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.