Tag Archives: trying new things

Soul searching…and spinning…

I couldn’t keep my discretion to myself.  I told Twin what happened with my old friend.  Twin was clearly hurt and quietly upset, but handled it well.  I almost thought maybe I hadn’t needed to even tell him, such was his quiet demeanor.  He asked a few basic questions, Was that Thursday when I couldn’t reach you?  Was that pack of cigarettes I asked you about his?

All of which I answered honestly:  Yes, yes, yes….  I’m so sorry.  I really feel horrible.  I’m sick to my stomach.  You deserve much better. So on and so on.

And Twin kept saying, we don’t have to talk about this right now.  I would respond, I’ll lose my nerve if we don’t.  I just feel so dirty and ashamed.

I felt even more like trash when I texted my friend and told him how guilty I felt for what had happened and that I’d felt my boyfriend deserved to know.  And my friend responded, WHAT?!!!   I wasn’t aware you were still dating him.  You didn’t mention it so I assumed you weren’t seeing him anymore or I never would have gone so far. I was hoping to keep seeing you, I just wanted to take it slow because there are kids involved. I really like being with you, sexually and otherwise.  I always have.

I just responded it wasn’t his fault, I was sorry and that I really had some soul searching to do.

OMG….I just suck.  Now, I’ve hurt two people!  And I never intended to hurt anyone!!

The next day Twin asked if we could talk again.  He came over and was so kind and understanding.  So much so, I  just felt worse and worse.  He asked if it was a test; was I testing him?  Did I have feelings for this guy?

I don’t know, Twin.  I’ve been friends with him so long, of course I have feelings for him, but I have no clue exactly what they are.  I mean, I have feelings for you too.  I really care so much about you and I don’t understand how this happened.

Twin talked about how he was scared of his feelings for me after all that his ex-wife had done.  He talked of being in love with me and how difficult it was for him to have such strong feelings. He asked if maybe this was his fault because he wasn’t excessively demonstrative of his feelings for me.

NO!  That’s not it, Twin.  You’re wonderful to me!  And I didn’t want to hear any of this. I just didn’t know the appropriate response.

Then Twin wants to make out…or more… or whatever!  AHHH GEESH! NO, NO, NO!!  WTF?!  This seriously annoys me and my guilt just quadruples at my annoyance.  Ughhhh….I can’t escape this disastrous mess!

Twin and I fall asleep on my sofa.  I’m restless though and have weird dreams and I awake around 4 AM to him trying to kiss me again….OMFG….NOOOOOOOO!

I make excuses and grab my phone.  There’s a text message from late the evening before after I had fallen asleep.  It’s my friend and he has simply texted, I think you and I should be together!  Or at least give it a try.

Whoaaaaaaaaa….my head starts spinning…reeling even!  And Twin is right next to me, so I close the text and toss the phone aside, trying to mask my serious shock and mass confusion.

I really need Twin to leave.  My thoughts, my emotions were swirling around so fast I felt like the world was turning so fast.

I knew there has always been a huge chemistry between my friend and I, from the moment we were introduced, there was electricity.  We had gone on a few dates years ago even after we first met, but I was still carrying on with my ex-boyfriend (THE ex….the absolute one and only love of my life), so I was emotionally unavailable to the extreme.  Thus, it never went anywhere, except to create some friction between friend and I for a while.

And since then, I’ve just never thought of dating friend.  Yeah, the attraction is undeniable and perhaps I should have realized that once my vastly resilient bond to THE ex-boyfriend loosened, that this might happen.  I just wasn’t thinking…..obviously.  I mean clearly NOT thinking AT ALL.

GAWDDDD, what a mess I’ve made!

Watereach: the newest, most succulently indecisive fruit-on-the-fence

It just makes sense, right?!

It’s Christmas 2011. I’ve finagled to be alone; somewhat out of consideration for my ex-husband to have family time alone with the kids and somewhat because (I confess) I really am not a fan of the holiday season. I get dark and nostalgic, moody and overwhelmed, sensitive and regretful. Yes…regretful. I crave alone time because I don’t like to risk rubbing off my pitiful aura onto anyone else’s holiday enjoyment. Plus, overall, it’s just embarrassing to me that a person with a sunny disposition as myself would fall prey to the ridiculously blue sensitivity of the holidays! Embarrassing! …and I don’t confess this to anyone. I pretend and I smile and I suck it in as long as I’m able to do so without imploding and when I’m ultimately exhausted, I just have to duck out. Take a break. Go within all by myself. Cry, pray, laugh, whatever…

I started writing about a few of the dates/”relationships” I’ve had in my time away from my blog. However, I feel uninspired. There are certainly some comical, interesting people and situations to write of; I just can’t get into it for some odd and unusual reason! I wanna spill the beans on these freaks, all their quirks, and silliness….and naturally, I feel simultaneously compelled to spill MY quirks and silliness that have reared their preposterous heads during these experiences as well…but WTF is wrong with me?! I have NO direction right now. NONE.

We’ve recently moved. So, while at happy hour on a recent Friday, I investigated my new neighborhood pubs. Directly across from the local airport and a hop, skip, and jump from home, is a little hole in the wall pub. I ring up my buddy Lar and we meet up there. I’m so very glad we did! I met the nicest lady, Janet. Janet is timelessly pretty and has a terrific upbeat, honest and open personality. She also lives and works quite close so she knows a great deal of the local folk who frequent this place. Such a great way to meet people!! I’m talking to Lar and Janet…mostly Janet… when a dark haired guy sits on the other side of Janet. I vaguely recognize him from way back in my youth as an older acquaintance of my high school boyfriend. I’m kinda nosey…leaning over now and then…listening to and poking into their conversation just a bit; wondering if this guy will recognize me at all and more importantly, wondering if he’s at all interested in talking to me. He does not recognize me and I love that! I feel really free and flirty because he doesn’t recall me whatsoever. I suffer from the “quadruple threat”; having a face, name, voice, and personality which rarely allow me any anonymity even after just one single meeting with most people. This guy not only doesn’t seem to recall me at all, but, he’s not really paying much attention to me either, which of course really raises my interest a few levels beyond mildly interested… as anything that feels remotely challenging typically does for me. Hey!! This blog is my place for bold, blatant and blaring honesty. Yeah, I’m that girl sometimes. I hate that I am…but yes, I am. I can’t resist a challenge…or anything that seems like it even might offer a challenge.

So, when Janet and Lar begin discussing something over/across me which I’m just not so much interested in, I grab the opportunity to say, Gosh, maybe Janet and I should switch places?! Janet laughs and agrees, so BAM! There I am next to the guy…Mr. (paying little to no attention to me) Challenge. Hmmmmmm….. Now I’m interested. We start chatting. I’m enjoying guy. He’s interesting and attractive, not my kind of attractive, but attractive nonetheless! He’s clearly not an idiot, has a good job, and can hold his own in a conversation with a mildly drunken, easily distracted blonde chick playing a mind game of sorts. Kudos to guy. As I’m the first to admit, this is not an easy task. I’ve got naughty trying-to-be-a-comedian-Santa begging for my attention and some young 20-something fella I met outside, buying me “holiday shots”, as if I’d ever, EVER need those!! Yup, it’s going well, really. And it’s not just the anonymity and challenging intrigue! Okay, well it might be. But, I’m not sure just yet. I’m just having a blast!! We laugh and talk and we learn that we have a major experience in common…getting totally screwed by Jeff Vanderstelt, Attorney at Law. Oh the topics of discussion….! We do exchange numbers and I don’t mention that we kinda sorta know each other from many, many lifetimes ago. I’m not entirely sure though how I feel about this guy though. I mean, once we get past the game itself, the challenge, the Oh is he interested in me or not? Excitement, how do I feel? What do I think of him actually? Yeah, I’m just not sure. He has my number. We’ll see how it goes… Guy calls me the next day. I don’t answer. I’m not sure what I think so I have to figure that out first, right? He texts the next day, Can’t wait to see you again. When are you free? Ughhh…it’s the (blech) holidays, birthdays, all of the stress, and work too…..ughhh. I keep blowing it off. ..He keeps trying and trying. Wow…how do I feel about that? I’m just not sure.

A week later, I made plans with my new friend Janet to meet at the bar for happy hour. So I text him that I’m doing so if he’s interested in meeting up. Yup, he is. Yay! I’ll get to investigate my feelings and thoughts about guy further with a lovely safety cushion of my new friend, just in case I need to blow him off and/or make a quick but polite getaway… Guy shows up. We are having a terrific time! Feelin’ kinda bad I’m hardly talkin to Janet, but she has another friend there too, so it’s all good really. This is weird. I like being with him. I’m not faking it at all. He’s not really my “type” to any extreme. He is in many ways, but he isn’t in just as many…or more. I can’t figure this out. I’m having fun though so it’s all good. He says the sweetest things and he makes me smile. His twin brother’s girlfriend shows up and she creates another interesting diversion. She’s married; twin brother has a serious alcohol issue and is very jealous of girlfriend’s husband. OH the drama! Guy just seems more and more normal and amazing as this whole scenario continues.

Adds to the confusion of how do I feel? I do not know. I can’t sort it all out AT ALL. It feels all discombobulated inside. I like him though. I do. We go to his place for a little bit so he can check on his 17 year old son, who’s actually out with friends. We make out a little. I’m kinda into this, but I’m not ready for the whole enchilada. He pushes a little too far. I got scared for a moment, actually, but I’ve had some scary experiences, so this is probably not even his fault. He does take no for an answer though ultimately. And I’m relieved, but conflicted as well. It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just not ready for that yet.

Guy follows me home. Such a gentleman! He keeps saying he just wants to take me somewhere to have time alone, to go somewhere nice, etc, etc…. He’s very sweet and romantic. I like it. It’s perfectly wonderful. No, I hate it. It’s too much. I don’t freakin’ know what I feel. What’s wrong with me?? I always know what I feel….always! But nope, I just really don’t know. I’m kind of all over the place with this. It’s a definite yes! NO, wait…it’s certainly no… Uh oh hold on, it’s a great big absolutely positive maybe!

Hold up: Nahhh….it’s an absolutely not…..errr…umm…absolutely not gonna pass this one up?! Hell, I can’t pinpoint this to save my life! If I were a color about this guy, I’d be split down the middle: half black and half white with a section of Definitely Grey striping down my center. If I were a vegetable about this guy, I’d be half a snow pea and half corn on the cob. If I were a fruit about this, I’d certainly be half a peach and half a watermelon. Make sense now? Exactly…!

Guy and I have gone out more than a few times now. He’s asked me to reserve New Year’s Eve for him. He’s said all the right things and a few wrong ones too. He’s a bit assertive for my time and attention, but still continues to say, I don’t want you to feel pressured Kay. He’ll call every day, but often say, I hope you don’t feel like I have to talk to you every day Kay; I don’t wanna scare you off

Sometimes I get the feeling he’s trying a little too hard but then he catches himself when he senses that deer in the headlights feeling I’m sure I randomly give off when he’s saying sappy, sweet nothings in my ear that I love hearing, but I hate hearing them. And buffering them with saying, I don’t want to come off too sappy, buttttttttt…blah blah SAPPY, SAPPY blah blah blah……

And mostly I like him. And sometimes – just now and then though – he gets on my nerves a bit. And then suddenly he doesn’t get on my nerves at all, but I really like him again. And then just as quickly, I’ll feel smothered and want some freakin’ space (seriously pal, BACK OFF!); then, I’ll feel like being close and open with him. My oldest daughter met him finally. He was so nervous for her approval, it was adorable: no, adorably annoying… And she said she “really liked him”. Awesome!

Now I just have to decide if I really do… or not!

Screaming uncle or simple abuse of the “said red”?

Uncle, I say! UNCLE!!

After meeting face to face, smile to smile, and eye to eye, I sadly have to write that Mr. Perfect did not at all maintain his title of Mr. Perfect.  Nope.

I arrived late.  Of course I did…we’ve been through that obnoxious quirk of mine already, remember?!  I received a text as I was parking, but was feeling guilty about my typical tardiness and chose to ignore the text.  This particular restaurant/bar/café has three separate entrances to each “section” of the establishment.

Here I was...

I entered the middle one, the Theater Bar, the quaint, narrow little section which boasts local artist’s work on the walls, a beautiful long wooden bar that nearly goes the actual length and almost width of this section, and charming light fixtures, all creating a casually eclectic, yet ,romantic cozy little area.

Other than the bartender, there are only four other people in the place – all males.  I coasted past them, glancing casually to see if any look like Mr. Perfect.  Nope.  None did.  And I’m thinking, What the hell?  Here I was worried about being late as usual and Mr. Perfect isn’t even here yet!  That, OR he he’s one of those guys sitting at the bar and not only looks nothing like his pictures, but brought three friends with him!

I sat down at a small table and ordered a red wine I’d never tried before.  While waiting those few moments for it to arrive, I decide to look at my text.  Oh lookie there!! …. a text from Mr. P himself.  It says, “ I’m on the aquarium side; it seemed quieter over here.”

Mr. P's "aquarium side"

Ohhhhhh……hmmm…ok…..  yeah… ok…. The aquarium side of this terrific place is the oh-so-lovely,  timelessly classy, exceedingly romantic, and  scrumptiously delicious restaurant area.  Okay, okay, okay….I get it.  You are on time,  in contrast to my lateness,  after all; you’re just over there..through that doorway only a few feet from where I was sitting.

So, now is when I walk over there then, right?  Yeahhhh…no.  I can’t.  I just can’t.  I’m nervous and I’m not walking over there with my glass of unknown red and risk demonstrating immediately upon his first vision of me being that nasty tumble/trip/clutzy maneuver which is going to dump said red all over me, the floor, or worst of all, HIM!  Nope…not gonna happen right at this moment. Can’t go.  Can’t do it.  We’ll just have to sit on either sides of the old brick wall from each other then, at least til I’ve finished my dangerously red glass of wine in its dangerously breakable glass.

So, I text back that I’m in the bar area and I’ve already ordered a drink.   A minute later, around the corner comes this guy… In hindsight, I have to guess my instant and unavoidable facial expression had to have been much like those online daters who go to meet someone in person and  they discover at first sight that the profile photo of their date was from at least  10 years and 30 pounds ago.  I mean, yeah, I knew instantly it was in fact Mr. P, which was clear.  However, with brutal honesty, Mr. P’s profile pics, as attractive as they were (and they certainly were quite appealing), had nothing on Mr. P himself! …and I mean nothing!

OMG…are you kiddin’ me??  BETTER looking in person? WTF?  Is this for real?!

Oh it was.  he was undoubtedly far more handsome in person.  Once I cleared the shock from my system at this incredulous surprise, words cannot convey how very fortunate I felt that I did let Mr. P come around the corner to me rather than Queen Clumsiness herself with her boisterously dangerous glass of said red in hand, sailing around the corner of this quaint little bar and into the elegant, romantic ambience of the attached restaurant…only to come face to face with an unexpected and nerve wracking surprise such as this.  It really could have been one horrific scene for the comical archives of online dating first- meets!

All of this is a bonus though, right?  A surprise of the pleasant variety without a doubt.  Much preferable to its counter-part of possibility at first-meets.  Yes, yes, yes…and so it was a bonus.  Except for adding to my nervous state of fear of his seeming perfection.  What the hell?  Good Lord in heaven, he was charmingly handsome, terrific physique, perfect height…..and those eyes!  Those eyes…those eyes…they…those eyes…yeah…they….his eyes…ummm…..yeahhhhh…so the eyes…they… ummm….are entitled to….I mean they require…ummmm…a….yeah…they require and demand…

A  paragraph all of their own!  Ahem….  How to describe these eyes?  Start with the basics, Kay.  Mr. P’s eyes were a rich green, bordering on hazel green-gold-brown, but with so much green opulence, you almost couldn’t call them hazel with a clear conscience.  And I’m fairly certain these were not colored contacts …the color was so rare and unique.  These eyes weren’t super small or buggy big, they weren’t too close together or spaced too far..they weren’t too high or too low on his face.  They were framed with lush, long, darkish-golden brown lashes.   But quite frankly, although yup,  I AM a sucker for green eyes anyway (guilty as charged) and no, NO photo could have ever accurately or adequately captured the stunning appearance of these eyes(well, mayyybeeee perhaps with some high tech photo-shopping), none of this was precisely WHY these eyes were so irresistibly captivating, warm, lovely, and compelling all on their own.  What was it?

I couldn’t stop looking into them until I solved this beautiful enigma.  I mean GOSH, I’ve a creative mind, rather deep comprehension of things real and spiritutal, as well as a fairly extensive vocabulary.  Surely I can look at these and pin-point what was doing that!?  C’MON!!?? What it was about them.  Hell, I’m looking RIGHT at ‘em for crying out loud!  What?  What IS it about them?  I HAD to put my finger on it damnit!  There they were – right there– looking intently at me, smiling at me, laughing with me…  For Pete’s sake!  What’s the matter with me?  Could not figure it.  Nope.  Also could not stop looking at them.  And couldn’t stop trying to figure it.

So, the date is beyond lovely.  It was a healthy balance of sharing, laughing, listening, and connecting.  Ahhh yes, just more perfection it’s to be then, huh Mr. P? You wanna play hardball, do ya?  Yea?  Huh?  Do ya? Well…Uncle, I say, Uncle already!!

This all was so perfect and so ideal in fact that after a while, even his “perfection” itself faded into the background and seemed normal….and with that subtle happening, my extreme nervousness faded back as well.  Okay, so I’m sure the second glass of said red helped that latter part some, but regardless…   It was easy and charming and comfortable and stimulating and intriguing and delightful and…… OMG!  Is this for real?

We talked of so much:  kids (he has a son), relationships, college, high school, dreams, goals, some life challenges, some happy and blessed life events.  It was just fun!

Around 10 PM (it was a Sunday night after all!), I had to go (let’s hear the collective, “awwwwwww…”).  I didn’t want to, but…..gotta do what ya gotta do…  I knew he had enjoyed himself.  I just couldn’t be certain if he’d enjoyed himself or felt attracted enough to want to see me again.  I sure hoped so, but what do ya do?

Well I’ll tell you exactly what my giggly, adoring, captivated inner adolescent wanted to do:  I wanted to  slip him a napkin note which asked, “You’re so cute! I like you. Do you like me?  Mark the box Yes or No”.

 

The scared woman in me wanted to smoothly thank him for a lovely time, give him a warm, genuine hug which lasted just a few moments too long: not long enough to be provocative or sexy, but not short enough to imply, “Thanks pal….was fun!”. You know, just a wee bit longer than necessary just to be briefly closer to him (yup, I confess, I was a bit googly) and subtly convey my interest, but not so long as to “put myself out there” like, HEY!?  GUESS WHAT?  YOU’RE HOT MR. PERFECT (please do note the absence of the quotations here) AND I WANT YOU!  The dreamer in me wanted to escape quickly in order to not face the possibility that he did NOT find me interesting or attractive enough to want to see again and leave the result of the evening entirely in question, in order to sustain the possibility as long as possible.

Here’s when he says with a big happy smile on his face (and I love this part!), “Yeah, I should go too.  Have we really been here four hours?  We have!  It doesn’t seem like it.  Time went by too fast! Not too bad for a first date I’d say!”  And guess what?  While I’m looking at him saying those words and allowing myself to slowly drink in the positive connotations of that little statement, I finally figure it out!!

His eyes….. yeah, back to that eye-thing… His eyes…  (Okay, this definitely requires a cheesy cliché disclaimer and I’m truly sorry, but GOSH, what am I to do?  I simply have to call it like it was or my blog is just a load of bullshit.)

His eyes danced.  Yes, that was it!  The light in his eyes or the restaurant lighting or the I don’t freaking know WHAT…but his. eyes.  danced. with. light. Or joy…or geesh, I just dunno……

They danced.  It was as if his eyes had their own inner strand of twinkle-lights parading off a body of soft green water!  Sparkling and dancing about… And I’m not kidding!  It hit me upside the head so hard when I finally realized this, that my don’t-you-dare- be-a-cheesy-idiot-girl filter wasn’t at prepared. Nope, it wasn’t at all prepared and I quite literally exclaimed (yes, exclaimed), “Oh my GOSH…your eyes DANCE!”    …felt stupid the minute it rushed outta my mouth.  But he was graceful and grinned and said, “Thank you”. Somehow making me not feel like it was nearly as ridiculously foolish as it sounds…and most likely was!   Yup, Cheesy Kay burst forth with the girlish exuberance of figuring out this 8th wonder of the world.

They danced…danced as if they had a little giggle/smile all of their own…danced like a teenage crush at their first prom…danced as if he adored me….danced as if his zest for life might become tangible and burst from the depths of his soul…danced as if he was a ravenous sexy beast waiting to deliciously and slowly devour me…all of the above…all at ONCE!  They just DANCED!!!!!!!!!!!

add eyelashes and imagine in motion!

Mr. P walked me to my car and I hurried in to it…purposely avoiding that good night kiss moment.

Why?  I’m not exactly sure. I did get that sense of his hesitating as in he was hoping for a kiss good night. And I really wanted to kiss him too.  But, I think mostly I just wanted to leave perfection at perfection and wait for what might (or might not) be to come…and not push my luck.

Driving home, I regretted my obviously hasty departure, realizing that if he has any intuitive sense, that my haste definitely sent the wrong message.  After all, this is my famous move when I want to AVOID the good night kiss  because I don’t want someone I’m not interested in to put me in a situation to reject him or falsely lead him on: so very much NOT the case here!!  So, I ran through my mind how to counter act my misleading behavior.

I texted him when I got home.  “I had a really great time tonight.  Thank you so much for dinner.  I really like you:)”

Yeah, I said it.  Outright and with zero subtlety.  And thus, I sat on pins and needles awaiting his response. Nervous, scared…feeling utterly ridiculous…waiting for about three minutes til I get a text from him which says, “I had such a great time with you.  I really like you too:)  Could we bake cookies together sometime?”

Can we bake cookies together sometime?  Can we bake cookies together sometime???  CAN WE BAKE COOKIES TOGETHER SOMETIME?????!!

Ummm, yeah, sooooo Mr. P is coming over this evening (tonight!) for our second date.  We are baking cookies!

Beautiful.

Challenging the very idea of perfection

Finally….an avenue from which to blog again! Yayyyy!  Sanity will hopefully be mine again soon:)

If I just skip through the past year of non-documented adventures (or mis-adventures) to present moment.  I’m proud to say, I’ve just recently started the online chronicles again – just a few  weeks ago actually.  Prior to then, I hadn’t even visited my dating sites and hadn’t bothered with reading any emails or browsing any guys professing interest in mine.

I’m only chatting with a few intriguing prospects at this time, but have had several offers to meet.  One, I did have lunch with just last Friday.  It was interesting…as these things often are.  I wasn’t wholly in to this “meeting”, but I thought, “Geesh…I gotta start back somewhere!”

He surprised me with his selection of the restaurant: definitely a guy who eats after my own eccentric flair for food.  It was a highly acclaimed local place called  Mia & Grace  …truly a lovely choice!!

He looked just like his photo, so I could pick him out of the lunch crowd immediately.  This is a bonus!  After some introductory conversation, he starts talking about the last woman he dated, that his divorce wasn’t final just yet, and how his soon-to-be-ex still felt it perfectly acceptable to enter his home any time she had the inclination, but that he knew it was really to snoop through his things.  Toward the end of the lunch, I realized the majority of the conversation had been about the ex.  Yeah, I already wasn’t so hip from the get-go about the not being divorced yet part, but this screamed of a guy who was clearly in no position to be trying to date – and certainly not so much, so hard.  I mean, of the 4 different men I had started communicating with, this guy had jumped to exchanging numbers and to meeting in person long before anyone else had even mentioned it yet!

Relax, pal.  What’s your rush?  Shouldn’t you finish your divorce first or at least be a little more emotionally divorced before such date haste?  I felt a little sorry for him though, instead of my usual sarcastic, cynical criticism.  I really wanted to grab his hand and say, “Heyyyy, you’re a handsome man.  You’ll most definitely meet someone.  Just go through the roller coaster divorce and let yourself heal for a bit before jumping the dating/relationship gun…. Ok?”  I didn’t say this though.  After all, who am I to judge his hasty desperation?  Either what it means or what it’s about?

Good luck, buddy!  Thanks for an amazing lunch!  Really wish you the best!!

All in all, not a really bad experience.  I just couldn’t help thinking though, was this really why I had a couldn’t-care-less feeling about the whole thing from the first conversation? OR, was it more because one of the four whom I’ve been talking/writing with just really stands out above the rest?  And that possibility really makes me ponder.  Before I’ve met any of these men, how can one just stand out so FAR above the rest in piquing my interest?  Sure, said profile page was just precisely after my own heart.  Said guy seems that extraordinary balance between manly sexiness, intellectual nerdiness , and artsy sensitivity…all wrapped up in a sexy dark haired, green-eyed, taller than me wordsmith with an amazing knowledge of grammar, spelling, physics and literature, not to mention the beautiful ability to make me laugh out loud from reading his emails!

Okay, okay…so he’s perfect on paper so far…. BUTTTTTT…WHY do I just feel a sense of near loyalty to one specific dating profile before I’ve even met him – or met any others I’m talking with?  Has the seeming charming perfection just swept me off my feet virtually already? How?  Why?  Isn’t this a major conflict and contradiction to online dating?  To the whole concept of “dating” in general?

Dating:  a method of physically spending time with as many promising prospects as possible in order to determine (over time) one candidate who actually fits with the other in the most categories:  in order to defy the odds of the schmucks running amok in the dating world, literally and virtually?

And yet, I confess, I just didn’t care about this date.  Sure, he was attractive and held a great deal of the qualities I would like to find in a romantic partner.  And I’ve not even MET  this other  “Mr. Perfect” yet.  Hell, “Mr. Perfect” might be nothing like his profile and worse yet, there could just be no chemical attraction!  Why would I almost literally shut myself off to even a slight possibility with another decent candidate who has already asked me on a real-live date?

Well, Mr. Talks About His Ex Incessantly sure made this an easy cross off my list experience, practically within the first ten minutes. But I really wasn’t open to giving him a chance anyway, long before he made it so easy not to give him a chance.  And that truly perplexes me.

Regardless, easy it was! So,  I realize over and over, that I really just suck at the very concept of “dating”.  It almost goes against my grain and nature.  If I like someone (obviously even just in virtuality), then I just like him.  At that point, I have to force myself to even communicate with anyone else and a physical date is an almost painful push into the let’s be logical here arena.

I mean, GOSH, there’s even another very handsome local guy who keeps writing and texting and asking me to meet.     In fact, this other guy might be technically more traditionally handsome even than my current Mr. Perfect prospect.  Yet, I keep blowing off his invites with some pretty pathetic excuses and half the time I don’t even respond for several days to his communication initiates.  Just can’t muster up an interest or see any purpose when held up in the light against Mr. Perfect’s ideal qualities and bonus points.

What IS that?  Shouldn’t I be excited to meet as many qualifying candidates as possible in this sport of dating?  Shouldn’t I at least attend the previews of a few interesting movies before deciding one I haven’t seen is my absolute favorite?

I don’t know.  This whole “Mr. Perfect” guy…ummm…GEESH OH PETE….  I keep waiting for him to say something, ANY thing that doesn’t just delight or intrigue me beyond sensibility.  No, really, every time I open a new email or read a text from him, I think…..Okay, here it comes.  It has to.  Because he can’t possibly be actually perfect.  Not a possibility. I’m not perfect…no one else can be either!  So with each and every communique at this point, I know he has to demonstrate something less than my ideal. He must!   Even if it’s not a deal breaker per se, but SOMETHING.  I almost WANT him to do this – mar the image of perfection he presents so far – for several reasons.  One, I’m nervous as hell for a guy this “perfect” to meet me and be total witness to my inevitable and perhaps  overwhelming imperfections and  I’d have some ammunition going in if he’s already short at least a quality or aspect or two.  Secondly, everytime he fails to show me an imperfection of some kind, I am forced to face my literal terror of actually meeting a great-for-me guy.  What would I do?  There is then such a blatant possibility of my following my traditional time-proven M.O. of  sabotaging these things.  And I’m slapped in the face with how deep my issues and fears really go.  Something, I really prefer to (deceitfully?) convince myself I’ve worked out and conquered. And I can live in that pink bubble as long as there’s something wrong with THEM.   This guy terrifies me…and we’v e not even met!  Yeah, terrified is an accurate description.  He makes me feel giggly and excited, intellectually challenged, admiring and self-confident,  hopeful and enthusiastic…and utterly TERRIFIED.

Although, he did FINALLY tell me one less than perfect (for me, at least) quality just yesterday:  He’s NOT a huge football fan like I.  Wait….WHAT?!!  What the hell is going on here?!  How can that be, Mr. “Perfect”?  And as an avid college football enthusiast, just how far can I go with THAT little tidbit of imperfection.  I can see the desperate measures already:  No, Mr. Perfect, I cannot go to the museum with you Saturday!  Are you kiddin’ me?  OMG….there’s a game on!!!  Don’t be ridiculous.  I’ll be watching the game like every other self-respecting human being in America, watching it with fellow football LOVERS….uhh…GEESH!!!  And surely this massive imperfection might lead to other, oh-so-practical and legit excuses for other possible “issues” this little conflict will inevitably create.  Right?  Of course!  After all, I love football; I know how to take that ball and run with it!  Psh!

That said, I’m delighted to say that I’m meeting “Mr. Perfect” today!!!  Yup,  fully armed with my you-can’t-possibly-be-my-idea-of-absolute-perfection ammunition.  Phew…just in time!  And the question becomes, upon meeting him in person, will Mr. Perfect give me more ammunition with which to battle  or will he charmingly stomp all over the meek supply I’ve managed to dig up?

Never mind that his random suggestion of meeting spots just happened to be my FAVORITE place in a 100 mile radius of my town.  And no, I hadn’t told him how much I loved that place or ANY place!!  GOSH, this guy’s tough to smother in my issues so far OR clobber with my baggage….yet.

I’m sooooo excited…and so very nervous!

Hot Stranger Boys, Cliché’s, and those confounding timeless questions of life

Am I in a downward spiral and don’t know it?  Has the incessant spiraling now become too standard for me to realize what I’m doing and perhaps I’m too dizzy to be aware of what’s happening?  Wait…is this the frog boiling on the stove analogy happening as I type? 

A few details:

ABD is a  super nice guy, way laid back, didn’t meet him online, but through a friend.  I don’t know his actual age, but I’m confidently guessing him at somewhere in the vicinity of ten years older than I or more.  I don’t want that to matter.  I want to focus on nice guy…not at all bad looking, unmarried, and seems so very kind (in fact it is his computer on which I type this).  We had drinks together in a small group one evening shortly after I returned.  He felt as though he knew me before…ummmm, I’m pretty sure not.  I’m horribly forgetful, but I don’t usually forget faces and I didn’t recognize him by any means. 

Wasn’t at all interested in dating him, but enjoyed hanging out with him.  Then I was coaxed pushed into going on a double date to a Halloween party with him. I had a nice time.  It was fun to flirt and just relax for a while…still not interested in him at all though!  Afterward, he offers to let me use his extra laptop for a while.  This is terrific, as I love to write and my daughters need a computer for a lot of their homework assignments.  So of course, I gratefully accepted…and now he emails and calls regularly.  I feel guilty that I don’t want to see him or hang out.  The naked truth is I’m not all that interested in seeing most anyone or hanging out much at all really.  Too much going on personally, so much I’m dealing with, with the children, and my stress level automatically prioritizes.  Dating someone or even just hanging out with a guy who is interested that way while I’m not, just feels like a lot more added stress and guilt on an already over-loaded situation.

He has gotten insistent a few times and I just keep throwing my excuses at him…  What??  They’re valid!  They are!  Okay yeah, so maybe they also happen to be convenient excuses to not go out with a guy I’m really not interested in anyway but who is just so nice, I wish I could be interested.  He’s also a quite the pot smoker, which I’m not at all.  I don’t judge his choice for the marijuana bit (to each his own), but add that he rides a Harley and wears his greying hair in a ponytail…these things somehow add to his age in my mind.  Maybe he should seem younger than his age, but in reality (well, my reality), these things make him appear the “Aging Biker Guy”.  I was never one for pot, but I do recall a few bad-boy stoner/biker guys from high school and college who I secretly crushed on. I kinda liked thewhole  James Dean-ish  image thing, but I never would have dated one…even then! Somehow now, and at his age, it all just screams of the ridiculous.  I struggle to take the image he presents seriously….it almost makes me giggle at the cliché.  Yet, I don’t believe he’s trying for this cliché thing; it seems to be who he’s always been, not some mid-life crisis ordeal, and how does one change who they are?  Why should they?  Just because they’ve become a walking, talking, pot smoking, Harley riding, pony tail wearing cliché?  Is it really even a cliché if it’s what you’ve always been?    Seriously…you gotta be who you are, right?  Yup, I agree, but that doesn’t mean I can bring myself to be interested in dating one even if it really is just who he is.  So I make excuses…valid ones, yeah, but I admit they are excuses…  I’m really sorry AB…truly…  Ummm… it’s just never  gonna happen..

Topic two: A few weeks ago, I went bowling with a group of friends.  We had a great time.  It was terrific to catch up and just be goofy with friends for a while.  Unfortunately, here is where I have a few confessions to make.

I’m not much of a drinker.  Sure, I love a few glasses of wine with dinner, a few beers with friends, or occasionally a few drinks when I go dancing, but I’m just not a very good drinker beyond that. My catch-22 with the drinking thing is that I rarely want to drink anything beyond that unless I’m stressed…and let me tell you, I don’t know exactly what it is, but I can not handle alcohol when I’m too stressed.  It must be something in my brain chemicals or hormonal… hell, I don’t know! Does this indicate alcoholism?  I’ve pondered that even…  It’s a sad thing that when I’m most interested in escaping and forcing some relaxation on my brain and body with a few too many is precisely the exact time which my brain and body can’t tolerate much alcohol at all, much less beyond what I typically know I can handle gracefully.

…so a few weeks ago…bowling…drinks…fun with friends… Everyone decides to go to a bar to listen to a live band, dance, and drink a bit more.  I know I should just go home, but the kids are gone for the weekend, I’ve been way stressed, and I’m happy to be out among friends..and truthfully, I just don’t feel like going home anyway, so I join them to the next place.

I’m dancing like a foolish idiot…yeah..that’s okay.  I do that.  It’s not my first time.  I’m not so ashamed…  I probably think I’m dancing like Beyonce, when in fact it resembles Elaine from Seinfeld.  I know….  Hey,   I’m not trying to impress anyone, I’m just having fun.  If you don’t like it, you really don’t have to watch.  I know it might be like a train wreck where you don’t wanna look, but can’t help yourself…  Whatever. That’s your problem.

Anyway, I’m dancing like the sexy beast I am and a few more old friends show up.  Yay!  This is awesome….and they start buying shots…  This seems like a good idea since I’m stressed and yet I do know that it isn’t a good idea since I’m stressed…  But I drink them and I think I’m grateful…

When somehow, in the midst of this whole shenanigan, Hot Stranger Boy starts talking to me.  Yeah, I gotta go with “boy” here, as I’m thinking he’s early 20’s if he’s even a day.  I really don’t know how or why hot boy and I are talking.  It’s all rather jumbled at that point.  I’m no cougar though.  In fact, I don’t typically find myself even attracted to guys who are more than one or two years younger than I.  It’s just not my thing.  Don’t misunderstand, I might find them attractive yeah, but I just don’t find myself attracted TO them.  But apparently, this guy, this situation, these drinks, this I-don’t-freakin’-know-what, brings me to find hot stranger boy attractive and we decide it’s a great idea that he comes over.

What?  Who decided this?  And what in the hell was that person thinking?  This is not a good idea on several levels.  One:  I’ve had way too much to drink; two:  I’m stressed out of my mind and suffering from a temporary case of blonde n’ flighty ADD (which I tend to do when stressed)and three:  hot boy is a BOY.  What in the hell is happening here?  Who’s in charge?  I need to speak to them immediately because someone needs to get a grip on this sitch…and soon…

Not me, though, for the precise reasons this was not a good idea are the same reasons me getting a grip on this sitch and putting it into perspective under the circumstances was just not going to happen.  Hot Stranger Boy and I get dropped at my house, which happens to be empty of anyone except the Hot Boy and myself.  Coincidence?  Uhh, I think not…

As soon as we are in my house, alone, I must have had a brief moment of perspective because I remember suddenly feeling kinda nervous and thinking (to myself of course), this just might not be a good idea.  I should drive him home.  Ohh hell no…I can’t drive in my intoxicated state.  But yeah, I’m responsible so I do the next best thing; I suggest we have a glass of wine and a cigarette.  What?!  I never said I made good choices under these circumstances, even while in “perspective” mode.  Yeah, another glass of wine was the last thing on earth I/we needed.  But I open a bottle of Seven Deadly Zins and we proceed to have a glass.  I start looking for my iPod..can’t find it…  No worries…Hot Stranger Boy’s got this.  He plays his; he selects John Mayer.   And now we have it… too many drinks plus, Hot Stranger Boy, and sexy music. Seriously, I’m feeling like I just got thrust into some teen-age movie or worse yet, a Lifetime cougar movie of the week!  Fast forward through the small talk and whatnot…

Next thing I know, hot boy and I are getting wild and crazy in my bedroom right next to his iPhone playing random John Mayer tunes.  Umm, I really couldn’t tell you how/when we moved from the somewhat safety of the living room sofa to my just-waiting-to-be-frollicked-upon big empty bed of unspeakable potentials, but somehow we managed. I probably should feel a little embarrassed at this whole scenario, but really, I don’t.  I’m okay with this as a random spontaneous act of stress and alcohol related I-don’t-give-a-damn madness.  Not to mention, the sex with Hot Stranger Boy was pretty good although the details are fuzzy (Damned alcohol anyway!).  …but true to my nature, I could never leave it at this small, somewhat understandable level of age-inappropriate behavioral embarrassment.  Nooooo, of course not.

After a few rounds of juicy sexual shenanigans with HSB, the alcohol is really settling in and I start dozing off.  When suddenly, my bladder screams, Get your ass up!  You have to go potty!  I’m half asleep and almost feel like I can put this off until morning..almost like I must put this off until morning.  I can’t get up dammit, much less fully wake up!  But my bladder insisted so I sleepily stumbled to the bathroom down the hall…

And right here…here is where I don’t understand what in the HELL happened…  ALL I know is that the next thing I recall clearly (yeah, clearly is a drunken, half-asleep relative term at this point) is I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with my ass hanging over the edge of the bathtub.  Why?  Fuck if I know…I just am, okay?  I’m sitting there, approximately five feet or so away from the toilet, naked as the day I was born, when HSB comes sailing into the bathroom!  And before I could even begin to process all of the components of this unbelievable situation, he asks casually, whatchya doin’?  Are you peeing in the bathtub?

What am I doingHuh?  Did you just ask me what I’m doing? Because that seems a really stupid question, I’m clearly sitting on the edge of the bathtub with my ass hanging over the tub…  I don’t freakin’ have a clue what I’m doing!  Why else would I be sitting on the edge of the bathtub, naked, at 4 AM…if I knew what in the hell I was doing?  What could possibly be confusing about this?  I’m obviously half asleep, intoxicated, and had to stop a few feet from the toilet to gather my thoughts and reflect on my actions here…duhhhh…  I mean, what else would I be doing?! …Psh…peeing in the bathtub…are you kiddin’ me?!

Ummmmm…omg…. did I pee in the bathtub?  I really can’t be certain.  I can’t imagine I did.  And beyond any stretch of my wild imagination, I can’t imagine why I would.  I mean, geesh WTF?!  I know where to pee…  Don’t I? 

I’m not so sure anymore as I truly have not a clue what I was doing sitting there.  This might turn out to be one of those timeless questions of life…  Like, what does it all mean?  Why are we here?  Why are round pizzas put in squares? What is the purpose of it all?  Why was I sitting with my naked ass hanging over the bathtub?

Screams of an highly imaginative guilty conscience

So in the Who Wants To Date a Married Man game show of life…and yes, I use the word “date” very loosely here! Perhaps it might more aptly be called “how to gracefully dodge married men”, with the primary emphasis there being on gracefully…and secondarily on dodge.
Contestant number one, we’ll call him Z and here,  Z is for Zirconia…yeah, as in cubic zirconia. That lovely gem which makes a fairly decent attempt at being a successful imposter.
I see Z as this: He looks good, almost wholesome even; he’s certainly no “God of men” in the looks department like say Chris Pine… or the whole beef, bean, chicken, rice, and veggie enchilada that Matt Damon effortlessly encompasses (psh…umm as if anyone….), but I’d gander that Z would be rated at least above average attractiveness by the majority of females over 25.   Z is educated, and has a charismatic flair which just might be able to cause the likes of Angelina Jolie to take momentary notice. Yeah, the level of charisma involved here borders on lethal. In fact, if stripped down to the basic naked truth here, it’s entirely possible that it’s Z’s level of charisma which allows me to even write of the man in the same paragraph as the every-level-of-extraordinary Matt D.

Shamelessly childish Matt Damon disclaimer:

image via gettyimages.com

 Have I yet mentioned my encompassing, overwhelming, extraordinary adoration, devotion, respect, desire, and attraction to the phenomenal Matt Damon anywhere here? No? Well, I am that girl: a Matt Damon girl. Mr. Damon represents my absolute ideal; he’s boyishly handsome, yet still sexy beyond sexy; well above highly intelligent, dedicated to his ethics and causes, extraordinarily talented, wickedly witty, and yet his ego appears to be intact. If you stripped the Matt-ster of his physical appeal, I feel absolutely certain I’d still find him absolutely irresistible and wondrous. My one true love thus far in life only got a first date because he has a smile like Matt Damon. I married a man with the initials M.D.   Matt is the only “star crush” I’ve ever had. I’d not hesitate to shamelessly cover my walls, even at my age, with posters and magazine pictures of this man. Possibly the only reason I haven’t is merely because his photos, as devastatingly appealing as they are, are not a true representation of his million other qualities which captivate and enthrall me. I cried when he married. Matt Damon simply IS the epitome of my every ideal and fantasy on every level of attraction.

Back to the Z though… Although Z seems to have an element of the Matt’s naturally charismatic nature, there’s something going on there with Z which, in spite of all demonstration and evidence to the very opposite (boyish charm, undeniable natural charisma)…something that flirts around in the “dangerous” zone with a truly deeply layered possibility of sinister. I almost hate to use the word “sinister”; it seems a tad extreme for what I’m actually describing, but I can’t grasp a word which perfectly describes this particular element. And perhaps Z is merely your typical boy-next-door type with that not so unusual bad boy undercurrent? I don’t know… There are tiny implications in his aura/presence/energy which suggest it might go a tad beyond that stereotype, but these only come as hunches and flashes of intuition to me.  There’s nothing in anything the man has actually said or done in my presence which should indicate this darker depth. I just sense it and I *almost* fear it, while also, of course, I find it intriguing and mystifying.

I know without “knowing” that Z is a player of the game. This seems undeniably evident because he’s married and is an outrageous flirt…and a successful one at that, in that he has the ability to actually make one think maybe, just mayyyybe, this guy doesn’t flirt like that with every cute chick he crosses paths with. But, my BS detector has that little inadvertent deception in check. In spite of his talent to make me think there might be limits to his flirtatious activities, my gut screams that this is not so. My intuition hollers at me that his flirtations are, in fact, without any limits whatsoever and perhaps all that’s required is a basic attraction to any quality. What I hear and feel between the lines of his words and actions are closer to something like: she has a nice butt- wonder what I gotta do to get me a piece of that; that one’s lips are nice- how can I get them wrapped around my joystick; oooohhhh look at that cute chin- cool! Somethin’ I can grab ahold of to pull her in for a sensuous kiss. In fact, my gut says this might go so far that the only stipulation he might have at all is simply that the target is female. Um…yukk!!
Not that I’d date him anyway. Yeah, if he was single I admit I might fall briefly for his charm and wit. However, he is most definitely not, thus… Big fat NO to the Z!
…but I have been having a little fun doing some informal research of sorts into how this married-man thing works. I have several friends who have engaged in this kind of thing and I’ve always been curious, but never wanted to ask for much specific info on the subject for obvious reasons…
So, I’ve had wings and beers alone with the Z, but mostly and to his chagrin I might add, we text. Our texting sessions tend to go along the lines of him trying to catch me available to hang out for an afternoon rendezvous. It’s so strange how he just never accomplishes that..hehe… When I AM available and/or alone, I don’t respond to his calls or texts until a few days later when I’m not available and feel certain he won’t be either.  And when I’m NOT available, I respond immediately just to find out what kinds of things he’ll say or do, knowing I have a legitimate excuse promptly on hand for not hanging out.
In spite of my huge attraction to the study of human nature, informal investigations into practices I can’t comprehend, and (yeah I confess) the appeal of his charisma, this whole questionable association/attraction has a distinct downside.  

but..but..I love to watch hockey!

Although I’ve not allowed this to cross any major ethical lines, I no longer feel comfortable going to watch my non-FWB buddy play hockey, which I enjoyed immensely before the onset of this tempting flirtation. And this irritates me, particularly since I’ve done nothing wrong!

My conscience is apparently bigger than Texas. The thought alone of getting in my car to purposely drive to anywhere this man is going to be without his wife, fills me with heavy guilt. I ask myself, will I be able to come up with another excuse to leave early once again…avoiding any one on one, face-to-face moments? Would I be able to even enjoy myself, sitting there with all the weight of the guilt? More importantly, would the bleachers even be able to hold me, plus the weight of my guilt or would they tellingly heave and sag directly under me? What if they come crashing down and Mr. Charisma gracefully skates over to my side, falsely claiming I require mouth-to-mouth and in my unconscious state, I mindlessly uttered,  No, no no…you’re MARRIED! Or Stop, I have an important appointment I must get to immediately, or worse yet, what if in my temporary shock at falling I were to go full fledge into damsel in distress mode and merely gasp breathlessly, Oh Z…you’re my hero!
Or… what if his wife were to show up? I wouldn’t know how to act under such circumstances, but I do know the stress and guilt might then combine and I could truly hyperventilate and actually faint…how freakin’ embarrassing that would be! I imagine a scene straight out of Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart, more aptly entitled Kay’s Consuming Guilty Conscience of Just Thinking of Such a Scandalous Tryst! …my furiously beating conscience oozing my slutty red thoughts all about me, all over the damned rink forcing me into a temporary state of Slut’s Tourette’s…randomly bellowing out confessions like, I DID IT….it’s ME…I texted him!! Yeah, I had wings and beers ALONE with him too!  PLEASE forgive me?  Umm…I lived in Vegas for three months! 

This might seem out of the realm of all actual likelihood, I know. But I’m not so sure. I did once go tubing down the river in a rather low and unhealthy temperature for an activity such as submerging my bottom half in bitterly cold rapid waters and with the added bonus of an unexpected and more-than-chilly rainfall, during which I imbibed three stiff cuba libres. 

Famiily-ish River tubing party

 Holy drunken river-tuber-girl, Batman!  …Halfway down the river, bordering on hypothermia, I did develop a rare case of Tourette’s and I began randomly bellowing out swear words and phrases I’ve never vocalized prior in my life!  Oh and this was a group outing too and I should add that this behavior was beyond inappropriate given the variety of people tubing.  We were 15 tubes all tied to each other.  Apparently ( I don’t have any recollection of this), at one point even, I weakly (yeah, thankfully my vocal cords were not at their usual capacity in my diminished physical and mental state of near-hypothermia) attempted through intense and debilitating shivering to scream at a passing motor boat something along the lines of, I will blow every mate on your ship if you’ll f–#@– take me with you!  And as they passed our group in spite of my whispered screams Ialso allegedly said, Fine! Don’t save me then you rat bastard momma screwing, little kitty cats.  So you see, the sudden onset of Tourette’s-Under-Stress phenomenon is not at all out of the question for me during excessively uncomfortable situations. 

Nahhhh, since I lack the will-to-silence of Hester Prynne,   I’m avoiding any possibility of ANY of those OMG-what do I do now situations! …and then of course I have to wonder what in the hell would I be like if I actually ever followed through with anything like having a fling like this?  Gasp! The guilt alone might consume me alive. Geesh, how do people DO things like this and just walk around like nothing?!

Pregnant pause vs. the awkward silence

..sometimes a good idea...

I’m learning how to be comfortable with silence in conversation.  Traditionally, this goes against my natural chatty instincts, so it’s a work in progress for sure!

I began this lesson with my ex husband years ago.  My daughters and I actually often fondly refer to him as The Pauser.  He is the King of Pauses.  He knows how to utilize the effect a moment of silence can bring to many situations, as an employer, a father, a husband/bf, etc, etc…  He is so effective at this, that he doesn’t ever need to actually say words to make a person doubt themselves or start to worry and get paranoid…  even if the paranoia is about the phone signal (Umm…hello??? Are you still there?) or gets as awkward and disconcerting as frantic paranoia about the underlying thoughts in the conversation (OMG… ummm…WHAT???!  Did I just make an ass out of myself?  Did I just say the most ridiculous thing ever?  Is my foot in my mouth?  Umm….Why isn’t this man saying anything at ALL?).

Over years of dealing with the ex husband and his excessive pausing-business, I’ve realized how truly priceless it is in many situations and I almost envy his confidence and genius to both utilize this simple technique to his advantage and to just pull it off in general.  I mean, he is gooooooood at this!  In difficult or serious conversations, it’s unnerving to say the least.  In everyday casual conversations it’s frustrating and annoying.  But either way, I have to give him fat kudos for being a literal genius at this conversational method of staying one-up (or two or three “up”?) on his conversation partner of any given situation or moment. 

As a result, the man rarely needs to apologize or bother to explain his words (ever!), because he simply chooses them so carefully, it’s almost painful at times to be on the other end of these conversations and his “pauses”.  For the person who has just said something of utter importance (to them), the pauses feel like horrific awkward silences…that dreaded empty space you suddenly feel frantic to fill in to further explain, throw in comedic effect, plead for a response…whatever…anything will do; while to him, this is merely a very effective pregnant pause.  So you can gather how successful mastering this technique can be:  while he’s slowly and silently contemplating his every carefully chosen word, you tend to start babbling ridiculously, filling the space with chatter that offers even more information before he has yet responded at all! It is truly a brilliant conversational tactic in all situations and relationships for him.

I am not this person by nature though.  At all.  I’m a very open and expressive type, much to my frequent dismay in situations when I’ve said too much or said something easily misunderstood (yet again) or any of the bazillion faux pas that can arise from being extraordinarily open, chatty, and honest.  I’m training myself (via so much regular conversation with “the master”) though, to sit quietly through the pregnant pauses, see them for what they are, and not start nervously rambling.

However, I deal with this conversational silence master-mind on such a frequent (and frustrating) basis, that I no longer can adequately decipher the difference between a pregnant  pause and an out-n-out awkward silence.  I can appreciate the value of a moment of silence in a conversation and leave it at that.  I’m a ponder-er type, so pausing to reflect on either what has been said or what you’re about to say is, in theory, always a good idea. Awkward silences on the other hand are still dreadfully uncomfortable for me and I feel a responsibility to fill that space asap either to put the other person at ease (my strong southern breeding) or perhaps merely to put myself at ease…  Either…or…both…and…all of the above!  Thankfully, I’ve not had many cases in my entire life of “awkward silence”.    I’ve a number of natural tools in my conversation toolbox to either avoid this altogether or, at the least, work my way through it quickly and painlessly.  It’s just not something I’ve had to deal with much….for whatever reason…

Umm....soooooo..is it hot enough for ya?

Talking last night for the first time with Gabe, I discovered this phenomenon:  Lots of awkward silences!  How truly odd to experience this with a person whom I can write to with such total ease, at such length, and about so many different things!

Was this a “normal” first-time conversation thing?  Or was this a strange and difficult to decipher possible conversational “issue”?  When you add my chronic dealings with the master mind of intentional pregnant pauses to the mix of experiences with first conversations and dates and meeting new people in general, it’s truly hard for me to tell exactly what’s going on….  I certainly want to honor the prgnant pause types, but still don’t care much for the awkward silences…  Hmm..how to differentiate in these situations?

It was a delightful conversation with gabe for the most part and yet, I kept wondering if maybe I was ridiculous both for what I was saying and/or maybe  how I was saying it.  Yeah, I babble.  I do.  When getting to first know someone, I just don’t hold anything back really.  Well, I try to be in good taste and only discuss appropriate topics of course…  but I don’t carefully ponder my words;  I just talk… about Vegas weather, Vegas energy vibes, my love of peace frog stores, my fascination with the human psyche and the development of the conscience…and I ask questions..where did you grow up, what’s your family like, what are your thoughts and opinions on *this* or on *that* or whatever…and I always try to listen as much as I talk too.

I’m currently of the opinion that it’s often humor which stands smack-dab in the middle to differentiate between preganant pauses and awkward silences.

Ahhhh humor…..  Humor is often so difficult to convey or translate via the written word, yet rarely so difficult in verbal conversation with the added benefits of tone and inflection.  However, I arrive at three possibilities here regarding my conversation with Gabe: 1.  He just doesn’t share my (admittedly odd) sense of humor,  2.  He doesn’t “get” my humor, or 3.  He just doesn’t think anything I’ve said was funny, while I think it’s hysterical.  Or perhaps any combination of the three…?

It is the very definition of awkward when you tell a funny story and a person you don’t know that well anyway just sorta sits there in silence..  Ummm…again, we can blame cell phones for this: Hello?  Are you there?  And when we’ve determined that the signal is fine, then the silence from before and after this determination becomes excruciatingly awkward…  Ohhh…okay, so you heard me but I guess that just wasn’t funny to you…? Ummm… Okay…well…ummm…

But dammit, I'M laughing...or trying to...or was gong to....umm...guess not:-/

Then suddenly it’s no longer nearly as funny to me either….  Hmm……  oooohhhhh-kayyyy then…

This was definitely awkward and happened a few times. Seems that while emailing was a simple thing for Gabe and I, actual conversation was considerably more difficult… Ughh…   

Add to this,  that I shared a personal “experience” with Gabe that perhaps is not a gem of a situation from my distant past, but was merely in theory and therefore not actually any kind of issue past or present.  Not to mention, in my humble opinion it wasn’t some kind of dreaded confession of horror either… nothing all that horrifying overall and merely a conceptual thought at that.  Ohhh gosh, never mind..why am I being so mysterious about this?  It’s really not a big deal!  Here it is:

Once during my senior year in college, while newly married and struggling to catch up on my husband’s (now ex) difficult credit card bills, I contemplated

Yeah, yeah..I thought about it ....once!!

stripping (yeah, as in removing my clothes while dancing and accepting money for said effort) for a few months just to get the money to help pay off those bills which he was behind on when we married.  Yeah, I did

 I actually thought about it enough that I discussed this possibility with my husband.  Of course that idea was tossed out almost before I got the whole thing out of my mouth in a conversation with the husband, but I confess, I did truly and sincerely ponder doing this once.  I was pretty much laughing at this little confessional story…or starting to….  When I get the….DA-DA-DUMMMMMM…

Big fat silence.

Hmm…..ohhhhhhhkayyyyy…

Awwwwkwarrrrddd.