No stone left unturned

I ran into a guy last night, a man I had one very uneventful sushi date with three years ago. He was The Other Guy I dated when I first started seeing The Doctor. He didn't stand a chance.

Three years later would it be any different? You would think I would just leave these stones unturned, not pursue something I didn't think was worth my time three years ago.

But things change, I have changed, circumstances are different. Maybe I'll have a drink with this guy. Maybe I won't.

He smokes cigarettes and instead of instant repulsion all I could think was that he smelled like The Latest Virgin Bartender, and I wanted to kiss him for it.

I have not spoken to The Virgin Bartender in a week now, since he slept in my bed next to me but not with me, since I sent him a message saying I wanted to kiss him despite the circumstamces, since he said to stop being dramatic.

Fatalistic might be a better word.

Fishbowl

I dreamed I left my phone charging underwater while The Ex and I kissed somewhere between here and Chicago.

I refuse

I refuse to initiate contact with The Latest Bartender.

Someone like that cannot be the Newest Love of My Life.

Keep your head on straight, Heartless.

I refuse.

Wedding bells

I was in a wedding.

A lovely wedding that I wasn't sure I should be allowed to attend, let alone be part of.

Do I believe in marriage?

I'm not so sure.

Not to hate on you married folk. I have to say that before swords are drawn. But I am who I am, you are who you are, and the truth is, I just don't get it.

But it doesn't mean I'm not happy for you.

You guys are great.

I'm just not one of you.

I was in a wedding and vaguely concerned an engaged groomsman was hitting on me, vaguely concerned about a bridesmaid whose on and off again boyfriend is also the man I kissed for a little while at the beginning of this blog. He refused to look at me. Refused to acknowledge me.

I'm in the wedding! The jig is up!

The things I feed off of aren't real for other people.

You don't know me

All the small things that made you my best friend, that is why I hate you now.

That is why we cannot talk.

Because all I think, all I know, is all the tiny nuances of him, all the things that make him tick, all the ways I loved him. It's easy to talk to him. It's easy because he knows me better than anyone. Or he did.

Not really any more.

It's only been five months. And actually, not even really that long. How much distance can I have gotten? I'm happy but I'm sad. Shouldn't it all mean more? Shouldn't it be a little harder to extricate myself?

I still love him.

Don't get me wrong.

But he doesn't know me anymore.

Conquistador

After I saw him on the street he sent me a message. Something vague.

I said back, I like you, and I'm not gonna be some conquest on your path to self realization.

That shut him up.

A lesson in love

So far, what have we learned? I have grown emotionally attached to an emotionally unavailable man who appears to have a decent-sized drinking problem.

I keep thinking I don't have a type but it seems I certainly do, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: it's called alcoholic.

I can't tell you how I am drawn to them with an uncontrollable force, maybe I just want someone more broken than me, maybe I want to feel like, out of the two of us, I'm the one in control.

I don't know why I have picked The Latest Bartender over The Dane, I don't know why I fear being hurt by The Bartender, knowing that it's possible, he could break me simply by not returning my smile.

How does it feel so natural to want to fall into love with this man? Why can't I be reasonable just this once?

Who am I kidding

He re-arranged my books stacked on my desk by color.

He showed up in the wee hours of morning.

I invited him, I did, I invited him after having another lackluster evening with The Dane, and only when he got here did I think I was a fool.

Who am I kidding? What am I doing?

He is still sleeping in my bed.

We still haven't consummated this thing. This not-a-thing.

I can't sleep with him now, now that I have decided I am falling for him after he said he didn't want to be in a serious relationship after I invited him over in the middle of the night just so I could breathe him in.

The path less traveled

I went to work and went to a volunteer meeting today, because this is me, getting my life in order. I am no longer a total basket case, I am a contributing member of society who gets shit done.

I left my meeting and got sidetracked at a boutique, quickly left the boutique. I should not spend my time in boutiques.

I walked towards my car, cursing the chilly rain that fell, wondering why I take so long to warm up to new people, I'm not shy, thinking I needed to stay on the left side of the street because The Latest Bartender's bar is on the right side and I assume he's working but maybe he's not what if he thinks I'm a stalker?
when I saw him.

He was feeding a meter and I kept walking towards him with my pink umbrella and purple boots, wearing the shirt I wore the first time we kissed (don't I have any other shirts?!). He didn't see me, was completely focused on the task at hand, I watched him and walked towards him and thought, Of course. There's no escaping anyone in this small town, especially someone you've convinced yourself you're in love with.

He didn't notice me until the last possible second, until I was only a few feet away, and he smiled and hugged me and I couldn't speak. Suddenly regretted that last double shot of espresso.

Have I mentioned that before? My utter addiction to caffeine?

I stuttered like a fool. I wish I could say I was cooler. That I held it together for you, dear non-audience. I failed you.

I blame the coffee.

What if I hadn't stopped at that silly boutique? What if I had taken a different street?

But up close, in the light of day, he isn't as pretty. His eyes were tired, and I kept reminding myself I dodged a bullet.

Didn't I?

Eulogizing it gives it so much more weight.

I dodged a bullet.

Why do I have to keep reminding myself?

Ice breaker

The conversation started when he asked me if I was falling for him.

I was incredulous. Definitely not.

No.

No.

Then he said, I don't want to be in a serious relationship.

And I said, Then I guess I have to leave.

I was fully clothed pressed against The Dane earlier tonight thinking, I'm falling for The Fucked Up Latest Bartender.

Reflected

Maybe I choose men who are just a reflection of myself, of my own problems, of something I can't quite put my finger on but if we can only wind up together, maybe we could walk together hand in hand to figure it out together.

Or maybe we can destroy each other in the interim.

This really sensible, honest man wants to date me, The Dane, and introduce me to his friends, and pick me up to take me on dates, and all I can think is Be a little more aloof, would you? Could you brood just a little? 

Could you be broken like me?

Last night I wanted to text The Latest Bartender, the obviously broken man. I was out on a date with The Dane and I wanted to talk to another man. I wanted to talk to him and fall asleep pressed against him. But I couldn't give him the knowledge that he had gotten to me, that for some reason I chose him over The Dane, I chose him.

The truth is, I didn't choose him. I left him. Having self respect can feel terrible.

Then this morning I found out that while on my date, my friends had gone into The Latest Bartender's bar and I fear they caused a scene, that he thought I was one of those dramatic girls who passive aggressively sends her drunk friends into his place of work to do my bidding. So then, not knowing what else to do, I sent him a message saying that I apologized if they caused a scene, but if not, then to disregard the entire message.

I probably should have said nothing at all. But. I want to hear from him. But I don't. No need to draw this out.

Happy fucking Valentine's Day

It was Valentine's Day.

I mean.

I never put much stock into it.

I made plans with friends, had to work, didn't think much of it.

Until The Latest Bartender decided to ruin my plans, to ask me to do something and make me drop everything because with him, it feels different.

We met for drinks once I got off of work, and he monopolized the conversation. I thought maybe he was nervous, maybe he was awkward. We kept talking, things went smoother. We kept talking, he kissed my shoulder for no reason. We kept talking, we kissed for no reason. We kept talking.

We went back to his house.

We went back to his house and we were kissing and kissing and I said something about how maybe we should wait, because truthfully, truthfully, the reason I was back in Smalltown had to do with a man, and sex meant love to me of late, and I just wasn't sure I could go through with it.

And he said, as if to ease the tension (you have got to be kidding me), Don't worry, I lost my virginity.

 And I sat straight up.

In a week?! I cried.

He was flummoxed. Said that last I saw him, I didn't want him to give it up to me, that I declared I would be forever fucking up his life. So he took matters into his own hands.

My version, dear readers? I didn't want to fuck up his life, true. But I expressed interest in him and continued to initiate contact with him, which he slowly stopped responding to. So. So. While I was interested, while I was trying, he was stripping down with some other girl, some other girl who I only have to presume came on to him while working (um, much like I?), some other girl he gave a guarded lie to.

I left. I told him there was nothing for me to do but leave. That he had to be kidding me. That I could barely hide my tears, I didn't tell him this but I could barely hide my tears. And not because of his virginity. But because he so callously gave it away when I told him I liked him, when I made efforts to get to know him.

I told him I had to leave while in a state of undress, he followed me downstairs, watched me dress, sat down, defeated, as I said it's all fine, he didn't owe me a thing, but the truth was, I liked him. I liked him. I merely said I didn't want to be the catalyst in him giving up his belief system, I didn't tell him to go fuck some other random woman.

I told him I liked him, and it upset me that he had sex with someone else.

He said he didn't see himself in a serious relationship.

I said I didn't either. Except. With him, it felt different. So, for me, it only made sense to leave.

Once I stop crying I'll be happy I did so.

Happy fucking Valentine's Day.

What do I really want?

I've seen The Dane again and I like him enough. I do. He makes me laugh. A lot. He kissed me and I let it happen, realized that I was taller than him in my heels, wondered if he is a little immature for being three years older but he is open and honest and calls when he says he will.

This is two dates in.

The latest bartender sent me a message today after days of nothing, after me assuming I've been blown off, after distracting myself but still thinking about him. Two dates with him and I can't quite put him out of my head. Two dates with him and I feel like I'm having to get over him.

It's probably to do with him being aloof, with me wanting to crack him, get to the bottom of it all. He's a thirty-something-year-old smoker who hasn't lost his v-card, shouldn't I be thanking my damn lucky stars we haven't spoken?

But no.

Today he said something vague and I thought, No. So I told him that unless he wanted to talk to me on the regular then please, please, don't talk to me at all. I do not want to play games. I do not want to make myself crazy. He said, Sorry. He said, I have a lot on my plate. But I like hanging with you. So let's do that in the near future. Deal? And I didn't want to start a texting war, and I told him that, but I also said: I have a lot on my plate too but that doesn't stop me from knowing what I want.

Apparently what I want is him.

Danish breakfasts

So this is it.

Going for someone who likes me more.

Well.

One date in and I'm a little indifferent, a little undecided, but flattered, so so flattered that he is so interested in me, that I've decided to act on this. Accept it and see what happens.

I'm feeling pretty damn blown off by that bartender who worshiped me until he saw too much of me. He saw too much and has been hard to track down in the week since I saw him, hasn't asked me out again, and why do I care so much? I shouldn't care so much but it's something to do with that spark. It sparked.

This morning I had doughnuts and a long, long walk and lying in the sun at the park with this other guy, The Dane. Why the hell would I turn that down?

A little something

We will call him The Dane. He isn't from Denmark but spent much of the last decade there, and just returned to Smalltown, where he coincidentally went to the same highschool as me, him a senior when I was a freshman.

Last night I went with my best friend to meet someone whom she met over Craigslist to sell her computer. We met at a public place on a Friday night and it turns out, she sold her computer to a man I found very attractive. So attractive that she sent him a message shortly thereafter telling him I wanted his number.

And then we got to talking.

And now, tomorrow, The Dane asked me to go for doughnuts and a walk, which makes me want to fall in love with him. Doughnuts? Yes, of course.

This is probably nothing. But it's nothing that makes me maybe feel hopeful, just a little. It's something, even if it's nothing.

Crazy in love ain't no thing

I got some advice about relationships recently. I was told, "You can't go for the ones you're crazy about. That never works out. You have to end up with the man who is more interested than you. You're 100% you, and 50% your relationship, and you want another person who is 100% interested in you." Something like that.

And all I can think is that isn't the kind of life I want. I don't know that I want to be married. I don't know that I want to have children. I'm sure that these views would drastically change if I suddenly became pregnant or totally enamored. And maybe I need someone to throw a wrench in my life plan. Maybe I don't. Maybe I should get a reckless starter marriage out of the way, then be done with it and have done it, have experienced it, because that's what I'm all about, right, living for the thrill of it all?

I'm this young but I feel this old. I'm just not sure I'm cut out for the kind of life it takes to be with someone for a long time. I loved being in love. But I hated a lot of it. Am I becoming bitter again? Am I acting jaded again? Now that I'm on the outside of love, I worry I'm closing myself off to it all, mostly out of self defense. I never actually stopped hating men, did I?

Maybe I am the problem of my problem.

Playing defense

As a defense mechanism, as a way to hide from my feelings, I have spent my week replacing men replacing men with men replacing men with men replacing men.

After seeing The Ex's play, I spent nearly an entire day wrapped up in a new bartender, then got angsty over his intermittent correspondence, so tonight, tonight, what did I do? I shelled out my number to not just one, but two interested men.

I did.

As a way to hide behind my feelings, as a way to use men to placate my men issues, as a way to inevitably go in circles, I met two separate men this evening, in two separate situations, and now these two men have my number.

I'm only vaguely interested in one.

The other one was another bartender. Another bartender asking for my number.

I must look the part.

I need to stop looking the bartender part.

Burn one down

His last play.

We got into a fight about how he went on and on in his actor bio part of the program about his family, but didn't say a word about me. We got into a long fight. A fight where I didn't feel like I even had a point, like maybe I was being vain for wanting a public shout out for helping him on his way, like maybe I was crazy.

Then we broke up.

And his last play? Oh, a week ago? The one he begged me to attend? The program this time around was verbatim the last program, except with, 'First, I would like to thank my scene partner for her endless patience and support...'

How many ways can I ask to be slapped in the face?

Enough.

I burned his playbill. Some girlfriends and I started a small fire where we burned every last bit of it, with matches I had from the latest bartender's bar. Not crazy at all? Simple, sweet vengeance.

So there.

Played part deux

I'm still trying to deaden all these feelings with wine and Morrissey and texting any other man around.

Two steps forward twelve steps back? Is that the expression?

I shouldn't have gone to his play. I shouldn't have gone to his play, I shouldn't keep sacrificing what I need for how he feels.

I've been walking around for days with the lingering thought, What is the point? Why even try? and it took tonight for me to realize that I am deeply affected from seeing his play.

It took my close friend tonight saying she knew someone else in the play, someone who said he was seeing someone else, someone who said he acted like I was a stalker who just showed up to his bullshit play.

I was invited.

I couldn't give a damn.

Except I do give a damn. I care so much that I didn't realize it, I care so much that I've been wandering through my life the last few days, thinking vaguely suicidal thoughts even though that's not like me, and today, tonight, I realize: going to that play was a serious mistake that I can't undo, and with this knowledge: I cried the whole drive home tonight, cried four months after the fact for feeling like I'd been duped one more time, I'd fallen for his charisma one more time.

My current life can be summed up in a Taylor Swift song. This is what it has come to. I am a child.

See you next time

Wait, does he think we're dating?

He sent me a message that began with, "Next time you visit..."

WAIT A MINUTE.

I thought we were just sorta doing the slow fade. Also I have a blog reputation to maintain so I've obviously started seeing someone else in the week since I visited.

No, no next time I visit. The one visit was just fine, thanks.

Not another Hillary Clinton reference

I hate that I want to talk to him right now.

I hate that I'm reading an article on Hillary Clinton that I think he'd like, that I wanted to send him a message earlier when something made me think of him, that I am updating my computer and poring through files and just found pictures of us together in Chicago and all I can think is how much I miss that life. It wasn't even a good life and all I can think is that at least it was my own, it was a life I willingly chose.

He broke my heart in more ways than one.

Late bloomer

I can't even make this stuff up. I am a twenty-six-year-old woman. I have had this blog for three years and my ramblings often feel ridiculous even to me, so it's a miracle if anyone out there is actually reading.

But. If you have been reading these three years, I have now come across not just one but now, another virgin.

Grown men who have never slept with a woman, for this reason or that.

But wait wait wait a minute. This latest one is a bartender at a high end restaurant, has lived all over the country, is well dressed, mild mannered, is in his thirties and stable. And has never had sex?

I thought it was a joke. We were sort of in the heat of the moment and he mumbled something to the effect of, I've never had sex, and I pulled back, sat up, stopped. Asked if he was joking because it was just not a good time for that kind of joke. Then of course offended him because no, he just wasn't joking.

How is this possible? How does one tactfully ask this?

What I gleaned is that until recently, he's had the idea of waiting until marriage. In his dating life, he dated but never consummated. Until recently, recently-ish when he stopped seeing someone and got to thinking. Got to thinking that maybe it was time to stop waiting around.

I don't really want to take a thirty-five-year-old man's V card. I don't.

Who the hell does?

I didn't know how to get the hell outta there fast enough. Until. Until we went back to talking, to kissing to talking, to talking to kissing, to laughing, laughing loudly about things that probably aren't funny to anyone else but us, making him kiss my neck and him telling me a long story about meeting his hero, his writing hero, me looking right into his eyes and understanding him. He speaks my language. He gets it. He gets me.

But he's a virgin. And now what? Now what if I lose interest immediately, what if I sleep with this man and then am over it? Worse, what if I take his virginity and then he hurries off to other uncharted territory now that the initial deed is done? Off to sow his oats and the like.

I really like this guy. I'm still a little confused. I'm still a lot confused. It's all a puzzle. But I like him. This is the part where I'm supposed to recognize the red flags despite my giddy feelings, right?

Played

I am the best ex-girlfriend a guy could ever ask for.

I went to The Ex's play yesterday. I worked myself into a small frenzy early in the day, trying to put together the perfect outfit that seemed casual yet cool, obsessed about the kind of heel to wear, wondered if my hair looked too big. Arrived early, peppermint tea in hand to calm my stomach, walked around the block to kill time and try to walk off my nerves.

This theater. I blame this theater for the end of us. I know it's a lot to put on an inanimate object but I didn't start it, it did. This theater offered him a job last summer, after much fighting, he took the job down here without my official support, and he's never left. This theater meant more to him than keeping our relationship in tact in the end. It won, it got him, and I get to live here in its shadow, with the knowledge that if not for this one particular theater, I might very well be living in my crappy apartment in freezing Chicago working too much at a job I hate, cuddled under the covers, breathing in this man who I loved more than anything ever in the world.

I was rifling through the program once seated when I saw his mom and sister arrive. I ducked my head. I was there to look vaguely bored and nothing else. I was not there for small talk, I was not there for niceties. But they saw me. They saw me and we all awkwardly sat next to each other. I didn't know what to say, how to act, I always get the feeling that they never put much stock in our relationship anyway, that I was a passing ship in the night of their lives. And it turns out, I was. I sat with them, reacting to this play that was remarkably similar to what our life had become together, this play about a break up, about the last days, I sat there with his mom right next to me while I felt like I might cry over how true it all felt.

Almost three agonizing hours later, we exchanged pleasantries, well, if you can call his mother telling me she was 'sorry it hadn't worked out' a pleasantry, then pleasantries were exchanged before I hauled ass out of there and hid in the ladies room to compose myself.

While composing myself, The Ex sent me several messages wanting to make sure he saw me before I ducked out, and would I like to grab a quick drink?

No no no no no no no nonono.

But for some reason, for some reason, I said yes.

I saw his mother and sister one more time before he escorted me out, escorted me to a drink. We couldn't decide on a place and he suggested this new place, this new place where the one guy I happen to be newly seeing works. I adamantly shot it down. Didn't want to go there. Didn't want to lie and didn't want to tell any version of that truth. I was nervous. Nervous and not making sense, hating myself for giving away my nerves. But the thing is, we were normal. We were us, before we hated each other. Before bills and life and work and stability killed us. We were those first beautiful months in Chicago all those years ago, those first snowflakes that fell on us one night while walking to the store that first winter, we were bus rides to Chinatown, we were sitting around drinking coffee from a French press and making chili from scratch and sharing a tiny bed and wrapped up in each other all night long. All I can do of late is think of those first few months and want to cry over how it all turned out, how we ruined each other and turned on each other and can't ever go back, can't make it better, can act normal and know that there is something there, there was something there, that we had it special for a while before we ripped each other apart.

Red flagged

I'm not sure I would describe it as "growing," but in lieu of working myself into a frenzy about why a guy hasn't called, I called him. Well, I texted him. Something funny. And he texted me back. And we engaged in funny quipping. And I was pleased with this development, this not waiting, this positive result from taking action. It's time I stopped waiting around.

And then, he asked me to have a drink with him. And I had a drink with him, and I spent much of it thinking about how cute he is and how it didn't feel forced and how I wasn't sure it was a good idea but maybe it wasn't a bad idea either.

I was talking to a friend the other day about relationships, about how I realized that maybe I didn't waste all that time on The Ex in reality, because I felt different with him, and then my friend countered with the notion that when we feel different, we ignore the red flags. So now I'm wondering, now I'm thinking, now I don't know how to come at this. It's true, with The Ex it felt different, I felt different, and it made me stick around when all the red flags were there, when I was drowning and kept thinking, He will save me, it will be okay in the end. But it wasn't okay, he broke my heart, he ended our relationship on a dock in a park in a place I can never return. My entire life changed after that night, it hasn't been the same, it's going on four months and all I keep thinking is that it's gotta be getting better, right? Why do I have to keep reminding myself?

This new guy is a bartender, another bartender, one who does not appear to be a raging alcoholic but how would I know? I don't really want to date a career bartender, try to be a bartender's girlfriend, I know the kind of person I am, the kind of person I am capable of being while dating a bartender. The Ex was a bartender when he was actually employed. The Raging Alcoholic was a bartender. That is not the life I want. And he smelled like cigarettes. This clean cut guy met me smelling like cigarettes and suddenly I was worried this was a road I didn't want to take, but will my giddiness get the better of me?

He sent me a message from work the day after our date, our drinks, and he said Last night, super fun. And I practically fell all over myself, smiling like an idiot and unable to walk in a straight line suddenly. It's not a bad way to feel, but is it blinding me to the obvious red flags?