The Perfect Irony

I think I met the guy, and I haven't even met him yet. I love the sheer unexpectedness, the element of surprise and wonder...let's face it- the irony. I always felt it would be someone different, someone not mainstream...because I want that relationship...THE relationship to be different from most...and far from mainstream...vastly different, and above and beyond what others even dream of.
I can't settle. It has to be someone who WOWS me...with his heart, with his words, with his mind. Not with the restaurant, the car, the wine. That stuff is just to pass the time. So, of course he's going to drive a jeep and kill things for a living. Of course he'll live hundreds of miles away in a place that I never even bothered to visit, let alone ever dreamed of living in. A place where he can't move from because of his business...being on the water killing things. So, I'd have to move there. Of course he'll drink beer and love college football, and would never, ever dream of going to a spa. Of course, when his hair grows a little longer and he's in the sun too much it turns blonde. Blonde!
He's intelligent. Really smart. Educated, cultured, worldly, well read, well spoken, sharp, quick, funny, deep. He's a man. Confident and so down to earth. And his accent...his southern accent and his phrases and the way certain words roll off his tongue...is enchanting. He's a good person, and we really seem to be on the same page, or as he says, "We really hit it off".
When my mother turned to me the other day, looked at me lovingly and asked "Will there ever be anyone good enough for you?", we both just shook our heads...knowing it was a rhetorical question. None of these mainstream South Florida idiots could ever be good enough for me. It would have to be someone special, someone different, someone that we couldn't even imagine or wrap our minds around. It would have to be someone named Duck.

When Love Is Not An Option

I fell in love with him the minute I saw him...and when I fall, I tend to do it hard and fast. Okay, love may be a bit of a strong word...aside from the fact that it's impossible to fall in love with someone the minute you meet them...so, I admit it, I fell in lust with him the minute I laid eyes on him.
That was probably about 6 years ago...I've lost track...when we were test driving the first car he leased me. It started over the phone...when I first heard that sexy Cuban accent...then when I met him in person it was all over. Handsome, sexy, cute, sweet, mysterious, shy, adorable, tight lipped, withholding. And I was aggressive, forward, friendly, outgoing, interrogating, myself. I got the car from him, and we've been friendly ever since.
Never knew he was attracted to me until about a year and a half ago...he called me out of the blue...as he occassionally did, but I'd never thought anything of it...until that time, when we actually went out...drank wine, talked and talked, kissed madly, passionately. And then a few weeks later we went out again. He didn't know it, but it was actually the night that I was supposed to get married. I'd cancelled the wedding 6 months prior, and spent that night with JC...a few hours of it, anyway. I definitely made the right decision. And I did find it interesting that I ended up spending that night with him, of all people...it was a night that was significant to me for reasons he didn't even know...it was a night when I really needed to be out having a great time. And I did, with such an unlikely and unexpected companion...I would have never guessed. We went out again...had dinner, drank wine, talked, kissed more madly, more passionately.
Our friendship continued more or less in it's usual pattern...sporadic and random in my estimation. I temporarily got wrapped up in my feelings for him, as I often tend to do. But it's different with JC...I don't expect anything from him other than sporadic friendship and passion...because I believe that's all he's capable of. I don't hold that against him...I accept him as he is. He won't open up to me. Not sure if it's because he can't or if he just won't allow himself to, for reasons that are unbeknownst to me. Either way, it makes it hard to develop a deeper connection...the kind of connection I crave.
Months passed as they so easily and quickly do, and he'd call here and there. We'd text, we'd flirt, we'd tease...and then one night he called my bluff. He called me on my flirting, my teasing, my tempting...all my talk and my incessant inaction. I liked the fact that he knew me well enough, and somehow felt comfortable enough, to call me on it...he came over, it was the night after Christmas, and we became each other's belated Christmas gifts. Sometimes fantasy is better than reality. The anticipation better than the actual experience.
We continued our sporadic communication, as always, talking every so often. I had to detach somewhat...couldn't let my emotions get wrapped up in something that I knew couldn't ever be more than exactly what it was. Sometimes, he'd call and I'd neglect to return his calls. On one occassion I told him I had to call him back, and just never did. Looking back, now that I think about it, he did get really upset and mad at me. And he let me know it...told me I was rude, a bad friend. Hmmmm...I didn't realize he cared, or gave it a second thought.
Hadn't spoken to him since my birthday...a few months ago...everything was cool between us...we caught up on our current work situations-our usual topic of conversation- and that was more or less that. He did cross my mind over the months that went by, but not enough for me to pick up the phone...I'm really bad about calling, in general...nothing personal. Not sure why. Come to find out, he'd lost my number and had been trying to get in touch with me...leaving messages and sending texts over and over again at an old number. I never received any of the messages. The moment I heard this news I picked up the phone and called him. I didn't say hello...as soon as he answered I just asked him if he'd been looking for me. He gave me a hard time, as usual...he seems to like to tell me what a pain in the ass I am...I chalk it up to the little dance we do...we've been doing it since day one when he'd tell me I was killing him over the price of the car I wanted. So, as usual, we caught up on our current employment situations, and our frienship was immediately restored. I missed him. I'm crazy about him, I care for him, even though I know not to let myself go there...because as far as I can deduce, he won't allow himself to have feelings for anyone, including me. But I guess he must...on some crazy, heavily guarded level, fiercely under lock and key, feel something for me.
I asked him what he was doing that night and said, "Let's go out!" He agreed. We met at a restaurant near his house. I was sitting at the bar as I watched him walk through the door. When our eyes met I could feel a huge smile spread across my face...and I noticed that same smile reflected back at me. He kissed me hello and he smelled delicious. "Do you like the cologne? I wore it for you", he said. I have automatically programmed myself to take everything he says with a heavy grain of salt...especially if it's something that might sound sincere/romantic/sweet/loving...we don't go there. So, I just assume he's being sarcastic. Maybe I shouldn't assume. We ate, we drank, we talked. It was easy and fun and comfortable, as always. He showed me pictures of his family, and even showed me one of the texts he'd sent that never reached me. I'd already believed him when he told me about it...but I guess he wanted me to see it. Why?
After insisting on paying for dinner he lured me back to his house with wine and a movie...which we drank and watched on a tiny pull out couch. We cuddled, we kissed. It was nice. I wish it could be more. But I always keep my emotional guard up and distance intact...because I know if I let it down, he'll run for the hills. That's what he tells me happens with other women...they want him, they ask for him, they pursue him, and he runs the other way. To me, he's so handsome and sexy I can't imagine any woman not wanting him. And I believe him. Not sure why he doesn't want to pursue a relationship with any of them. And he's as tight lipped today as he was when I met him 6 years ago, so it looks like I may never find out.
After the movie, he took my hand and brought me into the bedroom. I went willingly. After all, we both knew that's why I was there. As much as I tried, I couldn't bring down that emotional guard, couldn't get past the idea that I was just another notch on his bedpost...another woman who he brought by the hand into the bedroom, but didn't want to stay until morning. When I embraced him and kissed him, I couldn't feel the depth of emotion, the connection on a deeper level that I wanted to feel. It was surface. Or maybe it was me.
He was beautiful, he was sexy, his body is a work of art. It was fun, passionate, somehow oddly comfortable. Definitely better than before, but still not good enough. I don't want just his outside connected with me...I want his inside. So, I stayed guarded, kept my distance, made a quick exit in what ended up being the middle of the night, even though there was an invitation to stay for a little while out of concern for me driving when I was so tired. I left. I didn't want any awkward morning after moments with him. I felt slightly whoreish, but it was okay...because it was him, because I know I'll hear from him again, see him again, and because he never makes any promises that he doesn't deliver on...because he makes no promises at all...and I respect him for that.
To his credit, he texted me early the next morning saying he hopes I made it home safley. Still half asleep I replied, "I did, thanx:)", and I left it at that. I think I had sex like a man.
Then, to my surprise, I found him on my facebook page...commenting on one of my pictures, saying, "Here she is...one of the best smiles I've seen...ohh what a friend of mine:)". Hmmm, curious. I replied, "Thanks JC. Seeing you always makes me smile:)". Honest and true. To which he responded, "I know, same here G :)". Hmmm, even more curious. When I read those five words, they struck me. I felt something inside...in my chest. I think I felt my heart skip a beat. Is it possible I'm not just another notch in his belt? Does he feel for me more than I realize? Is he as crazy about me as I am about him?...each of us keeping our feelings on lockdown for fear of daring to take our friendship into uncharted territory...knowing, in all likelihood, that it will implode? I really never considered this possibility. Of course, I'd previously never considered the possibility that he was attracted to me either. I'll keep the lines of communication open, but I have to keep my guard up. Because as much as I'd like it to be something more, I don't know if he's willing or able.

My Life Partner

My best friend, my life partner. I breathe your breath, I cry your tears, I smile your smiles. I never would have known this 9 years ago. I didn't have the knowledge, the depth of love, the understanding, the respect. Unless it's your blood, it only comes over time. You have nothing to offer me but your intelligence, your heart, your humor, your unconditional love for me. And that means more than anything. I know this now. I'm still learning. I'm still endeavoring to open my eyes to see what you are able to see, to know what you know, to have the strength that you do. You are my comfort in the storm, my confidant, my trusted friend...who I entrust with my secrets, my fears, my heart, my tears, the rawest part of me. The parts that I want to hide from other people, even those closest to me, I show to you. I trust you with it. You are the person closest to me whose blood does not run through my veins. It's important. I don't know what I'd do without you, without being able to pick up the phone and hear your strong, fighting, stalwart voice...the same voice I always heard but never understood.
You're just like me, that's why I had to reject you. Smart, intelligent, brilliant, scared, dependent. I couldn't be with you because I needed someone to counterbalance my weaknesses. I didn't want to see them reflected at me day by day. Your words, your heart, your mind, your intelligence...are all on par with mine. You are my other half, my male counterpart. I admire your strength and don't think I have the same. Maybe I do, but I don't know. I hope I never have to find out. I respect you. I'm proud of you. I love you. I'm amazed by you. I'm in awe of you. I'm thankful for you. Please don't ever leave me. It will be a loss too great to bear. How can I be me without you? Without you to understand me, hear me, love me, anyway. How will I ever find someone else to love besides you? Someone who I love only because I love them? Not because of what they have, who they are, what they can give me?
How do I know I love you? Because if you found a girl...again...I'd release you again....and be happy for you...again...and always take you back and be there for you...again...and again. Because you never diresepected me, never hurt me, never did me wrong. You always said what you meant and did what you said you were going to do. The simple things are priceless. I know this now. You were always just you...being who you are, without apologies. And now I see that, and respect it.

O Town, Toe Town

I was in Orlando visiting my sister and brother in law, looking into a potential business venture, and contemplating acquiescing to my sister's desire for me to relocate. It would be a potentially very exciting change for me...a fresh start, a new life, a new job and a brand new dating pool! Being the diligent researcher that I am, I dug in and set up a date with an eligible O Town bachelor. I figured I may as well jump right in and see what Central Florida has to offer me in the way of men, since I'm just about finished dating everyone in South Florida.
I set up a lunch date with J, who owns a commercial landscaping company. We met for sushi, slinked into a booth in midday, devoured our Bento boxes and got to know each other. He was handsome... olive skin, hazel eyes, dark hair with just a hint of salt. He was pretty well spoken, for someone who grew up in Central Florida anyway, and sufficiently entertaining. Our conversation eventually led to talking about our dogs...at which time he pulled out his IPhone, swung himself over to my side of the booth, sidled up just a little too close to me and showed me pictures of his two Chow mixes and his shangrli-la like backyard in his downtown home, complete with jacuzzi, hammock and outdoor firepit.
We made our way out of the restaurant and into the stifling Orlando heat, and he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. I didn't have anything on my schedule for the rest of the afternoon, so a movie it was! Surprisingly, we made a pit stop at Whole Foods so he could replenish some of his vitamin supply. He toured me through the store, extolling its virtues as if he owned the place and as if I'd never been in a Whole Foods before, which, by the way, is a complete sensory overload for me. The store absolutely overwhelms me with its multitude of culinary delights. On more than one occassion I've filled my basket with a few overpriced items, realized I could get more cost effective fare at Publix, and left empty handed. Never fails. Except for the one time that I paid $5 for a tiny container of the most delicious tuna fish ever made...mayo, onions, cranberries...heaven.
After hitting the candy counter for the requesite Peanut M&Ms and Reese's Pieces, we settled into our seats. As the movie began, I noticed he was quite touchy feeley...as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend. "Maybe he's just very affectionate", I tried to rationalize. "You're touching me too much", I told him. This didn't deter him for long. The next thing I knew he was massaging my foot. As over the top as it was for a first date in the middle of the afternoon, I have to admit if felt good. But I must also admit that I was in no way prepared for what was about to happen next. Before I realized what was going on, he was bent down and licking my toes! Licking, only because sucking wasn't really an option since my shoe was still on. Again, I have to admit, it felt good. But, the fact that I'd just met this guy about two hours earlier, made the whole thing seem just kinda weird. I managed to make my way through the remainder of the movie with being further accosted. I couldn't really concentrate at that point...I just kinda sat there in the dark, wondering...if I were in the twilight zone.
I mean, when did it become okay for men to behave this way? When did men start conducting themselves like this? What gives them these ideas...and the audacity to execute them? I can only conclude that it's the women's fault. Men are going to go as far as they can, push the envelope, take what they can get. And so many women are just giving it up...giving it all away...right up front...1st date, second date...when these men don't even know anything about them, let alone care anyting about them. So, the men think they can move go from toe sucking 2 hours in to full fledged fucking before the night ends. It's insane. It's disgusting. And it's anticipated. Sure has made dating harder for me even in just the last year. In a world of first date fucking it's not easy being a super sexy, kissing bandit, hardcore tease who is, ultimately, Prudie McPrudence.

Cupcakes

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. I've been out of circulation for about a month....seems like forever...a bad cold had me down for two weeks and then I was in Orlando for almost a week. Oh, almost forgot, I did go on a date in Orlando...which makes for yet another great story. But I'll get back to that. Two nights ago I went out with what seemed to be a "nice Jewish boy". It's been a while since I've been out with one of those...and after all my dates over the last year I still think back to The Pothead fondly. He was the best of the worst. Scary.
The NJB and I met at my favorite restaurant by the beach...if nothing else, I knew the view would be unbeatable...and for him assuredly a double blessing: the ocean and me. He showed up 15 minutes late, after texting me with apologies of his impending tardiness. But, I was at the beach, live music was playing, the weather couldn't have been better, I ordered a drink, and he was just tall and handsome enough for me to let his lateness go. We drank and talked and ate for 5 hours...by my standards, it was a great date. He texted me on the way home, "You rock!", and invited me to dinner and a movie at his place the following night. I, of course, was stupid enough to go. After consulting my life partner, he assured me that going to NJB's house for a movie was normal and fine. So, although I kinda thought the second date was a bit soon to be doing the at home date, I went with cupcakes in hand (he mentioned he has a thing for Publix cupcakes, and being the sweet person that I am...I brought him some). Benefit of the doubt = a stupid thing to give.
He met me at the gate of his huge community and led the way to his house. Upon entering the home, and even before, it was quite apparent that it was not, in fact, his house. He had quite an impressive spread laid out on the kitchen table...ahi tuna, Italian wedding soup, prime rib, mashed potatoes, green beens and au jus. Nice. We ate and talked...well, I ate...everything...he just had the soup. When I asked him why he wasn't eating, as I dug into my dinner with gusto, he said he was so hungry when he got home, he ended up eating before I got there. Okay....
After dinner, I asked him who's house we were in. Apparently, he must have known this question was coming, since it was a large home clearly decorated in a model-like fashion from the '90s. He said he was going to tell me the story because he knew my type and that I had a lot of questions. Of course, I found it odd that on our second date he knew what "my type" was and all the thoughts that that entailed. Not to mention that the verbalization of that verbage, "my type", was quite offputting and made me feel defensive. I asked him repeatedly, out of sheer and utter curiosity, to explain exactly what "type" he perceived me to be. But he declined explanation. Any woman that was not a complete and total schmuck would have known that this wasn't his house...so, as far as I was concerned, that fact begged the question, "So, who's house is this?" He went on to explain that this is a "family house" that he moved into 3 weeks ago, and that he and his brother, who is apparently a successful Manhattan attorney, own 4 investment properties that are rented out, all but one with negative cash flow. Okay, I can buy that. He said he and his girlfriend broke up 5 months ago, he lived in one of the investment properties over the summer, which now has a tenant, so he moved himself into the "family house". Okay, I get it. For themost part, it was already obvious. He proceeded to show me pictures of his family, and gave me the grand tour, which culminated in his room, where the TV was on and I, as sharp as I am, quickly put two and two together, as he asked me if I was ready to watch the movie. "In here?", I inquired. "Yeah, if you don't mind. I hate watching movies on the couch". Of course! Who watches movies on a couch on a second date? Of course let's watch in the bed!
If for no other reason (although there are other reasons)than to acquire material that I couldn't make up if I tried, I agreed. So, he turns down the bed, I lay all the way over on my side and then he tells me he's going to take a quick shower. He disappears into the bathroom, and I'm laying there wondering if this is really happening or if I am, in fact, in the twilight zone. He comes out of the bathroom in shorts and a t-shirt and I look at him perplexedly and ask if he often takes showers in the middle of a second date after suggesting watchng a movie in his bed. He then goes on to explain to me that he's a bit OCD and he likes to be clean. My brow furrows. I ask him how many showers he takes in a day. He says at least two. He tells me that he took one when he got home, but when he drove to the front gate to lead me to the house, he felt that he smelled like "outside" and wanted to take a shower. Granted, at that point I should have run screaming for the hills. But,I was in too deep and this material is pricesless, so I persevered. I asked him what other complusions he has (he mentioned oral hygiene on the first date, but I didn't really think anything of it). He said he doesn't have any others, and then mentioned his therapist. I didn't say a word. But he mimicked what he thought were all the questions running through my mind, "You have a therapist? How often do you see him? What else is wrong with you?" and on and on he went. It was insulting. So, I told him he shouldn't judge me or presume to know what my thoughts are since he doesn't know my background or really anything about me. In his extremely soft-spoken manner, which I've deduced is very disarming, he apologized.
We start watching the movie. A little while later he asked me if I wanted to scratch his back. So I asked him if he had an itch, knowing full well that he didn't. Twilight zone? I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I return to the room he said he would be nice first and motioned for me to lay next to him, to cuddle with him. Mental patient that I am, I cuddled with him. He was warm and very cuddly. He stroked my hair, tickeld my arm and didn't touch me inappropriately in any way. I mean, other than the fact that the whole scenario was inappropriate to begin with. Other than that, everything was fine. His hands were big and strong and warm, and quite frankly, if we'd been dating for, oh, I don't know...more than a minute, I certainly would have liked to have felt them all over me. But, this whole scene on the second date just screamed...psycho?
The movie ended and I told him I had to go...he walked me to the door, gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek and asked me if I knew how to get back out of the community. I told him I'd figure it out (I didn't want him to step outside and then have to take another shower). I told him I'd call him if I got lost, but he insisted on leading the way for me. As he put on his sneakers and walked to his car he said he'd just have to take another shower. I laughed, but I don't think he was joking. He led me to the front gate and I made my way home. He texted me this afternoon saying "just thinking about you...and cupcakes". Will I ever find anyone worthy of my cupcakes?

Swimming With V

Sometimes life takes funny turns. Not "ha, ha" funny, but "unexpected" funny. I guess that's what makes life the wild ride that it is...you really never know what's coming around the corner. Sometimes someone you hardly know impacts you, and helps to direct your life in ways you would never have anticipated.
Today I had a play date with my new friend, "V". V is a 6 year old boy with Autism...he is actually my friend's son...but from the moment we laid eyes on each other today, V and I became fast friends. He seemed instantly enamored with my gorgeousness, and I with his adorable sweetness.
I am now into the sixth week of my self imposed sabattical. While I'm enjoying my time off...in the ways that I, of course, would...sleeping late, staying up late, laying at the pool, thinking about going to the beach, searching for new boyfriends, attempting to (and occassionally succeeding at) working out and, of course, sleeping late...I am also thinking about what's next....what is my game plan? ...since, of course, I am aware that my much needed and well deserved sabattical can not, in fact, last forever. I have to outline the next chapter. However, as is often the case in life, it seems the next chapter has already been laid out before me.
I haven't seen V since he was probably a year old. It's been quite a while. I see his mother pretty frequently, however, and I always ask about V and how he's doing. His mother happens to be one of the best women I know...she's strong and steady and good and kind. She has very excitedly been telling me about a new school that is being built for these special children, and invited me to take a tour of V's present school, which I eagerly did a few weeks ago. It left an impression on me. I wanted to work there. With the kids. To help them achieve their daily smiles. And so the wheels were set in motion.
As I've continued to sleep late, stay up late, lay by the pool and attempt to exercise over the last few weeks, my next chapter has been ruminating in the back of my mind. Today sealed the deal.
He's blonde and sweet and smart, and he wanted to go swimming. So, after we had lunch and chocolate chip cookies we headed over to the pool. Who says you have to wait 30 minutes after eating to get into the pool?! Not us! He was eager and excited to get into the water. And, as he was showing me his swimming skills, which seemed to wholly consist of him putting his face underwater, he clung to me like a jellyfish. We "swam" and played and smiled and had fun, although he couldn't seem to get his mind off of his persistent cravings for cheez-itz and green apple lollipops. After tiring ourselves out (or, perhaps more accurately, after he tired me out), we dried off and headed home, as V happily recounted the memory of him and I in the pool. And for that short time, for me, it was all about him...his day...how he was doing....his happiness...and helping him to achieve his smile. It was one of the best times I've had in a really long time. It was special. It was meaningful. It was important. Hopefully, as much for V as for me. And so, this little blonde angel boy illuminated for me what has been ruminating in the back of my mind, and has brought to the forefront the details of my next chapter.

Ravdin #645

What is it about hospitals that makes everyone lose all their inhibitions as soon as they put on a plastic bracelet with their name and birth date typed on it? Is there anywhere else where you'd suddenly strip down to nakedness, put on a gown made of cotton so thin you can practically see through it, the design of which seems more suited to expose rather than to cover, and then voluntarily relinquish your body to be poked, prodded, invaded and manipulated by the hands of multiple strangers? Well, Hedonism in Jamaica, maybe?...Or spring break anywhere.
The phonomenon of the hospital is quite fascinating. You give yourself over to the care of complete and total strangers. Granted, these strangers are highly trained and educated experts in various specializations of poking and prodding, but it's interesting how...when it comes down to it and your life is potentially on the line, it's in the hands of strangers.
What's also interesting about the hospital experience is that, in addition to inhibitions, all vanity goes right out the window. I just spent 48 hours in Ravdin Rm. #645...where my brother was recovering from surgery and I was there for support and company. As a very single and perfectly healthy 37 year old woman, you would think I would have made more of an effort. After all, everywhere I turned I saw handsome doctors! But, I was in hospital mode...in sweats, sleeping intermittently in a recliner in between intrusive visits during all hours of the night, and laying around in a second-hand morphene daze, getting vertical only to make the trek down to the cafeteria to purchase my next heart attack on a plate or, as they called it, hospital cafeteria food. Don't get me wrong, it all looked quite tasty, but you'd think these white coats would be a little more health conscious than to be subsisting on pepperoni pizza, cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks and onion rings.
I guess when you're in the hospital the last thing you care about is how you look or what's hanging out of your paper thin gown. You have more important things on your mind...like survival.
As soon as we got home from the hospital today, I took a much needed shower, put on some make-up and went shopping while my brother napped. He is fine, just needs R&R. After a few hours of meaningless retail therapy I returned to his apartment, where he was resting comfortably in bed. A friend of his asked if I wanted to go out on the town with her and check out the scene in Philly. As much as I would have loved to go to a place called Swanky Bubbles (I mean, the place could only be more aptly named for me if it were called "Swanky Bubbles Dipped In Chocolate With A French Pedicure") to see and be seen while drinking champagne and eating decadent food, I knew it wouldn't compare to sitting on the couch all night writing and listening to my brother snore next to me as he somehow managed to watch the baseball game with his eyes closed. Six hours later, as I sit here in the dark, listening to him alternately snore, momentarily talk to me from his Percocet fog, roll over and go back to snoring, I was right.
Maybe if we always wore plastic bracelets with our names and birthdays typed on them we could keep a clearer perspective on things...what's important, what's not, where we really want to be, where we probably shouldn't be.
Maybe when you're in the position of relying on the kindness, and the expertise, of strangers it makes what's really important all the more clear. Health and Time.

The Ties That Bond

There are only a few people...in any one of our lives...that we would do anything for. Very few. Maybe one, perhaps two, possibly three. My brother is one of my few people.
I've spent the last few days in Philly...to be with my brother while he had surgery for the first time. I'm happy to be able to be here for him...no one should have to go through surgery without having a family member by their side...but it sure was a scary day. We stayed in a state of denial for as long as possible...basically until we walked into the hospital the morning of the surgery, at which point there was no more denying it.
It's a strange thing...you try to pretend that all the thoughts that are instinctively and naturally at the forefront of your mind aren't there. In order to get through it, you have to tell yourself that there's nothing to worry about, that everything will be fine. You have to tell yourself these things precisely because there IS something to worry about and everything may NOT be fine. So, what you're really thinking while you're telling yourself that everything will be okay is, "What if?"
The surgery was considered somewhat minor, as far as surgeries go, but it was still on his back, and it still involved general anesthesia, and surgery always has a risk...of complications, of infections... of death. Scary thoughts. My brother happens to be a doctor...an anesthesiologist, in fact. So, he does this everyday...makes people go to sleep, and then makes them wake up. He's got people's lives in his hands every time he goes to work. But this time, he was the one in the hospital gown, laying in the bed, vulnerable, putting his life in someone else's hands.
When I spoke to my sister, who happens to be one of my other "very few people", to give her the update on our brother...that the surgery was a success, he was doing well and we were relaxin' in his hospital room in a morphene haze...she mentioned that he and I must have bonded. When she said those words I recalled her having said them to me before...maybe a few months ago, maybe a few years ago...I don't remember the when or even the why of her previous declaration of our presumed increased closeness. What I do remember is that my response was the same. I told her we didn't bond. I told her we can't bond anymore. Our bonding is done. It was done a very long time ago. We'd already bonded to the Nth degree, hence, there can be no further bonding. We're bonded to the max.
I know what she meant. She meant that my being there with him during this trying, scary time must have made us closer. But it didn't. Just as me being her maid of honor a few months ago didn't make her and I closer. Just like her planning a special birthday weekend for me after yet another guy let me down didn't make me any closer with her either. The closeness was established long ago.
I realize not all siblings have each other as their "few people". I've always known this was a very special blessing that was bestowed upon the three of us...always knowing that I could never have made it through without them...always knowing that life could never have been as good without them.

Good Fortune

I should not have eaten the ridiculous amount of Chinese food that I just inhaled but, as they say, everything happens for a reason. The reason, apparently, was my fortune cookie...well, both of them. The first one I cracked suggested that I, "Seek out the significance of your problem at this time. Try to understand." As if that wasn't direct enough, the next one was kind enough to remind me, "Time heals all wounds. Keep your chin up".
Quite apropos, considering I just let some schmuck burn me for the third time because I was too weak, desperate and stupid to do the right thing for myself. So instead, I hung myself out there, at his mercy, for the third time. Pathetic. I didn't do the right thing for myself. My heart knew it. My gut knew it. Hell, even my brain knew it. But I ignored all of my instincts. I broke my own rules. Loneliness and desperation can make a girl do really stupid things. They've been making me do stupid things for a really long time.
This could be my new credo...which I should utter upon waking every morning, as a reminder to set the tone for the day, and as I get into bed at night, to keep my mind focused on my daily purpose...to do the right thing for myself. Sometimes, this is easier said than done. Sometimes we don't realize, at the moment, that we're not doing the right thing for ourselves. But, there are other times, there are many times that it is so blatantly obvious that you are not doing the right thing for yourself...okay, I'll speak for myself....it is so obvious that I am not doing the right thing for MYSELF, that it's really cause for me to pause, step back and ask myself: WHY? Of course, I already know the answer. I'm afraid. I feel undeserving. I'm angry. I don't value myself enough. I need to focus on these feelings, and treat myself with more respect...respect myself enough to NOT give a guy a third chance when he's already fucked up royally twice, knowing full well that the only possible outcome is that he will surely only disappoint me a third time. No more second chances.

You Gotta Know When To Fold 'Em

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Guess I should have known better than to give the Southern Gentleman a third chance. We had a great two weeks together...although I could never really shake the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop...again...for the third time. Well, my wait is now over. Today, the shoe dropped.
After two weeks of his calling and texting almost daily, buying me a birthday card, even...and having what seemed to be a great date Friday night... he called me Saturday morning...and asked me when we were going to work out together. We made plans to do so Sunday at 4, after he took his "little brother" bowling.
He knew I had plans to go out with my old work friends Saturday night...I told him I didn't know how late the night would go, he said he didn't have anything planned, so I told him I'd call him later and see what he was up to. After texting him at about 10:15 to let him know I was still out and I'd call him the next day, he texted me at 2:45am saying, "U home yet, vampire? I can't sleep." I texted him back a little after 3 saying I wasn't home yet, with an unhappy face. He then texted me this morning at 9:30 asking, "Did you ever make it home last night?". I said yes, and that I was never going out there again! Then he said, "Ok, 'lady of the night', did we win the lotto?" (which we played together on our date Friday night)....told him I didn't know, I was still in bed and my feet hurt and could use a massage. No response. Unusual, considering he seems to like to massage my feet. I texted him at about 12:30, letting him know no one won the lotto, but now there's more for us to win on Wednesday. And I asked if he was out with his "little brother". No response.
I made my way over to the pool to recouperate from my 4am bedtime and try to get ready for our 4pm gym time. When I didn't hear from him by 3:15, like an asshole I called him and left a message, since he didn't answer my call, asking if we were on to go work out. Then I called my best friend, who has been warning me for the last two weeks that SG is an asshole con artist piece of shit and I should NOT be seeing him, and went to dinner and a movie with him. It's now just after midnite and, uh, SG still hasn't gotten around to calling me to confirm our gym date for 8 hours ago. So, sadly, but after all, not surprisingly, it's over...for the last time. I knew I was on borrowed time with him from the moment we reconnected...what else could it possibly have been? A zebra does not change his stripes...which SG has proven to me YET AGAIN. Strange, strange man.
Was it because I was out until all hours of the night? Why should that have anything to do with anything? I can go out for 72 hours straight if I damn well please! Who knows what the reason is? Why ask why? Does it really matter at this point? It was my fault for continuing to play the game with a bad hand. Time to fold 'em. I'm out.

Maybe It's Better...

SG has been in constant contact since we reconnected last Thursday...texting and/or calling every day, before and after our last "first date" on Saturday. He called today and asked me if I wanted to watch a movie at his place tonight. Sounded good to me.
I arrived at 7:30, he gave me a tour of the place...it was cozy. We watched a movie, ordered pizza, talked, and continued to, I guess, feel each other out. We were on separate couches for the first half of the night, but once the food arrived I moved onto his couch, at his prompting.
He doesn't know how to read me, I guess. And I sure as hell don't know how to read him. To me he seems extremely guarded, private...and I feel there's a lot more to his story than has been revealed to me. As for me, I'm guarded, hesitant, reserved with him. How can I not be? I guess it was time to decipher whether we were hanging out as friends (which, of course, I knew we were not), or if we were going to explore the possibility of something more...like with a REAL kiss. I have never sat through 3 movies with a guy who I was completely attracted to (over the course of 6 months, mind you) and actually watched all three movies. Maybe he hadn't either?
The movie ended at about 10:30...we were talking as he measured the length of my calf against his forearm, my foot against his hand and my entire leg against his whole arm. Yes, I'm 5' and you're 6'4"...my leg is the length of your arm. He mentions that he's going to go to the gym which, again, took me by surprise. Who the heck goes to the gym at 10:30 at night when they have a girl on their couch? I guess I've decided to take a bit of a laizzes-faire approach to my interaction with SG for now. After all, he could disappear again any day now, so why bother getting my panties in a bunch about any of it? I'm taking a very day by day approach this time around.

Before I even put on my shoes to leave, he asked when he could see me again...we decided on Thursday, and I reminded him I was going out of town on Friday to spend my birthday weekend with my family. "Does this mean I don't have to get you a present, or even call you, since you'll be out of town?", he joked. I told him he was completely off the hook since I didn't even know if my phone would work all the way in Orlando. He walked me to the door. I wanted a kiss. A real kiss. I needed to know if we have that spark, that connection..beyond just liking what each other looks like. Looks aren't everything. It's in the kiss. I wanted to feel and taste his lips and his tongue. We paused by the door. He bent down. We kissed. For the first time. For real. Our tongues caressed each other. It was soft and sweet and sensual and passionate at the same time...at least it would have been if I didn't have one foot out the door knowing he had one foot on the treadmill. I wanted to get lost in his mouth, as I pictured that sexy, uneven toothed smile of his. After the kiss he said "wow" or "you're a great kisser" or "that was great"...I can't quite remember exactly what he said because the birds were swirling and chirping again. My exact words were: "That was worth waiting for". Then he kissed me again. It was delicious.
As he walked me to my car he said, "I don't know why I'm going to the gym now." "Neither do I", I agreed. But, then I thought to myself...maybe it's better that he's going to the gym, and our dates are alcohol free, and they end by midnight instead of in two am drunken stupors. Maybe it's better that we've had five dates in six months instead of four dates in two weeks. Maybe it's better. We'll see what happens tomorrow....one day at a time.

How Do You Know?

How do you know, unless by looking back in retrospect, whether you're making the right decision or not? I think you can never know for sure. The best you can do is make an educated guess, a calculated decision based on experience and logic. And sometimes you throw experience, logic and caution to the wind and, ignoring them all, you move forward anyway. You may move forward tentatively...holding your heart back, or trying to, anyway, if that's not your strong suit. But then how can you be fully engaged in the experience? How can you be your loving, affectionate self if you're holding yourself back, trying as you might, to protect yourself, to guard your heart?
What makes us decide to give someone another chance, as opposed to dismissing them as yet another one of the many undeserving? A feeling, a hunch, a belief, a hope?
I've decided to do something completely uncharacteristic of me, and give someone not a second, which I barely believe in, but a third chance. As of last Thursday, the Southern Gentleman is back in my life. In an unexpected turn of events, we reconnected. And, despite what would normally be my "better judgement" (which for me is an oxymoron anyway), I decided to give him another chance. Why? I guess it boiled down to how it felt the last time I saw him...back in April, when I was sick and he brought me chicken soup and chocolate cake and we watched movies at my place. It was cozy, comfortable. It felt really good. I liked it. And I didn't see anything country or bumpkin about him. At all. All I saw was 6'4" of green eyed gourgeousness. With that memory in mind, three months later, I decided to give it another shot.
He picked me up and we went on the sushi date we were supposed to have in April. We talked, discussed, I gave him just a bit of a hard time about what was his latest disappearance....he expected it, knew he deserved it, and took it like a man. But I told him I didn't want to get caught up in all that...I'd already discussed with him how I felt about what had transpired and he agreed that he was 100% wrong and that I was 100% right. Enough said. If we were going to move forward we needed to move past that.
From the minute I laid eyes on him again when he appeared at my door, I was...okay, let's face it...I was in love. But, this time it's different. I'm leary. I'm suspecting. I'm wondering. Will he disappear again? My experience with the SG was different from the start. We'd never kissed. Not on our first, second or third dates. This is highly unusual for me. Could be because he doesn't drink. At all. And I really don't drink alone. So, I've never been drunk with him. Never had my guard or inhibitions down with him. It's been nice, sweet, friendly. Aside from the disappearances, I mean.
After sushi we went back to my place and watched a movie...and picked up where we left off three months ago...me laying on the couch with my legs on his lap and him massaging my feet, then holding my hand and tickling my arm. It was nice. He did make an unexpectedly early exit...with some excuse about having to call his dad about a family situation. I was a bit perplexed. But, somehow, this behavior didn't really surprise me, and I didn't question him. I walked him to the door and waited for him to bend down to give me our usual good bye hug...which he did...but then he kissed me. Took me by surprise. A good surprise. Before leaving he asked if he could see me again. I smiled and said yes. He texted me when he got home, thanking me for giving him another chance. I replied saying, "Maybe the third time WILL be the charm:)." He responded, "Yes it will be...is:)."

Funkytown

July is always a tough month for me. It's always the month that I turn another year older. I'm watching the years, and my life tick away, and I don't have what I want. I don't feel happy. Or content. Or secure. Why? Because I'm single. About to be 37 and single. And extremely attractive, educated, articulate, caring, funny, had a successful career for the last 5 years...and completely, painfully, frustratingly single.

I've been looking for the right guy for a long time. And I just can not find him. The problem is not that I'm too picky....that has always been far from the problem. I'm open to all different types, I'm just looking for a good guy with a great heart who has integrity and morals and is looking for the same thing I am...love. This has proven very elusive. Will I ever be happy if I don't find a great guy to share what's left of my life with. No. Definitely not. That's not how it's supposed to be. Not how we're designed. We're designed to need, crave companionship, love, affection. Even on Sex and the City...with their glamourous lives, great friends, successful careers, fantastic clothes....they were all ultimately in search of the love, the lover, the partner to share it all with, to make it all worth it. And that's what I want. I deserve it. I have a lot of love to give. I just want to love and be loved by someone worthy. Someone good.

My birthday is fast approcahing, and I've just made a drastic change in my life....I quit my job. I was miserable. I was burnt out. I hated going to work. So, I quit. This is unlike me...usually I stay for far too long in situations I shouldn't be in. But, lately, I just can't take the discomfort.

The Grind

I've come to the conclusion that, unless you're pulling in six figures, it's just not worth it to go to work. Time would be much better spent sleeping in, going to the gym, relaxing at the beach or pool and then enjoying a nice night out...or in. I recently lived this lifestyle for two weeks between resigning from my old job and beginning my new one. Was the best two weeks of my life.
Now I'm back to the grind. Corporate America. Sales meetings. Training classes. Sales goals. Reports. Scripts. A long commute. It's been almost a month. And I'm completely over it. I want out. I find myself fantasizing about living in a van down by the river. Okay, it's a condo by the beach. If only I could find one with cheap rent, where I could hear the ocean, and do some kind of per diem freelance work to support a lifestyle of boxed wine and flip flops, with a schedule all my own.

True To Form

The Punisher and I shared two weeks and 4 dates filled with blissful passion. Our 5th date was planned for Saturday, but he was a no-show, or a no-call, as the case may be. It was disappointing, ie: just what I asked for, yet somehow surprising, although I know it shouldn't have been. He'd been calling me every day since our love bloomed over Pinot Grigio, Heinekin and Tom Petty tunes playing in the background. I didn't hear from the bastard all weekend, until I went to the gym on Monday. When we spoke, he gave me some ridiculous excuse about how he left his phone in someone's car Friday night and didn't have my number to call me, and he didn't get the phone back until just then. Yeah, OKAY. Guess he wasn't resourceful enough to call the gym and have someone get my number from my file, which I emphatically pointed out to him. He apologized and asked if he could make it up to me. I said, "I don't know, can you?". To which he responded, "Yes, I can, may I?" I don't think I answered one way or another, instead I swicthed to matters of business and asked when we could schedule the next two sessions he owes me. "Whenever you want", he said. I suggested the following day at 1, in a very business like manner. And that was that.
When I got to the gym the next day our eyes met, and the feeling was electric, as usual. I was on the phone, walking past him on my way to the bathroom. We smiled at each other and I gave him a death stare simultaneously, as I walked by. "It's going to be like that?", he asked. I kept smiling and kept walking.
When I came out from the bathroom, he put my purse away and we started training. He held my towel and water bottle, as usual. I was stand-offish. What else did he expect? He knew I'd be pissed because he knew he fucked up. It's my fault, I know. I probably shouldn't even have been pissed at him. He is who he is. I have eyes. I have a brain. I have the powers of reason and deduction. Whether I choose to use them when making my decisions is up to me. And, clearly, I choose not to. Not his fault. Mine.
So, we make our way through working out my upper body. He helps me with my reps, standing in front of me, as we stare intensly into each other's eyes with shit eating grins on our faces. Not sure what it all meant in his mind. Who the hell knows what goes on in these guys minds, other than "I want to f--- her brains out". To me, it was the lure of the forbidden...the "I know I shouldn't but I really want to" appeal of doing something that I know can only lead to trouble, knowing this guy is bad news but wanting to ignore all the warning signs with raging flames bursting from them flashing before my eyes, because even the images of the devil himself with his pitchfork slanted in my direction hovering atop of each of the Pitbull's sculpted shoulders doesn't distract me from the lure of those green eyes, ripped muscles, dangerous tattoos, and his evident bad-ness...I'm like a fly to that honey.
I questioned him and his ridiculous excuse of a story throughout the workout. He patted the sweat off my face with my towel, but didn't have too much to say, other than "that wasn't the case" (that he didn't want to see me), and he apologized some more. I told him I didn't believe his story. Told him he should have told me he got into a bar fight and was sitting in jail all weekend- I actually would have bought that. He stuck to his story. What else could he do at that point?
We finished up by doing abs on the mats, after which I asked, "when are doing it again?". He asked, "Doing what?" Maybe he thought I meant going out again, but I meant working out. Because of my new work schedule, looks like it won't be until next Monday. He walked me to my car. I continued to give him a hard time while I sat in the car and he stood by my door. He bent down and kissed me on my sweaty cheek. Then he told me to give him a call later. I must have looked at him like he'd lost his mind... thereby making two of us. I told him he could call me later, and confirmed that he had my number, and if he lost it again that he now knows he could call the gym and get it from my file. Yeah, I was being a smartass, but he deserved a lot worse. But, why bother getting my panties in more of a bunch. The whole damn situation is my fault. I walked in with my eyes open. I just chose to look the other way. Then he bent down again and went to kiss me on the lips. I turned my cheek to him, and he kissed it. Said he'd talk to me later and he closed my door. He walked around to the other side of my car, opened my passenger door, and told me I'd better never turn my cheek to him again. To which I replied, "You're lucky you got the cheek!" The bastard didn't call me until 7:20 the following day. I was on the other line. I didn't answer. He didn't leave a message. We're in love.

SG Take Three

So, last week, out of the blue, the Southern Gentleman reappeared in my inbox, apologizing up and down for his disappearances, and expressing his regret over "what could have been" with me had he handled himself better during the personal turmoils that caused his two disappearances. Well, that was a surprise! His writing was compelling, as usual. So, I wrote back. What the hell? Although I do have a personal rule about never going backwards, in my current dating despair, I am toying with the possibility of giving the SG another chance. Boredom's a bitch.
I'm sitting here on my couch, reminiscing about that 6'3", green eyed, killer sexy smile, seemingly super sweet man on my couch, massaging my feet, holding my hand, and hugging me goodbye, after delivering chicken soup, movies and chocolate cake to my door, and I have to say, I can go for some of that.
We emailed back and forth a few times. I told him I can only assume and deduce, by my powers of reading between his passive agressive lines, that he wants to see me again. He replied, confirming that I read between the lines well. It's been about a week since he sent that message.
Even though my inbox is filled with potential suitors, telling me what a great smile I have, asking to meet for a drink, or a coffee- the cheapest of the cheap-ass dates, none of them appeal to me. It's amazing how many unappealing men are out there. So, I am contemplating using SG as filler. Is that so wrong? Someone disarmingly handsome who is still smitten with me (and why wouldn't he be?!?), to hang out with, go out with, have some fun with, while continuing to explore my options. As much as I enjoy my alone time at home, a girl's got to get out!
So, I admit, I'm possibly about to break my cardinal rule of never going backwards. What the heck? It's not like my rules are working for me very well so far. Why not try something new? Sometimes you have to go backwards in order to move forward.

Defense Mechanism

It makes for an interesting situation when the thing that you want the most is also the thing that you fear the most. It's even more interesting when you realize this on a conscious level. And then knowingly, right before your very own eyes, make choices that will lead you farthest from that thing that you think you want. Because the fear is stronger than the desire.

Of course, I'm referring to my love life, or lack thereof. I won't go so far as to say I want a husband at this point, since I haven't even gotten to a 5th date in the last 11 months. But I will say I'd like a relationship, a companion, a lover, a partner, a best friend who I can share everything with... or at the very least, drinks, dinners, movies, trips and sleep overs. Do we really need to share everything?

I don't even know if I can handle the piece of paper anymore. Sure, I want the jewelry, but can't it just be a "promise" 3.5 carat diamond ring set in platinum? I just want someone to be good to...someone who deserves for me to be good to them. Why waste my goodness on someone undeserving? And, of course, someone who's good to me.

I still think about the Pothead, and how we used to gaze at each other googley eyed, discussing the possibility of our Love Ceremony....a celebration on the beach with our close family and friends to commemorate our lawless union. It was all going to be so perfect, until he dropped the smoke bomb on me. I still miss that little green eyed Jew. But, of course, he wasn't the right one. Any guy who waxes on about how camp was the highlight of his life has some serious issues... so, of course I was attracted. And was saved just in the nick of time, before I got in too deep.

Are the pickings really that slim, or do I just choose to fraternize with the slimmest of the pickings? Suffice it to say, if I'm asking myself this question, I already know the answer. I say I like the bad boys. I like the muscles and the tattoos. But, can I really see an uneducated, meat head, personal trainer fresh from the joint as my lifetime companion, the co-walker of my future puppy? Can I really let my guard down and open my heart to such a character? No. So, it's safe. Because I know it can't go anywhere. I know, even though I give the benefit of the doubt even when I know I shouldn't, this person will sooner, rather than later, do exactly what I expect him to: disappoint me. Thereby preventing any relationship from developing or progressing, allowing me to keep my heart safely under lock and key, as I continue with my fruitless silly antics and dates and choices. Choosing the ones that I know will fail me keeps me in control, or gives me a false sense of it, anyway- because I get exactly what I expect. Opening my heart to someone who could actually be my lifetime companiion, and freeing my heart from the protective barbed wire that encases it, is way too dangerous.

As Usual, I Was Wrong

Apparently, The Punisher is the type to put himself out there again. How could he help himself, seeing me every week? I can be pretty irresistable. It happened last Monday night when I was out on what seemed like a good date with some Greek guy who proceeded to stalk me for the next 6 days, totally freaking me out. Even for me, the attention whore, his multiple daily texts and numerous unanswered calls were way too much.
When I got to the gym on Tuesday and we started working out, The Punisher mentioned that he'd called me the night before. I'd had a few glasses of vino with the crazy Greek, and wasn't paying attention to my phone. He said he called a little after 8, when he got out of work and was at Publix. I asked, "Oh, were you going to cook dinner for me?" He said, "Yes". Game on. I checked my call log later, and there it was...a missed call from BFF just after 8. As usual, no message.
So, we're making our way through our workout...with our usual chemistry and banter. And somewhere between bis and abs, we made plans...to go out...that night. And we were both giddy with anticipation.
I could have written the script of how the night would play out with my hands tied behind my back. Meet at bar. Have too many drinks. Ask a lot of questions. Have a few more drinks. Make out. Passionately. Go home. Alone. Indeed, that was the bones of it. The meat of it was the chemistry, the comfort level, the closeness. I asked most of the questions, as I always do. And he asked me if I was going to bring an interrogation light next time. "Am I asking too many questions?, I asked. "No", he replied, "you're just curious." How else does one extract information from a virtual stranger other than by asking questions? Are all the other women in South Florida that these guys are dating imbecilic twits who can barely form a question? I guess I answered my own question.

The hours flew by like minutes. I knew the passion and chemistry would be there. That was a given from the first day we met. What I didn't know was how gentle and affectionate he'd be. Life is always full of surprises. We made our way from one bar to the next...after so many hours we wanted a change of scenery...although our eyes were clearly only on each other. We ended up at a little dive bar by the beach. Live band, cheap booze and the next thing you know, with just the slightest encouragement from some girls on the makeshift dance floor, I was out there doing my little dance. When I repositioned myself on the barstool next to him it was late and we were both full of liquid courage. And he kissed me. It was soft and sweet, yet intense and passionate. And he looked at me with his bright green eyes as he stroked my silky hair with his calloused hand, pushing my hair away from my face, telling me how pretty I am. And what an incredible smile I have. And he just kept petting me, and kissing my face, like I was his little puppy. The next thing we knew it was last call. 2 am. Time to go home. The night played out exactly as I'd anticipated from the day I showed up at the gym and pranced around in my gold wedges. And it left me wanting more...

I Know How to Pick 'Em

I'm happy to report that I've been reuinted with my trainer...he reappeared from obscurity, and we got right back into the swing of things, after I reprimanded him about how his disappearance was both rude as a BFF and extremely unprofessional as my trainer. He apologized. I accepted. We moved on.
Working out with him is fun, and it's motivating me to actually go to the gym, which is great. Whatever it takes. I think he might still be holding a grudge about me cancelling our previously scheduled "date", even though we talked about it and supposedly worked through it...but I think his Irish/Italian/Napoleon complex may still be harboring some resentment....he just seems a bit more...I don't know, reserved, held back. Let's just say that he's not the type to put himself out there again. Just a feeling.
We worked out together 4 times during the week we reunited...even though I told him I could only pay him for two, he didn't seem to mind. As we went over the schedule he suggested...Thursday, Saturday, Monday and Wednesday...I told him I was on to him and knew he just wanted to see me more often:)
We actually trained together...yes, a bit ususual for a client and trainer, but this relationship is a bit unusual, as all of mine are. It works out for both of us- he makes a few extra bucks and I get a bargain priced personal trainer four times in one week. Everyone's happy.
Having time off has been a real luxury...I could definitely live the life of going to the gym and the beach every day. I really think it would take quite a while for that to get old for me....like a lifetime. I'm desperately hoping to win the lotto. But, I digress.
So, we're pumping iron, I'm sweating, grunting, complaining, struggling...and loving every minute of it. I look into his bright green eyes for reassurance, and he grunts, "come on", pushing me through my reps. Then it's his turn. His body is like a machine. No fat. Insanely strong muscles. Cut up. Chiseled. And adorned with just a sampling of tattoos...only 4, two of which I can see. I like it. I always was a sucker for tattooed muscle heads who could pick me up and swing me around. I guess some things never change. Although there has been no picking up or swinging around. Strictly professional. He's definitely one of the strongest guys in the gym, and from what I've seen, the most muscular of the meat heads. Why would I want a scrawny trainer? I've got the one with the biggest muscles.
So, we finish training on Saturday and he walks me outside. I ask him where he parked and he looks at me and says, "Okay, you want to know the truth?" Not knowing what the hell he was talking about I replied, "Sure, the truth would be nice". He then proceeds to tell me that he somewhat recently got out of jail, where he was locked up for almost two years. Somehow, this didn't surprise me in the least. And my lack of surprise had nothing to do with him whatsoever. I didn't even flinch. I started laughing, looked him straight in those bright green eyes and told him, "I sure know how to pick 'em". He laughed with me and agreed whole-heartedly. And he doesn't even know the half of it. Apparently brick-laying didn't pay well enough, so he slung some yeyo on the side. Hmmmm, real estate's not paying very well either...and I'd love to work from the beach...
Does it get any better than having a muscle bound, tattooed, ex-con Pitbull from Philly for a trainer? I'm gonna be so buff.

Back In Action

I needed some time to myself...to disappear...to relax, to focus on just me, myself and I. I needed the beach, the sun, the pool, my alone time. I needed to retreat...to the back of my closet for a little while. I needed my own space, without anyone peeking in. But, as great, and as necessary as that time was, I knew I couldn't, and shouldn't, stay there forever. I needed to re-emerge. So, here I am. Slightly changed, slightly more aware of who I am, where I am, what I need, slightly more aware of why I might not have what I think I may want. Introspection and realization are good things...it's always time well spent when we learn about ourselves.

Don't think that just because I wasn't talking, I wasn't doing. I just didn't feel like sharing. I didn't want any feedback. I didn't want to hear any opinions. I wanted anonymity. I wanted to exercise my God given right to do, or not do, anything I damn well pleased at any time I damn well wanted...without any responsibilities, any obligations, any judgements. I just wanted to take care of ME. So, I did.

For the past few feeks I have successfully aspired to live the ultimate beach bum lifestyle. And I liked it. A lot. Maybe too much. I woke up late every day, and lay in bed contemplating which beach to go to. I hit three different beaches in three different towns in three days. I was in heaven. As I listened to the waves crash in while repeatedly re-applying my sunscreen, I wracked my brain trying to figure out how I could do this full time and not return to the working world...ever again. I know first hand it's completely over-rated. Much to my chagrin, I didn't figure it out...not yet, anyway. And since the calendar says I start my new job tomorrow...I'll have to relinquish myself to being the ultimate beach bum only 2 days a week for now. During the other five days, I'll hock real estate.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program...

When Opportunity Knocks...

Answer the door. Just as I was feeling the despair of being completely "over" my job and wondering what the hell I'm going to do next and how I'll find another job in this flailing and failing market, opportunity knocked. Opportunity came into my office...to interview me....recruit me....and offer me a job on the spot. Thanks, Opportunity! Great timing!
Opportunity came in the form of a large gay man, who happens to be the VP of Sales and Marketing for another developer. I love gay men. They're perfect for me. They're not trying to sleep with me, or hurt me, or take advantage of me. And now, they offer me jobs. Perhaps they should be my new target market...I'd probably have better relationships. But, I digress.
Opportunity called me today to set up another meeting, which will take place tomorrow, to formally present me with a job offer. This is very exciting. And flattering. And validating. A little scary, because I'll be voluntarily fleeing my "comfort zone". Not something that I'm known to do. I usually stay. Way too long. But, I'm trying to make changes for the better. And this one seems like a win/win. Plus, it's become apparent to me that I'm not very comfortable in my comfort zone right now. I need a change. I'm ready for a change. And I'm really thankful that this change is upon me.

Good Help Is Hard To Find

Apparently, even the men I pay to stick around disappear into thin air! Monday was supposed to be my 4th session with The Punisher. I texted him to confirm our appointment, but didn't get a response. A few hours later, as I was leaving work, I called him to confirm. The recording on the other end of the line informed me that "This number is no longer in service." "Hmmm", I thought to myself, "I guess we're not on for tonight!". So, instead of working out I decided to go shoe shopping. What else is a girl to do? It was a necessity, though...for my sister's wedding...and I found the perfect gold strappy sandals....so, I guess it was meant to be. Que sera, sera.
I was looking forward to talking to my buddy at the gym, the guy who initially toured me around and got me to sign up, to see if I could get some inside scoop on The Punisher's disappearance. I talked with him for about a half hour after I worked out- really sweet guy. Married, of course. Apparently, The Punisher failed to show up to work on Saturday, Sunday and Monday. It seems that this is considered "job abandonment", and can result in immediate termination. Especially when your African American boss told you the week prior, "I'm the Black Hitler and I'm gonna get rid of all you white guys". That's how The Punisher relayed it to me, anyway. So, I told my buddy that I want, well, need, a new trainer. He said he'd have someone call me tomorrow. I asked who would be calling me, since I knew Hitler was The Punisher's boss, as well as the boss of all the trainers, and I really didn't like the vibe I got from him. I don't have any chemistry with Black Hitler. He seems like a real Black asshole if you ask me. And, let's face it, I've already dealt with enough of those.
Truth be told, I'm disappointed The Punisher is gone. I had fun working out with him, and actually looked forward to going to the gym- a first for me. Let's see who's around the corner...

On The Payroll

Just came home from my third session with The Punisher. We spotted each other as I walked into the gym and our smiles lit up. Not sure who was happier to see who. He told me he was in a good mood today. I said, "Yeah, because I'm here." I pointed out that I left my purse in the car so he wouldn't have to carry it around for me, and I'd swear he was actually disappointed.
Today we did back and bis. I was excited to pump up my guns, but I had no idea they were as weak as they are. It was embarrassing.
The Punisher led me from machine to machine, setting me up in the proper positions and assisting me when the weight became too much, which was pretty quickly tonight. He put his hand on my lower back, ensuring I had the proper arch, and our hands touched as he pulled down the bar I couldn't reach and he told me to grab it on the outside of his hands. As I looked up to grab the bar, muscles and tattoos were everywhere. Muscles were bulging, veins were popping, and his green eyes sparkled (What's with all these green eyed guys?), as the sun shone in on us while he counted my reps, beads of sweat covering my face and, as he pointed out, on my lip. Just after I wiped it off, he said he was going to wipe it for me. I knew he wanted to wipe it. "Without a towel?!", I asked, implying how crazy, gross and extremely personal that would have been.... knowing full well that we both would have enjoyed it. "With my shirt", he said. Next time I'll definitely bring in my towel, hand it to him, and tell him it's for when he sees me start to sweat. He'll love it. He went and grabbed a paper towel for me so I could wipe my face, which I then handed to him to hold for me until I needed it again. Apparently, he's not afraid of a little sweat.
The Punisher asked me if anyone told me how pretty I looked today. In between reps and grunts, I said, "No, no one did." I was too tired and ensconsed in tearing apart my muscles at that moment to articulate my actual thought: "Only me, when I looked in the mirror". Too bad. He would have gotten a kick out of that one. Then he told me how pretty I looked...just before he increased the weight and demanded another set out of me.
I whined and bitched and moaned, "I can't, it's too heavy, make it lighter." My protests were useless. This is what I need. Apparently, I inadvertently flashed him a look...not sure which look this was...it wasn't my usual eyeroll...I think it was more of a death stare...I must have channelled it from my sister. He looked at me with those green eyes that are no match for my big brown bombers, no matter how many muscles and tattoos he's sporting, and said, "You don't know me well enough to look at me like that." I told him, "Apparently, I feel I do." We have fun.
We finished up with some torturous ab work, and then sat down to business. We had to go through the motions of sitting at his desk and going over the training packages they offer. Apparently, his boss has taken notice of our freebies. The Punisher and I already discussed that I wasn't going to buy one of their rip off packages...and we worked something out amongst ourselves...Brooklyn/Philly syle. He's going to train me on his personal time for what I felt was a very fair wage. Done deal. He pulled out his rate sheet and circled different packages, prices and enrollment fees, with his boss probably watching from afar. Do people really pay this? I looked at him across the desk as he pretended to explain the different options to me, as I said, "Blah, blah, blah." "What are you going to tell your boss?", I asked, not wanting to cause him any trouble. "I'll tell him you're my girlfriend and I'm training you on the side", he answered without missing a beat. These brick layers are quick! Uh oh. I just laughed it off. I must have told him 5 times since we met last week that I have committment issues (about one thing or another). He's not deterred, the little Pitbull.
With our business settled, he walked me to my car, confirmed our "date" for Saturday which, it has become painfully apparent to me, from his perspective is an "I want to take you out, ply you with drinks and food and make out with you as my new girlfriend" kind of "date", as opposed to my vision of "let's go out, drink, eat, laugh, have fun and, let's face it...most likely make out with my trainer/new BFF, who I like to flirt with and tease, but is not my boyfriend because, even though he would carry my purse, worship the ground I walk on, and maybe be a truly good-hearted, blue-collar sweetheart, certainly he can't be The One for me, as God has not yet created The One for me." So, why bother with all those silly labels? Let's just call it friends. I'm better at friends. When you're friends, you don't end up with another superfluous wedding gown and thousands in lost deposits. Just a slight difference in perspectives. Shouldn't be a problem.
As I was getting ready to leave, he told me his parents are coming into town next week, and invited me to go to dinner with his family! What the hell is going on here? Have I really become that irresitable? I've been known to move too fast in the past, but this pace is alarming even for me. Maybe he's just really friendly despite what appears to be the Grim Reaper on his right forearm? Hmmm, how do I convey that that's cool and sweet, as long as we're hanging out as BFFs, and I'm not on the fast track to my third fiance? Sucking face with him next weekend after a couple of cocktails probably won't be the best course of action. But, as my mother used to sing to me as a little girl, "Que sera, sera, what will be, will be...."

The Punisher

I had my second personal training session with The Pitbull. We (I) planned to do legs, so I decided to get some cardio in first, because I knew I wouldn't have the use of my legs after he worked me out. I told him I'd be there at 1 ish. I called him at 1:20 after I'd "warmed up" on the treadmill. I was sweating bullets and probably a medium shade of purple. He said he was downstairs waiting for me, and thought I wasn't going to show. Little did he know I had the foresight to get some cardio in first. I told him I'd be right down.
He's training me on his break, on his own time, out of the goodness of his Irish Italian Philly cheese steak heart. Or, maybe he's training me because the most beautiful, funniest girl in the gym (who he actually imitated prancing in there for the first time with her gold sandals and Boca facade, which he seemed fearless of and completely unfazed by) informed him that he was her new best friend, and he wants to get into her pants? Who could blame him? I can be pretty irresistable.
In any event, I'm trying to play the BFF card...because I don't know if there's anything more between us...even though I'm looking forward to seeing him, smile when I see his text messages, bought a new gym wardrobe, apply make-up before working out, and have so much fun while he's forcing my muscles beyond their comfort zone of stagnation, that I can't wait until my soreness subsides so he can force me to punish those muscles again. But, he's an uneducated brick layer from Philly, probably broke and likely drives a 10 year old car, and is covered with God knows how many tattoos beyond the two that I can see on his arms. Yet, he carries my purse around the gym for me, without me even asking. That, along with his light green Irish eyes, I notice.
So, I made my way down the swooping staircase of the gym. If I were wearing a wedding gown it would have been that perfect staircase shot. I spotted him sitting there waiting for me, watching me descend in all my sweaty purplish glory. We greeted each other with big smiles, and I told him my arms were still killing me from my workout three days ago...and we had to take it easy on the legs because I needed to be able to walk the next day! It soon became clear that he was blatantly ignoring my request. When he put me on the first machine and my quads were already burning after only a few reps I knew I was in trouble. I implored him, "Go easy on me. It's my first time". I honestly didn't mean to imply any innuendo...not consciously, anyway...but as soon as the words involuntarily came out of my mouth and I realized what I'd said..we both laughed. And through the pain that The Punisher continued to inflict upon me, the laughs, and good time, kept rolling.
He insisted I finish my leg workout by doing lunges across the floor. By this point, my legs felt like overcooked noodles. Limp and wobbley. As he walked backwards, just in front of me, encouraging me, telling me I had only a few steps more to go, he saw me failing and held out his hand. I reached for it, for the stability and support that I needed, and I lunged the rest of the way across the floor. He told me he did lunges yesterday, holding weights in each hand. Bragger. I said, "Yeah, well, look at your body and look at mine". To which he replied, "I am". I chuckled.
Before I had a chance to catch my breath, he demanded I lunge all the way back. Again, I held out my hand for his support. He kinda laughed. I could tell he wasn't expecting me to reach for him again...not yet, anyway. But, he obliged. And I lunged my way all the way back across the floor.
With my legs sufficiently noodle-ized, it was time to work on abs. We did machines and then he led me over to the mats. I told him about an ab exercise that I used to like to do, but he had his own ideas. He teased and tortured me, raising the bar with each rep. Next position...the grand finale. He was holding my towel, as he had me supporting my weight on my forearms and my toes, face down with my legs stretched out behind me, engaging my core, while he laid there beside me, timing me....watching me sweat and struggle. I asked him to at least tell me a story while we were there! ...something, anything, to distract me, help me pass the time. We ended up talking about where we're going on what he seems to like to call our "date" next weekend.
The sweat was beading up on my face....so I asked him to wipe it for me. Even I laughed as I made this request. He laughed at my overt comical silliness, but obligingly patted my forehead and cheek and asked, "Better?". I turned to him with beads of sweat about to drip off my upper lip and implored, "My lip!", and The Punisher wiped the sweat from my upper lip. I thanked him as I tried to squeeze out a few more seconds in that torturous position.
I assume he must get a kick out of me, and senses that I have a good heart...and I'm fun...or funny, anyway...amusing, entertaining, to say the least...that must be it, because even I'm not sure I'm hot enough to get away with these antics. How could I be, when the guy knows I'm comprised of one third fat?!? I still think that machine was broken. As was his scale. But, I think we just have a connection....like Shrek and Fiona, Beauty and the Beast, Cheese steaks and Pizza Bagels. We're simpatico.
As quickly as it started, the workout was over. As torturous as it was, I didn't want it to end. And I hate exercise. It was his turn to work out. I jokingly asked if he wanted me to spot him and count his reps...but he told me he had a friend coming in to work out with him. Then he walked me all the way out to my car. He sure is the personal trainer with the personal touch. And, yes, I'm sure he'd like to give me a personal touch. But, we're both playing it cool for now...so, I stuck out my hand and said, "Thank you, my friend". Because I don't think I like him like that. Although I think I might.

Gym Rat

After getting what was apparently the extra nudge I needed from my soon-to-be brother-in-law, I finally bit the bullet after about three (or has it been four?)years of procrastination, and joined the gym. Whether I did this to get healthy and buff and feel better about myself, or to meet new men is completely immaterial. The important thing is that I joined. And I'm happy to report it's been a great experience so far!
I had an appointment to take a tour of the gym and discuss membership options last night. So, I showed up in my white capri pants, coordinating black and white top and gold wedge sandals. Seemed like appropriate gym orientation gear to me. It certainly turned a lot of heads...or was that my dazzling smile, captivating laugh, sparkling eyes and silken hair turning those heads? Probably all of the above.
I don't know if it was my nerves, or all of the testosterone surging around me, but I was in rare form, even for me. Even I didn't know what had gotten into me. As I was toured around the gym, my Tour Guide questioned my knowledge of where my triceps were- back of the arm, of course. He challenged me to do 2 dozen crunches on 2 different ab machines- DONE! And said he wasn't going to introduce me to the free weights yet...at which time I let him know I like doing free weights- especially working on my "guns." Did he think I was a novice just because I showed up overweight and in gold sandals? Silly gym manager/membership guy Tour Guide!
I talked up a good game, and even impressed with my crunches, but I admitted to my Tour Guide that I was completely intimidated by the whole scene. It was overwhelming. Apparently, the place is about 40,000 sf...can that be right?, and it was jam packed- meatheads lifting weights, girls bouncing around in the aerobics room, guys playing basketball, spinners spinning and seniors swimming in the indoor pool...and that was just the first floor! He assured me that Monday night was the busiest of the week, and it's not always that crowded.
Along the tour I was introduced to a personal trainer who happened to be crossing my path...he was a 5'7" Pitbull, weighing in at 208, with about 12% body fat. I didn't see any fat, just bulging muscles everywhere. We shook hands and Tour Guide said he'd get me a training session with Pitbull. Then he asked me if Pitbull intimidated me. I said, "No, I like him." There was something about Pitbull that made me feel very comfortable....like I could just walk up to him and push him in his pumped up pecs and say, "Hey, help me get buff!"....but that's fast forwarding....
Although I was extremely hesitant to walk in there tonight, I did. I joined the gym and summoned Pitbull to train me. He promptly sat down next to me, muscles popping, and seemed quite happy to see me. He asked me why it took me two days to come back in. I said, "Two days?!? I was just here last night...must have just seemed longer because you missed me!" I'm telling you, I was out of control! But, he admitted he did miss me and that he'd called me last night to see if I was coming back in today. Hmmmmm. I checked my call log, and sure enough he'd called shortly after I left the gym.
We sat there chatting, volleying sarcastic, silly banter, as if we were in a bar instead of a gym, while he filled out my "training paperwork". I think this was a ploy to pump me for personal information. "Do you have someone to support your efforts and encourage you to reach your goals, a boyfriend?, he inquired. "Smoothe move", I replied. How much do I want to weigh? How tall am I? How old am I? Seemed kinda one-sided, so I asked him all the same questions back! Pitbull is 33, moved here from Philly six months ago following the end of a long term relationship, he worked as a mason up North, and is half Italian and half Irish, to which I replied, "Could there be a worse combination?" And the guy gave it right back to me. Pitbull matched my wit, jab for jab. I knew I liked him yesterday. And right there and then I told him he was going to be my new best friend! He was quite agreeable to this idea.
Then,things took an ugly turn. Granted, he gave me fair warning that he was about to weigh me and test my body fat. I told him I found this extremely rude! But, he persisted. Before I stepped on the scale, I turned to him and asked if I should take off all my clothes first. Again, a witty comeback. The numbers were off the charts and I told him his machines must be broken. But he wrote the numbers down anyway. With this part of our mini-date concluded, it was time to work out. After breaking my body down into 3 sections, he asked me what I wanted to work on today. I chose shoulders and tris. He then took my purse from me and hid it behind the counter for me, suggested I actually take my water bottle with me, as opposed to leaving it on his desk, and then he held my towel for me as we walked to the machines. Said he was going to whip me with it if I didn't work hard enough. And I've been busy looking for a Cavalier King Charles?... who knew what I needed was a Pitbull?!
As we went from one arm sculpting machine to the next, he adjusted my weights and seat positions for me, counted my reps and sets (jokingly counting down from 100), encouraged me and helped me along when my arms became to noodle-like to do it on their own... all the while, chatting and I guess flirting....but it just seemed friendly to me. He asked me where I live. Asked me what I like to do. I said, "Drink." When I asked him what he likes to do, he said he'll drink with me. I asked him if he drinks beer, considering his Philly Irish-ness. He said beer, or Scotch...I forget which label he mentioned...Black or Blue? He asked if I'm interested in getting a trainer. I told him, "Yes, because I'm very lazy, and I need someone to push me." He said he'd give me a deal I couldn't refuse. I said, "Yeah, you will." Then he told me I was going to get him in trouble...for asking me out, and for keeping me as his own "client". Apparently, he manages all of the personal trainers. He was supposed to meet me, assess my needs and personality and then set me up with a trainer who would be a good fit for me. Upon him explaining this to me (and knowing that his personality fit mine just right, and I would accept no other trainer), I looked around the gym and asked, "So, which trainer would that be?" When I looked back at Pitbull, he replied, "You're looking at him." The whole thing was comical and funny, but best of all, fun.

The next thing I knew, I was done being trained. That was the most fun I ever had exercising. Then it was time for cardio. Pitbull retrieved my purse for me and walked me up to the cardio room. He set me up on the treadmill, which had fans in it, and turned them on for me, saying they're great for lazy people like me! How dare he use my own words on me! He re-confirmed for the umpteenth time that I'd be back in on Thursday morning for my next (free) session, and apparently we have a date next Saturday...the drinking kind, not the working out kind. I thanked him for his help and told him I had a lot of fun. Pitbull really listened when I told him I like a lot of attention. If he could have done the exercises for me, I think he would have. Before he left me there on my walk to nowhere, I asked him, "How many tattoos do you have on that body". To which he replied, "Want to see?" I told him I was looking for a brick layer during my 24 hour whirlwind tour of Philly last year. Who knew I'd find him at a gym in South Florida. Thursday we pump up the guns!!

Disappearing Act- Take Two

Although I had high hopes for the Southern Gentleman after we shared a cozy night over chicken soup and movies in my apartment a few weeks ago, alas, a zebra does not change his stripes. He disappeared again. For another two weeks. Without so much as a phone call, an email or a text...without a trace. Again, perplexed by the pieces of this puzzle just not fitting together, I emailed him. I never had this much communication with either of my ex-fiances after running away from each of them...I'd never return a call, an email, a text...but with SG, I was compelled to write. Again. Maybe because of the simple fact that there was really no love lost.....just morbid curiosity. My email went something like this:

"As I'm sure you're well aware, you've disappeared again. Trust me, I've had some strange dating experiences before...but I was able to deciper logical explanations for them. But this is so bizarre, I just can't wrap my head around it. Did your wife come back and you two decided to reconcile? Did your parole officer track you down and put you on house arrest? Did you have a relapse and go back into the hospital?

I invited you into my home last week, we had what I thought was a really good time...you asked me out again, called me for the next 3 days, and we planned a date for Thursday (I guess I'm recounting these events just to illuminate how bizarre this whole scenario is, since I'm sure you recall what happened...unless you've come down with amnesia and have no idea who I am, which is why you stopped calling (again) and haven't returned my phone call or text message).

Well, I certainly hope you're in good health and that's not the reason you've disappeared for the second time. And, again, I'd appreciate an explanation of your disappearance, because I just can not understand this behavior. At the risk of sounding like a schmuck, I have to say, this is really bothering me. Hope you're well."

And then I went on with my life. A week passed before SG unexpectedly popped up in my inbox, again. His email went something like this:

"I am sorry for not being in touch sooner. I really am. I don't know what's right in this situation. I have had a rather difficult several weeks for a variety of reasons (some of which you know about), and it's not fair to drag you through some of the things that are going on, especially this early. That is my rationalization for keeping you separate from what's going on, and I can convince myself that it is legitimate. Is it? Do you want to be involved in the inner-goings-on of that last several weeks? I tell myself you do not, and that is a safe place from which I, and you, don't have to talk about it.

It is difficult for me to talk about it, and I don't mean that to underestimate your ability to be understanding. It is nothing crazy, but it is very personal. I would really like to talk to you about it, but I don't know if it is a good idea. I like you . . . I like you a bunch, which is why I dropped off. I had such a good time with you at your home. I don't have the secret on how to proceed with this, so if you would like to talk, I would be willing to let you in.

I would be baffled if I was in your shoes too. I should have let you know what was going on, or at least that I couldn't make Thursday. I apologize for that. It was thoughtless. It would be great if you could extend a little faith and talk to me again although you don't owe me anything. I handled the situation poorly to say the least."

His writing was so gramatically correct and enticing, it lured me back in. I replied, succinctly, "Okay, please explain". He replied immediatley, with the following:

"I was hoping to talk, but I will type. I completely understand how you feel and why you feel that way. You have very little to go on with me except that I've disappeared twice without a peep. It's not a very glowing picture of me as yet. I have very much enjoyed the time we have spent together, however short, and think that it's worth telling you something personal.

I have a family member who goes from institution to institution as he has some physical and mental difficulties. He was in an institution in Hendersonville, NC which was not working out. My father asked me to come up to help him move from Hendersonville to a place right outside of Spartanburg, SC so he could be closer to home . . . and it's a nicer place.

I left on the Wedsnesday before I was going to see you. I got back into town yesterday. My only excuses for not getting in touch were that I didn't know if I should share that with you (didn't know how), Metro PCS does not work outside of S. Florida, and I didn't even bring my phone with me to Hendersonville anyway. Regardless of the above, I still should have given you a call to let you know I wouldn't be around . . . I have no excuse for not doing that, and I am sorry for it. It was kind of a hectic time though. Family stuff is difficult sometimes.

Again, I could've handled this better with you, and I'm sorry I didn't. My life rarely has the "drama" that has been the case over the last 2 months . . . things have just clumped up lately. I hope that I can talk to you again at some point because I do like you and have fun when we see eachother. If not, I do understand, and I wish you well. I hope everything is going well for you."

It was compelling, interesting, and I actually do believe his story, the meat of it, anyway. I don't buy the fact that he didn't have access to email for two weeks. Don't they have the internet in the Carolinas? And if he left town on Wednesday, why didn't he return my text from Monday or call from Tuesday? Still, too many holes in the story and unanswered questions remained.

I was enticed by the way he so beautifully strung his words together. And because his writing was so lovely I actually debated this for a while, even though in my heart of hearts I knew I could not pursue this further. I debated for a few hours...to respond, or not to respond. The guy's credibility was totally shot, so what would be the point, really? And all he had to do was send a text, an email, saying he had a family emergency & would call when he got back. Is that really too much to ask? So, I decided: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I'm not so great with second chances, third chances rarely exist in my world...and why should they? If someone disproves themselves to you twice, what do you think they're going to do the third time around? As I re-read his melodic words I admit I'm drawn to email him, offering him that third chance to make things right, so I can look up into those sparkling green eyes again. But, I won't allow myself to. I know it's not wise and I deserve more. So, as much as I may want to probe further, I think it's best to simply not respond. And so, sadly, I let SG go the way of all my other sexless lovers....fading into the past.

Wolves In Sheep's Clothing

I'm not sure if it was the chicken soup, or seeing his 6'3" green-eyed handsome-ness in the flesh again, but I felt much better after Southern Gentleman's visit. And he must have been just as delighted to see me (why wouldn't he be?), which was apparent when he called me the next day...just to say hello and touch base, and when he called me the day after that, as well. And he called the following day, Sunday, at which time we solidified our dinner plans for the upcoming Thursday.

Everything seemed to be going along swimmingly, and whatever red flags may have been waving in front of me I promptly ignored, true to form. I'm sure I was too busy looking in the mirror to notice them. It seemed things were back on track now that SG resurfaced from his 2 week disappearance, 6 days of which he was hospitalized, the other 8 of which he was apparently not able to use a telephone to either talk or text. This can happen, right? Now that he was admittedly feeling exponentially better, he was very attentive to my healthcare needs and, most importantly, to me. Everything was okay.

I wanted to be reciprocal...since he'd mentioned before his disappearance that I could call him too. So, I texted him on Monday to wish him luck with a new endeavor that he was embarking on. He didn't respond. I figured he must be very busy, what with his new endeavor, and all. So, the next day, Tuesday, I called him on my way home from work...got his voicemail and left a caring, friendly message... caring, friendly person that I am. I didn't hear back from him that day either. Maybe he was still busy with his new endeavor? Twenty four hours later I still hadn't heard from him. It was at that time that I was forced to conclude that our Thursday night date was most likely not still on. So, what does anyone faced with such a situation do? I went out and got drunk with my soon to be 60 year old mother and 84 year old grandmother, and then got perhaps a little too friendly with a 150 pound Mastiff...but that's a story for another time.

And here we are, 6 days into SG's second disappearance and I have to say, I am deeply disturbed by this one. I just can not wrap my head around it. It doesn't make any sense. Aston Martin guy I understand. I totally get it. Four dates in, he made it crystal clear that he wanted to get laid. I didn't give in. And I never heard from him again. I understood it. I accepted it. I had no questions. Nothing to wonder about. And I went on my merry way to the next lunatic. Even though Aston Martin is clearly a disgusting animal, it all made perfect sense to me. This, does not. SG never even tried to kiss me. He appeared to be a sweet, kind, caring gentleman...not manipulative or underhanded or harboring any ulterior-motives. Truth be told, although nothing should surprise me, I'm in shock and awe. I don't like shock and awe.

Without question, and beyond the shadow of any doubt, I would not let SG ever have the pleasure of my company again (not that he wants it anyway, apparently, but I'm just saying). Not even if he came to me begging, with doctors notes and hospital records of an emergency kidney-ectomy in hand, would I give him the time of day. Clearly, he is not worthy of my affections. He's now proven this. Twice. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, and I'm a complete and total ass----. Come to think of it, if SG hasn't had an emergency kidney-ectomy...I think he absolutely should.

I honestly wish I were past this already and not even giving him the time of day with my thoughts and words, because I do realize that's bad enough, but I can't let it go. Give me another week and it'll be gone, but at the moment I can't get past it. This behavior is so bizarre, so perplexing to me, that it's almost all I can think about. My friend, Latin Lover, assures me that this is indeed normal behavior...of a man who has another woman who he decided he likes better than me. While I do recognize that that scenario is within the realm of possibility, the actions still don't add up for me. It just doesn't make sense. And I want answers. Answers I know I'll never get. Answers that, even if I got them, I wouldn't believe. So, what am I looking for? Am I looking to hear or read words that are completely meaningless, completely useless, words of a liar. Clearly, I am looking for something that I have not yet found.

SG has reminded me of, and illuminated for me, a lesson that Al Pacino and Keanu Reeves taught me years ago: Beware of wolves in sheep's clothing. They are the most dangerous of predators. But really, who am I to judge SG's actions? I'm sure someone else will take care of that.