Finding Meaning

It's been some time since I needed to write about any of this. Perhaps this blog will become a relic of my 20s, the golden age of dating and casual affairs. Sometimes I like to hope I am "older" than all that, and then I realize "I was so much older then. I'm younger than that now."

I met the Married Man through my museum work. I assumed he was (still) married the first seven or eight months I knew him. One email (under the influence - surprise!) set me straight; she had left some time ago.

We have had three lovely weekends together. Seeing music, dancing, laughing and laughing, museums, ferris wheels, drinking and drinking. Movies and crying and football and hooting and hollering. And more laughing.

But yesterday... it was as if it was over. Perhaps I was out of line in saying "we just got boring." He must have known I was joking - although perhaps not. Perhaps it was impossible for him to know that the boring was comfortable and I was glad we could just eat dinner at home and watch TV.

And yet, perhaps I wasn't. Entirely. I think I was ready to go home at that moment, just as I think he was ready for me to leave. We had both been drinking, so there was no way for me to leave, really - he doesn't drive under the influence at all, and my car was across town. I finally did just go, took the streetcar back to my car, stopped for ice cream and went home. To bed. At 8pm.


The thing I have realized is I'm not sure how well he actually knows me. Despite the fact that I have actually dated (how do you get to your 40s and married and never date?) I still feel I don't know the rules. Or perhaps I am thinking there are rules. I have not been open with him; or rather, haven't volunteered years of my history, my experiences, my life... but only because I haven't felt the need to. And he hasn't asked.

And I have seen the level of self-destruction, and his lack of self-love and it breaks my heart.. but as I said to him, I can't give you that. He is drinking less, or so he says, and having to find other things to do with his time.

In a funny way this whole relationship, however brief, has been about finding meaning. I have been struggling, both at work and at home, to find meaning in my life. And yet, I think I know for myself better than he ... no. That's not fair.

I have to find peace in this. Let go of analyzation and just let it be. Be whatever is it. Let it be if he doesn't like me. Let it be if yesterday was a blip. Let go of the hope of this - let go of the pressure that puts on everybody.

There are few things more terrifying than meeting someone so close to what you thought you were looking for... and not knowing.

Another Brick in the Wall

Somewhere along the line it stopped being fun.

Three nights ago, I went to my usual techie meetup. My boss was talking about some work stuff, and I wanted to represent. One of our potential clients was in town visiting, and bossman invited him to come hear the talk.

Halfway through the panel discussion, Potential Client starts being disruptive, asking questions, speaking louder than he should. I figured he was just doing the traditional LA douchebaggery -- the grown up class clown who needs attention so he talks too loud and distracts from matters at hand to draw focus to himself - and ruins the experience for everyone else.

So partially as an act of martyrdom, and partially because I wanted to entertain Potential Client, I noticed his glass was empty and asked him to join me at the bar. Outside. So I could "answer his question."

Now: I'd be lying if I said he wasn't attractive. He was hott, straight up. So hot it needed an extra 't.' But again: he's from LA, he's not wearing an undershirt, he's got that misbehaving twinkle in his eye. He must be a douchebag.

So I humor him. For the next two hours and three more drinks.

At that point, we close the bar, call a cab, and head uptown for dinner. After dinner, we catch a cab back to my house, and he gets fresh in the cab, and... well, you know the rest. He's well put together and pretty good in bed - if a little aggressive. Forward was a good word.

It was fun that night, and he clearly liked me, and he was interesting to an extent - recently divorced, running a relatively successful company. That made him cocky, which I just love. And love to undermine. He liked me. He confessed over dinner that half of the reason he had come that evening was because he had seen me in the office and hoped I'd be there.

So he could fuck me. Unfortunately, it was more lascivious than romantic.

We slept for two hours and I was horrifically hungover the next day and my day in the office was a disaster. And work has been incredibly stressful, if only because I'm letting it get to me -- but around 9:30 that morning I thought of what a horrible decision it had been.

Potential Client said, as he was putting his clothes back on in the morning, "Please don't tell Bossman. This is so unprofessional. I have to stop drinking." I found it amusing he was worrying about his own reputation, when I was the one with a clear conflict. I don't know whether I would be fired or congratulated if my work found out. I suppose it all depends on if we land the client.


But what frustrates me the most? It's not that thrilling anymore. I've had these one night affairs enough times now that it's no longer exciting. It's like scratching an itch, more than anything. What I want is for him to actually *like* me. I want him to want to see me again. And while he did say, also as he was leaving, "I'm sure I'll see you again," I'm doubtful. And while he accepted my offer to come visit for Jazz Fest, I'm doubtful.

Have I grown so pessimistic that I assume that all men lie so to get in my pants? Do I now always presume the worst? Or is it easier to believe he's actually still married, instead of just a guy who might have potential if he didn't live in another time zone? Is it better to have been used than to be disappointed?

Work + Booze + Attraction = Disaster

I have about eight posts in draft mode right now, none of them complete enough thoughts for me to publish them. It will make the chronology of this story a little out of order (as in, I have a new job and am single) - but this one just wrapped itself up in a little bow for me to tell you. Ladies and Gentlemen: The Coworker.

So in my new (now only just newish) job, there is this... guy.

Where to start? He is disarmingly charming, jovial and down to earth. He's got a country accent that seems to put everyone at ease, and disguises how smart he is. He is unfailingly polite, and generous to a fault. As in, I think I have been allowed to buy my own lunch and/or drink twice in the 4 months I've known him. And he looks great in a suit, which doesn't hurt.

So the Coworker was not uninvolved in the dissolution of my last relationship. Well, he wasn't involved, but him coming into my life was. The first day I met him, there was a spark: instant chemistry. I wouldn't start working there for almost 2 months, yet I already knew who my office crush would be.

Life in the office was no better. He'd come visit me in my office, draw on my whiteboard; we'd have big conversations about economics and New Orleans and process. He made me nervous. I was screwed.

I was smitten. I hate to say it, but I was. He made me nervous. Think about the last time you knew someone who walked into a room and their instant appearance made you just a little weak and your heart beat faster and you suddenly got worried you might say something really stupid. Seriously, think about it.

Got it?

Now how often does that happen in life? It's rare. I can count on one hand, maybe two the number of times it's happened for me. Gatsby was the last one. And as soon as I realized that, I realized that I had never felt that way about my Boyfriend. And that was a problem.

So, fast forward a few gut wrenching weeks, where I split up with this amazing human being because I don't get nervous when he calls me... The Coworker and I start hanging out. He uses my breakup as an excuse (same day, no less) to buy me drinks. I start introducing him to my friends, my colleagues from my old job. I begin examining my own feelings about workplace dating. And somewhere in there, I realize that this crush is going to be way more fun the longer it lasts. To quote Cinderella from Into the Woods: "Now it's he and not you who is stuck with the shoe in the goo..." Let this man figure the shit out. I'm just gonna have a good time.

Of course, just has I have come to this realization that I am Not Going To Do Anything, my good friend, the Trainwreck, takes matters into her own hands. One night, after one too many vodka tonics, she corners him at a bar and says something that takes about 9 minutes to say and leaves him looking a little peaked and mumbling... "I think she thinks there's something going on between us." I tell you, I love this girl, and if I loved her any less I would have wrung her neck that night for ruining a perfectly good thing.

After that it devolved, let's say. He casually confronted me in mixed company; I laughed it off. He started dating girls he met through me. He made out with a couple of them in public. My perfectly good thing was no longer fun. So he and I had a conversation about it, wherein he was incredibly flattered, said "that part of him is off at work", and made me promise we'd still be friends.


An aside, at this point. My dearest friend gives me a hard time for the whole "just friends" statement. And he's right. Because the fact of the matter is, friends are pretty awesome, and most of them stick around a whole lot longer than any dude you're sleeping with, and they're generally nicer and less angsty than the guys you date. But the challenge with "Friends" is that there is often that underlying tension - and let's be real, when someone makes you stutter a little, it's gonna be hard to be friends with them. Without becoming Duckie.


I realize you're all beginning to wonder where the Booze and the Disaster part come in (because that's where every story gets fun)... so here we go.

Fast forward a number of parties and drinks and dinners and whatnot, and him asking me for girl advice (see Duckie reference above), we were out a few days ago with another mutual friend. And somewhere, in one of our minds, it sounded like a good idea to have 4-5 beers, and 3 shots of jaeger & patron over the span of 3 hours. We started at 5pm, and I was supposed to be at another party by 8 - but all I could think of at that point was going home and crawling into bed. Which is, turns out, exactly what Coworker wanted. I always think he's less drunk than I am, and I was clearly not driving anywhere - so it seemed perfectly reasonable for me to crash at his place (which, oddly, I have done before.) Everything seems just fine til now, right?

La la la, we're driving in the car, he's very drunk, I can tell, but is being reasonably cautious. And then we're almost to his house and all of a sudden there's a hand at the nape of my neck and he's pulling my hair. (Not in a 2nd grade tantrum kind of way, but in a ... well, you know what kind of way). I respond appropriately, and am sort of baffled when we get in the house and things continue... kissing, general manhandling, fingers in mouths. I unbutton his shirt, and he squares and says "I have to go to bed. You are welcome to come, but I have to go to bed," and stumbles that direction.

In that moment, I knew how bad an idea it was, and I did one of the smartest things I have ever done: I did not follow him. Considering I had spent the past four months on a spectrum between "don't let him know you like him even though your heart comes into your throat everytime he walks in a room" to "I don't really like him all that much, and I can totally talk to him about the girl he's dating without getting jealous... mostly" -- I think this demonstrates an extraordinary amount of willpower, on my end. Mostly, it was just a lot of self respect: after four months of wanting nothing but this, I was not going to let it happen while we were both this drunk and unable to remember it and/or possibly actually DO it.

So I curled up on the sofa, after searching in vain for a blanket. And then I threw up. (In the bathroom.)

Back to the sofa, I was so cold I couldn't sleep... so I braved it, and took refuge in the bedroom. Again, he started - assuming that my presence constituted consent, and when his hand went down my skirt I simply said: "Please don't."

He stopped. We curled up, went to bed. He slept. I don't think I did, mostly, for a long time, so completely confused and befuddled about what had just happened and what it meant and all the stupid shit that girls think about instead of sleeping in the middle of the night.

The next morning, we woke at 7, and the lights were so bright I couldn't handle it, so I went back to bed. He mocked me for being a lightweight at 9 when I got up for good, we watched 2 hours of Law & Order and pretended like nothing happened. Then he took me back to my car.

Then began the endless analysis that only a woman can provide -- is he an idiot? Is he so confused that he doesn't know which of these women he actually wants? Is he conflicted about our working situation? Does he secretly have a crush on me he can't let out until he's drunk? And then it got nasty: Maybe he was just really drunk and I was there. Does he disrespect me so much that he would use me that way? That he would use me being drunk? Worse still, that he would use me having feelings for him?

It goes on from there, but I'll spare you the details -- you get the drift.

So finally, after a full day of the "spin cycle", I realized there was only one thing to do: Call him. If only to figure out if my friend was actually a douche bag.

After a slightly awkward intro, I told him I was trying to figure out what happened the other night. He said "Nothing happened."

"Well, yes, I know 'nothing' happened, but ... wait. Do you remember what happened?"

"Uh. No."

Not a minute of it. Not a hair pulled. Not a finger sucked. Not a hand up my shirt or a cuddle goodnight. He has no recollection of anything that happened.

He apologized. Just enough to make it sound genuine, and not so much that it sounded like it would be something he'd horribly regret. He felt lousy, he said. Yes, well, I have been pretty fucked the past few days so... have fun with that. We both agreed we should drink less.


So there it is. For whatever reason, it makes me feel better to know he doesn't remember. It makes me feels great that I stopped him. And it makes me feel horrible to think what it would be like if I hadn't.

Romance

It has been 6 weeks. Exactly six weeks. Since the Boyfriend came over, and we talked about It. About all the reasons I left, and why there wasn't any way for me to rectify the things that were wrong between us. And then we had a day of breakup sex and naps, during which he made it very clear that one of the things I thought was unrectifiable... perhaps was. I have seen him once. Just once, and he waved hello.

And I guess I'm only 2 weeks from seeing him again.

I don't think I'll be ready. I'm pretty sure he won't be ready.


So. In the last six weeks, I have had a crazy affair in my head with a coworker, and one wild night with a 25 yearold from Huntsville.

Today, I watched the Saints game with my close friends; one couple who has a 4 week old, one who's 7 months pregnant, and then me and the Other Single One. It's nice that I don't feel like The Single One with these friends.

I came home, and started cleaning house. And all the things rumbled around in my head. Missing the Boyfriend, but knowing we are not meant to be together; at least, not as he is now. Mourning the lost romance with The Coworker. It's silly, really, that we can't date because we work together. And yet, maybe it's not. I'll never really know, I suspect. And then The ... he doesn't really even get a nickname, because I suspect he'll never reappear. A friend of a friend, just in town for the weekend. I can't help but wonder about him; what his story is, and why we didn't have morning sex.


I am in love with Romance.

I am in love with ideas of what could happen. I am in love with ideas of being swept off my feet.

I am watching Sex in the City. God help me, and every single man ever.

Disbelief

So yesterday I went to see a psychic. I know, it's silly. But there was a "Summer Psychic Show" at the House of Broel here -- and that alone promised to be entertaining between the crazy people who wanted to see the psychics, and the psychics themselves, and the poor unsuspecting ladies who were just trying to look at wedding dresses.

I went with my favorite toddler and her mother, expecting it would simply be amusing. Although perhaps we both were thinking about having a reading done in the back of our minds...

After fighting through everything you have to fight to get a 3.5 yearold anywhere, we finally escaped the summer heat, and paid our $10 for a crescent moon stamp with stars (seriously?) and took stock of the room. The front room was full of the cheapest crystals and fake jewelry you can imagine. An emaciated tarot reader who had no clients was getting his chakras cleaned by a woman who was swirling what looked like two ball point pens around in circles through his aura. She carried a baby and looked none too amused, but the tarot reader seemed to believe there was some relief.

There was an "energy doctor" who had the kind of arrogance one has when you have been doubted your whole life but you are certain that what you are telling people is true. Like that if he puts his hands on you he can correct your spiritual flow it would give you more energy than you knew what to do with. For only $15 for the first 10 minutes. There was a very energetic young psychic with a pink tulle dress and feathers in her hair and too much makeup who seemed to have a ton of people waiting for her to give them a reading.

My friend and I settled on the woman with the shortest line.

I would imagine that being in this "alternative energy" line of work gives you a lot of confidence. Or that you must have an extraordinary amount of faith in your "powers" to continue to do it. Or perhaps you're just crazy enough that all the doubting Thomases don't make you quit and just get a real job making lattes.

So I sat down at this table with a purple tablecloth and then a glittered runner, sitting across from My Psychic. She had lots of makeup. She was married, I noticed. I wondered if she could tell what would happen in the future of her marriage. I wondered if her husband had a "normal" job. Like construction.

She asked my name, and then whether I wanted a specific reading or just something general. I surpressed a chuckle and looked at my friend, and just said "I don't really have any questions... just a general reading." And then she started writing on a sheet of paper. Furiously. In turquoise ink. She would stop occasionally to ask me questions: "is this your first reading?" "do you have a car?" "Are you in a relationship?" She made her way down the sheet of paper and then moved to a second column, writing herself notes with arrows from one idea to the next. I watched her right upside down things like "Water" "blue" "wiper blades" "relationship" "comfortable" and "water" again. And then she wrote down "do something you have never done before," and she stopped to tell me she never wrote in sentences, so we would have to pay special attention to that later.

And then she began my "reading." She said I was starting something new, and then I was anxious about it but it was a great opportunity. She asked if I was planning to get a haircut (I had one last weekend). She said I should do yoga (which I do); that I found a lot of spiritual connection there (which I do). She asked me if I drank a lot of water... and that was when I started to get a little freaked. I did, I told her, and I never feel like I'm drinking enough. She nodded, like she wasn't surprised.

She saw I was in a relationship, and that we had just had a fight, but that things were better. She asked about whether we lived together -- she saw something funny there. I told her we had considered it, but decided against it. She said that was good, that I should keep my own space. She said I could get close to him, but that I needed to keep some space to myself. She hesitated... she didn't want to tell me, but did: "I don't think he's the one for you."

We went on... I should be careful with my car, not to let it run out of gas. (I usually push it way past empty). That I should get my oil changed regularly (I often wait 6 months or more), and be careful with my tires (one keeps going slowly flat). And something about my wiper blades... they are sticking (I have no idea). I told her about my thematic dreams about cars and driving, and how metaphorical they are for me. For 10 years I have been dreaming about cars -- whether because I'm on a long (life) journey, or I'm driving (and in control) or someone else is (and thus I'm out of control)... the last few years I have had dreams about not being able to break, which I suspect has to do with me feeling like my life is going to fast and that I can't control it to keep it safe. She nodded. This all sounded familiar.

Then she mentioned how calming water was to me. Whether it was a fountain or a lake, that I find serenity there. And I have always felt strongly about living close to water -- it's one of the things I love about New Orleans. And we came to the sentence; and she reiterated how important it was for me to do something I hadn't done before... maybe something I had been planning to do or wanting to do for a long time. That now was the time.

Oh, and then she said I was overdue for an eye exam.

I went back and asked her more about the Boy. And she said I was 85% in, but that deep down, somewhere, I knew I was settling. And that if I believed there was someone else out there... just a little... that there was someone out there with whom I could be 250% in. Then we talked about medical stuff and she suggested I take some Aleve.


So here's the rub. I can't figure out how I feel about all this "psychic" stuff. After I was done and thoroughly freaked out, she read my friend while I watched the terrible-wonderful 3 yearold. Among other things, she told my friend that her child was an evil genius, and that she would shock people for ages about how bright she was, and that people would want to medicate her to made her "like other kids," and no matter what she could not let that happen. So then we were both freaked out, because "evil genius" pretty my describes this kid to a T.

I think in the end, all a good psychic does ("If they're not bogus," as my friend the Trainwreck says) is sense all the things you know for yourself but don't repeat. They see the Jimminy Cricket on your shoulder and tell you what you already know.

And that's a pretty powerful skill. Perhaps the only sixth sense that I would want around.