The Baby Sitter, part 2

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.