigh. Then to compound matters, I realize, bleeding on boy and him turning into the Flash is no way to end my fairytale, and that existential life thoughts can always be paused and replayed at later date (expiration: death) and I needed to re-visit the situation to ascertain whether or not I was out of my mind or there truly was a blip in time.
Plus, was not enjoying wedding, as was far too conservative and had marks of too much Hollywood romance movies thrown in which made me blubber. Adding insult to injury, priest managed to say, advertently or inadvertently (you can never tell with these holy types) that the only people worth anything on this earth were single heterosexuals who had or were planning on joining their unions under God. Translation: if you are not Presbyterian, are separated, divorced or gay be prepared for that hole to open up, the blast of lightening to bolt down, and be incinerated and flushed downwards. I was so nonplussed that had definite urges to get up and leave at the close mindedness placed in front of me but decided to wait around and see what my bolt of lightening looked like and whether the underworld needed any help re-decorating.
Babysitter was not piling on the points by explaining that did not feel like getting dressed, socializing and in any case was planning on watching I (heart) Huckabees. Hello? So, let me get this straight… you have on one end of the scale, Demi Moore (have decided prefer older, sexy woman analogy) in town for the night and obviously wanting your company versus Lily Tomlin, the epitome of sexuality- NOT. Though, with Jude Law, Mark Wahlberg and Naomi Watts in the cast, I admit some eye candy competition (if you like men and blondes), including the fact that it is a movie on existentialism. Sadly, he ended up watching sci-fi movies making it worse by choosing fictitious alien fembots in skin tight lycra over non fictitious very real me! Do we hear a lesson here? HES JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU! I never read that book…
Did I fail to mention the girl in the OC, not Mischa Barton or Rachel Bilson as that would then be the end of this story. But close, we have young 25 year old, exotically Persian, and studying for her Masters in Fiction. Ok, so being realistic is almost 10 years younger than me, and probably not having to work so hard at being 25 than 34. Note: However, what’s she going to look like at 34 with two kids, I’m already a proven case and point that body and soul are important to well being. Not being catty, aren’t beautiful Persian women akin to the gorgeous Indian and Italian women that once the ring gets placed on the finger the ripcord gets pulled? Cant answer that, have not wed any of the above. Next, the exotic bit, hard to beat as am a pure mutt and not sporting the glamour of a nation in war. Note: Did have a tsunami and slogged through numerous refugee camps, though still am not exotic. May have to lose this point. Masters in fiction, I can see the draw, babysitter is an author (when not selling animal cages and being artsy), common ground, things to talk about, ponder deep rhetorical views, hash ideas, etc etc… meanwhile I write chick lit, bemoaning the end of Sex in the City and the escapades of neurotic women. Perhaps not so deep, but then again, have not displayed any of my deep writing as is too deep and rather scares me that such literature can come out of my mind. Note: I’d have to say depending on what’s wanted, I don’t need a Masters in Fiction to write and would probably be too obstinate to listen to someone explain to me how to think and besides really want a life in Art (nope not fiction). Did I lose this point too? Why did I write this paragraph, how depressingly self -flagellating? I could beleaguer this point, age & experience vs., youth & innocence, its all a matter of choice in the end and hence am not too worried, to each his own, I am who I am: 34, fun, feisty, awesome in bed, divorced and with wonderful kids. C’est fin.
Am now feeling melancholic. That was a tough paragraph to write and highlighted the fact that men want innocence. How many 35+ year old men do I know dating under 25 year old students, I’ve met 3 this month who have told about the joys of their younger, accommodating companions. Thankfully was not interested in other two as would have been dashing blow to ego and may need to revisit nunnery. Caveman instinct to protect, to guide, to mold and to teach and places the man at the top of the pedestal with woman learning under him. He-man has forged his way, now he will lead female (bad 80s cartoon analogy) to forge hers within his path. I’m sure it feels good and powerful, and as women we do want to feel safe, but as you get older, you don’t want to provide adulation, but instead a balanced relationship based not on being molded but through growth and compromise of two adults understanding who they are, souls fulfilled not seeking and coming to work in tandem to realize a future of two level lives becoming one with autonomy and respect. Jeebus, this is getting a bit too deep for chick lit, time to jump off the tangent wagon and head back to simplicity and smiles.
Where were we, fembots vs. Demi? I have to give kudos, he did come out (must mean something to him?), did brave a few moments of the reception (points) and off we went arm in arm. A tick awkward, do we kiss? Do we hug? Though had manic urge to throw him up against Cayenne and snog him as did look quite hot, did manage to pat down the Samantha within. Though looking back shouldn’t have done, damn it! Now, back again to awkward car moment. Had my sufficient fill being imbued with alcohol so no gumption to hit a bar, and was satisfactorily fed by bridezilla. However, going to his place or my hotel room again placed me into the wanton friggin’ hussy category again. There’s just no winning this.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
The Baby Sitter, part 1
Part I, The Babysitter
Sometimes when you least expect it, life takes an imaginative turn of its own. Though I’d have to say with my life I don’t really need more turns, but obviously I wasn’t given a choice in it. Went down to a wedding in San Diego this weekend, and through some immense brain aneurism I managed to not read everyone else’s itineraries and was set to arrive hours before anyone else into a town that is reputedly fun but who the only person I was familiar with is married to a neurotic single-female fearing woman... oh and the lesbian documentary film maker, also not high on the list.
To compound matters my girlfriend ended up sucked into the hurricane calamity and remained on the east coast, a day delayed. But being the good friend she is began a campaign to find me a babysitter for the night. I remember a remarkably similar event in high school, where same friend somehow engineered to have me roller skate around school in a silver lame evening dress with inserts and a sign around my neck stating, “I need a date”. Horrid friend.
I still haven’t figured why I needed a babysitter as upon last check I was 34, with all limbs functioning and had probably accrued enough solo frequent flyer miles to round the world twice. Playing along with the game and for my amusement, I got a babysitter. Lets just refer to said being as “the babysitter”. I didn’t know much about babysitter except friend said he was interesting, good looking, but perhaps not tall enough for me. This final bit of information managed to have me imagine the quintessential Napoleon complex, short man with immense attitude who talked too much and feared he was balding too… great.
I’m not sure I did anything to prepare for the night, we were going for dinner, and my escape hatch from Napoleon was I was sooooooooooo tired from flying. Good thing about situations as such, there is no reason to obsess neurotically over perfect outfit, attitude or bum size. You assume the worst and seriously do not want to look your best or may have super freak hanging on you forever. Jeans and an Old Navy tank top was just right, throw in a pair of no name streets of Bangkok shoes and I was styling really low. Top it off had no shampoo as had left house in manic frenzy at 5:30am, so after valiantly fighting with hotel shampoo and conditioner hair was in weird state of disarray… as had forgotten all styling potions as well.
He was coming in a Porsche Cayenne; my Napoleon dread was coming close to breaking me out in hives. Who drives a Porsche Cayenne but short, balding 40+ year old real estate agents who live in West Vancouver dreaming of dating nubile 25 year olds during their midlife crisis? Plus, Car and Driver had likened it to a piece of &^* on a field… I have to sheepishly admit I did test drive one when choosing my last car.
I got in the car and I was stymied, great smile, boyish, devil in the eye, very controlled, and overwhelmingly there (presence), was it just me I wondered, or did he feel this energy too? Did I ooze knock-em-dead energy too? I really had to rethink my togetherness, as the babysitter was not what I was expecting?!! Kind of like hopping into a car with Paul Walker (The Fast and the Furious) when you’re expecting Danny DeVito, and having to put on your best Jessica Alba with bad hair and frumpy clothing. Definitely off guard, definitely, definitely, DAMN, hate that!
Hate to be cheesy but he was pretty neat (is that the best adjective I can think of, YES). Did the mundane chitchat about this and that, and the awkward here and there, each of us jockeying for the right tone and attitude, and doing the once over. Somewhere on the drive to wherever we settle into sarcastic banter (love sarcastic banter), which is always a plus point in my man tally book, so he was gaining some and losing some (still not sure on car). Bits and pieces elude me but unquestionably there was more than hope to a definitely entertaining evening. Ok girlfriend, you get some brownie points, this was much better than having to take your 10th grade boyfriend to the Christmas Formal for you!
So, not sure if he was planning on taking even Attila the Hun to this restaurant, which was pretty swank for just any old chick that may or may not have been fun, but somehow ended up on twinkling outdoor patio, with view of ocean and enough atmosphere to not be weirdly romantic, but accurately fun. At this point we’re falling into Mr. Big territory, but doesn’t quite cap seaplane to island with sunset dinner on rocks with seals on cue (though must note that Big is currently in the doghouse and not being entertained at present (see The Demise story)). Plus, babysitter had no forewarning if he was getting messy Jessica Alba or Roseanne so thinking quick garners a few points too.
Somewhere in here I get a bit fuzzy, but do remember going to bathroom wondering what my ass looked like in my jeans. Would have checked in bathroom but swank restaurants are not immune to puking women and was quite nasty in there (perhaps a California thing?). We had some champers (per norm) and I watched him eat more than I ate but that’s neither here nor there as was not hungry, and no, not due to him (lame), but due to the burger I devoured upon arriving. Not sure why this particular point is necessary in the story…
Sometime as the sun set and the evening darkened, we moved from easy discussions to the more substantial, and then I quit tallying. He asked me if I meditated which I though an odd question, never had that asked before, and wasn’t quite sure where to go with that. I am touchy on my meditation, my rocks and pelicans on the beach, but surprising myself did tell. I wanted to wax lyrical about the thousands of fish surrounding me every evening, the turtles, all the little odd creatures and the bliss of going from the ocean to my sheltered rock that takes me to my meditative state but was sure that would scare him half to death so refrained. Of course later I find, OF COURSE, that his meditation is so far further into the next realm than mine, that I’m almost jealous but since I'm not currently ready to leap through my mental lands at the fate of my mind, I’m quite happy to sit in my itty bitty land of nothingness and peace for a while. Ok, so maybe I’d be cooler if I could meditate daily (want to be cool meditative person) and not rely on fish and rocks, I mean who needs fish to meditate??!!
Now here I can’t help but chuckle, we run through some life stuff, most of it eludes me now, but trust me it was deep. And I swear he said he needed to go bowling after dinner. I’m thinking I'm not channeling Jessica Alba so well if he has to go bowling, I may be better off with The OC back in the hotel room. And is he serious? He’s saying he has to bowl to dump me, I’m just starting to bring the tally book back out when I realize he’s dead serious (thankfully had not said rotten things about bowling and am secret bowling geek). He’s in a bowling league, now how cool is that AND I get invited to come watch, way cool. Ex husband used to think bowling was totally lame but also thought that flowers were reserved for funerals and not Valentine’s Day, so what’s the point?
So got to go to bowling alley, en route may I point out that babysitter had gotten a bit friendlier, arm on back, a little closer, etc etc, do you think they think we don’t notice? I’m thinking he’s thinking he’s going to get lucky, I mean why on earth would I want to go to the bowling alley if I didn’t want him neked (do u think they think that way? That’s just gross…). Serious, was furthest thought on my mind at that point (was geekily interested in bowling), sex that is, am not one for hop in sack on first meeting girl, took me a friggin year to do the deed with ex bald boy and though momentary fling with Paul Walker may have sounded good, not sure wanted to live with that, didn’t even go there with Big and that’s saying a lot. Though could argue am now single, 30 something year old, with no constraints and past the sexual revolution and should try and use and abuse men more for their carnal abilities. A la Carrie Bradshaw I should be toting around my designer condoms and mini lipstick vibrator with remote in chic Balenciaga purse. My Rabbit doesn’t fit in my purses, which are Kate Spade, Marc Jacobs or Fendi, and my condoms are Trojans and live happily in my non-portable bedside drawer with Rabbit friend. Giggle.
Bowling. Fun. Odd. Troubling. Memorable.
The leather clad biker homosexuals canoodling with also homo-effeminate, nerdy, GQ types bowling at the end of the room, coupled with babysitter league of leave it to beaver skinny guy, porn photographer layered in coloured catholic guilt tattoos, bio tech-meditating, Porsche driving Paul Walker and not really a trucker but I’m sure as heck going to look like one brother who may have had a mullet under the ball cap. Oh my. Neighboring league consisted of characters straight out of That 70s Show (and I’m not talking Ashton) complete with insecure NAPOLEAN bowler with gay hand flick bowl (I knew Napoleon was going to show). I could have written a sitcom, it was all too much, down to custom bowling balls, the requisite very asexual, somewhat plump women, pooch bellied daddies, the “cool” bowlers who were so not, stuck in the 80s tight jean, white heel wearing skanks, the occasional Asian to remind us that we are in the modern age and the trite neon lighting and bizarre graphics of bowling balls mutating into angels and triple x porn stars. If I didn’t know any better this could have been a really psychedelic mushroom trip. At one point had to retreat into pool room, which reminded me awfully of scene from The Accused which wigged the heeby jeebies out of me that I gave up watching CSI in subtitles on the bar TV while ducking pool sticks and horny players.
Not much convo during bowling, though got to know cast of characters who were really swell and incredibly nice people. Truly liked porn photographer to the point that would actually want pictures of me in the buff done. Sincerely, all had hearts of gold and it was a lovely night in the bowling alley, and I found out a lot about salvation and redemption, why to wipe your ball as well as how to fix your bowling handicap… I am sure this will all come in handy in the next generation of Trivial Pursuit.
Now, awkward post bowling moment, I was anticipating being dropped home so was a bit surprised when asked what plan was next. Perhaps am so used to Vancouver dates with nice Vancouver boys who go to bed at midnight and don’t dare kiss u for days that I was a bit stupefied. More? We had some existential life talk in car which I was trying to decode from “I’m being a sensitive man” to “I want you in bed”. Did he really feel a connection or was it a line? I had mentioned early in the evening that you could tell if someone was meant to be, and had the misfortune of having it thrown back at me. Acting coy while feverishly thinking if I say “yes, I do feel that for you” then I’m feeling really out there in vulnerable land, and he may be grunting “Score!!” but if I say “no” that sounds a bit insulting and would be so not true. As Jewel sings, “these foolish games.” This must have been traumatic as I have conveniently forgotten my own response to save self-embarrassment, but must have muddled though with some half assed non-committal statement in very unworldly way. What would Carrie have done? We know Samantha would have launched at his belt buckle in a millisecond, Charlotte would have passed out and Miranda would have said go to hell. I think I started in Charlotte, considered Miranda, guiltily thought through a Samantha, and ended up as Carrie.
He did ask if we should head back to his place as he did have wine there. How cliché is that, negative tally in book??? I wanted to see him more, so did, but so did not want to give off the wrong vibe as did really like the boy for who he was, knowing it was short lived more time together was nice, but how does one convey that without sounding like a hussy? I mean what self respecting woman ends up with a man at her hotel room at some ungodly hour of the morning and not expect them to be counting down the seconds till your clothes come off (am secretly fearing gave off hussy vibe). Oh, did I forget to mention stopping at the bar for champagne that wasn’t really champagne w/ 2 flutes, cliché, after cliché, after cliché, I’m killing myself. It was emotion over logic and logic was putting forth a great effort in the ring, “go to bed”, “say goodnight”, “you only have so much willpower, use it now”, “don’t go upstairs”, “stop, stop, stop”. We know logic is generally right, but I’m damned with these female hormones that rampage around my body making me act irresponsible, hate it. Why can we not be as detached and single focused as men… because then we’d be stupid (right I remember now why we don’t want to be men), plus we’d have distracting appendages hanging off of us that get sweaty and cause us to grope ourselves and we’d have to give up our Rabbits.
Sigh, yes it was a knockout for logic and upstairs we went, emotion and I, to Never Never land. Never Never Never land, the dice had been thrown, I was officially in the game. Why, I've asked myself this a million times, why? How many boys (sorry men) do I date, send them home, write amusing stories, answer idle texts and calls, and feel no zing, lots. And when I give them a chance to prove some zing (sorry HSBC man) there’s still no zing and then I need to pretend zing to make their egos feel like they’re zinging. And when they do zing they end up being Big and need to be unzinged. Maybe it was the moment, never see you again, different country, sayonara, you seem perfect and I need to see if that’s a well rounded assumption requiring you to be naked to judge. Gasp, did I just say that??????? Plus, was working the “c’mon girl” you’re a single liberated woman what’s wrong with having fun (conscience… ), you’re so not into the men you’re dating, live it up.
Ok, one thing led to another and fate intervened and I got my period. Horrors of all horrors I kid you not. Mortification was the only word that comes to mind and if could have done an ostrich and buried my head in the pillows, and gotten away with doing it gracefully I would have. It wasn’t quite the walk of shame but perhaps the scarlet letter would have been more appropriate. At this point babysitter retreated rather rapidly which was a tad alarming, a) was definitely looking for score and had failed b) no zing c) found out I had kids d) faints at sight of blood e) all of the above
Faster than a speeding bullet, he leaped into clothes, quick good night something or other, here a kiss for the girl and he was off in his wonder Cayenne. What’s a girl to think? Have messed up royally and truly? Messed up what one may ask (other than the sheets)? A one night stand, not much on the accomplishment roster so ok to disregard. Life’s true mate, getting a little too karmic (though secretly believe said being does exist), reputation, doubtful as you’ll not meet again, so what’s the bother. The bother is (long sigh) girl likes boy, girl hopes boy likes her too, and… to be continued.
Sometimes when you least expect it, life takes an imaginative turn of its own. Though I’d have to say with my life I don’t really need more turns, but obviously I wasn’t given a choice in it. Went down to a wedding in San Diego this weekend, and through some immense brain aneurism I managed to not read everyone else’s itineraries and was set to arrive hours before anyone else into a town that is reputedly fun but who the only person I was familiar with is married to a neurotic single-female fearing woman... oh and the lesbian documentary film maker, also not high on the list.
To compound matters my girlfriend ended up sucked into the hurricane calamity and remained on the east coast, a day delayed. But being the good friend she is began a campaign to find me a babysitter for the night. I remember a remarkably similar event in high school, where same friend somehow engineered to have me roller skate around school in a silver lame evening dress with inserts and a sign around my neck stating, “I need a date”. Horrid friend.
I still haven’t figured why I needed a babysitter as upon last check I was 34, with all limbs functioning and had probably accrued enough solo frequent flyer miles to round the world twice. Playing along with the game and for my amusement, I got a babysitter. Lets just refer to said being as “the babysitter”. I didn’t know much about babysitter except friend said he was interesting, good looking, but perhaps not tall enough for me. This final bit of information managed to have me imagine the quintessential Napoleon complex, short man with immense attitude who talked too much and feared he was balding too… great.
I’m not sure I did anything to prepare for the night, we were going for dinner, and my escape hatch from Napoleon was I was sooooooooooo tired from flying. Good thing about situations as such, there is no reason to obsess neurotically over perfect outfit, attitude or bum size. You assume the worst and seriously do not want to look your best or may have super freak hanging on you forever. Jeans and an Old Navy tank top was just right, throw in a pair of no name streets of Bangkok shoes and I was styling really low. Top it off had no shampoo as had left house in manic frenzy at 5:30am, so after valiantly fighting with hotel shampoo and conditioner hair was in weird state of disarray… as had forgotten all styling potions as well.
He was coming in a Porsche Cayenne; my Napoleon dread was coming close to breaking me out in hives. Who drives a Porsche Cayenne but short, balding 40+ year old real estate agents who live in West Vancouver dreaming of dating nubile 25 year olds during their midlife crisis? Plus, Car and Driver had likened it to a piece of &^* on a field… I have to sheepishly admit I did test drive one when choosing my last car.
I got in the car and I was stymied, great smile, boyish, devil in the eye, very controlled, and overwhelmingly there (presence), was it just me I wondered, or did he feel this energy too? Did I ooze knock-em-dead energy too? I really had to rethink my togetherness, as the babysitter was not what I was expecting?!! Kind of like hopping into a car with Paul Walker (The Fast and the Furious) when you’re expecting Danny DeVito, and having to put on your best Jessica Alba with bad hair and frumpy clothing. Definitely off guard, definitely, definitely, DAMN, hate that!
Hate to be cheesy but he was pretty neat (is that the best adjective I can think of, YES). Did the mundane chitchat about this and that, and the awkward here and there, each of us jockeying for the right tone and attitude, and doing the once over. Somewhere on the drive to wherever we settle into sarcastic banter (love sarcastic banter), which is always a plus point in my man tally book, so he was gaining some and losing some (still not sure on car). Bits and pieces elude me but unquestionably there was more than hope to a definitely entertaining evening. Ok girlfriend, you get some brownie points, this was much better than having to take your 10th grade boyfriend to the Christmas Formal for you!
So, not sure if he was planning on taking even Attila the Hun to this restaurant, which was pretty swank for just any old chick that may or may not have been fun, but somehow ended up on twinkling outdoor patio, with view of ocean and enough atmosphere to not be weirdly romantic, but accurately fun. At this point we’re falling into Mr. Big territory, but doesn’t quite cap seaplane to island with sunset dinner on rocks with seals on cue (though must note that Big is currently in the doghouse and not being entertained at present (see The Demise story)). Plus, babysitter had no forewarning if he was getting messy Jessica Alba or Roseanne so thinking quick garners a few points too.
Somewhere in here I get a bit fuzzy, but do remember going to bathroom wondering what my ass looked like in my jeans. Would have checked in bathroom but swank restaurants are not immune to puking women and was quite nasty in there (perhaps a California thing?). We had some champers (per norm) and I watched him eat more than I ate but that’s neither here nor there as was not hungry, and no, not due to him (lame), but due to the burger I devoured upon arriving. Not sure why this particular point is necessary in the story…
Sometime as the sun set and the evening darkened, we moved from easy discussions to the more substantial, and then I quit tallying. He asked me if I meditated which I though an odd question, never had that asked before, and wasn’t quite sure where to go with that. I am touchy on my meditation, my rocks and pelicans on the beach, but surprising myself did tell. I wanted to wax lyrical about the thousands of fish surrounding me every evening, the turtles, all the little odd creatures and the bliss of going from the ocean to my sheltered rock that takes me to my meditative state but was sure that would scare him half to death so refrained. Of course later I find, OF COURSE, that his meditation is so far further into the next realm than mine, that I’m almost jealous but since I'm not currently ready to leap through my mental lands at the fate of my mind, I’m quite happy to sit in my itty bitty land of nothingness and peace for a while. Ok, so maybe I’d be cooler if I could meditate daily (want to be cool meditative person) and not rely on fish and rocks, I mean who needs fish to meditate??!!
Now here I can’t help but chuckle, we run through some life stuff, most of it eludes me now, but trust me it was deep. And I swear he said he needed to go bowling after dinner. I’m thinking I'm not channeling Jessica Alba so well if he has to go bowling, I may be better off with The OC back in the hotel room. And is he serious? He’s saying he has to bowl to dump me, I’m just starting to bring the tally book back out when I realize he’s dead serious (thankfully had not said rotten things about bowling and am secret bowling geek). He’s in a bowling league, now how cool is that AND I get invited to come watch, way cool. Ex husband used to think bowling was totally lame but also thought that flowers were reserved for funerals and not Valentine’s Day, so what’s the point?
So got to go to bowling alley, en route may I point out that babysitter had gotten a bit friendlier, arm on back, a little closer, etc etc, do you think they think we don’t notice? I’m thinking he’s thinking he’s going to get lucky, I mean why on earth would I want to go to the bowling alley if I didn’t want him neked (do u think they think that way? That’s just gross…). Serious, was furthest thought on my mind at that point (was geekily interested in bowling), sex that is, am not one for hop in sack on first meeting girl, took me a friggin year to do the deed with ex bald boy and though momentary fling with Paul Walker may have sounded good, not sure wanted to live with that, didn’t even go there with Big and that’s saying a lot. Though could argue am now single, 30 something year old, with no constraints and past the sexual revolution and should try and use and abuse men more for their carnal abilities. A la Carrie Bradshaw I should be toting around my designer condoms and mini lipstick vibrator with remote in chic Balenciaga purse. My Rabbit doesn’t fit in my purses, which are Kate Spade, Marc Jacobs or Fendi, and my condoms are Trojans and live happily in my non-portable bedside drawer with Rabbit friend. Giggle.
Bowling. Fun. Odd. Troubling. Memorable.
The leather clad biker homosexuals canoodling with also homo-effeminate, nerdy, GQ types bowling at the end of the room, coupled with babysitter league of leave it to beaver skinny guy, porn photographer layered in coloured catholic guilt tattoos, bio tech-meditating, Porsche driving Paul Walker and not really a trucker but I’m sure as heck going to look like one brother who may have had a mullet under the ball cap. Oh my. Neighboring league consisted of characters straight out of That 70s Show (and I’m not talking Ashton) complete with insecure NAPOLEAN bowler with gay hand flick bowl (I knew Napoleon was going to show). I could have written a sitcom, it was all too much, down to custom bowling balls, the requisite very asexual, somewhat plump women, pooch bellied daddies, the “cool” bowlers who were so not, stuck in the 80s tight jean, white heel wearing skanks, the occasional Asian to remind us that we are in the modern age and the trite neon lighting and bizarre graphics of bowling balls mutating into angels and triple x porn stars. If I didn’t know any better this could have been a really psychedelic mushroom trip. At one point had to retreat into pool room, which reminded me awfully of scene from The Accused which wigged the heeby jeebies out of me that I gave up watching CSI in subtitles on the bar TV while ducking pool sticks and horny players.
Not much convo during bowling, though got to know cast of characters who were really swell and incredibly nice people. Truly liked porn photographer to the point that would actually want pictures of me in the buff done. Sincerely, all had hearts of gold and it was a lovely night in the bowling alley, and I found out a lot about salvation and redemption, why to wipe your ball as well as how to fix your bowling handicap… I am sure this will all come in handy in the next generation of Trivial Pursuit.
Now, awkward post bowling moment, I was anticipating being dropped home so was a bit surprised when asked what plan was next. Perhaps am so used to Vancouver dates with nice Vancouver boys who go to bed at midnight and don’t dare kiss u for days that I was a bit stupefied. More? We had some existential life talk in car which I was trying to decode from “I’m being a sensitive man” to “I want you in bed”. Did he really feel a connection or was it a line? I had mentioned early in the evening that you could tell if someone was meant to be, and had the misfortune of having it thrown back at me. Acting coy while feverishly thinking if I say “yes, I do feel that for you” then I’m feeling really out there in vulnerable land, and he may be grunting “Score!!” but if I say “no” that sounds a bit insulting and would be so not true. As Jewel sings, “these foolish games.” This must have been traumatic as I have conveniently forgotten my own response to save self-embarrassment, but must have muddled though with some half assed non-committal statement in very unworldly way. What would Carrie have done? We know Samantha would have launched at his belt buckle in a millisecond, Charlotte would have passed out and Miranda would have said go to hell. I think I started in Charlotte, considered Miranda, guiltily thought through a Samantha, and ended up as Carrie.
He did ask if we should head back to his place as he did have wine there. How cliché is that, negative tally in book??? I wanted to see him more, so did, but so did not want to give off the wrong vibe as did really like the boy for who he was, knowing it was short lived more time together was nice, but how does one convey that without sounding like a hussy? I mean what self respecting woman ends up with a man at her hotel room at some ungodly hour of the morning and not expect them to be counting down the seconds till your clothes come off (am secretly fearing gave off hussy vibe). Oh, did I forget to mention stopping at the bar for champagne that wasn’t really champagne w/ 2 flutes, cliché, after cliché, after cliché, I’m killing myself. It was emotion over logic and logic was putting forth a great effort in the ring, “go to bed”, “say goodnight”, “you only have so much willpower, use it now”, “don’t go upstairs”, “stop, stop, stop”. We know logic is generally right, but I’m damned with these female hormones that rampage around my body making me act irresponsible, hate it. Why can we not be as detached and single focused as men… because then we’d be stupid (right I remember now why we don’t want to be men), plus we’d have distracting appendages hanging off of us that get sweaty and cause us to grope ourselves and we’d have to give up our Rabbits.
Sigh, yes it was a knockout for logic and upstairs we went, emotion and I, to Never Never land. Never Never Never land, the dice had been thrown, I was officially in the game. Why, I've asked myself this a million times, why? How many boys (sorry men) do I date, send them home, write amusing stories, answer idle texts and calls, and feel no zing, lots. And when I give them a chance to prove some zing (sorry HSBC man) there’s still no zing and then I need to pretend zing to make their egos feel like they’re zinging. And when they do zing they end up being Big and need to be unzinged. Maybe it was the moment, never see you again, different country, sayonara, you seem perfect and I need to see if that’s a well rounded assumption requiring you to be naked to judge. Gasp, did I just say that??????? Plus, was working the “c’mon girl” you’re a single liberated woman what’s wrong with having fun (conscience… ), you’re so not into the men you’re dating, live it up.
Ok, one thing led to another and fate intervened and I got my period. Horrors of all horrors I kid you not. Mortification was the only word that comes to mind and if could have done an ostrich and buried my head in the pillows, and gotten away with doing it gracefully I would have. It wasn’t quite the walk of shame but perhaps the scarlet letter would have been more appropriate. At this point babysitter retreated rather rapidly which was a tad alarming, a) was definitely looking for score and had failed b) no zing c) found out I had kids d) faints at sight of blood e) all of the above
Faster than a speeding bullet, he leaped into clothes, quick good night something or other, here a kiss for the girl and he was off in his wonder Cayenne. What’s a girl to think? Have messed up royally and truly? Messed up what one may ask (other than the sheets)? A one night stand, not much on the accomplishment roster so ok to disregard. Life’s true mate, getting a little too karmic (though secretly believe said being does exist), reputation, doubtful as you’ll not meet again, so what’s the bother. The bother is (long sigh) girl likes boy, girl hopes boy likes her too, and… to be continued.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
The Unknown
Is it possible for tears to gather for something you never felt? Can you miss something you never experienced? Can you feel a loss for something you never had? Can your body and mind truly connect to a soul that almost never existed, a glimmer that came through your life, a slice of what might have been, but never was?
The sun began its journey into night as my plane made its way home. Somewhere in the twilight the humanity surrounding me in the confines of the cabin moved from a roar to a fading white noise, to nothing but the heat in my chest and the beauty of the world. The magic of the moment so intense it suffocated, that there could be such a wondrous world, bathed in the innocent light of the fading day, glimmering with a halo of calm from the setting rays, and the maddening quiet of my mind trying to understand how I could be within such harmony and feel inexplicably torn by the torrent of my soul.
Why are we given the experiences we have and what do they mean? The tears that welled and almost came, tears of happiness capturing an idyllic moment of time, and the sorrow of a heart yearning to absorb yet unable to break the confines of life. Unable to understand the mysteries given, the fate handed out and the choices to make.
How do you know if you are to take the path less trodden, to take the straight and narrow or to stand alone with nary a path. Are we meant to be alone, can I be alone, am I safer alone? I have worked so hard to tame the beast, to find and open tiny windows of light that had been shut for so long, to allow happiness to play unfettered, to bridge the chasms of uncertainty. My individual journey to the recesses of my mind, to the dark chambers, to the wars and the murky poisons, slowly facing the residents and claiming back life rightfully earned. The land is still pockmarked but there is a stronger light at the end of the tunnel, where once it seemed ready to falter and flicker into darkness, it now throbs brighter, a beacon in the soul, illuminating the still long and dangerous path, but shedding enough hope through the shrouded caverns to make me want to forge ahead where before I wished it to crumble and take me with its fall.
I met a soul where I thought none existed. A soul outside the walls I guard with care. Karma says it was meant to be, but where does it play to my destiny and what did it mean. Is it a test to my resolution to stay within my gilded cage, to deny the golden fruit, and continue with my song? There lies a kindred spirit within its own glass confines, revolving within its own walls, in a separate universe, seeking similar truths to mine but in a different land. Do I reach out to find and possibly fail or stand course and take this poignancy never knowing what it meant in the road of life.
I met a man, I felt a man, I saw a man, I became one with a man, and I left a man. I don’t know what he means, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know what this means. For now, it needs to go into the box in my mind, where all things that confuse be placed, to make it recede. I don’t understand this lesson, I may fail this step, I cannot answer the riddle of the sphinx. Are their more similar souls in glass houses, do I take a step out or do they, and can our houses, filled with so much selfish energy, become one? Become one without undermining the sense of self and living within positive energy that does not leech but instead builds. When is the time and what is the sign? When do we relinquish fear and step into the waves of the unknown? How overwhelming does a moment need to be to make a mark? And how certain do we need to be to show our mark?
The sun began its journey into night as my plane made its way home. Somewhere in the twilight the humanity surrounding me in the confines of the cabin moved from a roar to a fading white noise, to nothing but the heat in my chest and the beauty of the world. The magic of the moment so intense it suffocated, that there could be such a wondrous world, bathed in the innocent light of the fading day, glimmering with a halo of calm from the setting rays, and the maddening quiet of my mind trying to understand how I could be within such harmony and feel inexplicably torn by the torrent of my soul.
Why are we given the experiences we have and what do they mean? The tears that welled and almost came, tears of happiness capturing an idyllic moment of time, and the sorrow of a heart yearning to absorb yet unable to break the confines of life. Unable to understand the mysteries given, the fate handed out and the choices to make.
How do you know if you are to take the path less trodden, to take the straight and narrow or to stand alone with nary a path. Are we meant to be alone, can I be alone, am I safer alone? I have worked so hard to tame the beast, to find and open tiny windows of light that had been shut for so long, to allow happiness to play unfettered, to bridge the chasms of uncertainty. My individual journey to the recesses of my mind, to the dark chambers, to the wars and the murky poisons, slowly facing the residents and claiming back life rightfully earned. The land is still pockmarked but there is a stronger light at the end of the tunnel, where once it seemed ready to falter and flicker into darkness, it now throbs brighter, a beacon in the soul, illuminating the still long and dangerous path, but shedding enough hope through the shrouded caverns to make me want to forge ahead where before I wished it to crumble and take me with its fall.
I met a soul where I thought none existed. A soul outside the walls I guard with care. Karma says it was meant to be, but where does it play to my destiny and what did it mean. Is it a test to my resolution to stay within my gilded cage, to deny the golden fruit, and continue with my song? There lies a kindred spirit within its own glass confines, revolving within its own walls, in a separate universe, seeking similar truths to mine but in a different land. Do I reach out to find and possibly fail or stand course and take this poignancy never knowing what it meant in the road of life.
I met a man, I felt a man, I saw a man, I became one with a man, and I left a man. I don’t know what he means, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know what this means. For now, it needs to go into the box in my mind, where all things that confuse be placed, to make it recede. I don’t understand this lesson, I may fail this step, I cannot answer the riddle of the sphinx. Are their more similar souls in glass houses, do I take a step out or do they, and can our houses, filled with so much selfish energy, become one? Become one without undermining the sense of self and living within positive energy that does not leech but instead builds. When is the time and what is the sign? When do we relinquish fear and step into the waves of the unknown? How overwhelming does a moment need to be to make a mark? And how certain do we need to be to show our mark?
Saturday, September 10, 2005
The Baby Sitter, part 3
I’m not sure what to make of the baby sitter situation. I think a “situation” may give it a negative connotation when really it should have more of a surreal quality to it, like baby sitter trilogy (except we haven’t gotten past the prologue). I feel like there should be a manual in the library that explains rationally to me how one can possibly feel zing for someone you technically don’t know, have spent no more than 8 hours with and don’t even live in the same bloody country and have not seen each other in a month. Truly, is this not the fodder for romantic-comedies, where you laugh and cry, wish it would happen to you, but know it’s all a bunch of hooey thrown together by writers congregated over a table drinking beers and leering at Cameron Diaz. So really, though we want our own private Notting Hill with Hugh Grant, we don’t actually expect it, and instead spend money to sit and watch it in surround sound with a good bucket of popcorn and some Kleenex projecting our inner Julia.
So, when the beginning of said encounter does occur do you say to one’s self, ok self, this has to be bullshit. All this pent up regressed romantic trash starting from when I thought Rob Lowe and Demi Moore where the epitome of romantic perfection in About Last Night, is now starting to get to me. I held up my High School crushes to this very relationship standard till I realized it only worked if the relationship did not exceed 96 minutes.
So babysitter and I, we kind of waffled, or maybe I waffled. I went through much iteration, and primarily ending up with didn’t want to be friends and hang around while babysitter sussed out exotic Persian woman, kinda like a lame Barbara Cartland novel from the 70s. There had to be better things to vest one’s time in. So with that firmly in mind, mitigating all expectations, had casual back and forth with babysitter, ok, fine, perhaps not soooo casual but not toooo non-casual, excepting the R-rated sexual story (plus he thought it was rather PG-13- what does that say about impending sex life???). I was fine for him to gallivant off with exotic lady as I was gallivanting off to exotic locale. Plus had enough trouble trying to politely evade physical contact with “nice” HSBCman in Vancouver, then constant bombardment of texts and invites from JC, and finally having to deal very delicately with Sailor in the BVI (which is a whole saga still unwritten).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, attention is nice, but unfortunately, I likened the Babysitter in previous story to a lingering cold. It’s frustrating enough trying to juggle men in your inbox, texts and vicinity (shit I know many women would love to have this setback-I’m not complaining, I’ll remember these days fondly when I’m 60, Botoxed and filled with Perlane), and thinking it should be fun to go out with them, but I have this damn head cold and it won’t cease and abate making everything look and taste rather unappetizing. So, stalked about muttering imprecations at Babysitter and sheer nonsensical nature of all this, and perhaps cursing him for the setback in my dating life. Unlike men, women actually need to feel some modicum of attraction and interest for a man to warrant a date without drooling into our meals and falling asleep. We don’t have that capacity to shut our minds off and work off other heads…
Getting away from myself? So babysitter kind of niggled away amongst all the other predators. San Juan airport was a feeding frenzy… Latin men have absolutely no inhibitions, and if I was a mean and evil woman could have had a lovely dinner, loaded shopping trip and a night dancing and gambling all on several tabs. But, thanks to lovely upbringing and conscience, exited very neatly from all entanglements and had a fun night at The Palm with Architect and lost $20 gambling at Blackjack. Dealer kept giving me tips on what to do (hold, hit, split) and kept apologizing whenever I lost with a wink and a smile. He seemed to think Architect was far too old to be a date (which he wasn’t) so completely ignored him much to Architect’s chagrin (sorry Architect). Of all the shenanigans, thankfully Bran was not on island (actually did not ask as felt would just complicate life even more) as that would have just topped the charts and capped this trip off with too much drama. Last encounter with Bran was alternating stressful and laughable that I truly should write a story about it but may end up getting sued so best to not.
Ok, so had a lot ongoing that lingering babysitter flu was doubly frustrating and causing me to hive. Then came fist cryptic email “you and I will be seeing each other”, this was in response to flippant email sent by me asking how revelatory trip with exotic girlfriend was going (it was an honest email!!). Well what the heck did that mean, it didn’t work to read it a few times over as it only consisted of 8 words with no punctuation. I’m thinking, “I’m not seeing you if you have a girlfriend…” so ignored email and all connotations and instead cc:ed him on rambling tales of adventure in tropics. Then got second cryptic message saying he was “free (literally)… call anytime”, ok, ok, ok what does that mean? I mean I know it MEANS he’s FREE? Like here’s your Get Out of Jail card, please proceed to Park Avenue? Free, she’s gone back to school (school?)? Free, they broke up? Free, have decided to have open relationship and engage in threesomes, I dunno, free friggin what??!! I was thinking highly unlikely to have parted ways with exotic creature, as she seemed rather delectable with her youth, fiction and my imagined fabulous look she had. So, ignored responding directly to that email as well and just wondered if was going slowly insane. Do men really need to communicate in 10 words or less? I’ve just written a page and a half and I’m not even halfway there.
Ok, much to my surprise upon actual conversation in Admirals Club, after frantically trying to get off phone with first LaVida and then litany of IMs from JC so could talk to Babysitter (jeebus, he was the only one I wanted to talk to), find he has parted ways with exotic Persian from lands afar. For me? I wish! That would be way too much like (quick, think of romantic movie)… Serendipity. Oh my gosh, this is what this whole interaction is, its Serendipity (go rent the movie now)! Ok, so obviously something went awry in spending minutes, hours, days and nights together. Yes, yes, yes curiosity is killing me, I am female, I don’t deny it. Mind has been racing through the write your own endings… lukewarm copulations? Poor repartee? Laughs not forthcoming? Poor oral hygiene? We know its not because she bled on him (har har har, snort, snort).
Setting up to not have expectations, am now stumped, what does this mean, did not have any damn expectations and am now poorly prepared? How terribly foreign in an unexotic way, maybe that should be me, “foreign in unexotic way”. Digressing… I need a script, have not been in this scenario before and am lacking stage directions and emotions in nice parentheses (i.e. Show laughter, then throw up on stage left and exit). It’s too Hollywood and Hollywood doesn’t exist but on celluloid, I mean there have been 4 splits in Hollywood couples married under a year this month… (serious, certifiable source, People magazine) so let’s not hold high hopes off the golden screen. Then even more curious, is that in its foreignness and inexplicable weirdness of it, it seems right. Nothing overwrought, nothing freaky, nothing neurotic or insecure, just feels pretty calm and mellow, like this is the way it’s supposed to be. Two strangers, a night in San Diego, poignant, friends, not, and now, time to end the prologue and start the first chapter. Something in the air says, girl, it feels all right, go check it out… (cue: JT, I Want to Rock Your Body)
First and foremost must divest of HSBCman, if I was Catholic this would be a near death experience, the guilt is eating me up. I just haven’t found the right time and place, and being away receiving all these “sweet” (ack!) emails is so wrong, wrong, wrong. The sweeter it gets the more I want some Splenda substitute, make him stop, nice man, nice, very nice, just “boring” (I spent hundreds in therapy to have someone tell me that…). Last email I received was an attempt to be seductive which just about made me fall of my chair, buried head in hands and hastily shut computer. Of course then came home hours later to another email stating quite simply “obviously I am the only one who feels this way”. Was tempted to respond with “Ummmm…. Yes?”, but felt was not prudent for future friendly relations. So, am still in quagmire, trying to meet in non-threatening, least embarrassing to male ego forum. Where I can tactfully mumble something about not the right time in life, friends, think you’re great, not ready, it’s all my fault, and by the way I’m taking a stranger on a romantic vacation to the tropics in a week… instead of you.
So, when the beginning of said encounter does occur do you say to one’s self, ok self, this has to be bullshit. All this pent up regressed romantic trash starting from when I thought Rob Lowe and Demi Moore where the epitome of romantic perfection in About Last Night, is now starting to get to me. I held up my High School crushes to this very relationship standard till I realized it only worked if the relationship did not exceed 96 minutes.
So babysitter and I, we kind of waffled, or maybe I waffled. I went through much iteration, and primarily ending up with didn’t want to be friends and hang around while babysitter sussed out exotic Persian woman, kinda like a lame Barbara Cartland novel from the 70s. There had to be better things to vest one’s time in. So with that firmly in mind, mitigating all expectations, had casual back and forth with babysitter, ok, fine, perhaps not soooo casual but not toooo non-casual, excepting the R-rated sexual story (plus he thought it was rather PG-13- what does that say about impending sex life???). I was fine for him to gallivant off with exotic lady as I was gallivanting off to exotic locale. Plus had enough trouble trying to politely evade physical contact with “nice” HSBCman in Vancouver, then constant bombardment of texts and invites from JC, and finally having to deal very delicately with Sailor in the BVI (which is a whole saga still unwritten).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, attention is nice, but unfortunately, I likened the Babysitter in previous story to a lingering cold. It’s frustrating enough trying to juggle men in your inbox, texts and vicinity (shit I know many women would love to have this setback-I’m not complaining, I’ll remember these days fondly when I’m 60, Botoxed and filled with Perlane), and thinking it should be fun to go out with them, but I have this damn head cold and it won’t cease and abate making everything look and taste rather unappetizing. So, stalked about muttering imprecations at Babysitter and sheer nonsensical nature of all this, and perhaps cursing him for the setback in my dating life. Unlike men, women actually need to feel some modicum of attraction and interest for a man to warrant a date without drooling into our meals and falling asleep. We don’t have that capacity to shut our minds off and work off other heads…
Getting away from myself? So babysitter kind of niggled away amongst all the other predators. San Juan airport was a feeding frenzy… Latin men have absolutely no inhibitions, and if I was a mean and evil woman could have had a lovely dinner, loaded shopping trip and a night dancing and gambling all on several tabs. But, thanks to lovely upbringing and conscience, exited very neatly from all entanglements and had a fun night at The Palm with Architect and lost $20 gambling at Blackjack. Dealer kept giving me tips on what to do (hold, hit, split) and kept apologizing whenever I lost with a wink and a smile. He seemed to think Architect was far too old to be a date (which he wasn’t) so completely ignored him much to Architect’s chagrin (sorry Architect). Of all the shenanigans, thankfully Bran was not on island (actually did not ask as felt would just complicate life even more) as that would have just topped the charts and capped this trip off with too much drama. Last encounter with Bran was alternating stressful and laughable that I truly should write a story about it but may end up getting sued so best to not.
Ok, so had a lot ongoing that lingering babysitter flu was doubly frustrating and causing me to hive. Then came fist cryptic email “you and I will be seeing each other”, this was in response to flippant email sent by me asking how revelatory trip with exotic girlfriend was going (it was an honest email!!). Well what the heck did that mean, it didn’t work to read it a few times over as it only consisted of 8 words with no punctuation. I’m thinking, “I’m not seeing you if you have a girlfriend…” so ignored email and all connotations and instead cc:ed him on rambling tales of adventure in tropics. Then got second cryptic message saying he was “free (literally)… call anytime”, ok, ok, ok what does that mean? I mean I know it MEANS he’s FREE? Like here’s your Get Out of Jail card, please proceed to Park Avenue? Free, she’s gone back to school (school?)? Free, they broke up? Free, have decided to have open relationship and engage in threesomes, I dunno, free friggin what??!! I was thinking highly unlikely to have parted ways with exotic creature, as she seemed rather delectable with her youth, fiction and my imagined fabulous look she had. So, ignored responding directly to that email as well and just wondered if was going slowly insane. Do men really need to communicate in 10 words or less? I’ve just written a page and a half and I’m not even halfway there.
Ok, much to my surprise upon actual conversation in Admirals Club, after frantically trying to get off phone with first LaVida and then litany of IMs from JC so could talk to Babysitter (jeebus, he was the only one I wanted to talk to), find he has parted ways with exotic Persian from lands afar. For me? I wish! That would be way too much like (quick, think of romantic movie)… Serendipity. Oh my gosh, this is what this whole interaction is, its Serendipity (go rent the movie now)! Ok, so obviously something went awry in spending minutes, hours, days and nights together. Yes, yes, yes curiosity is killing me, I am female, I don’t deny it. Mind has been racing through the write your own endings… lukewarm copulations? Poor repartee? Laughs not forthcoming? Poor oral hygiene? We know its not because she bled on him (har har har, snort, snort).
Setting up to not have expectations, am now stumped, what does this mean, did not have any damn expectations and am now poorly prepared? How terribly foreign in an unexotic way, maybe that should be me, “foreign in unexotic way”. Digressing… I need a script, have not been in this scenario before and am lacking stage directions and emotions in nice parentheses (i.e. Show laughter, then throw up on stage left and exit). It’s too Hollywood and Hollywood doesn’t exist but on celluloid, I mean there have been 4 splits in Hollywood couples married under a year this month… (serious, certifiable source, People magazine) so let’s not hold high hopes off the golden screen. Then even more curious, is that in its foreignness and inexplicable weirdness of it, it seems right. Nothing overwrought, nothing freaky, nothing neurotic or insecure, just feels pretty calm and mellow, like this is the way it’s supposed to be. Two strangers, a night in San Diego, poignant, friends, not, and now, time to end the prologue and start the first chapter. Something in the air says, girl, it feels all right, go check it out… (cue: JT, I Want to Rock Your Body)
First and foremost must divest of HSBCman, if I was Catholic this would be a near death experience, the guilt is eating me up. I just haven’t found the right time and place, and being away receiving all these “sweet” (ack!) emails is so wrong, wrong, wrong. The sweeter it gets the more I want some Splenda substitute, make him stop, nice man, nice, very nice, just “boring” (I spent hundreds in therapy to have someone tell me that…). Last email I received was an attempt to be seductive which just about made me fall of my chair, buried head in hands and hastily shut computer. Of course then came home hours later to another email stating quite simply “obviously I am the only one who feels this way”. Was tempted to respond with “Ummmm…. Yes?”, but felt was not prudent for future friendly relations. So, am still in quagmire, trying to meet in non-threatening, least embarrassing to male ego forum. Where I can tactfully mumble something about not the right time in life, friends, think you’re great, not ready, it’s all my fault, and by the way I’m taking a stranger on a romantic vacation to the tropics in a week… instead of you.
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