I've been blessed with many things throughout my life, one of them is the gift of vivid and sometimes prophetic dreams. These dreams are usually saturated with symbols that even the keenest psychology student (and best friend) cannot decipher. This gift manifested itself in my sleep Sunday morning when a dream of someone not being able to breathe awoke me to the sound of my brother suffering a nearly fatal asthma attack. Luckily, we were able to bring him to the emergency room to receive treatment.
So hours later, exhausted, but prettied up for the bridal shower I was about to attend, a certain ex of mine, who can be identified easily by his half-witted professions of love, messaged me. I relied my terror of a morning to him and the oddity of the dream. As soon as I had sent the message that my brother was hospitalized, he logged off.
Several days and phone calls from concerned friends later, I've heard not a single word from him. I'm not sure I can count the number of times I've sat through his desperate, pleading phone calls. Heard his self-depleted expressions of the hopelessness of life, those who've wronged him, the nonexistence of happiness, his exasperation at being 'lost,' the inconceivable idea that life has value. For all those patient and reassuring times I have in exchange, his silence.
What he did offer me with it was a valuable gift. The realization that I had seen all this before, that this is a variation of a theme: no matter what happens, he is the only thing he cares about. And as if this subtle memory isn't proof enough, he did offer me something more concrete.
Tonight he messaged me. The first thing I write is: "My brother is out of the hospital. He's doing much better. Not that you care. Have a nice night." His response, "I care. I really do. I've just had a really long day. Good night." Now it is my turn to be silent. I hope my silence conveys what I was thinking, "No, not good night, goodbye." From now on, when I count my blessings I'll count his absence in my life twice.
Wednesday
Tuesday
The set-up date
For those of you who remember Brett, it's any wonder that I agreed to let my co-worker (and good friend) set me up on blind date. It may have been a combination of timing and desperation that led me to an uptown bar on Sunday night, but from the moment I arrived I found myself swept away.
I do have to admit I was a bit of a chicken-little and persuaded my friend, the setter-upper, and her boyfriend to attend, because no one wants to find themselves smack in the middle of another blind date where her date is telling her that her naivety is what is informing her worldview (not volumes of books, articles and a stellar education, but I digress).
As for digressions, well, the conversation flowed like a river after winter's first thaw. We talked about everything: food, family, food, friends, work, food (we talked a lot about food). And we laughed, it's not often that someone catches my wit wholeheartedly. Okay, but maybe I should backtrack to what happened when I first showed up, announced, at the table. My 'date' stands, hugs me warmly and kisses me on the cheek (one cheek). The first thing I notice is that he's tall: 6'3" to be exact. He's the boy next door. He has a great smile and a dry, raspy but soothing voice I could (and did) listen to for hours.
I have a lot on my mind, so the fact that I could be engaged for so long, by so many of my date's stories, was well, shocking. And at the same time, I really did feel like he was trying to get to know me too - his poignant questions, contemplated digressions, always drew me into what he was saying. I think what I'm getting at was that there was an ease here and as rare as it is, it was complemented by an energetic chemistry.
Although I had been drinking all day (I was at a bridal shower earlier), I don't think it was the alcohol that made me come away from this 'date' knowing I liked him. His demeanor, his presence, his smile made me lose the weight I'd been carrying. I don't know how to explain this any other way except that it feels good to be around him.
On the way home, my friend calls to tell me he's 'smitten' and it's no surprise when he calls tonight, flattering me with flattery, charming me with charm, humouring me with humour. So when he tells me he'd love to take me out to dinner, just us, how could I help but say yes, because even though my feet aren't on the ground, a smile is pursed on my lips.
I do have to admit I was a bit of a chicken-little and persuaded my friend, the setter-upper, and her boyfriend to attend, because no one wants to find themselves smack in the middle of another blind date where her date is telling her that her naivety is what is informing her worldview (not volumes of books, articles and a stellar education, but I digress).
As for digressions, well, the conversation flowed like a river after winter's first thaw. We talked about everything: food, family, food, friends, work, food (we talked a lot about food). And we laughed, it's not often that someone catches my wit wholeheartedly. Okay, but maybe I should backtrack to what happened when I first showed up, announced, at the table. My 'date' stands, hugs me warmly and kisses me on the cheek (one cheek). The first thing I notice is that he's tall: 6'3" to be exact. He's the boy next door. He has a great smile and a dry, raspy but soothing voice I could (and did) listen to for hours.
I have a lot on my mind, so the fact that I could be engaged for so long, by so many of my date's stories, was well, shocking. And at the same time, I really did feel like he was trying to get to know me too - his poignant questions, contemplated digressions, always drew me into what he was saying. I think what I'm getting at was that there was an ease here and as rare as it is, it was complemented by an energetic chemistry.
Although I had been drinking all day (I was at a bridal shower earlier), I don't think it was the alcohol that made me come away from this 'date' knowing I liked him. His demeanor, his presence, his smile made me lose the weight I'd been carrying. I don't know how to explain this any other way except that it feels good to be around him.
On the way home, my friend calls to tell me he's 'smitten' and it's no surprise when he calls tonight, flattering me with flattery, charming me with charm, humouring me with humour. So when he tells me he'd love to take me out to dinner, just us, how could I help but say yes, because even though my feet aren't on the ground, a smile is pursed on my lips.
Monday
First date 1.0
I should preface this account by saying that we did go on some dates several years ago, when we were both in very different places in our lives, and to sum up, I broke it off suddenly, as teenagers often do. If I could sum up the sentiment of this date by comparing it to food, I would compare it to the Italian cookie I just ate. Soft, sweet and nice with traces of flavours from the past.
I know some of you want every itty bitty detail but I'm going to spare you the ones that don't really convey the general tone of the date itself: "soft, sweet, nice, traces of the past" such as what did I wear, what did he wear, what car does he drive (but for the record, it's a BMW) and instead I'll stick to the important stuff, but first I'll give you a brief bio of the bachelor himself:
He is 29 going-on 30 year-old guy who works for a major bank's IT department. He likes his job but is an opportunist who hopes to keep climbing the corporate ladder. His voice is mellow, his behaviour gentlemanly, his conversation inquisitive, his disposition accommodating. His parents are from Cyprus, and he inherits his dark European looks from them. He has dark brown hair (sans receding hairline), brown eyes and fits the description of tall, dark and handsome (akin to Freddy Prince Jr., almost).
My date was lovely and pretty nice. The location was a nearby bar where we had some drinks, and nachos and conversation. Despite the small list of things we had in common that I constructed as a con list to agreeing to this date, our conversation was held with ease and he seemed very genuinely engaged by my interests almost barraging me with questions. Particularly when my lust for reading was brought up. An example of the line of questioning:
At first it was a bit overwhelming, as if this dark bar had turned into a questioning room in a police headquarters. But I want to cut my bachelor some slack, for a guy who loves cars and sports to ask so many questions about books surely shows his interest in me, right?
He also seemed willing to accommodate my every whim, and those who know me, know I have many. When hockey and skating came up, he offered to teach me (including catch me, an offer I might take him up on). I mentioned my wintered, dirty car, he offered to clean it (for the record that is an offer I won't be taking him up on). It surprised me at first, that a guy would be willing to do things for me, especially after I tumultuously broke his heart five years ago, but it put me at ease knowing the past had been if not forgotten, forgiven.
If there was ever a door to be opened throughout this evening, my bachelor, was the one to open it (including doors of the car variety) - I have to say normally, this old fashion sentimentalism doesn't impress a feminist like me, but I have to admit I was swept away by this old fashion charm, maybe because it reminded me of my own culture so much. He was a true gentleman, including when it came to paying the tab but I did coerce him into allowing me to pay "next time," which meant he "had to spend more time with me." A comment which he laughed at as if to say at the same time "of course we'll go out, but I'll let you pay over my dead body."
At 2 AM, I found myself being walked to my door by this simply nice, sweet gentleman. And once the formalities of a hug and a kind word or two exchanged had passed, he kissed me. I'd like to say that the planets and stars realigned with this kiss, but of course, you'd know I was lying. Instead, I'll truthfully say that the kiss was soft, sweet and nice with traces of the past.
I know some of you want every itty bitty detail but I'm going to spare you the ones that don't really convey the general tone of the date itself: "soft, sweet, nice, traces of the past" such as what did I wear, what did he wear, what car does he drive (but for the record, it's a BMW) and instead I'll stick to the important stuff, but first I'll give you a brief bio of the bachelor himself:
He is 29 going-on 30 year-old guy who works for a major bank's IT department. He likes his job but is an opportunist who hopes to keep climbing the corporate ladder. His voice is mellow, his behaviour gentlemanly, his conversation inquisitive, his disposition accommodating. His parents are from Cyprus, and he inherits his dark European looks from them. He has dark brown hair (sans receding hairline), brown eyes and fits the description of tall, dark and handsome (akin to Freddy Prince Jr., almost).
My date was lovely and pretty nice. The location was a nearby bar where we had some drinks, and nachos and conversation. Despite the small list of things we had in common that I constructed as a con list to agreeing to this date, our conversation was held with ease and he seemed very genuinely engaged by my interests almost barraging me with questions. Particularly when my lust for reading was brought up. An example of the line of questioning:
"How do you choose a book?"
"Do you read a bit of it before you buy it?"
"How will you know if you like it?"
"What book are you reading now?"
"What is it about?"
"Do you like non-fiction or fiction?"
At first it was a bit overwhelming, as if this dark bar had turned into a questioning room in a police headquarters. But I want to cut my bachelor some slack, for a guy who loves cars and sports to ask so many questions about books surely shows his interest in me, right?
He also seemed willing to accommodate my every whim, and those who know me, know I have many. When hockey and skating came up, he offered to teach me (including catch me, an offer I might take him up on). I mentioned my wintered, dirty car, he offered to clean it (for the record that is an offer I won't be taking him up on). It surprised me at first, that a guy would be willing to do things for me, especially after I tumultuously broke his heart five years ago, but it put me at ease knowing the past had been if not forgotten, forgiven.
If there was ever a door to be opened throughout this evening, my bachelor, was the one to open it (including doors of the car variety) - I have to say normally, this old fashion sentimentalism doesn't impress a feminist like me, but I have to admit I was swept away by this old fashion charm, maybe because it reminded me of my own culture so much. He was a true gentleman, including when it came to paying the tab but I did coerce him into allowing me to pay "next time," which meant he "had to spend more time with me." A comment which he laughed at as if to say at the same time "of course we'll go out, but I'll let you pay over my dead body."
At 2 AM, I found myself being walked to my door by this simply nice, sweet gentleman. And once the formalities of a hug and a kind word or two exchanged had passed, he kissed me. I'd like to say that the planets and stars realigned with this kiss, but of course, you'd know I was lying. Instead, I'll truthfully say that the kiss was soft, sweet and nice with traces of the past.
Sunday
Why I'm out catching pop-flys in left field
The thing I hate most is when people misuse words, particularly words with weight. Those phrases and words that hit you in the bottom of your stomach like your little brother just punched you "as hard as he can" or the words that travel like a fluttering butterfly from your stomach to your mouth, making you giddy. I hate it when people misuse these words because I love those far too rare feelings.
So when a pathetic whiny boy tells me he loves me and then does nothing, says nothing to follow it up, I realize I have a case of misused words on my hands. Instead of grieving and feeling pathetically low about the fact that I have given my heart to someone incapable of understanding what being in love means - I file it away under "past pain" and decide to play the field. Why should I feel badly about our relationship a second time?
Despite words like "I kinda miss you some" when added together do not denote the quantity of cute intended by their user but instead come to mean I miss you a tiny pinch, almost none at all, I push forward, with a new plan for my romantic future in hand. No more tedious phone calls about ex-girlfriends, no more late night rendez-vous, no more pathetic whining and most importantly no more degrading myself by chasing after a boy who doesn't really want me. That was so something I'd do when I was seventeen. Now I'm older and wiser and know that I only want to be with guys who realize they want me and treat me as such.
Thus, I'm playing the field with a double header first date lined up for Saturday and Sunday. I'll let you know how they go. I'm quite excited to finally let go of all the baggage that came with high-school ex and possibly catch something worthwhile. I'm positively giddy.
So when a pathetic whiny boy tells me he loves me and then does nothing, says nothing to follow it up, I realize I have a case of misused words on my hands. Instead of grieving and feeling pathetically low about the fact that I have given my heart to someone incapable of understanding what being in love means - I file it away under "past pain" and decide to play the field. Why should I feel badly about our relationship a second time?
Despite words like "I kinda miss you some" when added together do not denote the quantity of cute intended by their user but instead come to mean I miss you a tiny pinch, almost none at all, I push forward, with a new plan for my romantic future in hand. No more tedious phone calls about ex-girlfriends, no more late night rendez-vous, no more pathetic whining and most importantly no more degrading myself by chasing after a boy who doesn't really want me. That was so something I'd do when I was seventeen. Now I'm older and wiser and know that I only want to be with guys who realize they want me and treat me as such.
Thus, I'm playing the field with a double header first date lined up for Saturday and Sunday. I'll let you know how they go. I'm quite excited to finally let go of all the baggage that came with high-school ex and possibly catch something worthwhile. I'm positively giddy.
Monday
The insignificant significant other
A week has passed since any conversations of significance have been had. So when one very significant conversation creeped up on me last Thursday, I was taken-aback. The relative consumption of alcohol following said conversation shouldn't come as a surprise either once you have a firm grasp on the content. I'm not sure I do, but here goes:
Being demoted from lover to best friend (especially without warning) comes privy to some very interesting details. Unfortunately for me, these details became quite painful to patiently and encouragingly listen to. In fact, I don't even think they've fully sunken in, I'm still feeling somewhat numb and nonchalant.
How is one supposed to feel after learning that their lover of two months just broke up with his girlfriend barely two months ago? For me the timing seems eerily inconvenient, for him the timing seems too convenient. Of course, who but myself do I have to blame for becoming entangled yet again in another other woman scenario.
It is as if I cannot help but be the other woman, the woman who if the timing were better, or my heart weren't just broken, or if I hadn't just given my heart to someone else, would be perfect. But for now, I'm just fine. Settle-worthy. Not quite, but almost. Transitory.
I am constantly becoming the insignificant significant other. And I don't like it.
I'm not a consolation. And knowing this, and the deep levels of deception conveniently tucked away in my exes pocket, I find that I'm beyond tears. Surely I'm disappointed, but my head swims at my unfortunate choices.
What I am left with is the words of Jeff Buckley, "I think much more than I oughta think, I do things I never should do" and a bottle of empty Lilac wine.
Being demoted from lover to best friend (especially without warning) comes privy to some very interesting details. Unfortunately for me, these details became quite painful to patiently and encouragingly listen to. In fact, I don't even think they've fully sunken in, I'm still feeling somewhat numb and nonchalant.
How is one supposed to feel after learning that their lover of two months just broke up with his girlfriend barely two months ago? For me the timing seems eerily inconvenient, for him the timing seems too convenient. Of course, who but myself do I have to blame for becoming entangled yet again in another other woman scenario.
It is as if I cannot help but be the other woman, the woman who if the timing were better, or my heart weren't just broken, or if I hadn't just given my heart to someone else, would be perfect. But for now, I'm just fine. Settle-worthy. Not quite, but almost. Transitory.
I am constantly becoming the insignificant significant other. And I don't like it.
I'm not a consolation. And knowing this, and the deep levels of deception conveniently tucked away in my exes pocket, I find that I'm beyond tears. Surely I'm disappointed, but my head swims at my unfortunate choices.
What I am left with is the words of Jeff Buckley, "I think much more than I oughta think, I do things I never should do" and a bottle of empty Lilac wine.
Exposed to the elements
Is it possible to recognize a place I've never been? There was a time I thought so. The familiar settled feeling I got as I traveled through the Italian countryside. However, this time the feeling doesn't come accompanied with the luxury of simply delicious cuisine and the answers to the questions of my ancestry revealed. This time the familiarity is accompanied by something unsettling. The awkward place somewhere between lovers and friends.
How did I arrive at this unlikely place? I guess here I can learn a lesson from nature. Two weeks ago the ground had thawed and I thought it was the beginning of spring. Now I look out my window and see white flurries dancing in the wind. The arrival of love, much like the changing of seasons, seems never fully certain.
What do I do when someone plays with my heart, taunting me with words, teasing me with touch, holding me in their gaze? Inevitably, I lose myself, as anyone given the chance to make things right with their high school sweetheart would. As everything unfolds I realize my grievances now are the same as they were then: a) I feel judged/misunderstood; b) we weren't faithful either in heart or body; c) he's too selfish to concern himself with me; d) we are not a part of each others lives.
And yet, the boy I used to call mon petite prince has enchanted me. With just one fateful meeting, one message, one kiss I've lost my footing. I've been stumbling here for a while. Swaying between holding on and letting go. I felt like I've been letting the past trap my future decisions, weighing what was more heavily against what is. And now I'm weary. So much back and forth, too many ups and downs, I'm exhausted. With the words: "You are a distraction. Distractions are only good for a certain amount of time" the spell was broken.
Luckily, "Dear John"s are somewhat of a specialty of mine. This one went like this:
What of a response? The equivalent of guilty evasive. His words were empty, his disposition despondent. I decide to slowly let myself slip away, and disappear as I had done seven years ago. But first, the orchestrated goodbye. That's how I found myself at his show last Thursday, and that's how I found myself greeted by the words, "I love you so much."
The first time he said those words, we were watching Ally McBeal and they were debating whether “sometimes love just isn’t enough.” Seven years ago he turned to me and etched those words on my heart. I’m afraid, this time; his words won’t be enough.
How did I arrive at this unlikely place? I guess here I can learn a lesson from nature. Two weeks ago the ground had thawed and I thought it was the beginning of spring. Now I look out my window and see white flurries dancing in the wind. The arrival of love, much like the changing of seasons, seems never fully certain.
What do I do when someone plays with my heart, taunting me with words, teasing me with touch, holding me in their gaze? Inevitably, I lose myself, as anyone given the chance to make things right with their high school sweetheart would. As everything unfolds I realize my grievances now are the same as they were then: a) I feel judged/misunderstood; b) we weren't faithful either in heart or body; c) he's too selfish to concern himself with me; d) we are not a part of each others lives.
And yet, the boy I used to call mon petite prince has enchanted me. With just one fateful meeting, one message, one kiss I've lost my footing. I've been stumbling here for a while. Swaying between holding on and letting go. I felt like I've been letting the past trap my future decisions, weighing what was more heavily against what is. And now I'm weary. So much back and forth, too many ups and downs, I'm exhausted. With the words: "You are a distraction. Distractions are only good for a certain amount of time" the spell was broken.
Luckily, "Dear John"s are somewhat of a specialty of mine. This one went like this:
"And so here I am, in the same place I was seven years ago. But today I've
realized I haven't changed that much. After being told, "you're a distraction...
distractions are only good for so long," the painful feeling of being right has
washed over me. Surprisingly, it doesn't sting; what I am left with is a numbing
headache.
Was there a better way to say that you don't want to be with
me? Surely others have had more tact. I feel like I'm in a place where honesty
doesn't exist, but instead of succumbing to the silence I will just say these
words:
You strung me along and I thought that you wanted to be with me.
Then suddenly, you changed direction. Your words, your behaviour, your absence
were cold and unsettling. Your silence mounted my insecurity. You don't have to
tell me you don't want me, you've shown me.
Can I be your friend? I'm
not sure my friends treat me this way. I'm not sure we have ever been good at
being friends because despite how much you've hurt me I'll always want you to be
that person. The person you don't want to be.
This time I'm not running away, I'm being pushed."
What of a response? The equivalent of guilty evasive. His words were empty, his disposition despondent. I decide to slowly let myself slip away, and disappear as I had done seven years ago. But first, the orchestrated goodbye. That's how I found myself at his show last Thursday, and that's how I found myself greeted by the words, "I love you so much."
The first time he said those words, we were watching Ally McBeal and they were debating whether “sometimes love just isn’t enough.” Seven years ago he turned to me and etched those words on my heart. I’m afraid, this time; his words won’t be enough.
Saturday
Why blog, why?
Last night I found myself the third wheel at another downtown locale. Actually, this time I dragged my best friend and her boyfriend out, to see my ex-boyfriend's show. Earlier, our non-relationship was described by her as "rocky" as she made alternative back-up plans with another friend, a description that recent developments made me full heartedly agree.
As we joked back and forth about the various trials and tribulations I've experienced in my own search for love, my best friend suggests that I have a lot of great material for a book. Being so non-committal I thought a blog would be the right way to go, so here we are! Her boyfriend, George, agrees but thought my readers may have a problem believing my tales of woe.
Well, reader, I promise all my stories are true and sadly did happen to me. Some will be recent events from the trenches, some will be memories from days gone by, excerpts from letters and sometimes the rare adage of a journal entry.
I think cataloguing the catastrophes in my own dating life will help me sort through where I've been and hopefully give some laughs (and maybe some insights) to those relationships that have been utter disasters. Despite them though, I will keep searching, through all the crazies, the detached, unavailable, mindless men to find that person who fits me.
As a girl who had her very own three story dollhouse with electricity, a girl who loved reading fairy tales before she went to bed each night, I can't help but believe in the myth of love. Besides, I see it everywhere. I know it's just matter of time before I find that person. But in the meantime, we might as well have a couple of laughs at the ones who didn't make the cut.
As we joked back and forth about the various trials and tribulations I've experienced in my own search for love, my best friend suggests that I have a lot of great material for a book. Being so non-committal I thought a blog would be the right way to go, so here we are! Her boyfriend, George, agrees but thought my readers may have a problem believing my tales of woe.
Well, reader, I promise all my stories are true and sadly did happen to me. Some will be recent events from the trenches, some will be memories from days gone by, excerpts from letters and sometimes the rare adage of a journal entry.
I think cataloguing the catastrophes in my own dating life will help me sort through where I've been and hopefully give some laughs (and maybe some insights) to those relationships that have been utter disasters. Despite them though, I will keep searching, through all the crazies, the detached, unavailable, mindless men to find that person who fits me.
As a girl who had her very own three story dollhouse with electricity, a girl who loved reading fairy tales before she went to bed each night, I can't help but believe in the myth of love. Besides, I see it everywhere. I know it's just matter of time before I find that person. But in the meantime, we might as well have a couple of laughs at the ones who didn't make the cut.
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