Marathon's Mistress

The Express Lane To Romance

2012-01-09T15:43:00.000-08:00

If you are a committed commuter like me, you just might ride the metro and/or the bus into work 5 times a day in and 5 times a day out. And then you might also have occasion to read the free edition of the Express paper during your ride. Today, I did, and it got me thinking - about HOW TO FIND ROMANCE!

Today's edition, was an especially full and interesting one, (If you have the chance go grab it at http://www.expressnightout.com/), and ran an article entitled "Occupiers Find Romance in Protest." It reports that: "a combustible combination of youthful energy, enthusiasm for shared ideals and tight living quarters has given rise to something else: romance. More than a dozen couples have merged after three months of outdoor living, including one pair who got engaged over the holidays."

It got me thinking....About-someone who commented on my last post, where I shamelessly gushed about happiness with my livin' in sin partner in crime boyfriend. This reader wrote: "You have what we all long for...cherish it." And it made me deeply sad to read those words. I remember longing for someone. Sometimes more than other times. And I know some people who want it so badly they can taste it. I wish everyone out there could find someone. And find someone now. And find that someone for ever.

And it seems like all my single friends are trying. Really trying. Online dating. And off-line dating. Meeting people at the gym. And people at bars. Hooking up and hanging out. Getting hearts bruised and broken and having to start all over again. They want it so bad - they get downtrodden and defeated. They feel lonely. They feel hopeless. A birthday party out in AdMo has lost its luster. One group of girlfriends singles out a member because every where they go she's always "looking" for a guy and not just being in the moment. Not just being around people that make her feel good about herself and just having fun for a change.

I've given a friend this advice time and time again and I think its obvious. And you've probably heard it before. And I know it sometimes hurts coming from someone who has already got a guy. "Easy for you to say," she says to me. But its absolutely true. And the occupier romances show us its true.

1. ENERGY

2. ENTHUSIASM

3. SHARED IDEALS

4. TIGHT LIVING QUARTERS

1. Live your life. Go out there and do the things you like doing. That you are passionate about. That you enjoy. That you find fun, educational, stimulating, worthwhile.

2. Be positive. Learn to like yourself and even love yourself. If you can't, it will be hard for someone else to. Besides, no one likes a debby downer. People want to be around people who are happy. People are more apt to like someone who is happy. So get happy. Single, and alone and mateless. Imagine, if you have to live the rest of your life alone - are you going to throw your life in the trash? and live through it sad and sulky and depressed? or are you going to find a way to make it full and interesting and be content?

3. YOU WILL FIND SOMEONE. I PROMISE. PROBABLY SOMEONE WITH SIMILAR QUALITIES OR SIMILAR INTERESTS OR SIMILAR FRIENDSHIP OR WORK CIRCLES OR EVEN "SHARED IDEALS." I found my boyfriend playing kickball. The occupiers are finding companionship through passionate political protest. Maybe you like salsa dancing or volunteering at a pet shelter or retirement community. Whatever it is - if you are 1) being energetic and active in your life and 2) being enthusiastic and happy with yourself and others - then you WILL run into the members of the opposite sex that are potential matches for who you REALLY are.

4. MEN ARE EVERYWHERE. I know it doesn't seem like it much of the time since the male to female ratio is abysmal in DC but I promise - they are there. At the kickball games. And occupying Mcpherson's square. They're at a Cafe Citron happy hour, where, for example, a man name "Craig" met his now wife "Allison" back in 2008. (Again, see today's Express under the engagement/marriage announcement section).

I know this is starting to sound like a lame ass pep talk. But I've been giving a lot of rah rahs lately to a lot of single friends. Male and female alike. I don't know how long it is going to take. I don't. I wasn't single between the ages of 14-23. Then I was single for 4 LONG YEARS between the ages of 24-27. And I haven't been single at ages 27 or 28. It's a mystery maybe. But I remember being busy and happy and finding myself between 14-23 and I never had trouble meeting men. After a terrible break-up during law school at age 23 I never seemed to recover. The doom and gloom overshadowed my love life and I believe - drastically hurt my chance to find someone new again soon. When I finally decided to be happy alone at 27 and made conscious and active steps to be satisfied to be single - I found one man immediately thereafter and then another only days after the first relationship fell apart. I was going to parties. And being with friends. And being myself. I was in the places I live and enjoy doing the things I find fun, with the people I find to be decent and kind human beings. Is that a recipe for romantic success? Perhaps.

Good luck out there. Maybe there is no Express Lane or Express Way to Romance. All I know is, there seem to be a lot of lucky ladies (and gentlemen) listed in the Express today who found someone special. You are next. I feel it.

Cheers,

A Buddy Day

2012-01-02T10:55:00.000-08:00

January 2nd. The day after New Year's Day. A national, federal holiday for most - meaning a day off of work. But not for those in the private sector. Not for most lawyers I would guess. Certainly, not a day off for me. A lowest, of the low, bottom of the totem pole, nobody-special, young, struggling esquire trying to make my way (or more importantly just make rent), residing in my beloved DC.

We cuddled in bed. Our gorgeous, fluffy, cloud-like comforter, dark blue blanket, soft white sheet encapsulating dreamy marshmallow likeness of a

bed. His arms wrapped around mine. His breath warm on the back of my neck.

"Okay, just five more minutes," I said insistent this time. "I have to go to work."

"Don't go in," he said. "We can have a buddy day." "A buddy day? What's a buddy day," I asked. "Well..." he said, (coming up with a response on the fly), it's a day where best buddies do buddy things." "Is that so? And what do buddies do exactly?" I curiously questioned. "Buddies do things like make sandwiches. And watch TV. And make each other happy." Aha. Genius. A buddy day. Why didn't I think of that?

"I can't. I just can't. You know that. I have to go in. But I wish I could." (And I really wished I could.)

I got up and reluctantly got dressed, brushed my teeth and packed my purse. I searched for my work keys, first in panic that they weren't where they usually hid but was relieved to find them hiding behind a large green candle on the dining room table, that was only brought out for the holiday party we'd held the week before.

I went back into the bedroom and kissed him several times, though he was still half-asleep. "Have a good day," he told me. "Get some rest," I said. I closed the front door to our apartment as softly as I could, even though he wasn't entirely asleep, so as not to disturb him. Then I stepped out into a perfectly quiet, city morning. The air was very chilly. But fresh. The sun beamed down from the sky, full and bright.

Call me crazy, but I like working on holidays. Making the brisk walk to the metro without any traffic to dodge. A few people out walking or jogging, but only a handful of the crowds that are usually emerging from their houses in the early am hours. You can hear the breeze. You can hear the silence. It doesn't happen around here often. It's hard to describe. It feels peaceful. And full. A big space filled with quiet happiness.

The train was equally empty. As were the streets when I emerged out of the subway once again. Only a few of my coworkers had beat me in. It was nice to see them. To exchange new year pleasantries. To know that most of the building was empty. That I could plod along with my work - Relaxed. Easy. Without distraction. Without the tension of the masses emitting from floors above and below. I like working on days like this.

And my mind keeps drifting to the man back at home. To the new year. To what I have and don't have. I don't love my job. I don't have job security. I don't have a lot of money. And yet, I live with and love my best friend. My best buddy. And we make sandwiches together, and watch TV together, and take walks together and make each other happy. And that is everything.

I don't know what 2012 will bring. But I'm excited. And I'm content.

Cheers,

Moving In Together: Part 3

2011-11-01T15:53:00.000-07:00

MT got a text from his buddy who had agreed to help us move in on Saturday. "So you just about picked the worst day ever to move. I'm on my way."

And he was right. Saturday was not the ideal day to move as it was the first snow "storm" of the late fall and early winter months. From pouring rain to what I'd call pouring sleet, with a little bit of actual wet snow mixed in, it was wet, it was chilly and it should have been entirely unpleasant.

But it wasn't. Moving is hard. Some pieces are harder to move then others. Awkward to carry. Heavy. Can't get out of the apartment, down the hall, into the elevator, fit into the Uhaul and then into the new apartment front door and through the hall and to its new rightful spot within the layout. But despite the normal setbacks and difficulties, this move went as smooth as it could possibly go.

Just me, my MT and two of our guy buddies, the four of us packed up MT's place, and then my place and then moved us all in jam packed into our new place. Phew.

MT still has way too much stuff. VHS tapes of The Houseguest and Dumb and Dumber when neither of us has a VCR. Electrical cords to long gone devices. Shirts he's never worn. Books he'll never read. Things he'll never use. And there will come a time that he will need to purge.

But that day wasn't Saturday. Or Sunday. Or today.

We are just happy happy happy. We sit on his coach (now our couch!) in our apartment. Looking at the granite counter tops on the kitchen across the rooms. Staring at the people coming and going on our charming tree lined city street. We look at each other and think how lucky lucky lucky we are to be young, in love and in this adorable home, right in the thick of Adams Morgan.

We'll figure out how to organize the closets - soon. But for now, we just can't believe we live together. And can't believe how right it all feels.

Cheers,

T

Moving In Together: Part 2

2011-10-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

The Math Teacher and I are moving in together....tomorrow.

The Uhaul has been rented. All smaller items moved. The bedroom is sort of half painted a blue that he picked out. There is a lot to do.

Hunting for an apartment was exhausting. Finding the right one was exhilarating. Moving will likely be trying. And living together???

Well, I'm starting to think living together will be insanity.

I'm not going to lie. I am nervous. Really, REAAAAALLY nervous. Like cold feet nervous. Is this how brides feel before the jaunt down the altar? Now I see why some are the runaway kind.

I'm excited to live with him. I think we are going to have fun. And fight. And be happy. But...

Living apart makes it easy to keep parts of ourselves and our lives and our routines apart too. His mess annoys me, but before it was his mess in his place. Now it'll be his mess in our place. In my place. But still his place. He has so many pieces of big, bulky, ugly, do not match, old furniture and I hate them all. I feel as though are apartment doesn't have room for all his stuff. But then I know I need to make room in our apartment for him - and his stuff. ahhhhh. What if we fight all the time about cleaning and chores and forgotten locked doors or money and I become a nag and he becomes resentful? Or he doesn't understand it when I just want alone time? Or we can't decide what to watch on tv? Or I do all the cooking and he does all the eating?

I was thinking of this as a no brainer. We spend all our time together. We want to be together. It's convenient, its fun, its exciting, its an adventure.

But the reality has sent in. And I am nervous. And I am scared. And I am definitely having second thoughts. Eep.

Moving In Together - Part 1: Boys are Dirty

2011-10-05T13:05:00.000-07:00

As if moving in together didn't have enough challenges, I'd like to grope about two things:

1) Boys are Dirty - this morning I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. MT had already left for work. And there they were -- teeny tiny 1/8 centimeter hair clippings from when he'd trimmed his beard or shaved his neck or both. All. Over. My. Toothbrush!!!!!! Ahhhhhh!!!!! And what is a girl to do? MT is a regular guy. A guys guy. He's not the grossest. He's a little more grown up than that. He does try to clean. But his cleaning just isn't up to par with my cleaning. And he doesn't notice stuff like hair particles on toothbrushes. But still...its a problem. How am I going to deal with this when we are living together on a daily basis? When my toothbrush is constantly in jeopardy? I don't want to come off like a big nag or his mother. But I'm clean, he's not. This isn't something that's going to go away. It's something he needs to get better at and I need to get more easy going about-- but how to approach the discussion? how to change or adapt your ways? how to compromise? Should he have to pay for the replacement toothbrushes? Ick, ick, ick....

2) We haven't even found an apartment yet!!! And we've given notice to our current apartments as of October 1st to be out October 31st. Yikes! We had little choice given the fact that evil apartment complexes often won't let you move out early or pro-rate your rent when you do. And since after MT and I decided to move in together, we saw about 10,000 apartments posted on craigslist in 5 days and went to almost as many open houses in a week. It was, to be blunt, exhausting!!! But we were just oh so certain we'd find something in the next 5 weeks that we might as well tell our landlords so long suckers!

We put in an application to live in the basement apartment of one townhouse owned by a nice professional 30-something lobbyist who lived upstairs with a roommate. I think the two of us qualified in the sense of criminal, credit and income background checks but I think she just clicked better with another potential tenant.

Now we've put in another application since last Friday with a property management company of a very small building on a gorgeous town-house and tree lined street in the Dupont area that is slow, slow, slow. They just don't seem to have their shit together. And we want to move in! I'm so excited about painting the walls and hanging art and figuring out how to fit all our stuff in the tiny closets. We want it!! Let us in already!!

And what if they deny us too? Then...Back to the exhausting, drive all over town, write a million emails to craigslist address that don't ever get returned- drawing board. Hmph.

Wish me cleanliness and apartment approval. Until then...

Cheers,

The Math Teacher: The Prologue

2011-10-03T10:04:00.001-07:00

"Math is a lot like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated..."

Oh my dear readers,

How I abandoned you. And how I am sorry. I kept putting writing off about the Math Teacher because sooooo much was happening and sooo much was happening so fast. The trip to New York City. The shared athletic team meet-ups. Trivia and karaoke nights. Bbqs and camping trips.

He met my parents. I met his siblings.

And then he said I love you one morning. "I love you," he said first thing when I woke up and looked at him. "What?" I said in utter shock and disbelief. "I love you," he said back at me. And I like a complete flabbergasted idiot said: "Well, that's a nice thing to say." Gaaaah! I later apologized and said that I was just surprised. "No one was more surprised than me," he told me back.

And then I said I loved him back.

And then I started staying at his place twice a week instead of one and then 3x a week. Then 5. Then I hadn't been home in 9 days and now....

We are moving in together!

I wish I could have articulated ever kiss. Every wink. Every heartfelt confession. Or described how someone becomes your best friend when you aren't watching. Your confidante. Your rock. But maybe I was too busy being happy to write. Or life was too busy being lived to stop and observe it.

Whatever the case, instead of trying to relive the past, I will try to find you again by contemplating the future. Maybe some of you are still out there to read me, maybe not. But I'll try to re-emerge and find the words, for all those things for which there seem to be no words.

I've missed you all and Cheers,

Toddy.

The Math Teacher: Part 8

2011-07-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

"Math is a lot like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated..."

Once you decide to give someone a chance, to let someone in, to be vulnerable....and more importantly not to put pressure on something...that it be this or that or mean this or that or that he be the...sometimes things just fall into place quietly, softly, subtly...without your even knowing.

I don't think I realized how much I liked the Math Teacher. I refused to call him by his real name. I referred to him as simply "The Math Teacher" or "MT" to even my closest friends. "You don't name the puppy," I would often say (a lesson I learned from an oft lovesick girl friend). "You don't name the puppy....otherwise you'll feel like it belongs to you. It is someone. It means something to you. And then you'll want to take it home with you."

Even though I had committed to giving him an honest to goodness shot at really dating, I really didn't let myself think I liked him all that much. But I must have liked him enough...

When it came time to visit New York City for a friend's birthday, I couldn't help but invite him along. "Taking a trip together eh?" one friend asked. "That's kind of serious this soon isn't it?" "Not really," I replied nonchalantly and shrugged. "He's just....he's just....good company." And I meant that. I did. He really was....good. company.

But what did that mean? That I thought he was good company. That he was good company, for me. That I wanted him to come with me. That I somehow knew I wouldn't have as good a time without him.

And so we went to NYC. We met at the Chinatown Bus pickup point on H street near Gallery Place Chinatown metro. He had a small bag of luggage and so did I. In a way it was strange that we were going on a trip together. And in another way, it wasn't strange at all. It just made sense. He was good company and therefore we were travel companions.

I wish I knew how to explain the feeling of what happened next. But its hard. The ease. The comfort. The laughter. The perfect contentment. It was the shortest 5 hour bus ride of my life. After getting on we commenced our talk, talk, talking. Because you see, with us, there is never a shortage of conversation. The topics flow and stop and start and intertwine. No subject matter ever really finds completion. No inside joke ever loses its original wit. I told him I was an avid scrabble player and that I'd recently become obsessed with playing Words With Friends on my phone versus friends in real life and virtual friends whom Id never met. He was intrigued.

He doesn't have an iPhone so it took some time to figure out how to download WWF onto his phone. And then it also took some maneuvering to figure out how to challenge each other to play. You see, we weren't even facebook friends. I don't know why. He thought this was funny and thought we should remain facebook strangers. So instead we gave him a twitter account. (he didn't have a twitter account!!!) and he found me and was able to challenge me that way.

We played WWF for hours. Trash talking. Concentrating. In silence. And then not. At first I kicked his ass. But slowly, word by word, game by game, it became apparent that The Math Teacher, might not just have a nack for numbers. He had some background in Latin. He had an extensive vocabulary. The mathematics training helped him see patterns in the letters. It was almost ironic how he, the MT began to demolish me beyond all humility, beyond all reason. It made me angry. It made me intrigued. It made me turned on. There was more to this guy than I realized.

When our phones died we created our own version of taboo mixed with charades and made funny faces and gave hysterical word clues and laughed and laughed and laughed. We arrived to the City as if we'd only been commuting from just outside. It was - the easiest, most pleasurable bus ride of my life.

What could that mean? Or did it mean anything? It couldn't not.

The Math Teacher: Part 7

2011-07-14T11:13:00.000-07:00

"Math is a lot like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated..."

After the Math Teacher left the Chinese restaurant for a friend's bbq I was pretty deflated. But at some point I had to get over it. I had to work the next day (Saturday), per usual and the following day (Sunday) per usual. Which is to say, because I work so much, I have to get my jollies in while I can. I need to be around my friends and tried to decompress. So even though things with the Math Teacher weren't going as well as I would have liked, and even though he had left, now was the time to have some funwhile I still could. Even if I had to rev myself up to do it - to convince myself I was actually happy.

"Let's get to the karaoke place," I told my friends. "I want to....EMOTE!" "Emote?" one friend said. "What do you mean 'emote'?" "I mean I want to SING my soul. I want to belt it out. I want to feel it. I want to -- EMOTE!!!" "Okay then, whatever you say," my friend said and waved their arm wildly in a gesture to the group that seemed to round them up and head them all towards the door.

When we got to the karaoke place, things were in full swing. A large group of drunken friends, out for a birthday or some other event were really going at in on the small stage in the back. My friend Jenny and I did some espresso tequila shots (don't ask, just know they are delicious) and settled into the bar stools as we perused the song menu.

What followed is what usually follows on a karaoke night out with friends. Some good singing, some bad tunes and then also a few memorably horrific performances. Beers and mixed drinks and a round or two of shots quickly becomes a shitshow of botched harmonies and hipthrusts and somehow you end up telling everyone there, even those you've never met how, much you love them, man. Except sometimes something out of the ordinary happens....

I don't know what time he got there. He could've been there half an hour or five minutes. But the Math Teacher came back, a friend in tow. A guy friend in tow, not to worry. I tried to make small talk with the friend but I was a little wasted. Or a lot. Frankly, I hadn't expected the Math Teacher to reappear so I had gone ahead and let myself go. Pretty literally. But seeing him was having a sobering effect. I was glad he had come back. And I couldn't help but wonder if he'd come back especially for me.

After MT's friend left we sat down on a couch up against the wall, crammed in between two of our other friends. It was cozy. (To say the least). I don't know at what point we started making out. But we did. And then one of us got up to get a drink or go to the bathroom, but somehow we were separated. I went over to talk to my friend Amanda. "He's pretty cute isn't it?" I said more than asked. "Yeah, he is," she agreed." "I think I like him," I admitted tentatively. "Good," she said. "He's a really nice guy." "I know," I said.

And then I talked to my friend Spencer who had been there the night that I first hooked up with MT. Spencer and MT were friends before I knew either of them all that well. "You've gotta tell me," I started to Spence. "Honestly. You've gotta tell me if he's playing me," I pleaded with him. "He's not playing with you," he said. "Honestly." "He never was." "Then why did he go home with me that night?" I asked more impatiently. "I don't know," he said. "He thought you were fun. And cool. And hot. But it doesn't matter. He likes you now. He really does." "But how do you know?" I almost whined. "Because he told me. He likes you a lot. He's just worried he's the rebound guy. He doesn't want to be." "But he IS the rebound guy. I mean, isn't he?" "He doesn't have to be you know." "But he just IS!"

"Is he?" Spencer finished just as MT was coming back over to meet us. "Whether or not he is or is not the rebound guy, is entirely up to you you know."

And then MT was by my side again -tall and handsome, gentle and kind. He smiled at me, leaned over and kissed me on the side of the face. It felt nice. Comforting. He took my hand in his and whispered in my ear: "Do you want to get out of here?" I nodded.

I don't remember saying goodbye to anyone. I just remember leaving. With him. Hand in hand. We waited outside for a cab on the sidewalk.

And I was nervous. Because somehow, some way, after losing my self-believed Mr. Unicorn and having my heart shattered completely, I had found a way to open myself up again. To the possibility of someone else. To the possibility of loving again. And to hoping and wanting and wishing, that someone great, just might fall in love with me back. I had fought my feelings for the Math Teacher for a long time. I wouldn't let myself get too close. I wouldn't let myself feel anything for him. But sometimes the heart is smarter than the mind. Or at the very least, its more stubborn. The Math Teacher had weaseled his way in and I didn't want him to go. I was going to give him a chance. This, a real chance. I wasn't sure if I was going to love him. Or could love him. Or wanted to love him. Or if we were right for each other. But I was going to stop fighting it and just let things happen.

I guess I was taking some shallow breaths because MT asked me if I was okay. "I'm okay," I said. "I think I'm just nervous." And then he said something, I would have never expected: "What makes you think I'm not nervous too?". Which surprised me. Because I think he actually meant it. It had never occurred to me (after all the pain and disappointment that men had caused me) that he was taking a chance on me too. That he wanted to be with someone too. And though this didn't calm my nerves, it did make me feel less alone.

And so we waited. In the warm spring air that lazily drifting by as it headed towards the summer. While the possibility of our new romance, thickly hung all around us.

The Math Teacher: Part 6

2011-06-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

"Math is a lot like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated..."

I was nervous about seeing The Math Teacher that Friday afternoon. After all, I had blown him off the night before when we were supposed to have a dinner date. And it wasn't the first time. It was the second. Eeech. Not good. Everyone was convinced that I didn't really like him. That he was just a distraction. That I was convincing myself I liked him. Maybe I was. But then again...

I got off work at 4pm. Pretty much unheard of at my office. But I didn't care. This was more important somehow.

I met him at the metro a few blocks from my office. And he looked goooood. There's one thing about this guy that can't be denied - he is an attractive man. Tall and lean. Tan. Longish, roughed up hair. He even has nice fingernails and feet. It's a little intimidating.

He was quieter than usual. I'm sure I confused him. I'm sure I had hurt him. I'm sure he didn't know quite what to make of me. But neither did I you know? I was a mess. A tired, stressed, overworked, overcaffeinated, recently dumped mess. I didn't know anything. Least of all anything useful about who I was at any given moment or what I wanted.

We road the train to Clarendon to meet our friends. I was nervous and talked too much. He smiled and laughed appropriately but wasn't as giving of himself as usual.

We got to the Chinese restaurant before our friends. We took two stools along the bar and ordered beers. Despite the slight awkwardness, (being the elephant in the room that was my repeated cancellation of our dates), the one thing that had always been there between us (an ability to talk about anything), once again saved the day and before long we were chit chatting like old friends again.

Then our friends came along. One by one, and three at a time and then a half a dozen at once. We sat apart from one another and caught up with our friends on our own and in our own time. But there were glances. From our friends at us. And from us at each other.

Before two long, MT got up. He started saying goodbye to people. I wasn't sure exactly why he was leaving. He came over to me last.

"I have to go," he said. "Oh really?" I said the disappointment apparent in my voice. I did mean it. I really did. I didn't want him to go. "Yeah, I have a friend's barbecue thing. I'm trying to set up my buddy with an old college friend." "Oh," I said, still disappointed. "Will you come back?" I asked hopefully. "I'm not sure," he said and I could see and tell that he was hurt and confused by my recent behavior and that being around me might not be as fun as it should be if we were dating on mutually, respectful ground.

"I'm really sorry you know?" I said out of nowhere. "Are you?" he asked almost bitterly. "Yes. yes I am," I said sincerely. "I feel like shit." "Do you?" he asked, again still sounding unconvinced. "Yes, I really do feel like shit. I wanted to go to dinner with you last night. I really did. I just couldn't. I'm sorry." "Listen," he said, a little kinder - "maybe from now on if you want to do something with me, you should call me."

Ouch. That one hurt a little.

"But you don't want to. Do you?" he continued. "Of course I do," I said. He shook his head slightly. "I gotta go," he said finally. "Try to come back," I said. "We'll see," he said and gathered his friend and said a last farewell to the group. He walk out the front door and I watched him walk away from the restaurant and then around the corner through the restaurant's glass windows until he was out of sight.

And I felt regret in my stomach. Had I blown it? Had I thrown away this great guy who treated me amazing because I was a complete brat? Because of Fuckface David? Because I didn't know how to love the right guy? Because I didn't let the right guys love me? I wasn't sure. I did know that I felt awful.

Everyone at the table knew something was wrong.

My friend Mike who can be a bit crass said: "What are you so upset about for? Isn't he supposed to be the rebound guy?"

"He was," I said and then paused. "But he just won't bound. He just stays."

"I'd love it if some girl wanted to use me as the rebound guy. I tell her - 'no problem, just let me know when you're done with me and I'll be on my way'."

"Wow, that's great Mike. Very helpful."

But I actually like him. I think. But I've blown him off and treated him poorly and now he's really pissed. I didn't even know MT could get pissed. I don't know anything...

And so I sulked for a little bit, deeply lost in my own thoughts. Was I upset because I wanted to like him and didn't? Or was I upset because I liked him but wasn't ready for him? Or upset because I liked him and was pushing him away for reasons I couldn't fathom?

It just wasn't clear. Nothing really was. Except that the Math Teacher had left the restaurant without me. And I wished he hadn't.

To be continued...

The Math Teacher: Part UNKNOWN

2011-06-22T04:29:00.000-07:00

"Math is a lot like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated..."

We set out into the dusky muggy, drip-droppy drizzy Dupont night to find some food for the Math Teacher. He had recently had dental surgery and the diet of soft and liquid food was starting to wear on him.

"Where can I take you?" I said to him aloud. "What do you feel like?" I asked him. "Soup is probably a good idea" he said and kind of shrugged, his arm wrapped around me casually. "Ooooh, I know," I told him. "I've got the perfect place."

We strolled along 18th street along the east of the Circle talking and laughing and making faces at one another. He kept trying to kiss me with his tender or perhaps even gross post-op mouth and I kept pulling away in horror and laughing.

Amidst the normalcy and fun and yes, for the first time in a long time, giddy happiness, I realized, with dread, that we were approaching an unhappy spot. The spot where I got dumped. Just walking toward it. Closer and closer and closer...

Isn't it amazing, and even unfortunate, how a location or smell or person or activity can make the vividness of its corresponding memory flood back over you? All the details. All the pain. The look on his face. The way he tried to rub my back but I pulled away. The things he said. Him walking away.

"We're having such a nice time. I don't know sometimes whether I should tell you stuff or not. But then sometimes telling you the bad stuff makes it less bad you know? I can sort of throw it away? Or at least you just know all about me. The things that I've been through."

"Just tell me..." he said. So I did. He put his arms around me tighter. "That's tough," he acknowledged giving me a little squeeze.

We went on to dinner at the deliciously Korean, spectacularly serviced Mandu where we sat and talked and ate and laugh and lingered with no sense of anywhere to be anywhere else anytime soon. I ordered the spicy soup, "extra extra" spicy and we all were hesitant as I took my first bites. Both the waitress and the MT were hoping I would be in for disastrous consequences for ordering my soup "kill me hot," but I prevailed. "It could be spicier," I commented nonchalantly and gave a "hah" look at them both. Then, I cut up MT's dumplings into baby bite size pieces with my chop sticks so he could better handle them with his "injury" and we both told stories of how we love driving and road trips and one time where he got stuck driving near a cliff and had to call AAA.

When it was time to go we headed down the street, the drizzle a little more prevalent. "You realize you're carrying a little leopard print umbrella?" I asked him entirely amused. "If I were by myself, it might seem a little strange," he admitted, "but with you I can get away with it."

We continued on, until that spot, the dumping spot, was in my sights again. "Ugh," I thought, "if only I could get passed this. Him. The Dumping. The dumping spot. All of it." Then I got an idea...

"I want you to help me make a new memory of this spot," I said. "Because its otherwise such a lovely place and I pass by it all the time." "Okay," MT said. (as willing to do whatever I asked or needed or wanted as ever.) "What do you want to do?" I walked over to the rock ledge that I had sat on while being told exactly why I wasn't the right person for and by the one person I had ever thought was the right person for me. I stood on it this time and gestured MT to come near me. "Kiss me" I said with my arms stretched out wide overdramatically. "O" -"kay" he said with gusto. He came over and put his arms around my waist. I leaned into him and gave him a sweet, gentle kiss. And then...

We both looked over toward the street. There was a young guy (maybe 20?) in the backseat of a car with the window rolled down taking our picture. What?

"Hi guys!!" he said waving with one hand still taking a picture. "Hi" I said hesitantly waving back and smiling confusedly as he and his friends in the front seat burst into laughter and then drove off.

"What was that??" MT looked at me incredulously. "I don't know!" I responded bewildered. "Were they high," he wondered? "Or drunk?" I added. "Although they didn't seem that drunk," I continued... "Maybe they were on a scavenger hunt?" I pondered hopefully. "Come on!"he said with a crooked smile, "a scavenger hunt?" "Okay, okay, I don't know then. We weren't kissing crazy. We aren't dressed crazy. We don't look like a weird couple do we?"

"You know what I think it was," I finally determined. "What?" he asked me seriously. "A sign," I said. "A sign not to take life or one's self too seriously. You sit on a ledge you get dumped. You stand on a ledge kissing someone and some crazy teenagers or scavenger hunting frat boys take your picture. It's just all a little ridiculous."

"Well one thing is for sure," MT said. "What's that?" I asked him. "You wanted a new memory and you got one. Now it's the spot where the creepy dude took your picture."

And he was right. A new memory. And lots of other new memories that night too. Because you never know when a creepy dude is around the corner to make you feel a whole lot better about a whole heck of a lot....

To new memories and cheers,
T

The Math Teacher: Part 5

2011-06-13T14:18:00.001-07:00

After jolting from MT's bedroom like steam from a kettle, I might've thought about what that all meant if I didn't have to work a 10 hour day on a Sunday the following day. Hungover. Okay...really hungover. And then the 12 hour work days Monday through Thursday blurred together like one and the same until five days had gone by without even thinking about the Math Teacher. Or David either for that matter.

Then Thursday arrived and I was supposed to have dinner with him. He had texted at some point and suggested a little Middle Eastern place he'd been wanting to try and if I was up for it did I wanna go? I had said yes, but as the day arrived, I grew more and more tired. I was EXHAUSTED. I am ALWAYS exhausted it seems.

"I think I have to cancel for tonight," I told my co-worker Amber. "Not again!" she almost shouted at me. "You cannot cancel on him again." He will NEVER go out with you EVER again if you do this to him twice. It's not cool. It's not nice. Its....RUDE."

"I know, I know it is," I whimpered. "But I could barely keep my eyes awake in that meeting. And we have hours left to go in this day. I hate being this tired. I hate it. I really am this tired. I swear!"

Then I told my co-worker John about my plan. I needed a second opinion: "I'll just say I was stuck here. Stuck in a meeting. I couldn't leave. And say I feel really REALLY bad about it." "I mean, it doesn't really matter what you say," he replied. "It's obvious you just don't like the guy. Obvious to me. And it will be obvious to him."

But hearing those words. I realized it wasn't true. Because if I really didn't like the guy, I wouldn't be trying to think up the perfect excuse. I wouldn't be worried that he'd never go out with me again. I would assume that he would think and assume I didn't like him and stop asking me out and I'd stop going out with him and that would be that. But that's not how I felt. I felt REALLY, really, really conflicted. Conflicted between my complete and utter exhaustion and inability to do nothing and my desire to go spend time with him. I really did want to have dinner. So much so that I was still considering going - despite my growing weariness and hopelessness at life.

"If you're gonna bail, tell him now," Amber said. "It's not fair to him." "I know, I know, I know," I said. But what if I feel better later and change my mind?" Amber just looked at me. With that bitchy, no-nonsense, handle your business look of hers that said: "Tell him now. The end."

So I texted him. That I was stuck in a meeting and I was REALLY disappointed but I wouldn't be able to make dinner that night. But that I knew our friends were getting together for happy hour and then karaoke the next day (Friday) and that I was hoping he was going and that we could go together. Perhaps he could meet me at the metro near my office. I usually get off work between 7 and 8 but I would get off at 4 and we could get there before anyone else and spend some time together before the whole gang arrived. How did that sound?

He said it was really too bad about dinner. But he would meet me. And we would go together. "Thank you for understanding," I told him. But I could tell, he wasn't as patient and unaffected as he had been the last time.

I got off work at 8pm. I was too tired for the walking and the metro and the bus so I hailed a cab and paid the $15 to get home just a little bit sooner and without any effort. Just sitting there. Defeated. Downtrodden. Disjointed.

I did not stop Go. I did not collect dinner. Or a conversation with the roommates. I went directly to the bedroom and collapsed into the pillows - my own kind of heaven, but my own kind of jail. I couldn't escape my confused thoughts and my put-upon heart. I lay there, thinking "damn." "Damn, damn, damn, damn." "I should've gone to dinner....there's something about him..." And I was worried, for the first time - that I might lose him. This amazing guy who had grit. Who stayed. Who never faltered. Who let me be me. And liked me. And who was so good looking that no one would ever kick him out of bed for eating crackers. And I started to get the sinking feeling that I had ruined something that could be something - maybe even something good.

To be continued...

The Math Teacher: Part 4

2011-06-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

"Math is like love - a simple idea, but it can get complicated."

After being outside in Baltimore at the Preakness Horse Race all day, my group of friends continued on to another bar to party. After hours and hours of being there, I was tired and a little sun burnt and a little drunk. The Math Teacher and I looked around and realized that all of our friends had left us and gone home. I wasn't sure if they had even said goodbye. We had gotten lost in conversation for who knows how long.

We left the bar and got a cab. We decided to go to his place, with the understanding that I was in fact tired. burnt. and nothing was going to be happening. And he was fine with it. But by the time I got to his house and into his sport clothes (which happen to be super baggy on me and completely ridiculous looking) and lay down in his arms, I suddenly felt suffocated and trapped. I had to work the next day (yes I work on Sundays, every Sunday, fml) and I wanted to go home and shower the dirt and suntan lotion and long day off me and go to bed - ALONE-. And get some real sleep. And get up in the morning surrounded by my clothes and my things before heading into work inevitably hungover.

"I'll give you a shirt in the morning, " he said. "And you can shower, just relax."

He is always saying that to me. "just relax." But I don't WANNA relax. Or maybe I need to. Or should. Or just can't.

We went through his closet and I tried on everything he owns that I could wear over jeans to work on a Sunday. Button down shirts mostly. He is 6'3 and I am 5'7. Needless to say, I was swarming in stripes. I looked at him and shook my head. "You know this isn't going to work right?" "I know," he said. "I'll walk you down and get you in a cab."

And he did.

Things just hours earlier had seemed so right. So easy. What was my problem? Why couldn't I just lay down in the arms of a man - who seemed to truly be that - a. man. And let him hold me. And care about me. The whole night through. I wanted so much to want to be with him. I wanted so much to be over David. But some days, are just so much harder than others. And confusing. And at that moment in time, I had to get out of there and be alone.

There's nothing I can do about it. The sadness ebbs and flows. The new found feelings for MT come and go just the same. And I seem to have control over none of it, but instead, I am victim to the unpredictable tidal waves of feeling that continue to wash over me without any relief.

The Math Teacher: Part 3

2011-06-06T20:14:00.000-07:00

“Math is like love -- a simple idea but it can get complicated.” "

After bowling, I felt guilty about the way I'd been treating The Math Teacher. It wasn't who wanted to be as a person in general and certainly not the way I wanted to treat someone pertaining to matters of the heart. Particularly when someone else so recently had been so careless with my own emotions.

On the following Saturday we went to the Preakness horse race with a large group of our friends. The girls wore sundresses and the guys wore shorts. We drank beer and rum and mimosas in a grassy spot by the race track on the infield. I lay on a blanket in the sunshine and took in deep breaths of warm air. It was the most relaxed I'd been in months.

The Math Teacher sat down beside me. Put his arms around me and we fell asleep.

We woke up some time later. Our friends laughing at us and teasing us saying some such nonsense or another. We sat up half-awake brushing hair and blades of grass out of our eyes and hair.

"Why don't you admit that you like each other?" our friend The Canadian said.

"What do you mean? We do like each other," I responded.

"Well then what are you?" The Canadian said.

"I don't know. We don't know,"I said. Which was true. I didn't know how he felt about me. I didn't know how I felt about him. We were nothing. Yet we were something. It was all a bit strange.

We got up and walked around the park holding hands - me with my Math Teacher and caught wondering how things can change so fast. Who you hold hands with. Who you like or don't like. How you feel. And I guess that's a good thing. Even when it's not.

Cheers,

T

The Math Teacher: Part 2

2011-06-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep tonight. Usually it's because I'm thinking about the Ex-boyfriend. Usually it's because I can't believe things didn't work out with David. But tonight, I'm thinking about the Math Teacher. Surprising, I know. I'm not sure how I feel about him. I'm not sure what will happen. Of course I'm not ready. And I wasn't ready. And I won't be ready. Not for awhile anyways. But I think you should know the truth about him. The truth that he might just be... a good guy.

So - we went bowling. Two Fridays ago. Or maybe it was three. Time when you are working like a dog, 7 days a week, 11 hours a day and your heart is full of lost love can be an impossible thing to keep track of. I am tired and I am delirious. And I thought of canceling (for the second time) on the Math Teacher. But I didn't. How could I do that? That would make me, well, just an inconsiderate asshole. So - I went bowling.

Now I did of course share a bottle of wine with my coworker Amber before I headed to meet him at Lucky Strike at the Verizon Center in Chinatown. And I did of course pop into Clyde's to down a glass of white wine like it was really my job and I was billing $300 to drink it. I was a little tipsy for this date. A little sedated. Because as we all know by now, I wasn't ready. And yet - I went bowling.

And he was there waiting. As always. On time. And he paid for our shoes and for our games. Even though it is CRAZY expensive to bowl at Lucky Strike. I know its a cool place with a bar and music and food and ambiance but still...its bowling people! some things should remain pure, but I digress.

And we played and I was awful. And he was slightly less awful. And it was fun. Actual, pure, non-sexual, not even that romantic --- fun. It was just nice you know? To hang out with someone. To do something stupid and random and silly and whatever. Bowling is always good for that. Isn't it?

He bet me that if he won I had to eat a pickle. (I hate - HATE - pickles with a passion. Ask me about it some time). I bet him that if I won a game he would have to wear this translucent white shirt he owns from his days in Miami out with our friends some time. Betting is fun. Flirtatious. Pointless. Delicious.

Some of you have wondered how it is that I've treated him so poorly...I think its just that I'm so flippant and ambivalent and lackadaisical. Like when we were done I just handed him my shoes to return without saying thank you and said I was going to the restroom. That's not like me. I'm nice and polite and considerate. And treat people like human beings. Instead I treated him like my waiter, my meal ticket, my doormat. Just in my attitude. In my words. In my subtle actions. I'm not proud of this. But it is true.

He said he was hungry. He is ALWAYS hungry. But he is SUPER TALL and very fit and trim and so I can see how his metabolism is like that. I wish my body were like that. I eat nothing and am not hungry ever and yet I still carry the pounds. It sucks. But I digress again...

We went downstairs to Thai Chili. I love that place. It was my suggestion. I said I wasn't hungry but then I proceeded to eat half his Pad Thai without asking. (I know that is SO annoying for guys). We each had a beer. On four square I saw that my friends were nearby. I told them to join us.

Let me repeat that in case you didn't get it - I invited two girls to join us on our date. hah. Our third date. The four of us. Classic.

They showed up and I acted surprised to see them. They said they were going to Rocket Bar across the street. I said "OF COURSE WE ARE COMING!!!" I didn't even ask him. He paid the bill and followed me like a puppy. We went across the street. And I in drunken enthusiasm caught up with my two girl friends and one guy friend who joined us for the first time in a long time. Mostly we talked about the boy problems the two girls were having. For once, I was glad that they boy problems weren't my own.

The MT sat there and listened. And asked questions. And engaged. He was nice. Really nice. I don't even know if I spoke one word to him for hours. I hadn't even noticed that he was still there. Finally he got up and said he was leaving. It was late and he had to get up. I didn't even stand up to hug him or kiss him goodbye. I didn't even say thank you. To put it bluntly... I was a bitch. I waved my hand in the air nonchalantly and said " Okay...BYE!"

When he was gone my girl friends gushed and gushed about him. They said I had taken a step up in every way. In looks, in personality, in the way he treated me. "But he's just the rebound guy," I said with no feeling. But they could not be persuaded to believe that, though it was true. Then we talk and drank for what seemed like hours. I got completely sauced and I remember them asking me if I had money and putting me in a cab.

It was marvelous. Really and truly. I know all this drinking and abusing men isn't healthy. But it was good to see old friends. Friends I'd seen less of to spend time with David's friends. Friends who think I'm fun. And nice. And worthy. Friends who have an opinion on who I date. Friends who don't judge. And who put me in a cab and tell me it's time to go home.

And I remember thinking in the morning what an ass I was. And also, that maybe, just maybe, The Math Teacher...was actually...a good guy.

Why I Don't Hate (and Kinda Like) the Math Teacher

2011-05-19T14:53:00.001-07:00

So maybe he doesn't sound like the greatest guy. But then again, you don't know the whole story...

Sunday

After having been dumped by Fuckface, sad and upset and drunk, and blowing off some mad steam, I hooked up with the Math Teacher. It was my decision. I stand by it. He seemed like a nice, fun, harmless guy in my group of friends. He told me I was beautiful and sexy about five million times. Super validating. When I decided it was time for me to leave, he wanted me to stay. But I wanted to go. He walked me down to the street and put me in a cab. And texted me to make sure I got home safe.

Wednesday

When out with all our mutual friends, he didn't act like anything had happened. He didn't kiss and tell. He said nothing. That - while should be the way people always are with personal, private matters such as these - is not the way they often are. He didn't brag. He didn't try to get more out of me. We talked like friends. We laughed about Sunday. We walked down the street together at the end of the night. I got in a cab. I went home.

Friday

Out for a friend's birthday two days later, the whole gang went crazy all over town. We drank and danced. I was too drunk (again) and tired and sad. I made out with the Math Teacher half the night. And danced with him. At the end of the night, I said I wouldn't go home with him. I told him - I'm tired. And I'm sad. "I don't want to hook up with you." "That's okay," he said. "Come over anyways...I'll take care of you." And he did. I went over and nothing happened. Not even more kissing. He held me ALL night. ALL night. I don't think Fuckface ever did that. He was always too hot or too tired or couldn't get comfortable. In the morning he made me breakfast and we watched a movie. A "Rock" movie. Random. He walked me down to the street again so we could get a cab. "Maybe we should go on a date?" he asked. I thought this a really weird, unlikely turn of events. "Sure," I had said. What did I have to lose? What else did I have to do?

Wednesday

He took me to Founding Farmers for dinner. The conversation was random and funny and good. He paid. I had a moment in the restroom where I was looking in the mirror and for the first time in awhile now, I was having fun. I felt good about myself again. We had the lamest, worst peck of a kiss outside a cab and I went home alone.

Sunday

He hadn't called. Or texted. Or emailed. Oh well, I had thought. I guess he didn't like me. It doesn't really matter, because I didn't like him. Not really. I mean, I don't even know him. And I'm a heartbroken trainwreck. We'll just be friends. No biggie. But I saw him out, with all my friends again. He was attentive. He asked me if I wanted to go bowling the next week. I said: "You wanna go out with me again?" "Why wouldn't I?" he asked incredulously. "Didn't we have fun?" "Yes. We did." I said back. And that is true. We really did - have a good time. "But you didn't call me," I said casually. "OH," he said for a moment. "Well I knew I'd see you here." "That's not good enough," I said. "You have to call or text after a date." "I'm an idiot," he said. "I can text you. I'll text you all the time." "Alright, we'll go bowling," I agreed.

Monday-Friday

He texted me. A lot. Every day. All day. About nothing in particular.

Friday

I blew him off for bowling. I was too tired and depressed in reality. I told him I was sick.

Saturday-Tuesday

He texted me all day every day. Asking me how I was feeling. What symptoms I was having. Was I eating anything? Tuesday he rescheduled our date. Instead of bowling we had dinner.

Thursday

Dinner at Darlington House in Dupont. Again he paid. Again the conversation was good. We went back to his place and watched some tv and made out a little. Nothing major. I told him that I thought he had the wrong idea about me. Because our first encounter was so casual. And that on top of that I was a mess and just broke up with someone and didn't know if I was able to really do anything with him. He said he didn't expect anything. "But I'm a mess!" I urged him to comprehend. "You are kind of a mess," he said. "I'm not fun right now," I said. "Let me decide what is fun," he said.

Saturday

He told me he stopped seeing another girl (a girl I knew he was also seeing, I just didn't care) because he wanted to be with me. I told him he didn't have to do that. That I hadn't asked him to do that. That we weren't ANYTHING. That we were "cool." "I don't wanna be cool," he said. "But we are," I simply repeated again.

Sunday

I was hanging out with our mutual friends. "What's going on with you and the Math Teacher?" one mutual guy friend wanted to know. "I don't know. Nothing," I said. "You hang out all the time," the friend came back at me with curiosity... "He actually likes you. He's just worried about being the rebound guy." "But he IS the rebound guy. Isn't he?"

Tuesday

We rescheduled our bowling date for Friday night.

Friday

Tomorrow night we're going bowling.

In short, I don't know why everyone reading this blog hates him so much. Yeah we hooked up. Maybe that was lame of him. Yeah I'm sad and depressed and often drunk and maybe not ready to date. But I was honest with him. And you know what - we've been SORTA hanging out/dating for 5 weeks. 5 weeks! And I haven't done anything but 13 year old PG kissing since that first night. And he's still dating me?????!!!!! Maybe I'm the greatest hookup he's ever had in his life and he MUST HAVE A REPEAT OR DIE (which I find really unlikely) or maybe he likes me??? I don't know guys. What I do know is:

I don't give a shit. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tried of having no fun. He is fun. And funny. And nice. And a distraction. And treats me WELL ENOUGH. And did I mention he was TALL and HOT???

So there you go...don't hate on the Math Teacher. Because I don't.

Cheers,

Why I Hate the Math Teacher

2011-05-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

WHY I HATE THE MATH TEACHER

GUEST POST BY ANDY WHITE

*@andywhitedc is a DC resident, author and social media manager. His first guest post depicting yet another bad date and entitled "The Layers" can be found here. His second and third posts, also about a bad date (see any patterns here hmm??) "Muted Lights, Small City" and Two's Company, Four's a Bitch can be found here and here. In case it wasn't obvious from the entry's title, Andy doesn't like the new guy I've been dating. It's not serious, I'm completely on the rebound and I don't even treat him well. So I'm not sure why Andy's so against him but here are his thoughts on Mr. H anyhow...

Why 'the teacher' is everything that is wrong with men in today's society:

I recently posted a comment that indicated my dislike for 'the teacher' in succinct and somewhat blunt terms. A 'Heather' responded indicating a desire to see this blown out into something more substantial Heather, this is for you:

The teacher represents a crawling manifestation of everything we seek to avoid as we traipse through the human experience. At first, and in small doses, this man is amenable and sometimes even affable. He is at the outer extremities of your group, the type of rogue with whom you would never hang out 1 one 1, but he's always there, always looking. Angular and awkward in construction, there's a sharp movement in his step, as though always ready to slip his hand somewhere unwanted.

He will go for the weak and the vulnerable. Recently broken up, emotionally damaged, desperate for affirmation of their beauty; that they are thin, that they can get over it, that they do actually like giving head, really, truly. That's his specialty, that's his wheelhouse.

In this particular instance our villain knew of the pain dear MM was going through. This was out in the open and it was clear and it was very true. He sat there, he said the right things, he put a consoling hand on a damaged knee. He saw a girl that was at her very lowest ebb, a girl that needed an arm, a hug, words in her ear to let her know everything will be alright. Really. She was desperate for someone to push $20 into the hand of a cabbie and send her home. She was desperate for someone to care, for someone selfless, for someone who didn't think with his vile wick.

He was none of those things. He was her worst nightmare that night.

Lest we forget the group of friends that were present that evening, and I for one will never forgive, never forget. They saw first-hand his moves, his lines, his darting tongue and thin words. They could have surrounded MM like on the Serengeti and ushered him back to the dark visages of his mind, from where he came and where he will ultimately return. But they didn't. They were complicate. They pushed MM into the waiting clutches of a man designed to suck the life out of those around him because he knows of nothing but pain.

That's probably why I hate 'the teacher' and everything he represents. Scum.

The Math Teacher - Part 1

2011-05-17T09:48:00.001-07:00

A mutual friend - "He actually likes you."

Me - "He does?"

The mutual friend - "Yes he does. He's just afraid of being the rebound guy."

Me - "But he is the rebound guy."

Friend - "Sometimes a rebound guy becomes a not-a-rebound guy."

Me - "But, I'm a mess."

Friend - "You are kind of a mess."

To Date or Not to Date - Part 2

2011-05-09T14:37:00.000-07:00

What did I decide to do? Drum roll please....

Not to Date.

Fail.

Anyways, I sent the Math Teacher a text message around 2pm (about 6 hours before our date) on a Friday night stating the following: "Hey, hope you are having a great day. I hate to cancel on you late notice but I'm totally exhausted and not feeling great and so I'd rather reschedule."

What did I do instead? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. I was completely lame. And boring. And, well, lame. I wore sweatpants, ate pasta and drank wine. I am not proud of this fact, but it is what it is. I also watched 10 episodes of a British miniseries on Netflix. Which makes me quadruple-ey lame. I know.

At any rate, I had to work again on Saturday from 9-6. I came home and did NOTHING yet again. And then Sunday I had a long day of taking care of the MOM with brunch (it was FANTASTIC at 701 outside overlooking the National Archives building and the Navy memorial equipped with fountains and a temporary ALS association art/advocacy exhibit Piece by Piece which is AMAZING!!!!) and then the National Portrait Gallery and then shopping at Macy's. (i got a bright blue dress that is killer!) But I digress...Back at work bright and early this Monday morning I still feel tired. So I think I made the right decision. If only for my physical, emotional and mental well being. I am - to say the least - worn out. Worn out because of this breakup, my job, my life, being me. Depressing no? I'm thinking of planning a ridiculously extravagant vacation for 3 months from now when this hellish project I'm currently working on is over.

Anyways, you don't care about my troubles do you? What you really want to know is - how did the Math Teacher respond? And let me tell you...he was soooooooo nice. So freaking nice.

Here's what he said: "Don't worry about it. Everyone feels bad sometime. We'll try something when you feel better and more up to it."

Soooo nice right? He proceeded to text me several times on Saturday and then most of the day on Sunday. Saturday: "How are you feeling today?" I admitted I was pretty much bumming around the house watching youtube videos and other random stuff online and catching up on The Wire from the beginning via Netflix. I mentioned the Jimmy Fallon video parodying Charlie Sheen and the Steven Colbert and Jimmy Fallon performance of "Friday." And a bunch of other stuff. And you know what he did? He watched them. Every thing I said I thought was funny - he'd go and watch it and report back. Not like that's hard or anything but - he actually listens to me- and engages. He doesn't get a medal, but he gets props. That's all I'm saying.

Sunday he was out with all our friends and they had a few too many drinks. Yet he still texted me to check in and chat every half hour or so. Finally, one of our friends got mad at him for being on his phone instead of paying attention to the group. They didn't know he was talking to me.

"So stop texting me!" I urged him. "I don't want to stop texting," he told me. "So what are you up to now?"

And its official - I'm still in love with David. This whole thing still sucks. I'm still a sad, moody, hot mess. But I also like the Math Teacher. And I also want to date him.

Unfortunately, my last minute cancellation has confused him a bit. He asked our mutual friend T (a very good girl friend of mine) to help him "figure me out." Oy vey!

But what is there to figure out? He asked me out, I went out with him. We had fun. He asked me out again, and while I did cancel (because I honestly said I didn't feel well), why can't we just go out again (rescheduled) and see what happens?

Why must we, in the beginning, know exactly what's going on, what's happening or figure someone out? Why must I be a 100% over my last boyfriend? Why must I be anything at all? Why can't I just exist and see what happens?

So there you have it friends. I like the Math Teacher. And maybe, just maybe, he likes me...even if I am quadruple lame. I guess we'll see.

Happy Monday and Cheers,
T

To Date or Not to Date

2011-05-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

That is the question. Because I'm supposed to go out tonight. On another date with the Math Teacher. Bowling.

In theory, I want to go out on another date with the Math Teacher. But in reality I have NO INTEREST IN GOING OUT TONIGHT. OR BOWLING.

My whole body aches. Everywhere. My back, neck, shoulders. My face. My eyes behind the eyes. My quads. My hamstrings. The soles of my feet. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I work too much. (Well I KNOW I work too much - I even work a full day Saturdays so a six day week). Maybe I'm getting the flu (some of my coworkers were out sick this week and my mom has also been afflicted). Or maybe I'm just depressed. Two run-ins with the ex (yes I DID run into him AGAIN on my way to work yesterday. More on that some other time maybe...) in the last five days and its just too much. It's all too much. Or maybe I'm just dehydrated and need a glass of water? Who knows...

I told my coworker I wanted to cancel. I told her I feel like shit and I'm exhausted and we have to work all day tomorrow too! And then Sunday I'm spending the whole day with my mom for Mother's Day doing fun stuff she likes like an early morning walk outside, documentary movies, art exhibits, brunch etc.

My coworker was kinda mean to me in response to my lack of luster for living it up. She said: "What are you gonna do then? Go home and put on your sweatpants and watch TV?"

I said: "Um, yes. Exactly. And drink wine." (Don't try to tell me that's not bliss). The truth is: I wanna be alone. I don't feel like myself. And its even MORE exhausting and stressful trying to PRETEND to be me. The me everyone likes. The fun, bubbly, nice person that I just am not embodying right now. Because right now I am angry and tired and bitter and sad and exhausted and stressed and lost.

But I know how shitty it is to cancel on someone. Especially if they cleared their schedule to hang with you and therefore didn't make other Friday night plans. And then maybe he won't ask me out again. And I DO want to see if something is there with the Math Teacher. He IS a nice, interesting, cool guy. But I DON'T want to see if something is there tonight. Though I don't want to blow him off or hurt his feelings or give him the wrong impression.

I don't know. Ugh. I'd said TGIF. But I work Saturdays. Fuck my life. Just fuck it.

Tell me what to do lovely readership. You decide. And I will listen. You always say the right things. Which is why I write to you out into the abyss. I get more out of it, then you do. I'm sure.

Tired, tired T.

Men Love Bitches and Crazies - Part 2

2011-05-05T09:27:00.000-07:00

Since you guys seemed to enjoy PART 1 of this story with the crazy bitch and her basket...I'd figure I'd give you just a little more on it. Here was my actual emailed response to my friend Chris upon hearing his story of putting up with this bullshit...

"That seriously is the most craziest fucked up story i've ever heard. I don't care how hot or how fun or how good of a lay she is, I don't know how a good person like yourself could be around as BAD A PERSON as that. Who treats people like that? Who thinks its ok to treat people like that?

You are doing the entire universe of people a DISFAVOR by continuing to allow hot women to be total and completely self-centered, entitled bitches and let them think they can get away with it so they continue again and again to act this way and treat people this way. INCONSIDERATE RUDE PEOPLE are a waste of space on this earth. And it makes me sick guys put up with it.

I've been trying to think of a way to respond to this email that wasn't all fired up and opinionated and annoyed but I just cant. You are my friend. This girl sounds like she sucks. You are a good person. K and V and I are good people. This girl is not.

Honestly. How many women are there in NYC? At least 1/3rd of the hot ones have to have a single neuron of intelligence in their brain and a bit of decency in their hearts. FUCK THEM. DATE THEM.

Ugh. I'm vaclemped! (spelling?)

T

P.S. this story IS FUCKING HILARIOUS THOUGH. UNBELIAVABLY HILARIOUS."

TO WHICH HE REPLIED...

"Haha. I made her pick up the basket! If she hadn't picked up the
basket, I would have said, 'Peace Out!' Our latest conversations involve how many free meals (as in me cooking exclusively) she thinks she can get away with based on her looks and pouting.. Haha. I'm setting the girl straight!"

I GIVE UP.

Men Like Bitches and Crazies

2011-05-04T08:31:00.000-07:00

I used to feel like it was my fault that I was single. Was I too pretty? Not pretty enough? Not well dressed? Not thin enough or fit enough or tan enough or quiet enough or sweet enough or aloof enough. But my latest relationship, where I genuinely believe the Ex before, then and now thinks I am what he says I am: "Truly excellent. Smart and beautiful. Kind and generous." Because you know what? I. am. Period. Men just happen to like high maintenance, crazy bitches. And I for one, regardless of any "game" I'm supposed to play, don't want to be high maintenance, crazy, or bitchy. Because, frankly, that wouldn't be fun for me. And my quality of life, throughout my life, would suffer. For myself. Personally. So why would I change?

Case in point...my friend Chris who lives outside the DMV, dated a super cute, seemingly nice, friendly, normal girl for a year or so. They broke up and it was rough. But now...it seems as though he is dating every hot lunatic that ever broke out of a mental hospital. Seriously. And treats them well. And puts up with their shit. And I just don't get it. Do you? Let me relay one of his tales - of some psycho tail - so you know what I'm talking about...

"Haha. New chick and I almost had a fight in the street near my apt. yesterday early evening. Love it.

She had been drinking all day w/ other friends and was wasted. I proposed meeting up and drinking/picnic in the Park early evening yesterday. Met her at a place where she had met up w/ friend bartender at a really nice restaurant there. Went up for a drink, ended up having two. (And then she proposed shots which I rejected.) Ended up not doing picnic - and I even had my picnic basket, blanket, sweatshirt (for her) and wine with me. Offered to make dinner instead. Took cab up to grocery store near me. Bought groceries for dinner. Now had basket and two bags of groceries. I have basket - she has groceries.

Half a block from store she starts to complain about weight of groceries, so we switch. Walks 10ft and complains about basket now. Puts basket on sidewalk and walks without it. I stop and like, "You've got to be kidding me.." And she keeps walking so I tell her to come back and get basket, refuse to pick it up. Tell her to finally come back and pick up the f'n basket and she does.
Haha.

Only child urban primadonna. And she's self-admitted she needs a lot of attention. Got to love it. But dinner went well. Had to share w/ someone. Hope everything is well with you."

WTF????

Just WHAT. the. FUCK.

Do you have any explanation? Because I sure dont...

Cheers,

THE BREAKUP: PART TWO

2011-05-02T18:27:00.000-07:00

Inquiring minds want to know - what happened? why did he dump you?

It's been too painful to share with you. But seeing how today I saw him on the street and while still totally sucked, I didn't die right there of a broken heart. So I guess I'll live. And I guess I'm moving on. So sharing with you - this ONE AND ONLY time (I hope) - this very painful thing - may help. And is worth a shot.

It was Friday night at 7 o'clock. Finally time for me to get off of work after 5 consecutive 13 hour days in a row. I had started a new project with a new client. I was feeling great about my responsibilities and talent and efforts and results. And I hadn't seen David all week. I couldn't wait to see him. He said he would swing by my office and pick me up. And then we were supposed to go to dinner just the two of us. A romantic dinner at a little Italian place I'd never been to.

Another fact you might not know, is that 3 days later I was supposed to meet his parents for passover dinner. Something you will now know, but David never will, was that I was so nervous yet so excited for this dinner. I thought it meant something. I thought it meant something big. I thought it meant he loved me. I wanted it to mean he loved me. I'd taken off of WORK!!! (unheard of) to go dress shopping at Macy's. I'd tried every dress on they had in the store and bought three. I would decide which one was most appropriate later I had decided and return the other two (or save them for other occasions we might go to together). I had listened to NPR podcast and news stories ALL day long at work for days. His mother is a psychotherapist, his father a teacher. I didn't want to come off like an ignoramus. I wanted to impress them.

Just moments before he was to arrive, I went to the restroom. I brushed and primped my hair. I touched up my makeup. My eyeshadow. My lipstick. My lip gloss. I always wanted to look good for him. I was so happy.

I went down the elevator and out into the lobby. There he was. In one of his many suits. When he looked up he smiled, but in a forced way. I could feel my walk pick up a little quicker, almost in a half skip as I moved towards him and planted a firm kiss on his lips. I guess in hindsight, it wasn't really returned and had been all my doing but I hadn't noticed. "How are you?" he'd asked. "I'm great," I said. "The new job is going great! It's so good to see you. How are you?" "I'm okay" he replied. "Just okay?" I asked concerned thinking it was a work thing or a family thing that was bothering him. "We'll talk about it," he said as we turned up the street towards Dupont Circle.

"Why are you just okay?" I asked again. "We'll talk about it" he said again. "You're worrying me..." I said in response. But he gave no further answer. We walked several blocks and I felt sick in my stomach. I knew. I just knew.

"Do you wanna break up?" I asked him. "Yes," he nodded. "Shit," I said. We kept walking a little ways. "Okay," I said. "That's it?" He said back. "Well, what can I say?" I said panicked, the tears starting to well up choking in my throat. "I can't make you be with me if you don't want to be with me." He nodded again.

I suddenly felt overwhelmed and lightheaded. We sat down on a rock wall surrounding a park filled with a happy family of father and children playing baseball.

"Why did you ask me to meet your parents," I almost shrieked. "That was before..." he answered. "That was cruel," I said back. "There is nothing about this, that isn't cruel," he replied. "This is hard on me too you know." "This isn't hard on you," I said meanly. "It isn't hard on you at all."

"It just isn't right," he explained poorly. "I don't know what's wrong. But I haven't been able to sleep lately. I've been thinking about it for some time. It's just not right."

"I don't understand," I started to cry. "I feel liked I learned nothing from this relationship. I don't know how we went from those great dates at Firefly and Oya and Dplan to where we ended up. I don't know why we don't 'fit.' This isn't what I want. I like you. I like being with you. I want to be with you. We seem to have so much in common. Why is it so hard to just spend time together and be happy? Why didn't you get off a long day of work, want to see my smiling face, call me up saying 'coming over?' - go home with me, cook dinner, watch tv or read and go to bed. Any day, every week, all the time? Of course our relationship wasn't working. Bc it wasn't a relationship at all. We never DID anything together. Why didn't you want to do things with me or spend time with me and just relax with me if you liked me as much as you said you did? I just don't understand. I don't. I tried so hard. I tried to be nice and flexible and give you space. I feel like you never let me in or tried at all. And I don't know why. And that's so hard."

He paused for a long time. Then he tried to rub my back with his hand and I pulled away from him.

"I don't have any answers, just shared hurt. And confidence that this is the right decision. I feel good about the time we had together. I think you are truly excellent; smart and beautiful, kind and generous. I wish you the best in all things. I did and do care for you. The answer you are looking for is an intangible. i don't know why it didn't work and I really wish that it had but it didn't feel right to me and when I realized that it wasn't just stress or scheduling or anything either of us could change I thought that the best thing would be to recognize that and end it. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to use you, I was hoping to fall in love with you. I didn't and it sucks and I don't know what else to say."

OUCH. A punch to the gut. Are there any words ever said ever before by anyone, anywhere that ever hurt as much? "I was hoping to fall in love with you. I didn't."

What else was there to say? I made him give me $20 for cab fare. I was in no shape to take public transit home. I was sure to cry in public adding insult to injury. I made him wait for me to find a cab. "You were lucky to have me as long as you did," I spurted out sharp and angry. "You were lucky to have me at all." "I feel that way," he said.

"Don't call me. Don't email me. Don't invite me to stuff. Tell your friends not to invite me to stuff. If you see me on the street, pretend you don't know me."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he said. He genuinely looked hurt. Hah. As if. "Yes, it does," I replied without hesitation defensive and in pain. "Promise me." "Promise me this is it. I know myself and I want nothing to do with you. I wish you a good life I guess. Have a nice life." "I'll wish you the same then," he said back to me.

He hailed a cab and it pulled beside us. He opened the door. "Goodbye David," I said. "Goodbye," he said. I got in the cab and the door shut behind me. As it pulled away I looked over at him walking along the sidewalk away from me. He looked at me too. For a moment. He did look sad and defeated.

I held it together in the cab. I walked into my dark and empty house at 8pm on a Friday night like a zombie. I went upstairs and calmly put my pajamas on. I went back downstairs, opened a bottle of wine. I put something on the tv. I ordered a pizza. But when it came I took one look at it and felt nauseous. I couldn't take even one bite. So I just sat there, in the dark, drinking wine, crying and sobbing, and dying a little inside, until I fell asleep. I didn't leave the couch for almost 48 hours. Except to use the restroom. I sat in the darkness. I drank wine and liquor and beer. I didn't eat. I was empty. And I was alone. Yet, again. And all I could hear, over and over again, ringing in my ears like a curse -

"I hoped to fall in love with you. But I didn't. I don't know what else to say."

And I was left to ponder, what it was, that made me so willing to love others, yet so impossible to be loved in return.

I have never doubted why they call it heart ache. Because if you've known it, then you also know - your heart - actually aches. So much so, that you think you should die instantly from its infliction, but you don't. And minutes keep ticking. And suns keep rising. And people keep laughing. While you must watch and see and feel. When all you feel is despair.

I Ran into the EX....

2011-05-02T06:13:00.000-07:00

And I. am. winning. WINNING!!!!!

Holy shit. Seriously.

Its like 9:15am on a Monday and I have work to get to. Like for realz. But...this is just too awesome not to impart to all my ladies out there who may need a beginning of the week boost of hope and awesomeness...

So - I don't know if I mentioned this before but I work ACROSS THE STREET from my EX (aka David, aka Mr. U or Mr. Unicorn - ack - barf - yeah right). I eat my lunch on a lovely rooftop every day. Only problem - I have to stare at his fuckin lair right across the street spoiling the ambiance. It blows.

My walk to and from the metro and work is his walk to and from his apartment and his work. So for two weeks I've been looking over my shoulder every second. Wondering if I was going to see him. Hoping I DONT see him. Hoping I DO see him. What if he was on a date? What if he was holding hands with some other fucking girl walking her to work like we used to do together? I was mortified and petrified and angry and sad and a total paranoid freak running around thinking I saw him anywhere and everywhere. Every morning. Every lunch break. Every evening. Totally psychotic nightmarish misery.

Then...this morning. I was walking from the metro. I totally forgot he existed. (At least for the moment I had). I was texting funny messages back and forth with my coworker B, on my way to work. She was already there and I was filling her in on the weekend.

And I look over to the right to check the traffic at an intersection and there he is. THERE HE FUCKING IS!!! The first time I wasn't looking for him and there he was. And I laughed. Out loud. Because OF COURSE. Because OF COURSE the one minute I let my guard down, there he was.

And I thought of avoiding him. I thought of changing course to work. I wondered if he saw me and was pretending to ignore me or whether he hadn't seen me at all. And I somehow decided this was it - I was going to run into him - ON PURPOSE - and get back my sanity. And my independence. And my freedom.

So I walked on, until we were next to each other AT THE SAME FUCKING CROSSWALK. Waiting for the light to turn so we could cross the street. And he stood next to me.

"Hey," I said nonchalantly. "Good morning."

"Oh! Hey!" he said as surprised to see me as I had been.

And then my coworker B sent me a text that was HILARIOUS and I looked at it and laughed.

"You seem to be in a good mood this morning," he said staring at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I am. I'm good."

"Thanks for my stuff," he said. (I didn't mention it but I dropped his shit off in a plastic bag on his doorstep in the middle of the day on Saturday. Good riddins).

"No problem," I replied casually. "I just didn't want anything of yours lying around."

I got another text from B and laughed one more time. "Take care," I said as easy breezy as a Covergirl, waving my hand in the air with my folded up newspaper. I walked across the street away from him and smiled down ahead.

He had LOOKED LIKE SHIT. He looked tired. and sad. And I - did not. I don't know if I'm winning or not (really), since I love him. And miss him. And he fucked with me. But again. he. looked. like. shit. tired. and. sad. And I did not. I'm definitely not losing. And you know what...he just looked like some guy. It's sort of tragic really - because its like he was a stranger. Like none of it every happened. But Life goes on...because it must. And since I must go along with it...I'll do it and win.

YES!!!! A TRIUMPH!!!

First Post-Breakup First Date: Part 2!!

2011-04-27T20:04:00.000-07:00

OMG! Oh. my. god.

I'm exhausted and tired and have to get up early and go to bed. But holy shit....

That was A. GREAT. FIRST. DATE.

I was soooooo nervous and obnoxious and could NOT SHUT UP. This guy is NEVER going to want to go out with me again. But you know what...

I would go out with him again.

I laughed. And laughed and laughed.

We talked about NOTHING. And it was phenomenal.

Somehow we got in a conversation about what type of classes/styles/lifestyles of people vegetables were. We decided cucumbers were yuppity and uppity. We decided that sweetpotatos were a kick ass starch. We decided that even though I like cauliflower I would never be cool because I work for the man.

It made no sense. But it was awesome.

He's sweet and nice and accommodating.

And maybe we are better off as friends. And maybe there will be no second date.

But there was a moment where I went to the restroom and I looked at myself in the mirror. And I wasn't just smiling with my mouth. I stared into my own eyes and my eyes were smiling. And I thought - you. are. okay.

And you are gonna be okay....

Yay! More tomorrow...

T

First Post-Breakup First Date

2011-04-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

So...yeah...I've been single for what? A week and a half? And I have a first date. Sort of.

So remember how I got completely wasted 2 days after getting my heart completely stomped on by the unicorn imposter (sort of, I mean he's a pretty great guy. ugh. wish it weren't true) and how I hooked up with this guy in my circle of mutual friends? To feel better - no big deal.

Well what you don't know is that 7 days after getting broken up with I went out on the town again for my friend M's 30th birthday. And I was feeling it you know? Feeling great. Feeling so great it made me wonder if it really WAS A GOOD THING that David had dumped me? Like maybe I hadn't been myself around him? Or it had been harder than it should've been? Or that it was just so tiring trying to make someone happy that maybe couldn't be happy? I don't know. But last Friday - I felt great. I was dancing and laughing and finally eating again. (Did I mention I lost 8 pounds in 7 days because I barely swallowed a morsel? Every time I looked at food I felt like I was going to vomit. But I digress). I felt good. And The Math Teacher, or I suppose we could call him Rebound Guy, was there. And I talked to him. But I also talked to our friends. And I danced with him, but I also danced with my other girl and guy friends.

And at the end of the night...

I went home with him. Again.

Except this time...nothing happened. I mean I told him nothing would happen and he told me to come home with him anyway. And really folks. Nothing happened. We watched a ROCK movie (You know who the Rock is right? hah) and he held me. He held me ALL FUCKING NIGHT. I don't think David ever did that ONCE. Because he was a fickle sleeper and couldn't get to sleep. And he'd get cold and needed more blankets. blah. blah. blah. Its not that David never held me. But he never held me like that. And it made me sad. Like how could this man I spent months and months with never hold me like that. And why not? And why were we together? But I didn't think it was great that we were no longer together. I just still wished we were. And that he had changed. And been different. And loved me. And held me - like that. But he didn't. And we aren't. And he never will. It's the worst.

In the morning, The Math Teacher made me breakfast and we watched tv. He walked me outside and put me in a cab and asked me if I wanted to go out this week. What else could I say? I mean I guess I could say no? But why not? What the fuck else have I got to do?

So when I get off of work tonight around 8pm - I will officially GO BACK TO DATING. Which is my worst nightmare. I mean - to be honest - I rock at dating. You wanna know why? Because I'm friendly and energetic and interested in people and a good talker. And because I've been on about a thousand dates in my lifetime. Well not that many - but close. And I'm sick of it. I don't want to date anymore. I know I'm not supposed to say this and its anti-feminist bullshit or something but I don't want to date. I don't want to be single. 6 months ago I thought I hated marriage, children and men. And then I fell in love with someone. In a grown-up way. As a grown-up. I'm ready. Ready to be in love. Ready to settle down. Ready for marriage and children and all of it. And it sucks. Because to get there - I have to date. A lot. And go on bad dates. Probably. A lot of them.

So I'm starting with the math teacher. I think its going to be really really really REALLY weird. Because we started out by seedily hooking up. And I know him as a friend. And all my friends know him. And we all hang out together. And it just feels weird. And because I'm sad. And because I miss David. And because I wish David and I were having dinner. But we aren't. And a girl's gotta eat...

I'm going to try to be positive. And I'm going to be a good date. Because I always am. Because I can't help myself. Life goes on...because it does. So I will go on...because I must.

Cheers and wish me luck,
T

Post Breakup: Day 2

2011-04-25T20:04:00.001-07:00

You aren't going to like this. That I behaved so poorly. But here goes it...

So I got drunk. Really drunk. After a mimosa brunch and nothing to eat. At 12pm on Sunday I hadn't eaten in almost 48 hours, but I did manage to down about 6 mimosas. Then I headed to meet some friends. Who didn't know that David was history. Literally.

"Let's get you drunk," they said.

"I'm already drunk," I said.

"More drunk?" they asked.

"I like your thinking," I replied.

And so I proceeded to get drunk. Really drunk. Beer after beer after beer kinda drunk. And then I came up with the greatest idea ever....

"Let's go to Camelot!!!" I ordered.

It was my day after all. Who could deny me? This was better than a birthday.

So myself and a caravan of friends headed to the strip club.

We got a table in front and I started pounding Rum and cokes. Delicious misery.

The Math Teacher is a guy in my group of mutual friends who was with us this night. He teaches children math - so I consider him pretty harmless. And he looked tall and cute with his full head of hair. After David who is short and balding (but don't get me wrong still handsome give me some credit), tall and a full head of hair was exactly what I needed.

"You'll be okay," The Math Teacher said.

"What I need," I responded, "is to be a guy."

"Come again?" he countered.

"You know...how guys just start hooking up with another woman. Get over one person by getting under another. Why is it that girls pine away for seven months alone crying and weeping and feeling pathetic while guys just move on to the next piece of ass? It's not fair. I wanna post-breakup like a guy. I want to be with another guy as soon as possible. Just get it out of the way. Put another guy between me and David and start moving on. Now. What do you think?"

"What do you mean what do I think?"

Now for the record - I have never been this slutty in my life. Ever. But I was drunk. And I was sad. And I was determined.

"I think I wanna go home with you," I told him. "Really?" he said.

"Yes. But you have to do something for me..."

"What's that?"

"I need to feel beautiful. And SEXY."

"But you are beautiful. And sexy," he seemed to answer honestly.

"Tell me I'm beautiful and sexy as many times as possible. And I won't regret it."

"Okay," he said staring sincerely back at me.

Now some of my friends have thought this whole thing was stupid and bad. And that The Math Teacher was taking advantage of me in my weakened state. But I wholeheartedly knew what I was doing. I'm a big girl. I'm 28. I knew what I was doing. And it was my idea and my decision.

The Math Teacher began grabbing my leg under the table. And holding my hands. And brushing my arm. None of my friends noticed at first. It felt soooo good to be touched by someone else. Anyone else. Other than...

And I did go home with him. And he did tell me I was beautiful. And sexy. Maybe a hundred times. And I felt beautiful. And sexy. That other men would want me. And I would want them.

In the morning I laughed thinking about it all again. Blushing to myself. I couldn't believe I had done that. That was sooo not me. And it was stupid and ridiculous and really not all that great. But it was kind of silly and liberating and shocking. And made me laugh. And three days after a break-up, a little self-confidence and a little laughter couldn't be so bad. It had made me sad, because it wasn't nearly as good as when I was with someone I was truly attracted to -inside and out-and someone I cared about- like him. I would rather have been with him. But it made me feel beautiful. And sexy. And wanted. And a tiny bit of the memory of him had been blurred a little further in the past.

Judge me if you will, but it is what it is. And I don't feel as bad about it, as maybe I should.

Post-Breakup: Day 10

2011-04-25T19:42:00.000-07:00

I feel okay.

I'm not gonna lie - I don't feel great. But I feel o-kay.

It's really REALLY hard to get up early when you are under the foggy weight of Tylenol PM, necessary to sleep at all. But I finally did get up. I showered and spent an enormous amount of time making my hair just so. Which was sort of stupid since I stepped out into the DC humidity (hello summer! didn't you know we only get about 3 days of spring and that's it before the swampy heat arrives?). I did my crossword while I waited for the bus like I always do. And on the subway.

I got to work swishing past everyone and everything to my desk. And I worked. Hard. I got a lot done. And I felt good about it. I had a work performance related meeting and I was given high praise. I listened to upbeat songs and podcasts on my iphone. And I felt o-kay.

It's not like I don't think about him. It's not like everything is fine. But despite the fact that its only been a little over a week. I feel o-kay. Like - I really am still me. You know? Some people go into relationships and they lose themselves. Or others don't know who they are to begin with. But when I met David, I was happy. And confident. And accomplished. And hopeful. And hardworking. And kind. I'm not the greatest person in the world. I have my faults just like anyone else. But I care about being considerate and thoughtful and especially kind to the other people in the world around me. I want to be a good person. And I want to challenge myself. I love my family. And my friends. And I like to laugh. A lot. And even though I'm no longer with a man, I'm still that woman. The happy, bubbly, crossword solving, kick ass lawyer that likes to laugh.

And that feels better than okay. It feels great to have me to fall back on. I'm still here. I'm just here alone. I feel like I should be weeping. Or eating tubs of ben and jerry's. But I'm not. You'd be proud of me. Anyways, I'm proud of me.

I've been taking good care of myself. This morning I had a strawberry-banana, plain-yogurt honey drizzled smoothie, special k cereal with skim milk and a skim cappucino. For lunch I had a plain grilled chicken breast and broccoli. For dinner I had tofu with a tablespoon of barbecue sauce and a pile of asparagus. When I got home I went for a run. 1.81 miles at 6:57 mins per mile. I was flying. Pumping my arms and dancing to the music. I couldn't listen to certain songs on my ipod. And I'm sure I thought about him once or twice. But I still felt o-kay. I still felt like me.

That's the best part of a breakup when you are a grownup. If you are true to yourself before and during - you still have the true you even when its just you. And that's something...

It's a lot. Everything isn't great (yet), but everything is okay.

Cheers and thanks for all the kind words of encouragement,

T.

THE BREAKUP: PART 1

2011-04-24T16:09:00.000-07:00

Well, I don't know if fairy tales or unicorns do or do not exist. But I do know - that my current relationship didn't provide a happy ending. Because I have recently been unexpectedly, surprisingly, devastatingly -- DUMPED.

If he were an asshole or a bad guy. Or someone that didn't treat me well. Or that wasn't looking to settle down and have a family because we were too young or he wasn't ready or he was a commitment-phobe or the product of a divorce. Or he was moving away for school or work. Etc. If. If, if, if....there were a reason other than it just didn't feel right, it wasn't a good fit, I'm not "the one" I think it would be easier. Because then I could say I was better off. Then I could say I'd dodged a bullet. Then I could say there was a reason. Sometimes though, it's just not right. Sometimes though, you don't belong together. For no reason at all.

And it's just awful. It sucks. I completely understand why so many of you couldn't keep up with my I'M SO HAPPY, LIFE IS SO GREAT, PUPPIES AND FLOWERS AND CANDY BULL SHIT. Because if you aren't happy. If you are a sad sack, half-shell of a person you can't be around other people. You can't read their stories. I've been wanting to read Hilarity and Shoes and Maura Me to Love and Dating D.C. and so many more. But I don't want to read about relationships or dating or sadness or loneliness. I don't want to read about tales of empowerment and confidence and happiness and hope.

I want to be drunk. And abuse Tylenol P.M. And get through the motions of living. Because I must. I must pay my bills. I must get up. And shower. And dress. And work. And live. Because I am alive. And life continues. Whether you are happy that it does or not. Day in. And Day out. Breathing. Existing. And hopefully feeling nothing. Because if I let myself feel anything, then I will feel the sadness and the loss and the heartache and the confusion. I will miss him - David. A man who I thought was perfect for me. A man who I thought loved me. A man who made me happy. Until he didn't.

Two's Company, Four's a Bitch

2011-04-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

*@andywhitedc is a DC resident, author and social media manager. His first guest post depicting yet another bad date and entitled "The Layers" can be found here. His second post, also about a bad date (see any patterns here hmm??) "Muted Lights, Small City" can be found here. Comments are always appreciated and thanks to Andy for guest posting. Enjoy.*

Two's Company, Four's a Bitch
Guest Post by Andy White

I went in open-minded, excited, ready to be debonair, suave and funny. I remained this way even after she rolled in 15 minutes late and withnot one, not two, but three comrades in tow.

I guess it didn't help matters when she announced that she was 22. Ihad put her anywhere from 26-33 when I met her briefly Saturday night.This age difference was immediately reinforced when she revealed shehad yet to set foot in a wine bar and was seemingly pleased with this achievement.

I pressed on. I tried gamely. Full charm offensive. Her expressionchanged from stoic to glum to nonplussed no matter when was thrown ather. It was as though she had been used to staccato-like sentencesfrom her 22-year-old brethren and that anything more caused undue painto compute.

After an hour of this, she announced that she wanted to see 'what her friends were doing'. Her friends were sitting 6 feet behind us, but nevertheless we turned and moved to sit with them to discover exactlywhat it was that they were doing. And thus began a period of elegantly excruciating awkwardness. She immediately turned her full and complete attention to said friends, refusing to even look in my general direction.

Her friends gamely engaged me in conversation and I madethe best of it, but what became apparent to the point ofridiculousness was that she was either completely and socially ineptto the point of retardation, or she genuinely found me repellent andlikened her friends' banal dialogue to be the stuff of Noel Coward.

For the second hour, the hour with the three friends, the three friends I was still slightly surprised to see sitting right there,right now, with me, we probably exchanged but 20 words.

At the conclusion, the friends looked at me cap in hand: they wanted me to pay.

You couldn't make it up.

Some Dating Advice: Make it About Them

2011-03-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

I have several friends, male and female, who come to me for dating advice on a regular basis. What makes me some sort of expert? Nothing really. I'm no Patti Stanger from Matchmaker Millionaire. I'm certainly no Yenta (sadly I'm a Gentile) though I think being a nagging Jewish mother would be awesome! I have lived through several years-long "successful" relationships (in the sense that both myself and my partners were happy and in love for years even though things didn't last) and in my periods of male-drought I've been on TONS of dates. Currently, I'm dating a worthy guy with our future fate at status "unknown" but with some promise. So I guess I have something to say. And so does anyone who has been out there really.

When it comes down to it - I believe- take ANY and ALL the advice you can get. Try everything. Consider anything. Find out what you are comfortable with and what works for you. And sometimes take a risk and do what's uncomfortable too. Hey, if it ain't working, it ain't working! - time to change your tactics...

This brings us to my most recent dating advice bestowed on a singleton about to go on a first date with a girl, whom he'd met briefly but didn't know much about. This was our discourse:

The Dater: she may hate my guts when I speak

Me: Just try to be friendly, optimistic, talkative, even overly so. - Sometimes I think that you don't like me or are mad or not having a good time but really you're just calm/relaxed/easy going/aloofish. That's just your way.

The Dater: yes, I hope she doesn't think that

Me: You want her to feel warmed/welcomed like you are having a good time

The Dater: I want her to like me!!

Me: hahahha. Well -- then be LIKEABLE

The Dater: that's the hard bit

Me: Okay so I want you to pretend every second of this date EVEN IF YOU FIND out SHE'S NOT AS good looking as you remember or not nice or not cool or not fun or different than you thought I want you to use this date as PRACTICE -- practicing being THERE, being PRESENT, being NICE to another person. Your goal is to give HER the best DATE EXPERIENCE possible. Forget about yourself, your wants, your needs, your satisfaction -no matter what. Treat her the way you would treat THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE. But of course as if this is the first date with the love of your life. Be polite, chivalrous, enthusiastic. Smile, ask questions, etc. I think that you need to think of this as being a great date FOR YOUR DATE and the likeability part will come. Its not about you, its about her. Period. Just go out, meet a new person, and treat them great and you'll be fine.

Such, was my advice...

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the date did not go well. My dating friend described it as a "nightmare." But I do not think that all was not lost from this encounter. Because he was likely a better version of himself? Perhaps he improved himself as a dating prospect? Or maybe because he at least has the piece of mind that he did everything he could to make things go well on his end. After all, at the end of the day, what else can you do? And how bad can you feel?

Things in my relationship have been bumpy. Perhaps it is the three month bumps. Perhaps we are not a good fit. I don't know. Somehow though, I have a sense of calm about things despite the difficulties. Which as you know - is not my specialty. I am not calm. Instead, I am the storm to most calms. But lately - I am relaxed and self-assured in the role that I've been playing. Frankly, I am kicking ass as a girlfriend -- to put it plainly. Seriously. I am patient, I am kind, I am thoughtful. I am understanding and forgiving and giving. I meet his friends and wow his boss. I'm flexible on scheduling and activities. I care about him. Deeply. I try to make him happy. I try to be fun and positive and supportive. I don't act jealous (Even though I'm terribly jealous). I respect him, trust him and admire him. And I am the least selfish person I have ever been. Mostly, this transformation is from intentionally pushing myself every day to be the best version of myself because he deserves it. And because it feels good to be the best me I've ever been. So at the end of the day - if he doesn't know how great I am - or doesn't think I'm the woman of his dreams - there is nothing else that I can do. Ultimately however, giving love has been even greater than receiving love. I have made it about him, not me. Which may be the truest definition of love. Which is not to say...I'm not wanting and hoping to receive in return.

What are your thoughts dear readers? Good advice? Bad advice? Make it about them first? Or should it start with you?

Guys Are Easy

2011-03-28T14:29:00.000-07:00

I began to undress without any pomp or circumstance. It had been a long day and it was time for bed. Simply - I was tired.

"Oooh...I like that."

"You like what?" I asked nonchalantly.

"You know...that 'outfit'."

"It's not an 'outfit' it's just a bra and underwear..."

He didn't say anything else. He had already made his way half way across the room and started kissing me. That and what followed...was. hot.

My advice to all you women out there: Immediately go out and buy a new matching bra and underwear. Possibly several. Better if its colorful, lacy or silk. Nightgowns work too. Lingerie if you've got the money and the know-how to wear it. But you needn't get crazy. Mine was simple. Black top and bottom with a white lacy trim. Both purchased for the combined price of about $20 at Macy's. And they worked wonders...

It just goes to show you,

Guys.

are.

easy.

-T

What Not To Wear?

2011-03-24T14:24:00.000-07:00

I am hopeless when it comes to fashion. I have never denied this. Nor really tried to hide it. I think I'm a nice, normal looking girl. I think I dress nice and normal to match. I always look "nice" people tell me. But no one ever asks me where I bought this dress or that skirt. Or the designer name of my... well... anything. Ever. This is something I'd like to be better at. Now that I'm approaching 30 years of age and a lawyer working at a big firm and...well...a grown-up.

This is something I'd especially like to be better at when my boyfriend tells me that he's been invited to the fancy birthday bash of the senior partner at his firm and the senior partner has specifically, explicitly, by-name, invited not just the bf, but yours truly. "I would sooooo love it if your girlfriend, Toddy could also attend. Please extend the invitation to her will you?"

When Mr. U extended the invitation it was more like a - yes you will go to this with me because its an important professional opportunity for me - and please dear god go with this to me - because - well because you must.

I, of course, am going. I'm the lawyer in the relationship after all. And I have never been invited to do anything with a senior partner myself. Ever. For anything. I don't even think I've ever had a senior partner ask me to do anything by name.

But this is where the generally sucking at being a woman thing comes in.

What in the eff am I gonna wear?

How in the eff am I going to do my makeup?

My hair?
My skin is still scary vampire-ish pasty white from summer, will I scare the Sr partner off?

So...

Do I go buy a new dress, new shoes?

Do I get my makeup done at the MAC counter?

Do I get my hair blown out or an updo at a salon?

Should I get a spray tan?

Or...

Should I dress as best as I can, the "nice" and "normal" girl I typically embody? - with as best makeup as I can do, assume the pale skin will look Victorianly beautiful and appropriate (as if I blew in from a different era) and rely on the fact that my dark, brunette hair was just recently cut and looks fantastically healthy and shiny and...

Hope for the best?

If only I had any idea - What not to wear.

*Le sigh*

The Roommates

2011-03-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

So... I haven't written much since I went postal on all y'all's asses last week. I don't have much to report but I thought I would try to remove the metallic taste from the mouth of the pink elephant in the room. Or something like that...

So... Let's not talk about how I'm not perfect. Or how Mr. U is or is not perfect. Let's talk about how his roomates are sooooooo not perfect. Or rather the roommate and the roommate's girlfriend. I'd love to get some independent takes to see what your thought process is on these two.

So... The roommate is Mr. U's good friend from college. They are close. The roommate's girlfriend was a good friend of Mr. U's as well and the roommate and the girlfriend met because of Mr. U. Basically all three parties are close and get along.

Here's the problem. The roommate and the girlfriend are my age. In their late twenties. But they act like horny, obnoxious teenagers. They've been dating for six months and yet they are all over each other. All. the. time. In the apartment. Out at bars in public. They just stand so close and talk so close. And baby talk almost. Like "you're so great. No, you're so great." "My girlfriend is the hottest girl ever...blah blah blah." Am I the only one who is like "ick, ick, ick. No you're so ick, no yooooooooou're so ick!" ICK. Ick?

I got really upset about it a couple of weeks ago. I went over to Mr. U's to watch the Oscars with the three of them. They were so lovey dovey all over each other that she sat on his lap in a chair with her back to me on the couch next to them. And the two of them basically ignored me all night. Even if I asked them a question or they asked me one they would get so into each other and get distracted and start talking about something else (only to each other) that they would forget they were talking to me or just stop talking to me.

It really hurt my feelings at first because I thought maybe they didn't like me. That they were good friends with Mr. U so they should want to be good friends with me. And that they weren't making an effort and it was on purpose. I was frustrated and angry and thought they were rude and inconsiderate.

But then... I saw them out at Stetson's a little while later. On the back patio portion. With about 20 of Mr. U's other friends. And they were seated next to each other. Only talking to each other. In a room full of people. In a room full of their own friends. And then they left early. It was weird. Really weird.

On the one hand, who am I to say how people should act or behave. They seem happy and SUPER happy with one another and in love and having fun. It works for them. And now I see that its not personal. They weren't ignoring me or refusing to get to know me or deciding they didn't like me. That's just who they are. So I want to not be judgmental and be understanding and let them do their thing. I mean - what other choice do I have?

Do you agree with me though? I mean is this or is this not socially inept behavior? And to some extent thoughtless, inconsiderate and rude? Who of our age can't make nicey nice and have a conversation in public or in a small group for 5 minutes or for an hour? Who are these couples who can't stop holding hands and being in each other's faces for 30 seconds long enough to take a breath and acknowledge another human being? What are they thinking (really!)? How were they raised? How do they function in society? I just. don't. get. it.

The roommates are really nice people. Interesting. Smart. Attractive. When I come over to the house or see them out they call me "Counselor," smile at me and genuinely seem happy to see me. But I don't foresee a chance of ever really getting to know them well. Because of course - that would take some effort - on their part. Kind of sad really. Hmm....

MORE RAMBLINGS OF A CRAZY WOMAN

2011-03-11T09:00:00.001-08:00

OKAY...SO...YEAH...UM...

I'm pretty sure I was a complete crazy bitch yesterday freaking out about my post and some of the comments.

Look...I wrote something that made me feel really VULNERABLE and EXPOSED. Which is a good thing. It is. It means I wrote something truthful and hard.

I just didn't want anyone to tell me I was crazy or to relax or to take things slow. But I have promised I would never censor my readership or my comments. And I never have. When you write a comment, whatever it says, it stays up. If you write:

"YOU ARE A STUPID, CRAZY BITCH AND I HATE YOU AND THINK YOUR WRITING STINKS OF DOG POO POO..."

Then I am going to leave it up there. Promise.

You have a right to react to my writing the way you want and to say what you want. Give whatever advice or criticism (constructive or otherwise) and I want to hear it and I should hear it and I will hear it.

So basically, while Mr. U is pretty near perfect, I have never come even close to implying that I am. I am EMOTIONAL and TEMPERAMENTAL and ENERGETIC and FEISTY and SARCASTIC. I am MESSY and I get ANGRY and I'm INTROSPECTIVE and a little bit LOONY. or maybe a lot LOONY.

I am not perfect. I fuck up. I overreact. I can be too sensitive. I can get irate for no reason.

I think what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry. Sorry to Megan, sorry to my readers, sorry to myself. Please keep reading. Please keep commenting. But just keep in mind that I'm a real person on the other side of these stories. With really feelings. Trying to bare my soul here - in order to better it - and my life and to enjoy it more - through interacting with all of you.

Forgive me????

....T

THIS BLOG IS NOT ABOUT YOU

2011-03-10T09:21:00.000-08:00

This blog is not about you. This blog is about me.

I wrote a post (which I've now removed). Saying I wanted to ramble about some crazy lovesick thoughts in my head. Saying whoever read should proceed with caution and compassion and explicitly asking them not to tell me I was crazy or wrong or weird or overthinking it.

And what did I get?

A comment: "Dude. You need to calm down. Go hang with friends or something."

It was the exact opposite of what I specifically wanted or needed to hear. You don't think I have friends? Lots of them! And exercise. And spend time with family. And cook. And pay bills. And work all day. It's not like I sit around all day pining for my boyfriend freaking out about shit. Maybe a freak out lasts 5 minutes. But then I write about it in detail and it gives the impression it lasted all day or all week or all month.

This blog used to be a haven. I could write whatever, whenever, to whomever. Because no one really read me. No one noticed. Most of the time. But then sometimes I'd get solidarity or helpful advice or support from others who seemed to understand. Or a laugh from other blogs I read. But now it feels like I'm being judged at every turn. And told I worry too much. I did this wrong. I said that wrong. I'm crazy. Someone who has never met me tells me to "go hang out with friends or something" like thats going to help me deal with some very real and raw emotions.

It makes me want to quit writing. Because sometimes, when you all read me, and think you know me, and say things that hurt my feelings, it makes this blog a prison. And a burden. And no fun anymore. And not very useful. And makes me want to shut it down, and find a better use for my time. Like hanging out with friends or something.

Ramblings of a LoveSick Crazy Woman

2011-03-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

LOVESICK

Adjective: Behaving oddly, or as though in distress, due to being overcome by feelings of love.

Real? I need to know I'm not imagining this. That it is really real. I know I have no reason not to believe its real. And every possible reason to believe it is real. This is not one of my ordinary posts. A romantic, fantastical recap of how wonderful he is and how happy I am and another pretty, exciting jaunt in one of the city's many haunts. No, this is the kind of post that I started this blog for. To be honest with myself. To figure out some stuff. The crazy stuff in my head. The emotions I don't understand. The humanity that won't be still or silent. If you must read on, or even comment, please do not tell me that I'm crazy. That I'm lucky. That I should just be happy and enjoy it already. To take it slow. That people want what I have. That this is what I wanted. That this is what I was looking for. No. No. No. No. I don't want to hear it. Proceed with caution and compassion. Validate my feelings and my thoughts and my fears. Because I feel them. They are there. Whether unnecessary or dumb or destructive or wrong. Proceed with compassion...

Is this real? (I close my eyes and conjure all the moments we have been together. Not how I wrote it or over thought it or tell about it or fantasize it. What really happened. What did it feel like. They are so vivid. The electricity I've felt with his hands on my thighs. The sound of a laugh. A whispered conversation with the lights off. All those moments, from the beginning...)

Thought to invite me but that's just him. He brings people together. We both get our energy from others. Attentive at party. But again that's just him. The consummate host. Locked eyes. Yes, attraction. Chemistry. Kissed me. Said he'd ask me out. Did.

Okay, so interested. At least initially. Why? I'm not so great. But why not, I kind of am. But I am also sort of a mess. But he didn't know that then.

He planned the date and looked great. Later told me he wore his best suit just for me. Kissed me first date. During date. Couldn't wait. Kissed me end of date. Planned second date on first date. Texted me to make sure I got home ok. Said nice time.

Epic dates followed. But that's just wooing right. Could be just excited about someone new. Crush on them. Trying to bed them. Doesn't mean anything real, long-term, emotional. Restaurants. Movies. Museums. Bars. Introduces me to friends. A lot of them. He brags about me: "She's so fuckin smart". Hey says to a buddy at karaoke, "my girl can sing." He sends me orchids on my birthday and while making love to me says: "It's like you're perfect." He dims bright lights because I hate them. He bought me a copy of his favorite book. He reads to me aloud on Sunday mornings from said favorite book and rubs my back the way you would a child. Gives massages. Is not selfish (in any way). Even went hunting in old family albums looking for pictures of us when we were younger. He pulled one out and showed it to his mom and dad and roommate and now keeps it in his kitchen. That time we had dinner and told stories in the dim light, our faces so close, our voices so soft. The play. The hotel. The forgiveness. The patience. Makes me coffee. Makes me tea. Says yes - it happened fast - but yes - we are close.

Why my hesitation? Why a need for reassurance? There are reasons. Don't kid yourself. No one's perfect. Nothing's perfect.

He is not affectionate enough. Not touchy feely. Never pdas. Haven't met his parents. He hasn't met mine. Not substantially meet that is. Sister coming to town. Not meeting her either. Doesn't tell me I'm pretty. Doesn't tell me I'm sexy. Doesn't grab me. Doesn't text me - like, ever. Doesn't email (much) and when he does its laconic and official like I'm a coworker, not a girlfriend. Doesn't spend enough time with me. Tells me not to worry about the future. "I just wanna see where this goes," he says. Doesn't seem to miss me when we're apart. Thinks nothing of seeing each other only every 5 days. Says goodbye to me when we part for a 5 day span like its no big deal. We sleep horribly together. Never slept well once. He is too formal with me. It feels like we're in beginning stages of dating instead of a casual, informal, spontaneous - pair. Stopped walking me to metro or my car on days after. Doesn't call me baby or babe or sweetie or any kind of nickname. Just my name. My full name. Not even the shortened version - which everyone else does.

This is why people get married. It shouldn't matter. If someone stays by you, then loves you, then stays by you. But it does. Maybe so you can relax. So you know for sure. Yes, I've chosen you. Okay? So now you can relax.

When I'm with him my inner monologue is screaming, "I love him, I love him, I love him. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don't tell him you love him." I bite down hard. Grind my teeth clenched so I don't give my secret away.

How can you know? How can know? How? Too soon. Could be wrong. Could be crazy. I know I think too much. I know I over think it. I know you think you know us. He's perfect. This is perfect. I mean it is happening. But I'm terrified. And my heart aches. I can't believe its happened again. Its like a miracle. It's like a curse. It's like a haunting. It's like a test of mental and emotional fortitude. It's like a joy. I know he likes me. Probably a lot. But as to more - am I delusional or is this real? Am I alone in this love? Or am I loved?

LOVESICK

Adjective: Exhibiting a lover's yearning.

A Blind Blog Girl Date

2011-03-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

It all started when she began commenting on my blog. On several different entries. She wrote thoughtful, insightful responses to my content and threw in some casual compliments about my writing as well. Let's be honest, nothing forges a friendship like a welcome dose of flattery. She signed her name as simply "J." Like a good "blog friend" should, I began reading her blog as well. It made me laugh. It was easy going and light. I related with it. Commenting led to tweeting. Tweeting led to emails. Until finally, I received this email from her:

"BTW I really loved your post from this morning and am happy to see how well things are going for you and Mr U. He sounds pretty darn fantastic. "

And in return I wrote the following:

"Thanks. Don't worry, the greatness of it all isn't lost on me. I pretty much go around all day every day thinking "lucky me, lucky me. I am sooooooooo lucky. By the way, if you ever wanna hang, I'd be down. I haven't actually met anyone from the twitter/blog world yet as my intention has always been to remain anonymous. On the other hand us DC dating bloggers are really in quite a specific niche and I'm sure we'd have a lot to talk about. I get the sense from your blog that you are nice person AND normal, which I can't say for everyone. Let me know. If not, I'll keep reading anyways. no worries."

I felt a bit like Tom Hanks in You've Got Mail when I typed those words out into the blogosphere. "Do you think maybe we should meet?" Can you hear him saying it? Because I can. I wondered if she was Meg Ryan horrified and intrigued all at the same time considering this proposition on the other end of the message, seated at her own computer. "Meet? Do you think we should meet? Meet?"

For those of you who are experts by now at online dating, or for all of us who are simply aware that online dating is almost as commonplace and normal in the world of social adult interaction as say singles events or meeting at weddings or at the bar scene, meeting a total stranger off the internet after a few brief written interactions might not seem that bizarre or scary or unnecessary. But I am not one of those people. Though I have created dating profiles on two different online sites, I only ever conversed with a half a dozen people or so. In several months time. Despite being pummeled with messages in my inbox on a daily basis. But somehow I never came close to meeting a single person.

I don't have a great reason. I just never wanted to BADLY enough. I also honestly believed that you would have to sift through a TON OF BAD dates to get to any viable good dates let alone strongly desirable partners and I just didn't have the time or energy or optimism (at the time) to go the distance - to put in the work. And it was just that - it seemed like A LOT of work. Also, the idea of meeting a stranger who I'd never seen in person or talk to in person and being stuck with them for a span of an hour or two just seemed foreign and, well, icky.

So no one was more shocked than I was, when I asked a platonic blog friend to go on what I guess you could refer to as "A Blind Blog Girl Date." (I must credit "J" for this description for it is she who first came up with it). Why did I want to "meet"? I still don't have a good answer.

One thing I can say, is that blogging, OUT OF NOWHERE, became a huge part of my life. Even a daily part of my life. I read so many other people's written words and thoughts and opinions and emotions every day. On the bus. At work. In bed before I fall asleep. While watching tv on the couch. A lot. Sometimes I wonder if this is a good use of my time but then I read something in Gretchin Rubin's "The Happiness Project" book where she talks about how we all need to "have fun" in our lives, whatever "fun" means for you. Reading and writing blogs is "fun" for me. It is entertaining, relaxing and cathartic. So, how can that be bad? I feel a need to write. I must write. A need to reflect on my self and the world around me. I must reflect. If I don't, I feel the inner monologue become overrun and exhausted and overhauled. The words must be sorted out. The ideas must be considered. It is a blessing and a curse.

And once I felt I just had to write and my form of writing meant blogging, I found what an extraordinary and diverse community the blog world was. How many wonderful women there were out there just like me, struggling as a single to JUST FIND A NORMAL GUY. Just. like. me. Dating and dating and dating - just like me! And then when I met Mr. U, I found women who were in new relationships or old relationships or heard from the singles regarding their recent relationships that they'd faced the same worries, fights, fatigue, doubts, euphoria and thrills of a new special someone - just. like. me. This dialogue and this community and this understanding was addictive and warm and comforting and fun and just nice. To understand and be understood. To listen and to be heard. In some ways, I seemed to have more in common with my "blog friends" and "twitter friends" than I did with the people I interacted with every day IN REAL LIFE. Because we shared a passion for writing and dissecting relationships and for bettering ourselves through self-reflection, creativity and more often than not - humor.

So I guess it is no surprise when I found a blog of another single girl who sounded just. like. me - that I wanted to talk to her. About boys. And blogging. And living in DC. I think somehow I felt she would understand. Understand what or how much I dont know - but just understand. Something. Some of it. Or just me.

Now, this may sound like a lot of pressure to put on a stranger from the blogosphere unknown beyond. But its not. Isn't that why we all make friends? For companionship? And for understanding? In a way I was sort of online "dating," but not for a romantic partner, and instead for a platonic friend. I just didn't know that this was what I was doing.

There were other friendly, thoughtful and interesting bloggers who I almost met first. Who organized happy hours and speed dating and get togethers. And I am sorry I was busy working. And I'm sorry I was sick or whatever lame ass excuse I had for never making it. For that, I am truly sorry. But I didn't. And we didn't. And what else can you do? I certainly hope and imagine an opportunity will arise and I'll get a second chance with those seemingly lovely ladies. But when I asked "J" to meet up with me, I was giving it another go - to let my blog life and my real life collide - for the first real time.

Which is another thing to consider - I was fascinated when I found out that the blogging community was largely not anonymous or pseudo-anonymous or partially anonymous. People used their real names. Pictures. And got together for drinks. I didn't understand this. The beauty of my blog is that I can curse and talk about sex and say what I REALLY think about that close friend that is getting on my nerves or my mother or my boyfriend, without anyone judging me, getting hurt, holding it against me or thinking I'm a complete bitch or lunatic. Or without getting fired for embarrassing my company. Well maybe you think I'm a bitch or a lunatic anyway, but I don't know you, so I don't care. Which isn't true really - I do want to be liked - by everyone, all the time - including strangers - but I think it hurts less overall.

But by meeting someone in person - showing them my real face - and using my real name - I was leaving myself vulnerable to being exposed to the real world as who I really am - which is what I say and do - in the blog world. All my hopes, fears, insecurities, angers. Who I really am. Maybe that's why we blog. And do it anonymously. To be who we really are without rejection. Because in the real world there are just too many reasons not to show our true colors.

At any rate, no matter why I did it or what I'm looking to get out of it, I asked a fellow female "blog friend" to meet in person. To hang out. To talk about blogging. To maybe make a new friend to spend time with in real life or not. But to have an experience I've never had. How many of you have done something lately you've never done? For the novelty? For the questions it poses? Just to do it.

So for some reason I asked J to meet. A la platonic You've Got Mail. And I was delighted that she gave the following response:

"I would absolutely love to hang out sometime! It will be like a blind blog date. I've had the same sort of struggle myself- no intention of ever blogging publicly, but also wanting to become further integrated into the blogging world (or...whatever it is, exactly). In fact, only one friend knows about the blog- I feel like I'm living a secret life! So, in summary, yes, it would be very fantastic to meet someone whose blog I so enjoy reading and have much in common with...I am available other days to meet up for a drink or some other such thing."

To which I replied: "Let's coordinate soon. Of course we'll have to blog about our blog blind date. Of course!"

And then she concluded: "Very excited for our blog blind date and to hear all the details about Mr. U in person. Chat soon!"

And today, coincidentally, ONE MONTH exactly after I wrote that initial email to J to "ask her out" (hah) I'm very excited as well for our blind blog date which will take place later today. Just drinks or food or whatever, and hopefully good, friendly conversation at a location of our choosing.

Unlike a real date, I am not nervous. I forgot to wear my nice shoes but so what. I'm having a bad hair day, but so what. I'm also having a "fat day" but so what. I didn't spend extra time getting ready. It doesn't matter where we're going. If she's late I won't care. If she stands me up, I'd be disappointed but I wouldn't take it as a negative reflection on my person. I don't care what kind of clothes she wears or what job she has or what she's studying in school or what she looks like. If we don't hit it off and we go our separate way shortly after meeting, there'll be no hard feelings. I anticipate no games and no worry over the check. It doesn't matter if we pick the right location or activity or if the food is bad or the drinks take too long to come. There's no pressure. There's no judgment.

I guess like all dates, even a platonic blind blog girl date could go badly. We might not have much to say, or much in common (in real life) after all. But it'll be an experience nonetheless. A satisfaction of curiosity. A chance for friendship. And as long as she's not a completely insane person or psycho killer or intent on "outing" me in real life and to the blog community, breaking my anonymity for some sick joke or experiment (which I suppose are genuine possibilities, though not likely), I can't imagine it going badly or any negative consequences.

Wish us a pleasant time if you will. Nothing more, nothing less. After all, isn't that what meeting new people is all about? If only all "dating" could be so easy...

I Like Surprises Honest - Part Four

2011-03-07T11:24:00.001-08:00

I solemnly swear to reveal the actual surprise in this post. Honest...

To recap:

(1) Mr. U surprised me at work in the middle of the day with flowers. I was extremely surprised. But - I did not like it. I was in the middle of something, insanely busy, caught off guard, running behind schedule, stressed and suffering from intense mouth pain and swelling from a root canal. It just wasn't a good time. Plain and simple. Also, I take work very seriously and my office is high security. Unscheduled visitors are not all that welcome. I got a wide array of responses from readers saying (1) it was okay that I did not appreciate his surprise and kicked him out of the building as soon as humanly possible (2) it depends on the person or situation and its hard to say whether I was in the right or wrong (3) that I'm a complete idiot, don't deserve him and should have been overly excited, gracious, inviting and grateful. All said and done, knowing what I know about him being a workaholic and the type of place he works at, all I can say is that if I showed up at his work place unannounced OR even announced, I think he would completely lose his shit and then lose my number. Seriously. So I don't think the double standard should be allowed here, that I should be okay with him popping into my work place unannounced when he would be mortified if I did the same. Another thing you don't know, is that he won't even meet me for lunch, ever, even though we work two blocks apart! He says he's too stressed and busy at work to EVER do lunch out and just eats at his desk. Talk about someone who takes work seriously...

(2) Following my ungrateful, curt response to his surprise show up at the office, we had an honest conversation where I insisted that I did in fact "like surprises, honest." And selfishly encouraged him to surprise me or give me flowers in the future because I now worried I would never get them again based on my first time negative response. I couldn't blame the guy if that did in fact become the case. But you can't blame a girl for trying.

(3) He promised I hadn't seen the last of surprises.

(4) Three days later he said I would get a surprise on the following Friday night. I asked for hints. He emailed me daily hints. I begged him for more hints. I got them.

(5) The hints insisted of the following:

1. It is comfortable

2. Requires me to stay with me, well not "requires" but would be a total waste if I didn't

3. It isn't all that great

4. It is gay friendly.

5. He might be able to intercept me after work temporarily before he returned to the office for the purpose of the surprise

6. It is, in nomenclature, tangentially related to the Adams Family (Presidents, not Creepy TV people).

7. As it relates to us it is single use, though not necessarily single use in general.

8. It is still a surprise.

(6) My guesses had including the following:

1. Something having to do with rainbows

2. Something having to do with floats or parades

3. Something having to do with underwear or "Long Johns"

4. Rainbow underwear

5. Rainbow pajamas

6. The zebra striped black lacy thong I'd left at his place the week before

7. Him wearing that thong

8. Edible underwear

9. Pillows, candles, bubble bath

10. Condoms

11. Some kind of food

None of these guesses fit the criteria of all the hints or made any sense. I was completely stumped, and dying to know the answer. I was also understandably excited and thrilled that I had such a creative, wonderful, and thoughtful boyfriend who had made the days without him leading up to our night together so full of one another (though apart) and so fun and special.

At 7 pm on Friday night, I finally left work and set off to meet Mr. U near the Gallery Place/Chinatown metro station. Then we continued on foot for a couple blocks.

Our first stop of the night was the Shakespeare Theatre which was performing Cymbeline, one of Shakespeare's lesser known romantic comedies. Mr. U had lent me a copy of the play a week earlier and asked me to return it that night, since I said I'd finished it. He knows I'm a book nerd. And also a nerd for Shakespeare. I had almost all of Shakespeare's plays on my shelf in my bedroom filled with my own underlinings, notes and highlighting. Mr. U had noted this and thought Cymbeline would be up my alley. It was. He had even encouraged me to underline, take notes and highlight at will. He didn't mind my mark-ups in his copy. This was all starting to make sense now. But still, this wasn't my surprise was it? "Is this my surprise," I asked him confused as to how this would fit with ANY of the hint criteria. "No, this isn't it." Okay, I thought, still completely lost. Still as the show began, I had no choice but to suppress my curiosity, for at least a little while longer...

And the play was a great distraction. At intermission, Mr. U and I didn't get up to use the restroom or to get a refreshment. We sat in our seats and talked about the first half. "I'm completed riveted," he told me. And it made me glad to hear that he was enjoying it as much as I was. "I love this," I told him sincerely. "You deserve it," he responded. (I assure you, it never gets old hearing that).

The second half similarly did not disappoint. Though we found the story line a bit contrived and thrown together at the end (come on William what gives?) we enjoyed the staging, costumes, back-drop and acting. There were many visually and intellectually stimulating scenes. One, where troughs of water surrounding the stage were filled with red dye to symbolize blood by the play's two warring kings. A second scene filled with laughter and folly, involving a fool riding a vespa. And a third, where a young girl actress threw feathers in the air and embodied the wrath of the often angry and jealous God Jupiter. I found more than one moment breathtaking.

When the play was over we made our way to our next site to satisfy our growing appetites. We settled on Hudson Restaurant and Lounge. A loungey-type bar with subtle pink lighting and dark sultry corners, rich small bites such as Truffle Mac N Cheese and to-die-for sangria margaritas. It was the perfect, romantic post-theatre dinner spot for two.

Shortly after we sat down, Mr. U asked me if I had remembered to bring his copy of the play. "Of course I brought it," I told him as I pulled the thin book out of my purse. "Why?" "Let's discuss it," he urged. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked him really unsure of what he meant. "Let's discuss it," he said again. "Anything. Imagery, Metaphors, Things you liked, didn't like. How did the theatre interpret the play? Anything unusual that was different than the pure writing itself? Don't act like you haven't analyzed this whole thing ten times over Miss English Major extraordinaire because I know you have."

I sat there in shock. No doubt my chin dropped, my mind blank. I knew this man was Mr. U and Mr. Perfect to boot, but sometimes I forget. Was he actually wanting to converse about theatre and literature, with the hard copy book on the table, at 10 o'clock on our Friday night date in a pink hued loungey type bar? Yes, yes I think he was. And in the words of Julia Roberts in Steal Magnolias, if we hadn't been in public, I might have done things to that man that would've "frightened fish." Just sayin...

But then it dawned on me. How did he know that I was this much of a dork that nothing would tickle my fancy more than digesting and dissecting Shakespeare on a Friday night? Was I this much of an open book? Or had he been paying this much attention? And then I started to panic. He must have been listening to everything I said and watching my every move. And noticing the books on my shelves and...

I must have taken too long to respond and perhaps even zoned out, because before I could answer, Mr. U reached over and took the book from my hands. He flipped through the pages, stopping briefly on one passage and then another. "Okay," he started inquisitively, "for example, why did you write 'intrinsic worth' on this passage here?" And so it began...

After a mature, intellectual (and sexy as hell) grown-up conversation about the pursuit of truth and gender stereotypes in literature, Mr. U paid the bill, collected our coats and stood up. He reached out his hand and said: "Are you ready for your surprise?" "Yes! Finally!" I responded immediately. "Yes, I am." "Alright, then, well it's just around the corner." Hmmm....

We stepped out into a windy night. I linked my arm in Mr. U's as we walked several blocks. My head turned downwards, chill on my cheeks. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "We. are. here." he said pausing between each word for affect. "We are??" I thought looking around dumbfounded. We were in the middle of 18th and L street. All I could see were closed businesses (because of the weekend) and bustling bars (because of the weekend). "Are we going to Mackey's?" I asked. "Nooooo," he said. Um, okay....

And then I saw it. "Ooooooooooh," I said aloud as a light bulb switched on in my head. "Oooooooooooh." "I got it." "Yes?" he said mischievously grinning. "Yes!" I said, certain I was correct. It was certainly comfortable. It was single use in our case, but not always. It required me to spend the night with him. It was obviously related to President Adams in name. But...

"But why 'gay friendly,' specifically," I asked him coming out of my own thoughts. "Oh," he answered. "Because it's all over their website. Rainbows and details that they are welcome specifically." "Oh, okay. Makes sense," I said back at him.

Mr. U reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white envelope and placed it in my hand. "This is yours he said. And this...." (he reached in his pocket for a matching small, white envelope which he kept in his own palm) ...is mine. Shall we?"

"One more thing," I asked him. "Anything," he said. "Why did you say 'it wasn't great?' This is great!" I assured him. "Oh you know," he said. "It's not the greatest surprise of all time. Or fancy or expensive or permanent or a gift. I just thought it would be silly and fun and different. And besides, I wanted to keep expectations low."

"Ooooooooooh, I see. You wanted to keep expectations low did you? Well what did you expect that we would be doing in there anyhow, huh?" I said sarcastically and looking at him bitingly. "Oh well, you know, whatever, anything, nothing, um..." Mr. U doesn't get flustered often but he was in this instance. "Well that's no problem," I said in return. "Just keep in mind that I too, like to keep expectations low. You got it?" I asked him (now with my own mischievous sparkle in my eye). "Duly noted," he answered back. And then we both laughed.

With that, I kissed my boyfriend sincerely and thankfully and followed him through the double glass doors of the entrance to the Quincy Hotel. After all, it was still a surprise. And I like surprises.... honest.

I Like Surprises, Honest - Part Three

2011-03-06T15:15:00.001-08:00

I already knew that "It is comfortable." And also that it would "require me to stay with him on Friday night." But I had no idea what his surprise was.

The next day there were more hints.

"These won't tell you much of anything but are fun for me to think of:

It isn't all that great.

It is, in nomenclature, tangentially related to the Adams Family (Presidents, not Creepy TV people).

It is gay friendly.

It is still a surprise."

Whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaat? I couldn't figure it out. "Gay friendly." "Gay friendly?" What does that mean?

We are both extremely liberal so I could only assume this referenced something that is typically associated with the gay community. Rainbows? Equality? Same-sex scenarios? Floats? Parades? Political activism? Unions (versus marriage)?

I also started googling the Adams family histories on Wikipedia. Abigail Adams. John Quincy Adams. John Adams. Hmm... "Tangentially related?" Maybe had something to do with the word "White" as in "White House." Then I thought about "John". "Long Johns"? Underwear? Rainbow underwear? Would that be comfortable? It occurred to me that the last time I'd been at Mr. U's I'd forgotten a black lacy (zebra striped) thong. I truly hoped my "surprise" wasn't that he'd recovered my lost "long johns." Or even more hoped that it wasn't something like him WEARING my lacy lost zebra striped "long johns." I mean maybe that is sexy but something tells me it. is. not. (Convince me otherwise if you can).

I still had no idea so I started asking questions. Prodding for more hints...

"Okay, if they don't tell me much of anything, then how are they helpful hints? are these real hints? Also, does this actually REQUIRE me to stay over at your place or do you just want to to stay at your place so we can...???"

"Requires you to stay with me. Well, not 'requires' but would be a total waste if you didn't."

"Is it something permanent? As in my be used multiple times? Or something temporary that is either single use or perishable?"

"A well framed question, but this can be both of those things... as it relates to US, it is single use."

Single use? Hmm.... Candles? Bubble bath? Hopefully not condoms. Ewwww. Food? Edible Underwear (aka Long Johns)? Double ewwwww. (Or not? Convince me otherwise...) And then he volunteered more suspicious information...

"If you're coming straight from work I might intercept you...so we can walk together before I go back to the office. I want to keep der surprize alive a little longer so I won't say why this is so, but it is so."

"P.S. This better not have ANYTHING to do with you shaving your beard. You KEEP THAT BEARD MISTER!"

"Can I trim it?"

"Oh I suppose."

"Ooooh, now I'm thinking about your beard and surprises and long johns and..."

"Hold steady Counselor. Almost to the weekend."

So what did that leave us with?
1. It is comfortable
2. Requires me to stay with me, well not "requires" but would be a total waste if we didn't
3. It isn't all that great
4. It is gay friendly.
5. He might be able to intercept me after work temporarily before he returned to the office
6. It is, in nomenclature, tangentially related to the Adams Family (Presidents, not Creepy TV people).
7. As it relates to us it is single use.
8. It is still a surprise.

No idea. I was COMPLETELY stumped. AAAAAAArg.

I wrote him one last email:

"This. is. fun."

And this. was. fun. It didn't matter what the surprise was. Thinking about it all week and getting daily hints and writing these emails back in forth. Was fun. And silly. And sweet. And thoughtful.

When Friday rolled around it turned out that I had to work late. There would be no early "interception" of my person beforehand. I had an ENORMOUS duffel bag of my things to take to Mr. U's for the weekend. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it before our evening events. Whatever we were doing, I was pretty sure I didn't want to haul a bag all over town or try to find a place to put it in a nice restaurant. I called Mr. U and asked him if he'd come by my office and pick it up and take it back to his apartment at some point during the day. "I'd be delighted," he responded cheerfully to my request. "Delighted?" I thought was a strange response. This was a heavy duffel. And walking 8 blocks or so with a duffel bag in the middle of the day was no pleasant feat. It wasn't an impossible or miserable request. But it certainly wasn't "delightful." At any rate, I was delighted he was so forthcoming. I handed off the back some time later in my office lobby. He gave me a kiss and said: "Are you ready for your surprise?" he asked. "More than you know," I assured.

I walked back up to my office and back to my desk. Glaring at my computer for keeping me company this late on a Friday instead of relieving me to go start the weekend with my boyfriend. Then a smile curled up amidst my face. Despite the present work, a future surprise awaited...

I Like Surprises, Honest - Part Two

2011-02-27T09:40:00.000-08:00

After the surprise that when awry last week, I didn't actually believe I was going to get more surprises or flowers again any time soon. Mr. U and I started a new week fresh with no mistakes in it, putting the stresses and miscommunication from the days before behind us. Monday we went to see Just Go With It. It was, to say the least, idiotic. On the other hand, there were several moments where I laughed so hard I buried my face in Mr. U's shoulder, almost in tears, my whole body shaking. And it feels so good to laugh like that. To laugh that hard. It reminds you that you don't laugh that hard enough. And to do whatever it takes to find that laughter more often.

As it turned out it was lucky that we even saw the movie at all. I followed Mr. U into our designated theatre and we picked out our seats. (Or rather I should say he let me pick out our seats. I mean, he is perfect after all and spoils me ridiculously. At least I'm aware this is the case). It was 7:30 on a Monday night and we were the only ones seeing this particular showing. We hadn't seen each other since the Friday before. I had been babysitting all weekend for a couple that was out of town just the two of them on vacation. It hadn't been a terrible or eventful assignment, but I was certainly exhausted and ready for some adult conversation and catching up with my man. We talked and talked. There were advertisements on the screen. Not the previews, but advertisements for products and television shows. "Are you a previews person," I asked Mr. U. It's funny all the little things you don't know about a person. That is until you do. Despite the countless amazing and well-planned dates Mr. U had taken me on, we'd never just gone to see a movie. Holding hands in the dark. Whispering little commentary in one another's ears. It was a nice, relaxing change of pace. Back to normal was what I had wanted. And back to normal was what I got.

As it turns out he's a previews person. He likes to get there before the previews and watch them all. I on the other hand couldn't care about them in the slightest. I could walk in mere seconds before a film starts and be perfectly content. Or sit and talk through the previews with my companion instead. (Yeah, I'm one of those people. Sorry!). After awhile though, we realized the advertisements kept coming and no previews. "This is A LOT of advertisements," I commented. He nodded in agreement. And then there were more. And more. I knew this wasn't right. "I think we're in the wrong theatre," I said. "No," he said. "Yes," I insisted. We got up and went outside to check. And yes - we were in the wrong theatre. Ours was directly across from the other one in the hallway. "I'm an idiot," he said shaking his head annoyed with himself. "No you're not," I reassured him. "It's no big deal." We went into theatre number 2 and the movie had already started. I picked our second set of seats and we settled in. We looked at each other and just had to laugh. We'd been so wrapped up in being with one another and talking, we almost missed half the movie. That's just funny.

Afterwards, Mr. U walked me to my car. We sat inside for a long time. Talking some and kissing more. I wasn't going to see him again until Friday. Eventually we both knew it was time to go home. Things to do. Rest to get. Work in the morning. Oh if only the times when you are blissfully happy could just stay still and last a little longer. Before he got back out of the car, he remembered one last thing he had to tell me:

"You get a surprise Friday."

"I do?"

"You do."

"I like surprises."

"I don't know about that after last time..."

"I Like Surprises, Honest."

"Okay then."

"Do I get hints?"

"No you don't get hints."

"I want hints."

"Oh geez. Well I'll think about that."

"I want one every day for the rest of the week."

"Every day??!!!"

"Yes!"

"All-riiiiiight. We'll see."

"Okay good."

I gave him one last kiss goodbye and then drove home. Smiling to myself and trying to focus on the road. It is so hard to be safe these days. I find myself daydreaming so often about one of our dates or something he said or when I'm going to see him next that I bump into things, drop items and have to remind myself to pay attention even more than I usually do. It's a problem. But a problem I'm willing to live with.

The next day I received an email from Mr. U.

Subject Line: HINT

It is comfortable.

And will require you to stay with me on Friday night. To wit, let me know if you will be coming straight from the office on Friday...

Comfortable? Comfortable, comfortable? Hmm....What was it? A pillow? sheets? A blanket? A bed? A couch? A t-shirt? Lingerie? Lingerie isn't really comfortable. A snuggie? Did he get us a couple's snuggie? (And yes there really is a couple's snuggie! Check out the link - you will not be disappointed). Or was it underwear? Pajamas? And why did it matter whether I came straight from the office or not? If it is something that requires staying at his place then won't I see whatever it is whenever I go to his place either right after work or after whatever else we do that evening? And even if I already packed underwear, pajamas, whatever to bring to his place it shouldn't matter whether there were duplicates? I just wouldn't use or wear whatever else I brought.

Hmph. This was going to drive me crazy. But - this - was also super fun. I do in fact like surprises. Honest. :-)

I Like Surprises, Honest

2011-02-24T03:00:00.001-08:00

In the aftermath of a trip to the emergency room with Mr. U, I was feeling vulnerable about our relationship. I couldn't pin point who, what, where, when, how or why but I was simply overwhelmed and worried about the whole thing. As it turned out, I wouldn't have to wait very long before finding out if my anxiety was justified.

Unfortunately for me (as it really, REALLY) just wasn't my week, I was scheduled for a root canal the morning after my freak allergic reaction that sent me to GW hospital. While ordinarily I might have cancelled, it's not like I didn't have a great excuse, I still would've had to pay the $75 per half hour of appointment time (in my case = a whopping $225) for canceling and the dentist doing no work (!) but also its just plain rude and also it had taken great pains to get me a referral and scheduled appointment with this particular specialist and also if not now, I'd simply have to do it later. So let's just get this over with I thought...

It was stressful. After a night in the emergency room and then not much sleep I found myself lying in a sterile room surrounded by people, poking and prodding and twisting and turning me and confining me in contraptions. It was to say the least - unpleasant. And stressful. And I was completely exhausted. They give you an Ipod so you can listen to music. You can pick an artist or album from a list beforehand. I chose - James Taylor. In theory, this wasn't a bad choice. I haven't heard much James Taylor in about 10 years. When I was in high school choir we used to do renditions of his songs like - "Shower the People You Love With Love..." as in "Make it Rain...with Sunshine..." This clearly was the song I was thinking of when I thought - oh gee- this will be relaxing and upbeat and make me feel better while I'm feeling crappolo. Unfortunately - I forgot that a lot of James Taylor's songs are a bit of a downer. Low tempo. His girl has left him. He's down and out. There is a burden to bear. It was a bit tough. So there I am, helpless...Listening to "Sweet Baby James" trying to stop myself from bursting into tears in the middle of a dentist chair, in the middle of a procedure.

There is a young cowboy he lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions

With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway

Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep

Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James

When I was finally freed from my chair, it was like I was in a fog. It had been a rough couple of days. And now I had to go to work - (work!!!) - because I couldn't take the day off and my boss had been calling me wondering how much longer this whole thing was gonna take (like I was out to mimosa brunch or something!) and when I was going to get back to the office. It would be a sweet sort of satisfaction when I arrived shortly thereafter and he saw my face all swollen and crooked like a deformed clown and I could barely talk. He was sympathetic then. I can't say such nice things about the rest of my coworkers who begged me to say something, anything (as if I had an adorable Irish or British or Australian accent or something) and then laughed and laughed and laughed at how ridiculous I looked and sounded. Fuckers. I mean, it was all in good fun, but still...

The day started out rough. And it would remain rough. I had a ton of things to do. Pressure from everyone to get them done. My mouth was swollen and in pain. I was completely exhausted. Things generally sucked. And then...I got a phone call.

"T?" "Yes..." "Could you please come down to reception please..." "I'll be right there." Reception? I thought. Reception? Why do I have to go to reception. I wasn't expected anybody.

When I got down there. There he was. Mr. U. -- with pink roses. In one of his shiny, debonair suits. Holding roses for christ's sake. With a grin on his face.

Now...you might be swooning and smiling yourself. Thinking I'm one lucky lady and I should've be pleasantly surprised and happy to see him. But I wasn't. I would perhaps come to regret my feelings and the behavior that I would display next. But I can't take them back. I was generally horrified to see him. And just not in the mood. He'd caught me at the worst possible moment. I was tired, I was busy as all get out. I was still working through my own feelings and decompressing from the emergency situation the night before and I was feeling ugly and awkward and in pain from the dental surgery. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to see anybody. But especially not him being all sweet and nice and giving me roses and doting on me and seeing how I was. Because the truth was, I was miserable. And had a thousand miserable things to do while I was miserable. And I just wanted to hole myself up in my office and get those thousands of things done and get the hell out of there so I could hole myself in another hole - called home. But I wasn't so lucky.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him. "I came to see how you were doing," he said still grinning. "Um...you have to go." I said. I pushed the elevator button and didn't even attempt to hide my annoyance. We went down stairs. "I'll walk you back to your office." I said. I couldn't even look at him. I have no idea what thoughts were going through his head. But he couldn't have been very reassured. "You don't have to," he said. "Really. If you're busy." I walked him back to his office and asked him about his day on the way. When we got there I gave him a very awkward, almost too long hug, still not really looking at him in the face and then headed back to my office.

So...its official. I. am. an idiot. My lovely boyfriend in an attempt to be as good to me as ever comes to my office to check up on me to make sure I'm okay and to bring me roses and I treat him like that? Fucking. idiot.

I went up back into my office and back onto the elevator and just felt numb. When I got to my floor I looked around for an empty conference room and left the flowers in there to hide them. I just didn't feel like my coworkers seeing them and then asking me about them. I didn't want to be fussed over. But despite my best efforts, I wouldn't have that convenience.

Several hours later, my supervisor came in and asked - "Does someone have roses in the conference room?" She looked around the floor. People were shaking their heads. Nope. Not me. "They're mine," I finally piped up. "Oh," she said. "Those are nice. Why did you have them in there? It's not your birthday is it?" "No, no" I said while silently forgiving her for not remember my birthday was like 3 weeks ago. "Well then why do you have them?" another coworker wanted to know. Oy vay! So I explained. "Oh, I don't know. Mr. U was here earlier. I just felt weird about it. He's always doing things for me. I didn't want to brag and gush about him ALL the time."

And then the shit storm rained down on me. Apparently I'm a completely ungrateful girlfriend. Who doesn't deserve him. I shouldn't have shuttled him out of the office. I should have displayed his flowers on my desk proudly. They'll take him and the flowers, if I didn't want them. Ugh. So instead of remaining hidden and holed up, head down, work done, I became the complete center of negative attention. Double ugh. And then I started to feel really, really guilty. And stupid.

I wrote Mr. U an email:

"Thank you very much for the flowers and for checking in. You are wonderful and I appreciate it. Sorry if I was a little weird/off but you really caught me at a bad time and off guard. If you ever need/want to meet with me again during work hours it should be outside the building or in the front lobby on the first floor and I'd appreciate a call first. Also, after you left last night, I got a lot worse and my face is still a little swollen and its hard for me to talk and last night was stressful and awful and I have so much on my plate today I really just need to focus and push through."

It wasn't a perfect email. But it's what I had in me at the time. Everyone says I was completely silly about not wanting him to surprise me at work. That no one cared but me. Probably true. They said I'd never get flowers or surprises again for all the grief I'd given him. Shit. Shit. Shit. So let me go through this again, I actually had a boyfriend who was thoughtful enough to surprise me and bring/send me flowers. And I'd basically told him not to? Geez I'm bad at this.

He responded shortly with a text message. "Got email. It is a-ok. Good luck with your tough day."

Which only made things worse. Which is why I didn't want to see him in the first place. I wasn't in a mindset to DEAL with anybody else. Or to TREAT THEM RIGHT. I was having a hard time as it was just slogging through and getting through this terrible day at the end of this terrible week. But as the minutes continued to tick off, I realized I needed things to be right with Mr. U and I. These weird turn of events just made me feel uneasy.

I picked up the phone and called him. "Hi," he answered right away. "Hi," I said. "What are you doing later?" I asked him. He had errands he planned to run and then he was supposed to go to a friend's bbq - someone he hadn't seen in awhile. "Oh." I responded disappointed. "I was hoping we could hang out, but if you're busy, we'll just wait till next week." "No, no, no," he insisted. "What did you have in mind?" "Dinner?" I asked. "Dinner," he agreed. "So listen," I said. "This is what I need. I need for you NOT to ask me how I'm feeling or anything about last night. I just wanna get things back to normal." "Okay, I can do that," he assured me. "See you later then," I said and hung up.

After work I met Mr. U at Mandu. A fantastic Korean restaurant on S and 18th near Dupont. I ordered hot soup which felt very nurturing in a way. I told him I was gonna eat funny and not to make fun of me. He looked at me like that was an insane question. In truth, he never makes fun of me. He never does or says anything that might hurt my feelings. He is always attentive, passionate, complimentary and kind. We made small talk about the weekend. Things still felt a little awkward, but they were slowly getting smoother throughout the meal. "I still feel weird," I said somewhere in the middle. At which point, he stopped me.

"LOOK!" he said firmly. "This week sucked. Shit happens. But nothing has changed. I like you. We are fine."

And that - was all I needed to hear. "Nothing Has Changed." And it really hadn't. I don't know what I was so worried about. "You don't think I'm crazy do you?" I asked him (knowing that I'd been acting a little strange all day). "No." he said. "But even if I did it wouldn't matter, because I already like you too much. I'd just have to deal." Wow. w-o-w. I know I wrote a whole post about how he actually has flaws but I might have to go re-read it myself to remember them. Because at that moment, and right now reliving it, I can't remember what a single bad quality might be. He is everything I need. He is the calm to my storm.

After all, a wise, fellow, female blogger commented on a recent post: "I know the feeling of derailment, but I want to hasten to say - don't let THAT derail you. feelings are just feelings after all. seriously." And she's so right. Feelings are just feelings. Going to the emergency room instead of the movies sucked. The dentist was no fun. Work was busy. He surprised me. And it wasn't the best surprise I've ever had because it wasn't an ideal time. But so what. Life isn't always peaches and candy and butterflies and puppies. Sometimes you feel shitty. Sometimes you wanna be alone. Sometimes your significant other makes you feel sad, angry, annoyed, confused or even weird. But hopefully also happy, joyful, beautiful, sexy, intrigued, goofy, giddy and content. Feelings. are. just. feelings. And the right person - will stick around through them all.

After all of these realizations, I shared the following with Mr. U:

"I like surprises, honest! I like surprises. And flowers. And you. But maybe just not at work. After I've been in the emergency room all night. Or after dental surgery". "Okay," he said. I can handle that. "No, really," I said. "I'm just worried I'm never gonna get surprises or flowers ever again. And I really like them. Surprises that is." "Oh you spoiled girl," he said. "Don't worry. You'll get more surprises. But not at work. After hospitals or dentist's offices. You'll see..."

And I would in fact see - and see just a few days later. Because after all we'd been through the last couple of days - Nothing - had in fact changed.

31 Minutes - Guest Post by Andy White

2011-02-18T11:39:00.000-08:00

A Trip to the Emergency Room

2011-02-18T07:04:00.000-08:00

This is what happens when things stop being polite and start getting real...

We live in the real world - not a fairytale. And in the real world, we mere mortals don't get to live happily "ever after." Only Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella have that luxury. Down here on earth, if you're lucky enough, you might just be able to find some one to have and to hold, for better or for worse. And not ever after, but only till death do you part. And if you live in my fair land of not so far far away, you arent even promised the assurance of happiness either, only the pursuit of it. Oh and the divorce rate is around 50%. Pretty sure Rapunzel never considered that option.

I've been wondering if MrU could be that person. That I get to share a lifetime with. To love with my whole heart, as long as it keeps beating. Hoping and hoping and wanting so badly that I of all people might get to be that lucky.

But we must not kid ourselves. Remember - it is not so very hard imagining a life with someone - when things are for the better. Its far for more challenging to commit yourself to another living, breathing, human being - when things are for the worse.

Or to expect someone to do that for you in return.

Because when you really think about it, it's really and truly an astronomical, unthinkable request.

New relationships are fragile and unstable. The love required for such loyalty and support necessary in a crisis of the worse is likely not yet born. In our case, I dont know exactly what number "date" it was, for me and my unicorn, but I'll never forget where it took place: The George Washington Hospital Emergency Room. Here is what happened...

I got off work early. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him walking across the street to meet me where I stood waiting for him, in from of my office. It was warm out. So warm in fact, that it felt like the first day of spring. Just like our romance. Light and easy and full of possibility. Mr. U was telling me about some home renovation he was doing as we walked down the busy, crowded sidewalk on our way to the movies.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in the top of my left arm. And then numbness in my whole arm and tingling in my left hand. At first I wasn't too concerned because I figured maybe I had been sitting weird or for too long or something. Also, I was trying to listen attentively to Mr. U tell me about his day, so I was half distracted from the weird sensations. I tried to shake my arm. Shake it off. "Ugh" I was thinking shaking my whole arm violently. "What is this? What is this?"

Then the numbness and tingling got worse. It moved to my chest and the left side of my neck. My chest felt tight. Right around my heart. And then it got much worse. It moved to my face. My face was numb. The whole left side of my face! "Don't panic. Don't panic." I told myself. "Breath. Just breath." I started breathing in and out. In -1-2-3-4, Out-1-2-3-4. I tried counting my breaths while I continued shaking my arm.

This wasn't going away. This wasn't right. I turned to Mr. U. "Um, so I don't want to alarm you or anything. But I'm feeling a little weird." "I'm glad you said something," he said. "Because you are acting a little weird. What's going on?" So I told him. He said we should sit down. So we did. We looked around for a bench or something but there was nothing. So we sat down on the sidewalk in the middle of K street downtown. He put his arm around me. "Just tell me a story," I asked of him. So he did. Something about West Virginia. I have no idea. Because truthfully, I was beginning to panic. Which wasn't helping. "I just need to calm down." I said. To myself. To him. To no one. "I just need to calm down." But I wasn't calming down. And I began to feel flush. On my arms. On my face. On my back. Bumps grew on my face. I could feel them on my back too. And the tightness in my chest and my throat was heavy with pressure. I felt them slowly caving in on me.

"I'm so sorry," I turned to look at him full of worry. In the midst of this physical misery, all I could think was "dear god, he'll think I'm nuts. dear god, he'll dump me now for sure." "It's okay," he smiled at me (looking very concerned). "I just like being with you." "Even when I'm having a stroke or something?" I said back to him (only half kidding). "Even then," he confirmed and softly laughed. (Unicorn. Unicorn. Unicorn. He is a unicorn. If you didn't believe it before, believe it now people.)

"Do you have a doctor you can call?" he asked. I did. I called him. The on-call receptionist said he'd call me back. Shit. shit. shit. So I did the next best thing - I called the Walgreen's pharmacy. No joke. And spoke to a pharmacist there. No joke. "Um...could you maybe talk to me about some symptoms I'm having." "Sure," the lady said to me. (Really? they do that? who knew? I don't even shop there or get meds there. Craziness.) "What symptoms are you having?" she asked. I told her. "What medications are you currently taking?" I told her. "What did you eat today?" I told her. "Maam," she said to me, and then paused. "You aren't in front of me, so I don't know exactly what your situation is, but my best medical advice at this moment, is to get to your nearest hospital." "Seriously?" I asked her. "Right away."

I looked at Mr. U and said "where's the nearest hospital?" Without hesitation he stood up, hailed a cab and we got in. "GW hospital" he said to the cab driver. Luckily we were only a few blocks away. "I just wanna get there, I just wanna get there." I kept saying slightly rocking myself back in forth in my seat. It wasn't so much that I felt so terrible but more so that I knew that something was terribly not right. Mr. U put his arm on my shoulder and squeezed it twice. He kissed me on the side of my face. "You'll be fine. You'll be fine." He tried to comfort me. "I want my mother," was all I could say. (Because I'm a complete fuckin wuss if you must really know). So I called her. And she was on her way.

And then we arrived. GW Emergency Room. And I have to say - they are getting. it. done. over there. I was checked-in, triaged, registered and testing began. And then more testing. And more doctors. Who spent time with me. Who asked me a billion questions. And then more questions. Who noticed things like my single teeny tiny tattoo and even asked when I got that because it could be related. Who asked about my family history (unknown I'm adopted - ugh), my coworkers, my friends. And were nice to me. And reassured me. And made me laugh. And though it was very likely that I had just had a severe allergic reaction which they treated they checked my heart (EKG), my chest (X-ray) and my lungs (blood labs). They even screen everyone for HIV (because DC has the largest percentage in the U.S. I think. Sad. All negative for me though. Good). And then I started to feel better...poked and prodded. Needled and medicated. And don't forget HIV free. I guess that was something...

Meanwhile, Mr. U met my mother in the lobby. How mortifying. How awkward. What a way for them to meet. In the emergency room of a god damn hospital. Because of me. In between tests I came out to the lobby and introduced them. It was weird. "You should go home," I said. He stood up and grabbed his things. "You're in good hands. With family," he agreed. He said goodbye to my mother and then he left. It just felt... weird.

5 hours after my allergic reaction began, I sat partially collapsed in a chair against the emergency room wall facing the opposite wall lined with beds and privacy curtains. I could hear one woman shouting crazily: "They can take my boobs. Just let me keep my feet." A little girl sat next to me, waiting for her mother, I think. She didn't speak English. I looked down at the hospital bracelet on my left wrist and the pricks in my arm from all the blood tests. Then the doctors came back one last time to explain everything and give me instructions before they discharged me to go home.

As I walked through the hallways out to my parents waiting in the lobby, all I could think of was the movies. At 6pm - all I had wanted, was to go to the movies with my boyfriend. Was that too much to ask? But now, at 11pm - all I wanted was to go home, go to sleep, wake up okay in the morning, and still have a boyfriend at all. I don't know why I thought I wouldn't. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was fatigue. But it had just felt like too much too soon. It was too real. To much drama. To much worry. To much neediness on my part for him to take care of me. All too soon - in our new and fragile relationship.

When I got home I looked at my phone for the first time in hours. There were texts from Mr. U. "Thinking of you. Do you get to go home? Feeling better? I can come visit tomorrow." And so I responded. "Starting to feel better. Sorry that I put you through that. But I guess it was the right thing to do." He wrote immediately back: "Totally right thing to do. I am happy to have been able to be there. Get some rest."

I don't know why this didn't make me feel better about us. Something was wrong. Something was off. We felt derailed. I felt depleted. I climbed into bed uncertain about our future. He'd said all the right things and done all the right things. But things didn't feel right. I couldn't worry about it though. I had to go to sleep. I had to get some rest. It had been a nightmare of a day. And I would just have to see what would happen with us - once upon - another time.

A Date with a Unicorn Part 20: Valentine's Day

2011-02-17T11:59:00.001-08:00

Mr. U had told me in advance that he would be working on Valentine's Day. No surprise there. So I had asked him to make time, any time, to come over on Sunday evening, Vday Eve, to my place, and I would do the rest. And boy did I ever. I did it all.

I made Julia Child's famous Beef Bourguinon, a simple salad and ridiculously sinful chocolate souffles. Yeah that's right, Toddy can cook. I set a beautiful table with the best china and glassware, in the living room, by a blazing fire. I had music playing in the background and lit a million candles. There would be champagne for toasting and red wine thereafter. When Mr. U arrived, it looked as magically perfect and romantic as the actual picture of my handiwork above.

What he didn't know was that when I'd first set that fire (yeah, I'm no caveman), I hadn't opened the flu. I mean I thought I had opened the flu. But I guess the flu was originally open and what I did, was to in fact, close the flu. Holy Bejeesus. Did I mention I was a walking disaster? Oh yeah, I think I have, here. After leaving the living room to check on my food stewing in the kitchen, I returned only to find a room full of smoke. HOLY GOD!!! Why is it so smoky in here?

I called my brother on the phone in Los Angeles. "D!!!" I screamed at him, secretly thanking God that he had picked up his cell. "I don't want to alarm you, but how do you know when the flu is open?" "Um....why?" he asked me. "Because there is smoke everywhere. Is the fire just smoky or is the flu closed?" "Jesus, T. The flu is obviously not open." "Well, what do I dooooooo?" I screeched. "Whatdya do?" he responded incredulously. "You open it." "But its so smoky, thats haaaaaaaaaard," I said back. "Um yeah," he said, that's why you do it first, numbnuts." (I don't know why my brother calls me insults from like the 3rd grade. But yeah he still does. Doodoohead and shitforbrains are sometimes utilized by him too).
So I took a kitchen towel in my hand and headed over to the fireplace. Covered my eyes, burning and stinging from the smoke, grasped the flu chain with another kitchen towel and opened the flu. The smoke started rising up the chimney almost immediately. But shit - this room was still smokey. Shit. Shit. Shit.

By biggest concern with Mr. U finding out how ridiculously incompetent I am, is that reasonable men don't want to marry the kind of woman that will accidentally burn the house down, with his children in it, while he is out of town on business. Nor do they want the kind of wife and mother that will slip and fall and drop her babies on their heads on a regular basis. These are not attractive qualities in a caregiver.

Fortunately, however, the living room has french doors that lead out to a back porch and the fresh air beyond. I opened the french doors, letting the cool air flood in and drafting the smoky catastrophe out. Then I went around the room spraying air freshener like a crazy person, and hoped he wouldn't notice. Crisis averted.

When Mr. U arrived, everything seemed calm and pretty. He came through the front door and wrapped his arms around me. He brought champagne and he gave me this cute little Valentine candy-heart themed barrette. (okay so I wear barrettes, I'm like 5. Get over it). Then, when he saw the table, he was speechless. Later in the evening, all he would say was, "I can't believe you did all this." "I was happy to do it," I told him back. And I was. He would tell me the next day on the actual Valentine's Day in an email "Thanks again for such a wonderful night. I owe you one fantastic date" and then later in the evening when he was still at work and I had been long asleep: "The night drags on but I'm happy thinking of you." These small but heart-felt sentiments would make all the cleaning and cooking and flower arranging and candle lighting - completely worth it.

As it was, we sat in front of our nice china and clinked our champagne glasses. "I'm glad your my Valentine, " I told him. And he told me the same. And then the food was eaten and the wine was drank. And then we sat by the fire for what seemed like an eternity. The same fire that had nearly killed me just hours earlier was now a pleasant and polite companion. Sometimes Mr. U and I talked and sometimes we just sat in silence. We looked at the flames as they danced around jovially with mischievous intent.

"I could sit in front of a fire like this for my whole life," he told me. And in return, in my heart and in my thoughts, though I never said it out loud, I responded: "I could sit in front of a fire like this with you just as long."

Fresh Air Fund-Racers Team

2011-02-17T09:57:00.000-08:00

Occasionally I write about something other than my mythical boyfriend, dating mishaps, or my general clumsiness or chronic crankiness. Occasionally I even write about running --the only pastime in my life that actually keeps me sane and out of the loony bin. If you haven't read it, I wrote an old post on Romance AND Running. Check it! You might just like it.

Anywho- As it so happens, I am currently in half-marathon training again and in the cold weather it's kind of torture. Every morning I literally whimper out loud in my bed when the alarm goes off. Sometimes I hit the snooze, sometimes I begrudgingly get up. Yesterday, I got up. I felt creaky and stiff and whiny. But I got up. I got dressed. I got out the door. I felt kind of bad beforehand. And I felt kind of awful during and after. Why did I do it? You do the bad runs for the good runs. The good runs for the great runs. And all the runs for yourself. And hey, sometimes, you even run for the children. Almost as motivating as losing your margarita or beer gut right? I recently received an email in regards to a running event and involved children's charity team and organization. I was asked (no strings attached of course, just out of the goodness of my heart) hoping that I might be able to post something about it on Marathon's Mistress to share with my readers. If running and children and charity sounds like you...read on!

The Fresh Air Fund still has some spots available for runners on their Fresh Air Fund-Racers team for the NYC Half-Marathon this coming March 20th About the Fresh Air Fund: an independent, not-for-profit agency, has provided free summer vacations to more than 1.7 million New York City children from low-income communities since 1877. Nearly 10,000 New York City children enjoy free Fresh Air Fund programs annually. In 2010, close to 5,000 children visited volunteer host families in suburbs and small town communities across 13 states from Virginia to Maine and Canada. 3,000 children also attended five Fresh Air camps on a 2,300-acre site in Fishkill, New York. The Fund’s year-round camping program serves an additional 2,000 young people each year. http://freshairmarathon.com/

They are also in need of host families for this Summer. Host families are volunteers who open their hearts and homes to a child from the city to give them a fresh air experience they never forget.

For more information you can contact:
Sara Wilson of The Fresh Air Fund
sara@freshair.org http://www.freshair.org/

HAPPY TRAILS AND AS ALWAYS, CHEERS, T.

A Date with a Unicorn Pt 19: Nobody's Perfect

2011-02-16T11:46:00.000-08:00

About a week and a half before Valentine's Day, I got a phone call from Mr. U, just as I was headed to bed...

"So, what are your thoughts on Valentine's Day?" he asked me. "Oh, um, I don't know," I replied. "I hadn't really thought of it." Which is true, I hadn't. And this question really caught me off guard. "Because...." he started to talk, then paused. And I knew. This wouldn't be good. "Because, I was thinking....that.... (just spit it out already right!) ....well I want to do something special. Really special. Its just that...Valentine's Day is Monday and I was in this meeting today and my boss implied its gonna be a pretty big day at work. So I was just thinking, we'll do something, we'll definitely do something. But maybe not on the day. Maybe later in the week. Is that okay?"

Is that okay? Was that okay? Hmm. Now based on all of the many, many Valentine's Day posts out there this week, both in favor and against, whether single, or coupled, I am well aware that people have very strong feelings about this day. And I say, to each his or her own. On my part, if you had read my Vday post, which can be found here, you would know that I happen to like Valentine's Day. I like all holidays. I like wearing appropriate color and attire, eating holiday themed baked cookies and breaking up the general doldrums of life with fun and flare and family and friends and on and merry on. But, and there is a but, I could take or leave Valentine's Day - if I had to. However... Mr. U did not know this about me at the time he asked this question. We are a new couple and this was our first Valentine's together. For all he knew it was my favorite day of the year and I was the most romantic, into it person ever and he was crushing my hopes and dreams. For all he knew. So was it a big deal he wanted out of it? Maybe. Not because Valentine's Day is a day to make all men and significant others and singles suffer and because people should have to buy lots of crap and eat lots of crap and be as perfect and over the top as possible just to prove their affections. But, because it was a holiday, any holiday, and for all he knew it meant something to me and he was bailing - because. of. work.

And there's the rub. It's been pretty interesting writing about Mr. U up 'til now as this perfect mythical creature of an eligible man and now boyfriend. I've had my own self at times re-swooning as I chronicled his patience and kindness and planning and sexiness and romantics and biceps and beard and chivalry. So much so - that some of you have started to wonder if he even exists. Or if this relationship has any depth at all. Where are his flaws? His imperfections? Some of you have asked - Don't you argue? Don't you disagree? One reader was "very skeptical of emotions like this," while another wise lady cautiously advised: "normalcy. It's fun to get excited, but almost impossible to meet expectations when you set them so high." Others were on board for the magical ride and described our dates as like out of a fairytale or a movie. Ultimately though, Nobody's that Perfect.

And I'm here to tell you - nobody's that perfect. Not even, Mr. U. It's safe to say then, that the jig is up...

The truth is, he's got a few flaws. His biggest one - he's a workaholic. Day and night. Night and day. Early mornings. Late evenings. And on the weekends. And he loves it. And takes pride in it. He craves that intellectual stimulation and the challenges and just working hard and making things happen. And I can't say I don't like this. As a self-proclaimed workaholic myself I know all about the demands of a corporate law firm and being a young professional in this city - working your way up - being noticed - being a big shot. I know all about wanting to be the best, to make money and that constant ticking inside to go, go, go.

But I can't help but wonder - Is his job really this important and demanding? Is this really what is required of him or is he putting in more time and effort than is truly necessary? Where is the balance? What things might he be disregarding and denying and neglecting every time he chooses work instead? What kind of life would we have together if we ended up together? Because fundamentally, people don't change. Maybe a little. But not really. And you shouldn't go into a relationship thinking that you'll be the difference. Because you probably won't be. So could I live a full and happy life with Mr. U who is also Mr. Workaholic??? Could I also be actively supportive of this lifestyle and make the necessary sacrifices and provide the necessary conveniences to Mr. U so that he can sustain this lifestyle and so that he, too, can have a full and happy life?

I've heard it before. Don't get too far ahead of yourself. Don't over think it. Just relax, breath, have fun. But I disagree with any of those thoughts on this one. We've been dating for months. My feelings are strong. His feelings are strong. I'm 28 years old. If I don't see a future with this man, it's time to cut and run. Really. Before any more time is wasted. I don't want to date, marry and eventually divorce someone because we were fundamentally not a good match, for something I foresaw at the beginning and didn't address. So I'll ask myself again, can I live with a man who is a workaholic?

I imagine the worst. I imagine him missing the birth of our children. Being out of town on anniversaries. Missing soccer games and music recitals. Christmas Eves and long weekends at the beach. Being home too late for dinner. Not helping with homework. Not taking long vacations. Not asking me about my day. And worse - not being with him enough. Seeing him enough. Talking to him enough. Making love to him enough. Will it be enough?

As it is, Mr. U makes plans with me 1-3 times a week. We spend the night together on most of those days, 1-3 times a week. We schedule our dates well in advance and there is usually an exact time and decided upon activity. We do not stray from the schedule. If I weren't Type A myself, I'd tear my hair out - but as it turns out, I'm just as neurotic and this works well for me too. In between our dates, I rarely hear from him. It's radio silence. No phone calls. No texts. No emails. Nothing. When this began to bug me, I came up with the concept of "acknowledging my existence." I told him we didn't need to talk every day or have long conversations but he needed to acknowledge my existence. So he began to acknowledge my existence. One email at a time. 3 words at a time. Like a robot drone. Or provide me with updated information: "Will be hungry." "I'll cab it." "Good luck with another day of lawyering." "Just checking in to see how you're doing!" Or apologizing: "ugh yeah sorry to be short- stuff keeps piling on."

This continued until I told him that when I didn't hear from him for days and then all I got was a four word email saying: "Another dolla dolla day" (yes that really happened) that I had to remind myself, sometimes forcefully and occasionally out loud that yes, this was my boyfriend writing to me, and yes he did in fact actually like me. He said he woudl try to do better but ultimately I know I need to accept that this is just who he is when we aren't physically in front of each other. In person, he can talk all night. About almost anything. Fascinating, interesting, intelligent, romantic things. That I could listen to - for the rest of my life. But when he's in the work zone, doing his thing, not with me - he is working AND NOT with me. And he's not gonna call a lot or text a lot or email a lot. And when he does - it'll be 3 word emails - that are slightly dissatisfying. Again I ask the question - is this enough?

And the answer is YES. Yes, yes, yes, yes and more yes. He may be at work a lot. A lot, a lot. But he makes time for me. More than he probably makes time for anyone else. And he makes sure he's going to see me by thinking of me in advance, plotting time out for me in his schedule, planning fabulous and exciting or simple and relaxing dates each time. And the quality of our time together is extraordinary. We always have a tremendous time together. Laughing, happy, satisfied, sexified, joyous, dancing, singing, friendly, interesting, fascinating, romantic, intelligent, relaxing, delicious, cultural, tremendous times. True - sometimes he's tired and sometimes he's late. But he cares about me. He makes times for me. He always shows up. And he never disappoints. How can I fault him for that?

Nobody's Perfect. Everyone has faults. So which faults can you live with? For me - there are a few faults, quirks, annoyances, less than ideal traits. He tucks in his shirts (sometimes), he is a total dork and not hip with pop culture/entertainment/media/technology/slang at all, he cares a little bit too much about clothes and materialistic things for my taste, he is short with thinning hair, he is friends with all his ex-girlfriends and dozens more girls whom he has strong one-on-one relationships with (which I struggle not to be jealous of), he hates cheese (who doesn't like cheese), he cares a little too much about being in shape (so that I worry when I'm post-pregnancy fat he might be repulsed by me), yet eats a thousand pounds times his weight in food (he is a human garbage disposal and acts like it), he can't carry a tune in a bucket and his dancing is even worse, he is always cold and actually shivers convulsively, he gets carsick and cant read in a vehicle or bus and yes - he is a textbook - WORKAHOLIC. And he acts like one. He ignores me a little and he brings his work home with him. The fatigue. And the stress. It is always on his mind.

If these are my biggest problems - that he works too much, works out too much and hates cheese? Then I know, I know -- I'm one seriously lucky girl. This man is tremendous. Just like our time together. He is an extraordinary individual. Worth learning how to cook without cheese, going to the gym (a little more) and putting up with 3 word robot emails as our only contact in between personal appearances.

Because the flaws, quirks and annoyances are counteracted by the following many, wonderful traits: He is: (1) brilliantly smart (2) fit (3) has a great job and is (4) very financially stable (5) owns his own apartment (6) he's resourceful and handy and fixes his own shit around the house (7) dresses really well (8) decorates his place tastefully (9) is a SUPER NICE guy and has a million friends (9) he's fun (10) generous (11) well-traveled (12) articulate (13) outgoing (14) educated (15) has a nice family that he values (16) He'll make a good husband (17) he'll make a good father and says he wants a family (17) He's great in bed (18) He's patient (19) kind (20) He never raises his voice or says anything mean about anyone. (21) He lets people be themselves and values them for their differences. (22) He is himself (with no excuses). (23) He's not super-religious but more spiritual. (24) Before he turns on any light he says "lights" because he knows I don't like being shocked by bright lights (25) He tells me nice things about me like "You look lovely" and "I like the way your mind works (26) He plans great dates (27) he actually listens to me (28) he sent me flowers on my birthday (29) he is proud to be seen with me and introduces me to all his millions of friends. (30) he opens doors (31) he pays (32) he talks to me about important stuff (33) he's responsible (34) he's clean and neat (35) he knows how to cook a little (36) he sings all out and karaoke even though he knows he sucks at it which is really endearing (37) he has great green eyes (38) and an amazing scruffy beard and on top of all that -he generally treats me like a princess and is a good and decent human being overall.

Who cares about 3 worded workaholic emails when someone has all the rest of it going for them. In truth, he's the total package. If I don't hold on to him, some other girl would snap him up and try to lock that down ASAP. True, he may work long hours his whole life, but he'll be proud and happy with himself in his career, provide for his family and contribute to the community. What more can you ask for?

So if you ask me if this is a real guy I'm describing here or a fictional character from a fairy tale, I'd have to say both. He is real. He is not perfect. But he might just be - my happy ending. I can only hope.

In the meantime, I've made a little progress on the 3 word drone emails. I coached him: "You have to write them like you actually like me." "But I do like you he says. I like you a lot!" Nevertheless, I needed more. And I told him so. So now, here's what I get:

"want to get out of here to be back with you!"

"Looking forward to tonight!"

"been moving 110 mph. very glad I get to stop and see you tonight."

"The night drags on but I'm happy thinking of you."

"you should know that while I am always happy to make an acknowledgment of your existence, I'm thinking about you everyday."

*Swoon*. Has he changed? Maybe a little. But not really. But when a man thinks of you like that, isn't it enough?

So was it okay that Mr. U was too busy working to spend Valentine's Day with me? "Yes," I told him. "It's okay." "Can you swing Sunday night?" I asked him hopefully. "I don't know," he answered. "Well think about it," I said. "If its feasible, great. If it's not, don't worry. But try. You don't have to do anything but show up to my place and I'll do the rest." "Okay," he said.

I mean, he does so much already. Sometimes its my turn to be his unicorn. And so I was. I understood. I was flexible. I did all the planning and all the thoughtfulness and all the romantics and all the work. All he had to do was show up. And he did. And like always, we had a tremendous time.

I Like Valentine's Day - So Sue Me

2011-02-15T07:14:00.000-08:00

So I didn't want to post an update to the Unicorn sagas on Valentine's Day. Apparently, from all the blog posts I read, single people REALLY REALLY hate Valentine's Day. And as it turns out, coupled and married people do too. Being reminded you are alone or the pressure to give something great and do something nice, the cost, threat of cavities from all the candy, not to mention all the pink and the red -- OH THE HORROR!!!!!!

I have to say this all really surprised me. I've always had a Valentine. Whether it be my parents, my classmates (when you're little and every makes their own construction paper, white doily heart mailboxes), my girl friends, my single friends or yes, many times my boyfriends. But regardless of the company I've kept, I've always liked VDay. So what if its a corporate holiday and corporations trying to sell shit? So what else is new? What's wrong with taking the time out to be nice to one another? And eat candy or chocolates? And wear pink? I don't see the problem here. Then again I'm always a sucker for any occasion to eat gluttonous food accompanied by drinking an inappropriate amount of champagne.

I think I'm allowed to say that I don't understand what the big deal is here? I know, I know - I had a Valentine's Day boyfriend this year - a great one - but still - I didn't have a boyfriend for Valentine's Day 2007, 2008 or 2009. 3 years of apparently sad and lonely single VDays at the ages of 24, 25 and 26. Prime mid-twenties dating years. Seriously. So I can say for certain - that I don't understand why VDay makes singles soooooo unsure of themselves and feel oh so bad they're single. I mean I guess you either feel inadequate and depressed about it all the time. Or you don't. But why is Vday any different?

My parents were married on Valentine's Day 35 years ago. In Washington, D.C. Their home and mine. VDay to me was always a celebration of the strong marriage my loving and supportive parents had for with one another and for the love they had for their children within the family that they built out of that marriage. My father still calls my mother "the love of his life." My mother is hopeful that I will find my own "true love." And they both refer to their marriage as "strong as a rock." Thus, Valentine's Day REALLY meant something to them, to me and to us (our family). Ergo, my mom always gave my brother and I treats. One year, my mom gave me a beaded necklace with lettered beads that spelled out my name. Another year we went and got manicures and pedicures. There were always Hallmark cards and bowls of those hard candy hearts. This year, my grandmother sent me a package from California with a red heart shaped card and one of those red heart-shaped box of chocolates. You know the one - the one where all the chocolates suck and you're always disappointed by the strange fillings in each one and thus end up having one bite of each and throwing the rest out. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

I had a Valentine this year. But we wouldn't spend Valentine's Day together. Not exactly. And it didn't matter. (You'll have to read A Date with A Unicorn: Part 19 to get the scoop. B/c that's how I roll...) Ultimately though, I like taking the extra day and the extra time to put in some extra effort to think about those special people in my life and to do something nice for them. But its not a day to make any one feel bad. And its not a day to spend money you don't have or put pressure on someone for not doing enough. To me its a day that reminds me that "true love" exists in the form of my parent's marriage. Which makes me happy for them. And hopeful for myself.

A Date with A Unicorn Part 18: Hiding my Imperfections

2011-02-11T08:44:00.000-08:00

When I first started dating Mr. Unicorn, I told him that I was all about clumsiness and candor. First, that for some reason, my entire life, I had been just about the most clumsy, most hazardously-inclined person, I had ever met. I trip over things and bump into walls and table corners. Spill food and drinks. Break glasses and plates. Stumble and Fall. If there is a knob that can fall off a light switch, I've dismantled it. I've knocked crystals off of chandeliers. I've broken more than a few cell phones and even more phone chargers. I get tears in clothes and stains on pants. I've opened a window only to have the glass completely shatter. It's a problem.

I'm sure there is some genetic, scientific, neurological reason for this. Maybe I'm pigeon-toed or have poor spacial awareness or it has something to do with my eye sight perception or my posture and stance. Maybe the left side of my body is 1/4 an inch shorter than the right. But whatever it is, I have functioned in the world without discovering the ultimate source and without any major catastrophes, as of yet. (*Knock on wood*). Mostly, it just makes me feel mortifyingly embarrassed and nervous around nice things and frustrated (when it happens yet again or I ruin a blouse or have to fess up to another person that I've damaged something that belongs to them).

I told Mr. U about all of this. "If we continue dating," I explained, "at some point or another, you will without a doubt have something spilled on one of your shirts. Permanently. And I will feel bad." His only response, without flinching or batting an eye, was this: "I look forward to it."

That simple phrase: "I look forward to it," in reference to one of my most secret flaws (I try to hide this lack of grace at all costs around most people) was one of the many things Mr. U said and did in the beginning that made me think he just might be for real and we might just really work out.

But despite his being forewarned of my defect in this area and his promise to be patient, I still wasn't quite ready to let him see this unfortunate side of myself. So I would attempt, as you will see, to conceal it. For the most part, however, I hadn't had to hide anything as my accident-prone ailings had not surfaced during our time together...Until...this morning. When all hell --broke loose.

First, I knocked down the shower basket (whatever you call that thing that holds all your soaps and shampoos that sticks against the wall with whatever you call those suction pucker things). "Sorry," I said. "It's okay." He said. (I knew this one was okay). (And I had to admit this one, because he was on deck for the bathroom next.) As he hung the device back in its proper place along the tiles, I went to turn the dimmer switch up to provide more light. And then the knob fell off. "Sorrrrryyyyy!" I said "No problem," he said. (He saw this one happen, as he was standing right next to me). And then...

While Mr. U was in the shower, I started to get dressed. And the T-Tornado just kept rolling through...

I spilled a glass of water. All over the bed-side dresser. And down into and on top of all the contents in the open dresser drawer. Major, major - fail. I went into the kitchen and got as many paper towels as I could and came back to sop up the damage. Of course, I couldn't hide this one either. So when Mr. U came out of the shower, I just looked at him with an expression that a puppy might use when it knows its peed inside the house and been bad. "Sorrrrreeeeeeeey," I said. "What now?" he looked at me incredulously. "I spilled some water," I explained, my eyes avoiding contact with his. He walked over to assess the damage. And then I watched him pull out his WALLET and one by one pull ones and fives and tens and twenty and then fifty dollar bills out of his wallet and lay them out individually on top of paper towels on the bed to dry. And then shake out his nice, leather wallet completely soaked. "Sorry." I said again. "I'm so sorry." "It's okay, it's okay," he assured me. Though I couldn't help but wonder if he was actually starting to get annoyed or not. Maybe he felt like he was starting to deal with a small child here with sticky hands and a penchant for running them along the walls leaving fingerprints behind.

And then the unthinkable happened. I went to pick up my duffel bag from the floor to finish packing my things, when I realized, IN HORROR, that a bottle of blue liquid medicine had SPILLED on his perfect Persian rug. HOLY. MOTHER. OF. GOD. (Sorry for those who don't like the Lord's name taken in vain but still...it must be said, even again...) HOLY. MOTHER. OF. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!

This I was not admitting to. I could not. I would not. Panic set in. And then resolve. Resolve to clean up this mother effin mess before he saw it. What to do? How to get him out of this room? !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lovely man that he is, he will always makes me coffee. And/or breakfast. If I ask. Which I did. After I heard him puttering around the kitchen, safely down the hall and out of sight, I rushed into the bathroom. Soaked a wash cloth in water and set to work in the corner of the bedroom scrubbing and rubbing the rug with abandon. And as if finding Mr. U wasn't enough luck for one person to deserve in a single calendar year, the blue came out. Mostly anyways. But it came out. Enough that he probably wouldn't notice. For awhile. And in the mean time I could try to get at it, with more powerful cleaning substances, at a later date and time. I hoped.

Mr. U, totally unaware of my faux pas and swift remedy, brought me my treats and then we both finished getting ready for work. Then we put on our coats and hats and stepped outside into the Dupont morning. I couldn't get out of that blue-stained rug room fast enough! And then oh how beautiful it was this morning. To be outside and freed from my failings. Blue skied and crisply cold, not bone-chilling cold as it has been. We strolled to work together taking in all of downtown waking up to start the day. And a Fri - day, no less. Everyone and everything seemed to cheerfully be anticipating the weekend. Every car, every pedestrian, ever bar front. All was right and clean and fresh in my world again.

We arrived at my office first. "Have a great day," he chirped at me and leaned over to kiss me. I gave him a big hug and squeezed him. "Ooooooh, thank you for being so good to me," I praised him. "You deserve it," he said back. And then...as I pulled away from him...I saw it. Oh. No. Just - NO. There it was. A lipstick stain. A giant lipstick stain. On his expensive, starched, dress shirt. FML. Just Fuck. My. Life.

A vision of our future lives flashed before my eyes. Living in a shitty house with shitty furnishings. Our friends come over for a dinner party and I've just spilled red wine on the beige couch. "This is why we can't have nice things," he turns and explains to them. "This is why we can't have nice things." Ugh.

I didn't have the heart to tell him. Maybe he'd discover it. Maybe he wouldn't. Probably he would. But I couldn't tell him just then - As he looked back at me with his own puppy dog eyes that seemed to say he'd known he'd been good and deserved a treat (and not another disappointment). And he looked at me the way he often does - like maybe somewhere in his head he's thinking he's the lucky one. But he would be wrong. I am the lucky one. It's me.

I don't need lots of nice things. I only need one nice thing - and that - is him.

Guest Post: Muted Lights, Small City

2011-02-09T07:54:00.000-08:00

*Disclaimer: I don't love the way that Andy talks about women all the time. But he assures me this is how things work in: "The Real World." Besides, some male perspective on my undeniably neurotic, female blog is always welcome and I encourage any male writer, philosopher, romantic or despicable pick-up artist to send me whatever material that inspiration might strike. @andywhitedc is a DC resident, author and social media manager. His first guest post depicting yet another bad date and entitled "The Layers" can be found here. Comments are always appreciated and thanks to Andy for guest posting. Also, "plonk" means wine (in case you don't speak Brit). Enjoy.*

MUTED LIGHTS, SMALL CITY

By Andy White

Bar Dupont. You've been here before, and you will again, but tonight the ever hopefuls are crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder. The conversation is loud, the lights low, and your pupils widen as they grasp for focus. You scan the room and don't see her, or what her photos have told you to expect. Your pretty good bar karma doesn't let you down and you slip into a table in the corner just as a guy is leaving and wait.

And wait. A text rolls in letting you know she's going to be late and you roll with it. What else could you do? You get a glass of the cheap plonk marked up to $11 and note its tepid consistency at warmed over room temperature as you roll it around with your tongue.

When she finally does surface you're happy. She looks like her photos and she seems to be in shape. You don't know her, and she doesn't know you, but she's not thick around the gills so you're happy. She takes about 15 minutes to look through the menu before asking the waiter for a recommendation. You drive the conversation as she does so and almost immediately it feels like an effort. She smiles - occasionally - and laughs - occasionally - but it's like operating a fork lift truck: lots of heavy lifting and manual labor to-boot. But still, she's there and you're there and her lips sometimes curl upwards at the right times. It's enough.

The music is muted and muddied and you can't make it out but it apparently it's too loud for her. She becomes silent and sullen and remarks that she is not usually like this but the plasma television above her head is on and it's annoying her peripheral. You look up at the TV and back down to her again. The set pulsates its tri-color mix with abandon, yet your eyes fail to feel assailed. You feign sympathy as she tries to send her drink back, the waiter's recommendation having failed to make its mark.

This time the silence lingers. The double-wammy of the medium to soft strains of background jazz and the television on mute sends her into a stunned silence. You let the thread drop and see how long it drags in the mud. After 30 seconds the uncomfortable silence transcends all expectation and you realize there's nothing more to be said. You flinch first and signal for the bill. She gives a half nod, as though conserving all energy and body movement for the 4 block walk home. The bill and its arrival isn't exactly expedient which works in your favor as her mouth opens and words tumble out. You fail to grab them and their import becomes null and void, but yet you wonder what if you had.

Bar Dupont. You've been outside before and you will again, but for now you wait and you smile, for there is nothing else you can do.

The following day you get a text from her thanking you for the date but explaining that she is not ready to date. You smile to yourself, for there is nothing else you can do.

A Date With A Unicorn Pt17: Fate or Coincidence

2011-02-07T12:32:00.000-08:00

Friday night I met Mr. U at Darlington House in Dupont to meet some of his oldest friends. At this point, I'm beginning to feel like I'm being paraded in front of every friend Mr. U has ever had. At first, I felt as though I were being tested, but now I can only conclude that he's excited about me and proud of me and simply wants those persons closest to him to know that new part of him that is me and to share in his good fortune. It's a good feeling.

In some ways it feels as though we're the veteran couple even though of the four couples that were there, we had been together the shortest time. One couple bailed early to be alone at home right away, missing out on all the group fun. The others drank themselves silly and clung to their partners. MrU and I stood with his arms around me, calm and unassuming, nodding and smiling, as the others groped and giggled. What quiet happiness was ours. Like a secret.

On Saturday, we lazed around in bed as long as possible. Mr. U who had made us brunch reservations, coaxed me up repeatedly. "You know what would help?" I asked hopefully. "What?" he wondered. "If you would make me some coffee?" I replied greedily....After he left the room, I got up to get ready. He came back in shortly with the coffee. "You dear, dear man," I said as I kissed him on the cheek.

Soon enough, we were plodding through the puddled Dupont streets, making our way to the Tabard Inn. What a lovely gem it is! We ordered hot mulled ciders and took them into the lounge. We sat by the fire and perused the paper. It was deliciously lazy. After an hour or so we had breakfast. Warm muffins and biscuits, country fried steak, brie and shrimp omelet and white wine. We stuffed ourselves with tastiness.

Afterwards, we made our way back to Mr. U's apartment under a shared umbrella as the sky drizzled down around us. We curled up under a blanket snuggling close on a love seat. We read our books off and on between napping and chatting until we fell asleep for an hour or so soundly. We kissed each other sweetly and nonchalantly upon awakening and then it was time for me to go home. I packed my things and Mr. U walked me to the door. We made plans to see each other Thursday and he kissed me goodbye. I went home sleepy and content.

You'd think everything was perfect. But then...later that night, Mr U texted me. And I ignored it. In the morning he emailed and I failed to respond yet again. This was not an unfamiliar feeling. I knew it all too well. The fear of commitment and vulnerability was ever rising in my throat and threatening my new found happiness. I had felt this before and it felt like purposeful emotional numbness. And it meant that I didn't want to talk to him. Because I didn't know what to say. Instead I sat quietly and wrote this - to myself.

When he still hadn't heard from me, he called me later that night. That's the thing about Mr. U- While he doesn't know even close to the depth of my insecurities or fears, somehow he always seems to sense when I need a little extra push in the right direction.

"I just called to say hi," he said cheerfully. "We hadn't talked at all in a day and a half and that seemed...unusual...for us. How are you doing?" After a long talk about how we spent the rest of our weekends and what was coming up for the week ahead, he told me to get some rest and said goodbye.

I already felt better. But was not entirely assuaged. In the morning I got up and went to work and tried to focus but I felt restless all day. I took laps around my office floor and drank an obscene amount of coffee but nothing seemed to help. In the late afternoon, I grabbed my coat and told my coworker, "I. just. need. to. GET. OUT!" She nodded her head in agreement. I put my ear buds in and rode the elevator down into the lobby and then broke free out into the street. I started to walk. I walked and I walked and I walked. I turned the corner and then...

(I don't believe in God most of the time. Or fate. Or at least I don't think I do. But sometimes, things make me wonder.)

I turned the corner and then...I almost smacked dab right into Mr. U! -walking in the opposite direction. We had to pull our arms back away from each other to avoid a collision. "Well, hellooo," he said leaning down to kiss me. "Hi," I said. And there we stood. In the middle of the sidewalk, in the middle of downtown. Standing for what felt to me, like an eternity. With goofy grins, just staring at one another. What was this feeling? Happiness? Joy? A knowing? A recognition of the other.

A passerby maneuvering around us shook us out of our reality. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Oh just taking a walk," I said. "I'm heading back to the office," he said. "I just had a meeting with a client at their firm." "Would you like me to walk you back there?" I asked. "Sure," he said.

And just like that we were walking briskly down the street - together. Mr. U grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. He asked me something and I was slow to respond. "Sorry," I stammered. "I was just, kinda, in my head just now. It's taking me a moment to snap out of it." "Don't over think it," he said purposefully. "But I always over think it," I exasperated. "I know you do, but don't," he countered.

We got to Mr. U's office. He gave me a few kisses goodbye. "Thanks for the walk," he said. "It was great to see you," I said. And with that, he turned into his building and never looked back.

I walked back to my office and sat down at my desk. Then when I opened my email, I read the following from Mr. U: "Seeing you, made my day." Short and simple and perfect. Just like him.

The whole encounter was just how we are. I see him and there's no one I'd rather see. He lifts my spirits. I'm sure I do the same in return. We could've talked about anything at all or nothing of consequence and the results would be the same. It almost made me feel guilty about writing a post about how unsure of all this I was. And unsure of him. And how hard it was to just try to accept being with him and being happy. Because nothing could be more ridiculous or insane. I see that now.

I read two posts yesterday. One by Maura Me to Love entitled "Lessons of the Weekend" and one by Quarter for Her Thoughts called "Climbing Walls." In Maura's post she discusses a frustrated but honest and resolute determination that the new guy she's been seeing, is simply not for her. At first she can't put her finger on it - he just doesn't have that extra something, that X-factor. There just isn't that thing. "Something is merely missing." In response, her friends and family fear she is "self-sabatoging this potentially great relationship." But then she pinpoints the problem further. "“We don’t have terrible amounts of fun," she acknowledges. "“He doesn’t make me laugh, " she adds. And after sadly concluding that her new man, is not the man, she wisely acknowledges: "When the heart speaks. We should listen." In Climbing Walls, IntriqueMe (Quarter for Her Thoughts' handle), writes a post very similar to my own previously panicked one. She describes a fear of something and someone new and an even greater fear that she might "pass up something great." She also fears falling for the wrong man again and says: "If I were to make another wrong relationship choice, I could lose everything I’ve worked so hard for… and so I have walls up." I understand these walls all too well.

These posts, Mr. U's email and some sound advice from one of my commenter's Tricia: "Take it from me, girl. You've got a good one on your hands. Don't let him go. Instead, let yourself go," made everything all too clear.

Unlike Maura, there is nothing missing. There is no X-factor that Mr. U lacks. We do have terrible amounts of fun together. I think the only way our time together can be described is "tremendous." We always have a tremendous time together. And in contrast to IntriqueMe's fear of another wrong relationship choice, I know, 100,000% that Mr. U is not a wrong choice. I love everything about him. The way he looks, the way he acts, the way he makes me feel, the way we are together. When I see him, in an instant, he calms every fear, every hesitation, every worry. With a hand, with a word, with a look. He makes me want to shout out loud the depth of my affection. Because he is right. We are right. I am this lucky. This is really happening. It's time to just let it happen, and let myself go.

I'm going to let myself go and believe in Unicorns. And I'm going to listen to and trust, in my heart.

Don't Be Your Own Worst Enemy

2011-02-06T16:38:00.000-08:00

I am doing everything I can not to run screaming in the other direction. I am doing everything I can not to sabotage this relationship. But its hard to stop myself, from myself.

I'm cranky. I'm moody. I try to pick fights. I twists his words around. I make him reassure me more than necessary. I ignore his emails and his texts for longer than I should before I reply. And I'm pretty sure I do this on purpose.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I doing this? I went for a run today. A long run. In an attempt to work out some inner demons.

The simple answer might be that I'm scared of falling in love again. Or that I am already in love again. There's no doubt I'm scared of getting hurt again. And there's that troublesome business of feeling like some of my necessary parts, essential to being with someone, are broken. What if those pieces needed to accept love and give love are beyond repair? If fixable, then how, and where do I start the process of rebuilding?

I need to save myself from myself. Because happiness doesn't come around that often. And I'm pretty sure it doesn't stick around for the ungrateful.

It's like my heart contains a love letter I've marked "Return to Sender." And I'm desperately trying not to walk to the mailbox and drop it inside. So when I see those big blue containers on the sidewalk I walk to the other side of the street. I take a slightly different route to work to avoid the ones I know are there. I really am making an effort. What's scary, is that I need to in the first place.

Trust Me, He Likes You.

2011-02-04T10:59:00.000-08:00

Last night Mr. U made fun of me for something. He was only teasing. Which I see now. But at the time, I took it very personally. I am notorious for being overly sensitive. "You must know I'm kidding right?" he insisted. "Well, I can't tell yet. We're still getting to know each other," I whined.

"Dear lord, T!" he said. "Don't you have any concept of how much I like you? If I tease you or play with you or make fun of you its obviously in jest. There are a whole pile of things I like about you. What do you want me to do go through the pile with you?"To which I replied: "Yes." So he did... He went through a very, very long list, one-by-one. Several piles of things he likes about me. Definitely flattering. Definitely reassuring. But did I need reassuring? Or was I just being insecure? Or was I just fishing for compliments?

The only problem that remained after I listened to him spout out all the wonderful things about me he liked was that apparently, it was my turn. "So...what do you like about me?" he asked.

SHIT!!! THAT IS A REALLY REALLY REALLY HARD QUESTION!!

How do you answer that when there are so many answers. I like who he is. I like the way he acts and things he's done. I like the many ways he makes me feel. On the one hand, there are things I can list. EX: (1) bad at karaoke but enjoys it and looks cute doing it (2) generous (3) tells me I'm pretty (4) physically fit (5) interested in learning about and experiencing new things (6) makes me feel safe (7) feels like being with an old friend (8) good relationship with his family (9) sexy (10) smart (11) a good listener (12) calls me on my bull shit (13) we could talk about anything (14) both avid readers (15) both well-traveled and want to travel more (16) the beard (17) political (18) can cook some (19) does crosswords in bed with me b/c I love them even though I think he could care less (20) I like that he's from DC like me and a DC snob like me (21) I like that he's always cold (22) good dresser (23) cares about his religious heritage but not that religious etc. etc. etc.

On the other hand, some of this stuff is just ineffable. Can't be explained. Can't be described. I just know we are a good fit. It feels right. It has been effortless to be together even when its not. E.g. we don't "fight," we discuss things. E.g. We are both workaholics in the same way and understand that about each other and give each other lots of space. (Not everyone could handle that.) There are so many things. But at the end of the day...

I just like him. He likes me. We keep choosing to spend time together and having fun together. So we keep choosing to spend time together. This is not rocket science people.

So why, why, why do I need a list of reasons? Why when he asked me out in the first place or when he had already asked me out on our second date did I stress and worry: "Does he like me? Does he like me?" Why after he asked me to be his girlfriend did I stress and worry: "Is he gonna change his mind? Does he like me?" Why, why, why when I don't hear from him all day because he's been in meetings do I think: "Does he like me, does he like me?" Only to receive an email hours after I'm convinced I'm a goner that states: "Been going 110mph, but can't wait to stop and see you later."

Washingtina gave me some really good advice during one of my freak outs. "He likes you," she assured me. "Guys don't do things they don't want to do. If he's spending time with you," he likes you.

HOLY SHIT!!!!! REALLY????????? ZOMG!!! I NEVER KNEW!!!!

So......to all of my ladies, who like myself, happen to visit crazy town from time to time, here's a tip:

He asks you on a date - he likes you.
He asks you on a second date - he likes you.
He kisses you - he likes you.
He holds your hand - he likes you.
He pays - he likes you.
He asks you on a third date - he likes you.
He asks you on a fourth date - he likes you.
He asks you on a fifth date - he likes you a lot.
He asks you out in advance for said dates - he likes you.
He plans nice dates - he likes you.
He emails you - he likes you.
He calls you - he likes you.
He texts you - he likes you.
He sleeps with you - he likes you (well at least something about you, probably).
He continues to sleep with you - he likes you (at least something about you, definitely).
He makes you breakfast or cooks for you anytime - he likes you.
He sends/gives you flowers - he likes you.
He buys you a gift - he likes you.
He wants to meet your friends - he likes you.
He remembers how you like your coffee - he likes you.
He gives you compliments - he likes you.
He lets you have the last of the egg salad (or other food/drink in the house) - he likes you.
He introduces you to his friends - he likes you a lot.
He gives you a drawer - he likes you a lot.
He listens to you blab about girly shit- he likes you a lot.
He takes care of you when you are sick - he likes you.
He goes shopping with you - he likes you a lot.
He thinks you look good in the morning when you've just woken up - he likes you a lot.
He forgives you when you're cranky in the am before you've had your coffee - he likes you a lot.
He asks you to be his girlfriend - he likes you a lot. (like piles of stuff a lot a lot).
He introduces you to his parents - he may love you.
He wants to meet your parents - he probably loves you.
He asks you to move in with him - he loves you.
He asks you to marry him - he believes he will love you forever and loves you unconditionally.

Am I missing anything? Whatever it is...

TRUST ME, HE LIKES YOU.

UNICORN SIGHTINGS!!!!!!! - PART ONE

2011-02-03T09:44:00.001-08:00

I feel as though the seemingly countless number of posts amongst the female dating blogosphere has given the one-horned mythical creature that is the eligible man, aka "a unicorn," the kind of notoriety akin to the headlines in tabloids claiming bat children or a man that birthed a baby. THE YEAR OF THE UNICORNS. UNICORNS FOR EVERY SINGLE LADY. ITS RAINING UNICORN MEN FROM THE SKY. Insert mass hysteria here and women running into the streets clicking their heels and ripping their bodices, chomping at the bit to bridle one for their very own. *Calm yourself ladies.*

Before anybody else gets crazy, we must ask ourselves rationally and calmly: What is a unicorn exactly? Do they or don't they exist? (After all, that is the million dollar question.) And where did all this unicorn business come from anyhow?

The Origin of the Unicorn

My personal awareness of the unicorn began from a sighting on a popular post by Hilarity in Shoes on October 25th 2010 entitled: Six Different Types of 35-Year old Men in which she described (1) the workaholic narcissistic party guy, (2) the unavailable married cheat, (3) the emotionally depressed and defeated half-man of a man wet rag with baggage, (4) the class clown no-manners jerk (5) the man-boy with the ever popular peter pan complex and yes ladies....(6) The unicorn.

Hilarity defined a Unicorn as the following:

"The Unicorn is totally normal and well-adjusted. He has a good job, and makes a decent living, but is not a workaholic. He likes his family, but doesn’t live with them. He is funny, and well-informed, and cooks a mean pasta bolognese. He has friends from all periods of his life with whom he is still in touch. He is not an alcoholic, drug abuser, or porn addict. He reads. He is easy on the eyes, or even hot. He is taller than you. The Unicorn longs wistfully to meet his special someone, to lay his head in your lap to watch HBO on Sunday night after a weekend full of chores and friends and family, and to wake up with you on Monday mornings in perpetuity.The most important thing to know about The Unicorn is that, as his name implies, he does not exist."

I read this post hopeful and naive that maybe some such fairy tale did in fact exist. But then October came and went. As did November and then December. Without one, single unicorn sighting to report. And so I forgot about this magical, mythical creature having ultimately decided, in agreement, that he did not in fact exist. After all, it had been a bad couple of months of dating.

Though I never wrote about it on this blog, (the blog came later), 2010 started as awfully as it would continue in the men's department. Having just moved back to Washington D.C. I quickly met a barrage of suitors who I made out with in bars and lightly fooled around with back at their lairs. But there was no spark. There was no respect. There was no romance. When I finally did find someone potentially special (he was oober tall and athletic, he owned proper dress shoes, had an interesting job, spoke Spanish fluently and genuinely seemed to be sweet and polite) I made him wait a considerable amount of time before I gave up all the goods, only to find that he had a terrible and unpredictable case of ED. As if a man part that doesn't do it's part weren't bad enough, this man didn't take any responsibility for his man part's missing part and while I'm sure this scenario is humiliating for any guy and hard to talk about and miserable, he instead used his situation as an opportunity to belittle me and my ability to please him, making me possibly irreparably bat shit crazy in my head and self-conscious in the bed, scared to sleep with anyone else, certain I was a failure as a woman and riddled with a chronic case of performance anxiety.

Having wasted much of January through April with that asshole, I turned to browner pastures. Guy friends who didn't actually want to be my friend but just wanted to fuck me when I was drunk and vulnerable. A guy totally beneath me in class and substance that rejected me but I kept chasing because at this point I was desperate to find anything male that moved to comfort me. And then the 24 year old triathlete, while totally ripped and ready to go, had such inexperience and timidity to match my newly acquired low-self-confidence that we did not a match in sexual heaven make. Here, I would take a short testosterone hiatus just long enough to regroup and regain my bearings.

While I began in early August with determination, patience and faith, actually believing I would be successful in my search for true love or as I called the alternative Prince "Not-a-Fuck-Face" if "Prince Charming" was a similarly made-up character, not three days after I set out on my quest, than E-harmony REJECTED me from their online dating services, dubbing me, moi, this girl, essential undateable. It was a bit traumatic to say the least. How could I find Prince Not a Fuck Face if I was undateable? Was this a completely lost cause? Meaning, was I a completely lost cause? In late August, things just got worse when not one, not two, but six men treated me in a most offensive fashion by trying to trick me into sex, lashing out at me for not sleeping with them, drunk dialing me for sex, and oh yeah, just standing me up completely (because apparently even the attempt to coerce me for sex wasn't enticing enough to get out of bed for brunch).

In September, I didn't write about dating as there were no men and no dates for which to write home about. A veritable dry spell.

In October things picked up again. Before they crashed and burned. First, I found a genuinely nice, interesting, cute guy for which to lay my affections, but after spending an entire day flirting and falling all over me and getting rides from me all over town, he finally fessed up that he had a girlfriend. Who he lived with. For the past two years....Fucking Fuck Face! Fuck. Then there was the Bearded Wackadoo who stalks me when I'm out at bars and gets extremely drunk and refuses to believe that we aren't actually meant for each other and wants to have conversations at 1 in the morning as to why I won't date him since we are clearly soul mates. While I was deflecting some of his advances, another guy asked me for my number. A guy who seemed normal until he insisted that we had to have our first date watching football at his house because he refused "paying overprice for food and beer at a bar" and insisted we [could] go to my place or his.” When I told him that I didn't really feel comfortable with that, since I didn't know him well he egged me on: “Come on,” he said. “It’s not like I’m a serial killer. You’ll be fine. Come to my place.” Creepy creeperton.

After all this, who could blame me when I threw my hands in the air, the dream of the unicorn having died inside me forever and I swore that I was "Over Men Again," and not likely to be under them again any time soon.

But did I learn my lesson? oh no. Toddy never learns her lesson. Must be the brain damage from all the bourbon that does her in.

In December, I briefly considered meeting up with my longtime friend-with-benefits, Jersey Boy, for some satisfying but wholly unsatisfying relations with a man who will never be mine nor should he be, and spent the tiniest of tiny seconds of second-guessing a decision NOT to have a fling with a completely immature 22 year old international intern, leaving the country in four months when I wrote about Giving the Geeky Brit a Chance.

But alas, 2010 was to be a complete and utter romantic, dating, sexual disaster. Of epic proportions. There were no unicorns. They did not exist. There was no Prince Charming. Not even a Not a Fuck Face to keep my hope alive. I was defeated. I was downtrodden. I was done.

And yet, as unbelievable as it may sound, something or someone or someones would revive the search for the Holy Unicorn Grail yet again. The social media darlings, perpetual ladies in waiting, would arrive on the scene with new found courage, advice and renewed devotion to the cause.

To be continued...

Dont Over Think This

2011-02-03T07:38:00.000-08:00

Me: Freaking out about something

Mr. U: "You worry too much. Don't over think this."

Me: "Okay, so I won't over think this? I won't over think this. So we're good?"

Mr. U: "We're great."

Me: (This guy gets me).

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk

2011-02-02T05:32:00.000-08:00

So yeah, don't cry over spilled milk. But I say DO cry over SPOILED MILK.

This morning, I thumped down the stairs in my pre-coffee coma per usual. Make a pot of coffee large enough to accommodate all my roommates' caffeination needs. Per usual. I'm more frequently than not the first one up and I'm happy to do it. Of course.

I prepare my coffee with little care (I'm not awake as I have not had my coffee). I pour a cup about 3/4ths full. Fill to top with skim milk. There you go...

I curl up in a chair to read the Style section of the Washington Post and begin sipping my coffee. At this point in time, I barely have any sensory signals shooting off in my brain, until the beans have done their business. I might as well be a mannequin.

My two roommates come down the stairs. One goes over to the computer. The other gets coffee for them both and takes a mug over to her. "No milk?" the receiving roommate asks. "Are we out of milk? I thought I saw some?" "Well there is milk," the giving roommate replies. "But I'm pretty sure it's gone bad."

"Whhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat???!!!" I gasp incredulously. "The milk has gone baaaaaaaaaaad?" I stand up abruptly, march over to the refrigerator and pick up the milk to inspect it. Yes. It is bad. It is very very very bad. I go to dump the milk down the drain and my roommate says "Don't throw it out just yet." "Um, excuse me...." I say. "Why wouldn't we throw it out?" "Let's not throw it out until we've replaced it with a new one," is his reply.

Um. Okaaaaaaaaaaay. No. Okay, just no. (Which is not what I say, but it is what I'm thinking). But I do say....

"Um, how about we pour the milk down the drain when it goes bad and make a note to get some more, instead of leaving it in the fridge for our unsuspecting roommate to drink in the morning. How bout that?" (I'm more than a little peeved. My anger only increases as I see the white lumpy chunks of sour milk protrude from the plastic jug. I think I'm going to be sick.) "I really can't believe you would leave that in there for me to drink."

I pour out my mug filled with coffee and nasty ass milk. Put my mug in the dishwasher and then walk over to the pot to get a new cup and fresh coffee. I shake my head and mutter something like "ugh" and then sigh long and breathy and audible.

And then I'm asked the unthinkable: "So you''ll pick up some milk then on your way home from work?" my roommate asks hopefully.

(Really???????? ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Reallly!!!!!!!!! F. M. L. Just fml).

Some days are just like this I guess. Some days....Hoping yours started off better and cheers (to unspoiled beverages),

A New Month

2011-02-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

I have complete and utter writer's block today. I have in the works about 5 different drafts of posts in different stages of completion but I'm not satisfied with any of them. Thus, I felt I had to post in regards to my deficiencies as a sort of penance and ultimately a motivation for not getting it together creatively so to speak. Despite the new month, I seem to have no new thoughts.

On yet another cold January night, Mr. U had to work late. I met him downtown for a drink while he ate dinner. I still have "speaker's remorse" sometimes when we talk. Wondering what he thinks of the fact that I said this or that, worried he's going to like me less because of it. I walked him back to his office where we proceeded to make out right in front. Probably not very professional but security guard be damned I hadn't seen my man in a few days and I needed a little attention.

And then came February. Where did it come from? On the other hand, what took it so long? January seemed an endless eternity of wonderful nothingness and everything. But now its February and I think the seasonal depression is starting to kick in. The lack of sunshine, the lack of warmth. I'm sick of blowing my nose ten thousand times a day from the cold and colds. Sick of wearing a heavy coat to work and carrying an umbrella lest there's yet another bout of freezing rain.

I'm ready for light and breezes and airiness. I'm ready for what comes next. Since I don't have anything else enlightening to say I'll leave you with this quote that I've been thinking of lately, and doesn't seem wholly inappropriate for how I'm feeling about February.

"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." -Anais Nin

Cheers, T.

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 16

2011-01-31T08:43:00.000-08:00

*I never wanted anything so much Than to drown in your love*

"State of the Union at my house Tuesday?" Mr. Unicorn inquired. "Works for me," I messaged back. "Shall I cook?" "That'd be great," he responded.

When Tuesday evening rolled around, Mr. U picked me up at work. We held hands and walked briskly through the night air while making our way to the grocery store. After purchasing our supplies, we headed back to the apartment. He opened up a bottle of wine and put on some music. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work preparing potatoes. So this is what being a part of a couple feels like, I thought. It had been so long, I'd pretty much forgotten.

"How exactly are you making those potatoes?" he looked at me strangely. "Because typically I..." "Psssht," I shushed him. "I know you aren't about to tell me, the Irish girl, how to make potatoes are you? Because if there's one thing we Irish people know how to cook - its meat and potatoes - just drink your drinky drink and let the expert handle this." "Sorrrryyyyy," he joked back at me. "I get it, I get it. Your people have a monopoly on potatoes. Got it." "And don't you forget it," I concluded. After which, the rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. State of the Union watching. Chicken Picatta eating. Red wine drinking. And then bed. Until...

I lay there wrapped in a comforter, warm and content. So serene and contemplative that my heart suddenly welled up in my chest while my thoughts and emotions seemed to burst all at once. And then I started to cry.

And boy, did I cry. I cried and I cried and I couldn't stop. "What's wrong!" Mr. U sat up in bed concerned and very alarmed. "I don't know," I said as I continued to sob. And I didn't really know. All I knew was that I was mortified and embarrassed and I felt stupid - to say the least - And yet I could not be cajoled to stop. "I'm not a crier," I insisted. "Really I'm not."

Which is true. I am not a crier. In fact, I don't think I'd cried in years. I'll say that again - YEARS.

I didn't cry when I lost my job. I didn't cry when I lost my money. I didn't cry when my birth mother abandoned me for a second time or my half brother cursed me out on the sidewalk of a DC street in front of my friends. I didn't cry when I was sick or when I thought I might die. But then... on this calm night, where everything in my life was finally fitting into place, I finally did cry. I cried for the loss. I cried for the pain. I cried for the happiness that had suddenly appeared. It had been so long since I'd been happy. And I cried for that too. So much wasted time. So much heartache.

"I'm just....so....so....happy," I whispered quietly. "But I'm scared." "I'm scared too," Mr. U whispered back. Which surprised me. Mr. Confidence? Mr. So Sure of Himself? Who had pursued me and wooed me and gotten me so successfully with such seeming ease and perfection? What could he possibly have to be scared of? "This all just happen so fast..." I continued. "All of it." "Hmm," he considered this carefully. "Do you wanna slow things down?" he asked. "I don't know how we'd even going about doing that," I said. "Do you wanna slow things down?" I questioned, worried what his answer might be. "No," was all he said.

"Alright," he continued, after awhile. "You are okay. O-kaaay. Let's sit up. Have a sip of water. Take some deep breaths. And go to sleep." "Okay," I nodded sitting up. I gulped down some water, took a few deep breaths and then lay my head down again, feeling very exposed, vulnerable and yes, super lame.

"We're in this together now", I thought, still unable to completely calm my nerves to sleep. And I knew there were no guarantees. After all, every relationship "fails," or at the very least, ends, that is until one doesn't. I wondered if this might be that one. And hoped this might be that one. And finally fell asleep, knowing that whether it was that one or not, at least we were in this one, together.

Happy Birthday to Me! - Part One

2011-01-28T08:07:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, was my birthday. And what an epically great birthday it was.

Legend....

[wait for it]....

.........dary.

Legendary.

I schlepped home late Wednesday night in the ominous thunder snow for hours only to find an empty house with no electricity, no heat and nary a crumb or morsel to eat in sight waiting for me. Assuming correctly, that no positive change in conditions would likely come about any time soon, I left my own personal icebox of a home and made my way to my parent's always and infinitely more stocked abode. While they too were without heat, internet, tv or modern lighting, they did have a feast of food from a dinner party they'd went ahead and thrown anyway, despite the storm, traditionally equipped with fueled fireplaces and endless candelight.

We sat amidst the bedazzling flickers and flames and counted down the minutes till midnight, my 28th birthday. I kept saying aloud: "I'm 27, I'm 27, I'm 27. 27. 27. tweeeeeenty-seven!" I wanted to say it as many more times as I could, before it would no longer be true.

Have you ever heard the old superstition or saying that the day of your birthday, e.g. March 6th or July 10th or in my case January 27th, that whatever number day it is, 6, 10, or 27 that the year you are the same age number as your birthday day number is supposed to be your "Golden Year"? Meaning - your best year ever- ever heard that before? Which to me seems like a cruel joke if it were true for anyone born on July 1st or 2nd or 3rd. Then again being a baby or young child totally taken care of and oblivious to life's more complicated pains does sound pretty magnanimous to me now being a seasoned adult. So maybe Year 1 really could be your best year ever. Regardless, I had heard this old wives tale when I was a little girl. And in my less rationale childlike mind, I imagined that when I was 27 years old, that my 27th year of life would in fact be...the best ever. I often imagined that when I was 27 I would already be married to the man of my dreams, a successful attorney, living in a beautiful house and leading an enviable perfect sort of life.

In reality, as it turned out, being 27 was the worst year of my entire life. Instead of a handsome husband and an even handsomer life, I lost my job, my health, my savings, my birth family (for the second time) and with it -all of my sense of self-worth. I moved back to DC and back in with my parents and spent every day looking for work that didn't exist, being depressingly depressed and not to mention sick, bitter, angry and above all else hopelessly unhappy.

I couldn't stand to see anyone else in love or succeeding or contented. I stopped calling friends because I had nothing pleasant to say. I avoided children and babies and dogs. I once disembarked my metro bus one morning because a school fieldtrip got on and I couldn't stand to see the joy and excitement in those adorable (but at the time annoying) little faces. Instead I walked a mile and a half in the pouring rain. That kind of loathsome existence, was my 27th year.

You know how dogs and other animals can smell actual cancer? Well it makes me wonder if people can smell or sense emotional cancer. Because I was oozing with it. I projected all my misery onto every person and every thing and rejected all signs of life, which only sent me spiralling me ever deeper into my black hole of nothingness.

Then something changed. I almost died. Or at the very least - Really and truly thought I was going to die. And in that moment, I experienced for the only time in my entire life, actual terror. I looked up at my mother from my bed, grasped her hand tight, literally holding on for dear life and I said: "I don't want to die. I want to live." "That's good," she said. "So live."

And as you might have guessed, I did in fact, live. And then something changed again. Everything.

Everything I felt about myself and the world and the people in it. I wanted to live. I wanted to grow old. What a privilege. I didn't hate my love handles anymore or the laugh lines in my forehead or my chronic singledom. I rejoiced in happy couples and giggling chubby babies, petted every dog I walked past and smiled at ever person. I said "Good morning" to every bus driver and gave compliments to random strangers on the street. "Love your hat. Love that scarf. Where'd you get your hair cut cus its fab!" My psychological cancer had been cured and instead of permeating pain and misery into the world I beamed with unabashed gaiety. I was joyous. I was exhilarated. Everything was fresh and new and a total cliche of a gift. I was gleeful and grateful. Animated and amused. Humorous and happy and helpful and honest. I rejoiced and reveled and wondered in awe - I was alive and I wanted to live. And so... I began to live.

Give to the world and it will give back to you. So simple, so true.

With my new found optimism and satisfaction, I began to be noticed at work for my efforts. I made new friends and read more books. I drank less (okay, a little less) and exercised more. I took long walks admiring trees and called my grandmother more often and helped my parents around the house. When New Years Eve rolled around, I couldn't wait for a new year, new start. To put year 27 behind me and change everything for the better. 1/1/11. The perfect day to wipe the slate clean and begin again.

I wonder if that's how I really ended up with a new year, new man. I went to Mr. Unicorn's New Year's Eve house party without a single care in the world but instead with three bottles of champagne in my purse. I didn't care that I wasn't coupled up like most of the holiday revelers there. I was a lawyer, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I was young, I was pretty, I was employed, I had bubbly in my bag. Life was great. Let's celebrate.

Is that what Mr. U saw in me? A bright, happy, cheerful person full of hope and joy and possibility? Because, if that's true, can anyone out there tell me they wouldn't want to be around that or me? No wonder he was so enamored. No wonder he called me up and asked me out and no wonder he kept calling and taking me out. I was easy going and low maintenance and impressed and satisfied by everything. And with or without him, I'd continue on being the same way.

After a couple of dates I told Mr. U how hard year 27 had been for me. I told him how sick and I told him how unhappy I'd been. He said I should put 27 behind me. Like it had never happened. "This year is your year!" he said. "Forget 27. On with 28!"

But then I thought about it for a moment and I said: "Maybe I don't wanna forget it. After all, I met (or re-met) you when I was 27. I moved back to DC (a place I truly love) at 27. I chose to live at 27. I learned to live at 27. I became a better person at 27. Maybe, just maybe, after all the misery and all the failings, 27 was my best year ever. Not because it was easy (it wasn't) or successful (definitely not), but because I came out of all the blackness and muck and hardship, scraping my fingernails against the obstacles, pulling myself up and out and ending ultimately on the top. Different. Changed. Better. Happier. More Alive. And I can't thank year 27 enough for teaching me how much I have to be thankful for and how to live a full and fulfilling life.

When the last minute of January 26th, 2011 ticked down, I held up a glass of champagne alongside my parents. "I'm 27, 27, 27, 27..." And then counted down the seconds..."10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

"Happy Birthday!" we all three said together and clinked our glasses. "I love you," my mother said to me. "I love you too," I said back. "Good night honey," my father said to me, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. My parents swished back the contents of their flutes and climbed the stairs and went to sleep. I remained downstairs, surrounded by candlelight, a little longer.

I whispered in the darkness to myself: "I'm 28. I'm 28. I'm 28." And then raised my flute and waved it in the air around me slowly like I was toasting an audience. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whispered again. To no one. To everyone. To the universe.

And so began, my twenty-eighth birthday. The first day of my 28th year. And it was Legend.... [wait for it]...................................................................................................................................

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 15

2011-01-26T11:47:00.001-08:00

It's safe to say, dating Mr. Unicorn had been a rollercoaster with very high highs and very low lows, the kind of sudden dips that make your stomach flip flop and the kind of inexplicable twists and turns and warp speed that makes you feel euphorically alive.

After some of the most amazing dates of my life and also after some very honest conversations and necessary growing pains, Mr. U and I were set to have what would be our eighth and final "date."

This date was different than all the others. It was different because I had planned it, I would pay for it. And it had been all my idea.

We started the evening at Bar Pilar. A beautifully haunting bar, with small bites and interesting cocktails. Chandeliers fall brooding from the ceiling, couples flirt with one another across high wooden tables and the ultra hipster bartender chick with the dark eyeliner and checkered bandanna scarf concocts you a drink. As a super literature nerd, I love that this place is intended as an homage to Ernest Hemingway, hence the paintings of toreadors bull fighting, bizarre murals of half-naked mermaids at their best and a large depiction of the ragingly genius alcoholic himself.

I was a little nervous to see Mr. U. After all it had been a bit of a trying week. First with the difficult sleeping arrangements and then with the miscommunications over our relationship's biggest milestone to date. I wanted it all to go so well and as with most things in life, there was no guarantee they would.

He came in looking like he always looked. Bearded and classically, simply dressed, with a quiet confidence, soft glance and sweet smile aimed right at me. He'd been here before he told me, but enjoyed it and thought it was a good choice for a pre-punk concert dinner. We ordered octopus (unexpectedly AMAZING), italian meatballs and potatoes (delicious) and some green vegetable plate or another (which I didn't like but Mr. U did). I drank Dark and Stormy's (a dark rum, ginger beer mixture of some sort) while he drank whiskey.

While we drank and dined I told Mr. U how hard it was planning a date and that I had new respect for all guys everywhere having to do it all the time. "It's a lot of pressure," I admitted. "And as it turns out, I like being wooed a lot more than I like wooing. Go figure." "Don't worry," he assured me, "I'm not done wooing you yet." (Good man. What a good. man.) With that settled, we turned our thoughts to music and got totally pumped for the night's main event.

Mr. U is a HUGE fan of a local DC band whose two shows this weekend at the 930 Club (Saturday and Sunday) and another at the Black Cat (Friday) had been sold out for weeks. Mr. U had casually mentioned his disappointment at being unable to get a ticket to see them on one of our earliest dates. When I had thought to plan and pay for a date to celebrate his birthday, I instantly thought of getting these tickets some way, some how. It turned out to be easier than I would have thought. I called in a favor from a friend who manages a bunch of DC and Baltimore bands and coordinates shows at a variety of DMV venues. And we were all set! Just like that. As it turned out, a large group of my friends were ALSO planning on seeing the show and would be there the same night. I would finally be able to introduce Mr. U to some of my friends.

When I told Mr. U that I had obtained tickets, he hugged me so tight, I had to tell him to let go lest he crush my ribs. But I was thrilled that he was so excited. I had done good. And that felt great - to have hit the jackpot with my planning and efforts.

After Bar Pilar, we hopped in a cab and arrived at the 930 club a few short minutes later. They took our tickets and stamped our hands in heavy black ink. We stepped into the main room and looked around. It was still pretty early and my friends were no where in sight.

"So who all am I going to be meeting?" Mr. U asked as we stood in the back of the room facing each other with his arms around me. "Oh, just my friend J and some other people. They're cool." "I see," he said. "And do they know they are meeting me?" "Probably not actually," I answered back. "J has been out of town for awhile for work and we haven't really had a chance to catch up. And depending on who else shows up, none of them might have heard about you. But, you know, I'll introduce you as my 'friend' so don't worry. No pressure."

"Your 'friend' eh? Is that what I am? I'd say I'm more than a friend after 9 dates," he insisted with a mischievous look on his face. "Oh you know what I mean," I mumbled back. "And it's 8 dates, not 9," I corrected. "Pssh, 7, 8, 9- what difference does it make? You know what I think?" "No," I replied unsure of where he was going with this line of thought. "I think we should stop counting dates." "Okaaaaaay?" I answered still confused. "Which would mean we would no longer be dating." "Okaaaaaay?" I repeated. "I don't understand". "I don't think we should be dating anymore, because I think you should just be my girlfriend already." "Is that okay?"

INSERT GIRLY SQUEAL IN MY INNER THOUGHTS HERE. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! DID HE JUST DROP THE G-BOMB! EEP! EEP! EEP! EEP! HUZZAH!!! HURRAH!!!! HURRAY!

Now despite the fact that I was internally giddy from head to toe and ear to ear, I am proud to say that I responded to this offer as cool as a frikkin cucumber. Meryl Streep herself couldn't have acted the part as unsuspecting, nonchalant and relaxed as I did. "Um, yeah, I guess we could do that." "Yeah?" he said. "Yes," I said.

Now because my head was about to explode right off of my neck, I had to reinforce these statements with some further validation, just to be sure I had heard correctly. "So...what you are saying is....when I introduce you tonight you want me to introduce you to my friends as my.........boyfriend???" "That's what I'm saying." "Okay," I said. "Okay," he said. EEP!

Shortly thereafter, my friends arrived, "the boyfriend" was introduced for the first time and the bands began to play. Mr. U stood behind me in the darkness with his fingers clinging to my belt loops. The music reverberated throughout our bodies and the concert lights washed over us as we danced and sang along to each familiar melody.

I was completely, utterly, senselessly, impossibly happy. Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy. No one seemed to notice that I couldn't stop smiling. That I was positively beaming. But I was just the same. I looked over my shoulder back at Mr. U and for some reason I thought to say above the noise: "We are going to have soo much fun!" He looked back at me and smiled wide. "You have no idea how much fun," he answered. "Sooooo.....much......fun."

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 14

2011-01-26T08:32:00.000-08:00

***A word to the wise, for my more hopelessly romantic readers: If you didn't like the last post, because it was a little too much reality, with a little too little whimsy, then you aren't going to like this entry any better. Let's just say, it's a bit dark***

Mr. Unicorn and I quickly return to newly-coupled dating bliss after a brief wrong turn down I-was-a-cranky-bitch-but-he-forgave-me Lane. We continued to spend time together frequently and sooner than I initially planned or intended things progressed to be "more serious." (Please be adults and interpret this last statement adequately so that I don't have to be more specific. Much obliged.)

And at this point, the two of us suffered yet another hitch in our giddy-up. After things got "more serious" or "more special" as it were, I didn't hear from him. For. two. days. I could have killed him. I was pissed off and also terrified beyond anxiety's belief that I'd been used and abused and made to believe in mythical creatures that promised happily ever after when in reality he was just another rabid dip shit dog of the male human variety.

At which point, I suffered yet another poor night of sleep wondering if this fairy tale romance had come to an end with me as the victim of a very very cruel joke delivered by the universe at large. When I realized I had about an hour or two before I had to start getting ready for work, and I hadn't slept a wink, I willed myself to get up, go downstairs, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, sit at the computer, and then I wrote the following, feeling numb and desperate:

"It's 4:21 a.m. and I can't sleep. This endless cold I've been enduring and too much food at a fancy dinner with my parents last night doesn't help. And then of course, there's you...

I'm so furious at you right now I can literally feel internal organs and veins and muscles seething with rage. I can also sense the worry in my face - behind my forehead and my cheekbones.

I didn't hear from you today. Not a text or an email or a phone call. Which normally would be fine. I've told you before I'm a "working girl" and I've got "things to do." Perhaps that was my mistake, but no, this time, the mistake is finally yours.

You men. You. men. Sometimes you men make me crazy. Make us girls crazy. And I just want to point my finger out into the universe at the lot of you clueless awful men. you, you, you, you...suck. So there.

Sex changes everything. Everything. It always does. You get it and stop being so nice all the time. Which disgusts me. Which pisses me off. Which hurts me. If you sleep with me then you better acknowledge my existence the next day. Or duly expect my wrath in timely fashion.

You're probably just really really busy. Just like me. And trying to play it somewhat cool. Just like me. And I know I'll see you in a couple of days and I know you know that too. But still...

I don't want to see you now. For this special night I planned. And I don't want to spend the night. And I don't want to continue to fall for you because the inevitable inevitably occurs - you let me down. And I am sad. And cannot sleep.

I suppose its some consolation that the moon is beaming over my head streamed with thick, swiftly moving clouds across the night sky. The man in the moon's head tilts just slightly to the right. His mouth is gaped wide at me, questioning. I could waggle my hand at him perhaps and feel better. You man. You men. I could blame you all for my insomniatic melancholy. But I think I'll just blame...him."

At which point, I closed my laptop, stood up slowly and walked back over to the kitchen. I stood in the shadows and made a pot of coffee. I poured myself a cup and wandered back to the den. Sipping my liquid cocaine slowly, I gazed out the window again, still wondering what the man in the moon might be trying to tell me. Then I got dressed and went to work and behaved the way the consummate professionalism might. At some point during the day, I wrote, and then posted, what I recall to be "A Date with A Unicorn: Part 10" which made me slightly miserable. While I wasn't thrilled describing how gosh darn dandy and wonderful he and everything else was not knowing whether it was all over or not, at the same time I still felt grateful for all the beauty and merriment and magic that I'd been given over the last several weeks. No matter what happened, I couldn't regret any of it or wish it undone.

I reached out to a friend to discuss the matter further. "Well what did you expect?" she asked me calmly. "Flowers, or something?" "No, of course not," I replied insistently. "But I did expect one god damn text or one god damn email. Just some acknowledgment of my existence." "I can understand that," she comforted me.

When I finally heard from him...it was still not very satisfying. Instead of asking me how I was doing or saying anything nice or anything at all to acknowledge my existence or the fact that things had gotten "more special" or "more serious" and that that was a good thing, instead I got what was called "Unessential updates on my life", (no joke), which described what he had been up to and had in the days ahead of him, oh and also to ask me if we could push back our dinner date for Saturday an hour later because he had friends coming over in the afternoon. (Need I remind you that this was the special date that I had been scrupulously planning to the last detail and fretting over for weeks, which included dinner and a concert, and meeting some of my friends, as a thank you to him for all the amazing dates he had planned and paid for and also as a gift to celebrate his birthday.)

Let's just say, I didn't feel like responding to him. So I didn't.

When he hadn't heard back from me, he sent me another email. And another. And then finally, one that said: "What's going on? Why haven't I heard back from you?" And then when I still didn't answer, one that said: "Come over after work."

Had he really upset me. Or do I always do this? Block the very real and deep feelings I have for someone worthy, reverting back to my numb, stone-cold heart center, in order to defend myself against getting hurt? Is this why I have such impossible expectations of everyone, including myself? So that no one can ever live up to them and I therefore remain safely alone? I thought about just the other night when we sat in the car and I was kissing him. And he was saying how he didn't want the night to be over and I had said the same thing and there had been electricity between us- you know the way it feels when you're holding someone hands and it feels like the tenderness they feel for you is traveling along a line from their hand directly to your heart? I thought of this and then made my over to his house after work.

"What's going on?" he asked me when I got there. "You upset me," I answered plainly. "How?" he questioned calmly and seriously. "Well...(I struggled with my words)...the other night...it was...a big deal..." "Yes...and?" (Then I found the courage to explain) "And...you didn't even acknowledge my existence! for two days! Not a call or a text or an email. That made me feel awful. Can't you see that?" He pulled me against his chest and threw his arms around me. "I am so so sorry," he said. "I would never mean to hurt you like that. I'm crazy about you. I just thought you knew that. And we have our big date Saturday. I just...didn't think." "Well you need to think about it from now on. Whenever we're "together" like that, you need to acknowledge my existence the next day- in some way." "I can do that," he promised. "And while I'm happy to do that, and I will do that from now on, you must know that whether I did or not, I'm thinking of you every day." "Really?" I looked up at him. "Really."

And just like that, I was all in again. The whole deal.

A Date with a Unicorn: Part 13

2011-01-25T14:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, so you didn't really expect the perfect to last forever did you? Okay, so maybe I did and maybe you did too. But the spell had to break. And boy did it ever. Mr. Unicorn and I shared a couple of rocky days starting with a miserable night of sleep. Or perhaps I should say miserable night without sleep...

The first time I stayed over at Mr. U's on a night before a work day, neither of us slept a wink. We tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable. But couldn't. His apartment was too dry. I coughed. And coughed. And coughed. And then I coughed some more. He is always cold and likes things hot. The temperature in the room, the amount of blankets. The suffocating comforter. I fuckin' hate that comforter. I'd like to burn that comforter some day while Mr. U is at work. Which might have helped you guess, that in direct contrast, I am always hot and like things colder.

INSERT groan, moan, deep sigh, and primordial scream here. geeeeeeeeeeeeezus just let me get some shut eye!

After a restless night, I was exhausted. Not only had it been a long night, but it had been a long weekend before. I'd been traveling up north to ski and party with my old college friends for four days. The day before I'd gotten up, skied for 3 hours. Cleaned a country house. Packed up my belongings. Sat in a car crammed next to a travel companion while simultaneously being jabbed by metal ski equipment in my side for three hours. Then I'd gotten on a train for 3 and a half hours. Lugged my luggage on the DC Metro. And lastly mustered up every ounce of energy I had left to spend some quality time with Mr. U for several hours. After all that - I was running on fumes.

In the morning, it is safe to say I got up on the wrong side of the bed. I might as well have gotten up on the wrong side of the universe for all the hate and angry and ugly and cranky I had in my head and my heart. Needless to say, I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around as I got up at the crack of dawn and started getting ready for work. And to top it all off, it wasn't my space you know? Not my shower. Not my sink. Not my closet. Not my room. I was getting ready out of a suitcase jammed with big puffy made-for-snow ski clothes that seemed to drown out my normal work wear and every day items like my hair brush, pantyhose, etc. I couldn't find anything. I slipped in the shower. The lights were SO friggin bright too.

Alright, I'll just admit it. I. AM NOT. A MORNING PERSON. To begin with. If I haven't had my coffee yet - don't talk to me. On second thought, don't even come near me. Some crazy monster takes over my body. I'm like....I'll just say it....insane. And mean. This is not my best quality. Nor was this one of my best moments. By far.

Meanwhile, Mr. U goes into work about 2-3 hours later than me on average. The jerk. So he was all warm and cuddly in bed as I showered and got dressed. And he just lay there, all doe-eyed, watching me. It was. to say the least. annoying.

"Stop watching me," I barked at him. "But I like watching you," he said sleepily. "Well you're making me self-conscious. And its...annoying," I retorted back at him. "Okay," he said startled and turned over in the bed away from me.

What the fuck was my problem?? You know when you are being COMPLETELY awful? Like the worst version of yourself? And you do or say things or when its really bad DO and SAY things that are just so awful awful but you can't stop yourself? It's an out of body experience watching yourself be a jack ass willing yourself from your core to shut the eff up and not be hideous, but the train keeps flying towards the crash and ultimate wreckage. It can't be stopped. It just steam rolls ahead to shittiness.

And then it got worse.

I had pretty much turned off all the lights because they were so unbelievably bright my sensitive, non-caffeinated eyes couldn't take the exposure. When Mr. U got up, he started to turn on the lights. "No lights," I almost screached. "Well, what about if I put them on the dimmer..." "No lights," I said again firmly. "Whaaaaat-eeverrr," he mumbled and closed the door to the bathroom.

Oh....shit. I'd finally done it. I'd finally gone and shown my true colors, my worst version of myself, to Mr. U, and lets be honest - it was not a pretty sight.

When I finally got ready, I basically tapped my feet and looked at Mr. U and said: "Well aren't you going to walk me to the door?" "Yes! Yes, I was! I just didn't know you were ready." "I'm ready," I said. And I was. I was ready to get the eff out of there and get some coffee. (Mr. U doesn't drink coffee or tea and therefore had no stimulants what so ever in the apartment. This is the kind of lifestyle that makes me wonder if he is in fact a real live living breath human being because I of course am made up of 35% coffee surging through my veins, internal organs and skin pores at all times. At. all. times.)

"Good luck today" he said as he kissed me goodbye. "I don't need luck," I answered as I stepped out into the morning. "I just need coffee." The door shut behind me.

So what happened next? I got some coffee. A lot of coffee. I went to work. And I worked - hard - like super hard- (out of necessity) - for several hours. Finally I took another coffee break (okay I know I have a real problem but please don't judge me right now I'm baring my heart out here for you people) with one of my co-workers. I slumped into a chair in our lounge and it dawned on me. I was a bitch. I was a total and utter bitch. I was and am a complete fucking bitch. I have this perfect man. Who treats me like ridiculously amazing. Who is completely patient and kind and wonderful. And I go all bat shit crazy mega-bitch on him. Fuck me. Fuck my life. I'm a bitch. Fuck.

"What am I going to do?" I basically yelped to my co-worker. "What. am. I. going. to. do.? My perfect man has finally seen that I am a totally ridiculously bitchy awful person and I am never going to hear from him again. I am like, totally fucked. "

"T," she said calmly. "You're being overdramatic. Per usual. You probably weren't that bad." (Oh but we all know now that I was). "I'm sure you'll get some cute, sweet email or text from him in the next couple of hours and all will be forgotten." "You think so?" I asked desperately. "I do," she said.

But I didn't. I didn't get an email or a text or a phone call. It was silent.

Which was unusual for Mr. U who usually sent me an email or a text, albeit short and to the point, about every morning. "Have a good day." "Hope you are having a good day." "I'm thinking of you." "Looking forward to seeing you later." And so on. But this morning...and then this afternoon...for the first time. I got nothing. Nadda. Zilch. Zippidee-doo-dah-day. And I can't blame the guy. Like I said, I was a bitch. I wouldn't wanna talk to me either.

As the longest day I'd experienced in an even longer time ticked painstakingly by, tick-tock, tick-tock, minute by minute, hour by hour...I realized I would have to be the one to initiate contact. And apologize. Like really apologize.

So I did. I got on the computer and typed out the following email. "I'm sorry if I was cranky this morning. I. was and am. exhausted. But that's no excuse. Hope you are having a good and productive day and managing to stay awake yourself. T."

To which he replied, several hours later the following: "No worries about this morning. You are more than welcome (you are invited!) to stay again tonight."

To which I replied: "I think we need a good night sleep OR we will kill each other and all possibility of future sleepovers. It's hard sleeping with someone new initially."

To which he replied: "Agreed."

There you have it. The rose colored glasses came off. For both of us. I say with certainty that not everything is greener on the couple side of the grass. For example, sharing a bed sucks. At least at first. (I'll let you know if it gets any better in the future). And if you've read any of my earlier pre-Unicorn era posts when I talked about being single - spreading out over my entire cozy, deliciously soft and endlessly large bed - is and remains my favorite thing about being it. I love to sleep. I love to sleep long and often. And I prefer to sleep alone.

When I saw Mr. U later that evening, I apologized again for my childlike tantrums and he waved his hand in the air nonchalantly and assured me: "You really weren't that bad. I completely understand what you were saying about the lights. I really think you think you're less of a good person than you are sometimes."

Liar. He's a liar. I was awful. He knows it. And I know it. But he didn't want to upset me. He didn't want to dwell on it. And we both wanted to move on. After all, developing any kind of a relationship between two people (since no two people are exactly alike) requires ample amounts of patience, understanding and forgiveness. In this case, Mr. U displayed all three. And I couldn't be more thankful for that.

And he's lucky he did. Because not long thereafter, he needed a little patience, understanding and forgiveness, from yours truly.

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 12

2011-01-24T15:38:00.000-08:00

Does anyone recall Jersey Boy after all this unicorn insanity? Probably not. If you need a refresher you can go back and read my post from back in December here. The gist of it is that Jersey Boy and I are old college friends in a group of super tight old college friends. He and I have been friends, we have been more than friends and we have been just friends but also with some benefits. (I think we are all on the same page). I like him as a person. I enjoy his company. I care about him. I find him attractive. And we have chemistry. I think I can say with all likelihood that he feels the same about me. And its always been uncomplicated and fun and respectful. Our biggest obstacle was always geography and timing and then also the general consensus that we were better off friends than anything more. But I digress...

Now, why am I talking about Jersey Boy in a post about the now infamous Mr. Unicorn? That's because I spent the four days of MLK weekend skiing up north with Jersey Boy and some of our other friends. Did I tell Mr. Unicorn that I was skiing with a former lover? Err, no I did not. We hadn't been dating long enough for this to seem necessary. And to be honest, I didn't feel guilty about this omission at all. At this point in time, it wasn't any of Mr. U's business. On the other hand, there was quite a bit that could have been told...

Back in December, Jersey Boy had recently broken up with his long time girlfriend. And I, hadn't had a successful date or relationship in a very long time. It had been. a very. very. long time. If you know what I mean? (I think we're on the same page again). Jersey Boy had been inviting me up to NYC to see and stay with him with no doubt in either of our minds, what that invitation really meant. The two of us (and not our other friends) planned this ski trip so that we could be together. And then when Mr. U happened, well, things changed. Of course I was still going to ski with my friends. And was still looking forward to seeing Jersey. But since Mr. U and I had had the "we're exclusive" conversation (although we apparently weren't boyfriend and girlfriend yet either) the guidelines of how Jersey and I would interact had become a bit blurry.

At first, I wasn't tempted to ignite old flames. In fact, I spent most of the train ride up thinking of Mr. U and the dates we'd been on and the things he'd said to me during our time together. The song "the Dog Days are Over" murmured from my headphones as I spaced out looking through the window at the snow covered country side and woods entranced in a contented daze. I was happy. I couldn't wait to see my friends. I couldn't wait to ski. I couldn't believe Mr. U was back at home waiting for me.

And the whole weekend was one giant success. You know the kind of time where everyone gets along perfectly and everything goes right. You know the kind of friends that know you? Like really really really you and everything is an inside joke or a reference to a memory. We laughed so hard what seemed like every second of every day. We laughed so hard we cried. We laughed so hard we started to cough. And then as we all were coughing and laughing we laughed so much harder we coughed and then cried again. By the end of the weekend, I had laughed out every infinitesimal amount of stress in every molecule of my being. I felt like a million bucks. No, make that two million bucks. That's how good I felt.

And despite the fact that Mr. U and I had embarked on a whirlwind romance just weeks before, leading up to the the days before my trip, including the fact that I had been overwhelmingly infatuated with this person during most of that time, I didn't think of him much at all. I didn't miss him. I didn't wish I was somewhere else. I was happy with my friends. This began to make me worried. While ultimately I came to the conclusion that this was more a sign that Mr. U and I were developing a healthy relationship (versus an unhealthy codependent, obsessive scenario), at the same time, I began to worry and wonder if my feelings for him were as deep as I had previously thought.

And while distance might make the heart grow fonder for some, for me, its more likely that if you are out of sight you are out of mind. Fair or not. Nice or not. That's the way I've always been.

Combined with this confusing retraction of feelings for Mr. Unicorn, I was feeling the instant reinstatement of my connection with Jersey Boy. He knew me. Like an old friend. Like really really knew me. And we had the old banter and the old repertoire and all those good memories. On the drive up to the mountains we snuggled in the back seat of the car. Partially out of necessity, because the skis and other equipment took up most of the space. It had been a long day for me. I'd gone to work on Friday morning, then walked to the metro to take the metro to Union Station, then got a train and was now in for a long car ride. I put my arm around Jersey and lay my head on his shoulder and fell asleep. The rest of the weekend there were small moments like that one. Where we joked about a time we were together. Where we flirted with the idea of something happening again. We skied down a mountain side by side and we cooked breakfast in the morning together. We talked about his ex-girlfriend and we talked about Mr. U and we also talked about everything else in between. When the gang went out to some townie bars for the night, we danced with one another along with the rest of the group. After the bars, we came home and found ourselves the only ones still awake. We sat by the fire for hours on opposite couches divulging the deepest worries and reservations on our minds. It was so good to be with my friend. It would have been so easy to take his hand and lead him upstairs and find comfort that we'd found before in one another's arms. And I must admit, he looked so. damn. good. Better than I'd ever seen him. He just seems to get handsomer with time.

But I didn't. And he didn't. And we didn't. The thing about falling for someone and being committed to someone - is that it doesn't make you a perfect, human specimen over night. You might still be tempted by the attractiveness or vibrancy or convenience of another. And therefore, I don't blame myself for feeling something for Jersey Boy. But I do commend myself for making the right choice. In another year, with another guy, I might have sabotaged a good potential relationship, by making the wrong choice. For fear of happiness. For fear of happiness and then loss. But not this time. This time, I was strong enough to choose the happiness. And to take the risks that come with it.

Though the mountains have very scarce cell phone reception and even less Internet, I did finally touch base with Mr. U. "So am I going to see you Monday?" he texted hopefully on Sunday afternoon right around the time I started to take off my ski layers at the end of a long day hitting the slopes. Despite our radio silence, and the emotional and physical distance I felt between us, the answer still came instantaneously and without thought. And what Mr. U still doesn't know is that instead of taking the $10 five hour bus ride that would've gotten me home far too late to see him, I bought a $131 train ticket for a 3 and 1/2 hour train ride (just an hour and a half shorter) at the last minute to ensure I got back in time to be with him before the work week began again. "Yes, I'm going to see you," I said when I called him to make our plans. "I'll spend the night too," I added. "Can't wait," he said.

I sort of hate myself for saying what I've said above. On the one hand it makes me feel like I don't deserve my unicorn. That I'd doubt what we might have or risk it or reject it. That I could ungratefully shun this gift that has appeared impossibly from the universe. For me. On the other hand, it makes me feel like I chose my unicorn. That I considered the alternatives. Really considered the alternatives that were readily available to me. What I wanted. How I felt. What was right for me. I didn't like Mr. Unicorn because he treated me like royalty or paid for all our dates. I liked him because he was a good person. Because he was always annoyingly and adorably freezing cold. Because he made me feel like I was home. Because he brought out the best version of myself and made me want that version to be even better. This was the real deal. And I was scared. To cross the point of no return.

I got off the train at Union station and found my way on the metro towards Mr. U's apartment. He met me at the nearest stop and helped me with my luggage. The night was miserably cold and slushy, the sleet pouring down icily on my face. Mr. U held an umbrella over both of us (though in reality it covered much more of me and very little of him). He pointed out every puddle in my path. He wasn't the dream I had envisioned on the train. He was more. So much more. Because he was real.

When we got to his apartment, he had wine and takeout Chinese waiting for us. After a long trip, he couldn't have guessed better, what I needed. We caught up with one another about our activities over the weekend, ate our food, drank our wine and snuggled on the couch.

Later, we climbed into bed and the rest just happened. I had made my decision. And there was no turning back. He had the power to hurt me now. To hurt me to my very core. The way I hadn't let myself be hurt in years. But when you find someone as great as that. Someone you could see yourself falling in love with - you take the risk. You place your bet. And you hope it pays off.

Holding each other close that night, I looked at Mr. U for a long time looking back at me. I could still see the sheen of the unicorn, somewhere beyond his stare and encircling the space around him. But more than a mythical creature, I saw him for what he was. Just a man. Not a perfect person or impossible icon but merely a good man. A good man who saw me for who I was. And was risking his heart and his bets, on a regular girl. And that girl was me.

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 11

2011-01-23T14:02:00.000-08:00

After a deliciously casual impromptu Monday night dinner, Tuesday came and went without pomp or circumstance. Then Wednesday arrived and with it my fifth date with Mr. Unicorn.

Earlier in the week, Mr. U shot me an email asking me if I might be up for trivia for our Wednesday night date.

I quickly shot him a reply which stated the following: "Yes trivia. And on that note, I think as we continue to date there is something you should know about me...I. Heart. Trivia. Like a lot. Like a lot a lot. It's scandalous how much I heart trivia. I might even like trivia more than your beard. They may have to duke it out for my attention this evening. How ever will I decide.?"

To which he countered: "I heart trivia too, and never do it. So let's make it happen. I'll be headed to the gym after work then we can meet after? Also, I'm beginning to be a little troubled by your obsession with my beard. Even starting to think you only like me for the beard. What would happen if I shaved it?"

And I answered: "Don't shave it. If you do, I make no promises. And don't worry, I don't like you just for your beard. A lot of it has to do with your biceps too...Now, how am I supposed to get anything done at the office after thinking of those ridiculously jacked arms being rocked at the gym? You tell me..."

He concluded the conversation with: "Easy-You're not. See you Wednesday."

SWOON. Enough said.

On Wednesday, I worked all day in a fog. Nothing seems to get done anymore on days when I'm going to see Mr. U. I'm restless all day long. It's a terrible distraction. Something's gotta give at some point - or I'll be happily coupled up but unhappily unemployed. This is a problem.

I was wearing a black dress, black patterned tights and black high heeled knee-high boots. I wear black a lot I must admit. But I look good in black. And can get away with being slightly more casual at work, when its all donned in a serious, unassuming black. So there you go.

I got out of work and hopped a cab to P street. I arrived at Stoney's a few minutes earlier than our scheduled meeting time. I headed upstairs, where they hold trivia night, and headed straight for the bar to get a cocktail. Let's just say it had been a really long week. And it was only Wednesday. After all, that's what hump day is for right? Mr. U shot me a text that said he was on his way. I asked him what he wanted to drink and he shot back "Bourbon and soda." I absolutely love that that is exactly what I had already ordered - for myself just moments earlier. I ordered another Makers and soda and literally the moment I went to hand over my credit card to the bartender, Mr. U was next to me out of nowhere, pushing my hand out of the way. "I'll put it down," he said casually. "Remember," he said. "Saturday is your day to pay. Not today." (On our last date, I had insisted he must let me plan and pay for a whole date during his birthday week, since his paying for everything was getting out of hand and making me feel guilty. It's not like I'm a starving artist. I'm a lawyer. I'm all for being wined and dined and being a traditionalist and letting a man take care of and provide for me. But still...I'm not a gold digging mooch either.)

By the time we arrived, there were no remaining seats. Stoney's was oober crowded. Mostly with seemingly younger 20-somethings. Perhaps even college students. Grad students. And some hill intern types. Not that we stood out by any means. It just seemed that the other participants had all night to do as they liked, hadn't been working all day and didn't have to schlep to work in the early morning. We on the other hand, had been and had to and didn't have the luxury of complete reckless, drunken abandon. Sigh.

It immediately became apparent to me, that Mr. U was exhausted. He looked like he hadn't slept much the last couple of nights and his conversational participation was sub par his usual enthusiasm. "Tired?" I asked him. "Utterly," he admitted. "But I'm really glad to be here with you." "Me, too," I said. "And don't worry about being lively," I added. "I'm tired too. We can just take it all in quietly and just be together." "Thanks for getting it," he said. "Of course," I said.

This may not seem like a momentous conversation or moment in our relationship. But I would have to disagree. When you can just be with someone, without any expectations or requirements or efforts or conversation or activity and be perfectly content - you've found something special. We didn't need to talk. We didn't need to interact. We just needed to just be with one another.

On the other hand, I'll admit, this was the first time I realized that Mr. Unicorn was, yes, still a unicorn, but also just a man. A man who worked. A man who got tired. A man who couldn't always give his 100% best game. He wasn't perfect. But he was there with me. Doing his darnedest, to muster up the energy to enjoy an evening of trivia with me. Which I appreciated. So we ordered some food to share and leaned against the wall, taking in the revelry of the other patrons. Then the trivia began...

At this point, while I hate to diss Stoney's, a great local watering hole, I cannot help but comment- that Stoney's trivia...is awful. They ask about one question every 25 minutes. And it goes on, and on, and on, and on...until the college students, with no responsibilities in sight, are completely wasted and screaming out profane and humorous responses to the proctor. Round 1. Round 2. Round 3. Round 4. Round 5. Round 6. Round 7. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? It was miserable. And endless. And Mr. U and I grew more and more fatigued with every 25 minute break in questions. And less patient. And less interested. Don't get me wrong, we were cheerful at first. We both have a great sense of geography and local DC knowledge. Mr. U has politics and history down. And I was able to show off my extensive background in literature, obsession with sports and pleasure in pop culture and entertainment. We made a good team. We weren't even close to the best of the bunch. But we were well above the average point scores. And there were only two of us versus dozens of teams of 4 people or more. We'll take it.

The highlight of the trivia experience came when they offered a bonus question with a prize of a free round of drinks for an exact, correct answer. The question: How many dairy cows are there in the entire state of Wisconsin, to the decimal point? To which I said: "I don't know. 5 million?" And Mr. U said: "No. No. More like 100,000." And then I thought, "There's more than that. And did you notice he said 'to the exact decimal point.' Which means there's a decimal point...Let's say...um...1.2 million." "Alright, 1.2. million it is," he agreed.

And wouldn't you know it-the answer was 1.2 million!!! Oh joy! How much fun was that. Forget passing the bar exam, this was exhilarating. Truly. We went nuts when he called our team name as having had the right answer. And that guy leading the trivia couldn't believe we got it either. Neither could the bar filled with people. It. was. awesome. After all friends, its the little things. Is it not? We proudly marched over to the bar and ordered our free drinks. Everything tastes better free. And we. were. ecstatic.

However, even the bonus round beverages couldn't keep us from wanting this trivia night to come to an end. And soon. For realz. Ergo, before it even ended, we skipped out on the final few rounds and headed out. Mr. U's apartment was on the walk between the bar and the metro (my destination to head home) and it was freezing. Besides that, it had been several days and now two dates, since the first night I'd gone home with him and we hadn't had an opportunity for "private time." Which we wanted. Forget being tired. (Some things are just worth rallying for. Just sayin'.)

We got back to Mr. U's apartment and spent some of that special time together. "You know I'll wait," he said. "Of course I'm gonna wait. But I gotta admit it's gonna be hard. Because you are so sexy. And I can't keep my hands off of you." "I know you can't," I said. (Which was an understatement). "But you're just going to have to," I said matter of fact. "Yes, of course," he said.

We decided the temptations were just to tempting and headed back out into the cold and towards the metro. I had a busy Thursday the next day ahead of me and then Friday I was headed out of town to go skiing for the long MLK weekend with my oldest and dearest friends. When Mr. U asked me when he'd see me again, I said I honestly didn't know. "What about Monday night when you get back?" he asked. I said I couldn't promise anything. I was traveling with a whole bunch of people and our group tried to be somewhat scheduled but also somewhat flexible and we'd have to decide as a group whether or not we'd ski Monday morning and what time we'd drive back from the mountains. I told him I'd keep him posted and I'd try to see him as soon as I got back if I could. Otherwise, we'd figure something out soon thereafter. He told me he'd miss me and to have a great time. I told him the same and once against descended the metro escalator.

As I left him this time, I had no doubts. No worries about where we stood or what he thought about me or what would happen with us in the nearest future. We'd been on five wonderful dates. Drinks, dinners, trivia, museums and house parties. Formal and informal. Public and private. One thing was constant throughout our time together - it was easy to be together, we wanted to be together, and something, somewhere, in the back of it all, there was this feeling like we were still on track for something special. We had only been dating for two weeks, but it already felt like two months.

I went home and packed for my vacation, excited to see my friends, content with the total confidence, that when I returned, Mr. U would be there waiting for me.

A Date with a Unicorn: Part 10

2011-01-20T03:13:00.001-08:00

When I arrived at the Commissary, he was already there, sitting on a stool at the bar facing me standing in the doorway. Dressed down in a sweater and jeans (and not the usual suit and tie) I don't think I'd ever seen him look so sexy.

"Do you want to sit at the bar or get a table" he asked me. "Let's do the bar," I suggested. "We're 'bar people' after all," I said. "We are indeed bar people," he agreed.

And there we sat. Bodies turned towards each other on our stools. He sat with his thighs framing the outsides of my own legs closed together, gently squeezing inward. He leaned over and rested his hands on my shoulders.

And there we sat for hours, our faces only inches apart, talking softly in the dimly lit restaurant. Only parting to give our server our orders and to eat. We both got Steak and Eggs, which I recall being good but don't really remember eating it. There was only him. And me. And being together.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about. How we'd spent our weekends. A few stories of past travels. I told him about my favorite bridge in Venice, "Ponte de Sospiri" - The Bridge of Sighs - a spot historically known for painful and beautiful tragedies. He told me how he'd gotten lost in a field once in Thailand and befriended a local man who drew him a map to find his way home. And I kept thinking that I could listen to him talk forever... Had anyone ever captivated my attention like this?

Already I could feel us getting closer. I was no longer being wined and dined and introduced to friends, while we dawned our best outfits and thought of clever things to say. Instead, we were meeting at a late hour, at the last minute, after long work days, to find comfort and a breath, in the company of one another. In our street clothes. At our bar stools. His thighs wrapped tightly around mine. His hands on my shoulders.

When it came time to pay, Mr. Unicorn once again refused to let me contribute. And as honored and grateful and touched I continued to be at his adamant and continued generosity, I was starting to feel guilty at his unselfishness. I finally spoke up: "You really aren't going to let me pay?" "No, he said." "Really, I said?" "Really," he said. "You have to let me pay for something," I insisted. "No, I don't." He was resolute. "Okay.." I pondered. "What about, if for your birthday, I get to plan a date for you. I do all the planning and all the paying. For one night. How about that?" "That would be nice," he said. So that was that.

Towards the end of the evening I admitted my hesitance at accepting his last minute dinner invitation. "I shouldn't have said yes to this tonight," I explained calmly. "It was so last minute." "And I shouldn't be seeing you this often, if I were acting the way I usually do with new girls," he countered. "Well, I've decided I'm not going to play games with you," I nervously continued. "You better not," he replied and smiled. He picked up his glass and clinked it against mine. "To no games," he said. "We just don't need them."

Then we finished our drinks and left the restaurant linked arm and arm and walked to my car. I gave him a ride back to his apartment, put the car in park and leaned over to kiss him. We continued slowly and sweetly and tenderly with one another for several minutes. "I don't want to say good night," he said. "Neither do I," I said. He squeezed my hand and got out. I watched him walk to his door and shut it behind him. Then I slowly drove down his street and exhaled a long breath. Lucky, lucky me, I thought. Lucky me. With a soft smile on my lips, musing dreamily on this wonderful man, I eventually found my way home through the quiet and empty streets of the city.

Guest Post: The Layers by Andy White

2011-01-20T01:37:00.000-08:00

*Finally, some male perspective on this, my undeniably neurotic, female blog. @andywhitedc is a DC resident, author and social media manager. In response to my frustrations with dating and recent Mr. Unicorn posts we've shared some lively discussions regarding the apparent wealth of eligible men in DC that my female cohorts and I are overlooking and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the problem may instead be that some of us girls aren't all that we are cracked up to be. Some of the time, anyways. Please check it out, comments are always appreciated and thanks to Andy for being my first guest post. Enjoy.*

THE LAYERS

By Andy White

The layers is a bold move. It's an elaborate routine devised solely to avoid paying the check, and to carry it out successfully requires timing and a flagrant disregard for both the truth and your fellow man. It has only happened to me once and my cap is still doffed in her general direction.

The hour of 7:30pm is about 25 minutes too early to play the 'it's late' card. You could hold off for those additional minutes, keep nodding and smiling and pretending to give a shit, but sometimes enough is absolutely enough. Even on a second date, apparently. Look outside for a moment. It's DC. It's winter. It's cold. What to do? Oh, look, you have a number of items around you: hat, scarf, coat. In other words, you have layers to attend to.

"Do you mind if I start the process of putting on my layers now, I have quite a number to attend to?" she said.

Through pursed lips I managed a cold smile and a half-nod, and the charade immediately began. The layers, they indeed began to be placed upon the body. The body that up until 25 seconds earlier I did indeed somewhat covet.

The process of attending to the layers - of which I will readily admit there were several - lasted a good minute. Maybe a minute 15 seconds at a push. I watched as she put them on, and she watched me watching her. Giving her the benefit of the doubt and the sheer number of items now adorned, that took us right up to 7:32pm. She looked somewhat fatigued following her exertion. It was late.

"It's late," she said.

Again, the pursed lips and the half-nod from yours truly.

"It's cold out," she said delivering a succinct barrage of small talk that was at the same time admirable and somewhat obvious given her multiple layers. "I'm going to head on out then," she said curtly, already moving towards the door that led out to the cold and freedom.

I looked down on the table at the wine and the conspicuous lack of a check. Then I looked up again. She was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Said thoughts ran the gamut, but tended to circumnavigate the word 'bitch'.

Five minutes later the check arrived. It was 7:40pm. It was late.

A Date With A Unicorn: Part 9

2011-01-19T10:19:00.000-08:00

After my first overnight with Mr. Unicorn, I wasn't supposed to see him again until the following Wednesday. Once again, I loved that we planned all our future dates, in person, at the end of our currently going rendezvous. It made things so much easier. No wondering. No worrying. I could go on with the rest of my life - work, friends, fun, downtime - and still know that I was going to see him again and already be confident that he liked me enough to see me yet again. If we hadn't planned our next date, I wouldn't have had the answers to those questions so decidedly in advance. Instead, it was all-No stress. No drama. Easy. Everything with Mr. Unicorn had been easy. Did he create this relaxed interaction between us all on his own? Or was it the combination of our certainty for one another matched with our full, balanced and busy individual lives, separate from each other, that made it such an uncomplicated joy to date this man?

When asked by a fellow tweep how much texting and calling was taking place between Mr. U and I when we weren't physically together (I believe in an attempt to gauge the "normalcy" or lack thereof of the amount of texting and calling that was going on between himself and a new girl he was dating) I could honestly answer - next to none. We'd spoken on the phone once to confirm plan details the night before a date, texted a few "Did you make it home okay?" and "Hope you're having a good day," and had a few flirty email interchanges while at work involving some innocent jokes about showing each other our "briefs" i.e. legal briefs (or not) but overall the total amount of conversation was extremely moderate in the several day time spans between our dates. We were opting instead to tell each other about our days apart on our actual dates which allowed us to let each other live our lives mostly uninterrupted in between.

All this considered, I was very surprised to find an email from Mr. U on Monday afternoon (after a weekend without contact and a date planned for Wednesday) that cheerfully and briefly updated me about his recent going-ons, hoping I had been well, asking me if I might like to do trivia for our Wednesday night date and then suggesting the following: "If you're stuck in the office for a while, and want to meet me for a late dinner text me."

Hmm. What's this? A last minute date. This was SO not our M.O. This change in our pattern of planning reminded me that Mr. U was just another guy and that we were just dating and how was I supposed to act again when I was dating just another guy? Should I go out with him last minute on a Monday when we had plans for Wednesday? Was this spending too much time together too soon having had a date Friday overnight through late Saturday morning then having dinner dates Monday and Wednesday too? It seemed like a lot.

I did what any smart, single, social media conscious (or addicted) girl would do to solve a problem like this. I picked up my phone and sent out a distress signal to my tweeps: "I need girl advice! Mr. U and I made plans to see each other again this Wednesday but..." "He's just emailed me and wants to do dinner tnight! In addition to Wednesday I guess." "Too much too soon? Too last minute? Or should I just go with it?"

I knew the blogging and tweeting community was really and truly a community. But I never expect the flood of helpful responses that I immediately received and the dialogue that ensued amongst the lot of us.

@whatagrandworld: My advice is not that it's too much too soon, but here's where a little bit of game playing is okay.

Me: @whatagrandworld ooh now I'm intrigued? Game playing how? Do go on..."

@SassyMarmalade: I think you should tell him you have other plans!

@mepper: if it's beyond 2nd date and you really like him and you're free then it's fine...

@IntrigueMe: It's not a "last minute" date, it's just a "casual" date. Just something more low-key.

@KellyAlysia: don't play games, do what feels right.

@WashingTina No games, do what you want, be yourself and just go with it.

Me: I'm leaning towards waiting to remind myself and him that I HAVE A LIFE!!!!
Me: i haaaaate that Im not getting any work done!!! #justbemyboyfriendalready so I can get back to normal!!!!!

Me: But I must admit I'm dying to see him.
@whatagrandworld Hahah I'm not saying I'm much better, but I love that nervous feeling. Until about the hour before the date. Then it sucks.
Me: hahaha me too!

@TheOceanFactory guy perspective- he's excited to see you. And wants to. Reality- sometimes things take time...
Me:@TheOceanFactory yay guy perspective thanks! know im being lame girl but ive actually been a coldhearted atty for yrs. Never expected this!
@TheOceanFactory: exciting I'm sure! Important not to lose who you are. I can be v aggressive but believe somethings you have to LET happen
Me: But its fun to be excited as long as i leave the insanity for my gurrls in talk and bring a rationality to my acts
@TheOceanFactory But do what feels right to you. Trust your instincts. Don't overthink it!
Me: @TheOceanFactory ok i wont.

Okay...............
W-O-W. H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. I had no idea what an INSANE, TOOL, I SOUNDED LIKE FUSSING OVER THIS POTENTIAL DATE UNTIL JUST NOW. I NEED TO CHILL THE FUCK OUT.

Ultimately, the conversations came down to a couple different line of thoughts.

(1) Was it presumptuous for Mr. Unicorn to think that I would be available last night to hang out with him? Didn't I have a life before him? Didn't I still have a life? Shouldn't he think that my time was precious and full and that in order to see me he needed to plan dates well in advance as common courtesy would insist?

(2) Even if his last minute date wasn't presumptuous and instead was appropriate and only well-intentioned, wasn't it a good thing to slow things down, not go too fast and to allow ourselves to miss each other and feel that excitement of anticipation while waiting for the next meeting to arrive?

(3) Perhaps I should be playing hard to get and not show too much interest too soon lest he think I was too desperate or too serious.

(4) If I wanted to see him, I should just see him. Because we wanted to see each other.

(5) Girls think way too much about way too much.

(6) One thing was clear- I really, really, really, really liked this guy. A lot. Like, really. A. lot.

I hadn't made up my mind about seeing Mr. Unicorn. I don't know why I was so conflicted. I think that everything had just been moving soooo fast. And everything had been soooo perfect. And I began to worry that if I made this decision or that decision that I would somehow screw it up or ruin it. I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After hours of considering the options, I still hadn't gotten back to Mr. Unicorn to accept or decline his dinner invitation. In hindsight, this was somewhat rude and not at all like me. I pride myself on my strict adherence to rules of etiquette and constant intent to be considerate of others, aquaintances and strangers alike. I left the office without a reply. I received another message from Mr. U: "Ok-heading out now - text or call later if you want to meet for dinner later." I wondered if he wondered what my hold up was. I wondered if he was annoyed that I hadn't gotten back to him. But still I remained bent on silent indecision. I walked to the metro and road the redline 6 stops. I walked 100 steps up the broken metro escalator and stepped out into the cold slightly out of breath. I climbed onto the bus and sat in the back my cheek pressed against the window. The bus rumbled up the hill and came to a halt. Back into the frigid air, I slipped along the icy streets and made my way towards my front porch steps. Why did I feel so unsettled?

As I walked through my front door into the dark house I had a moment of clarity in the cold, empty silence. "I want to see him. I'm going to see him. Screw the rules." I fumbled around with my coat and purse in the black foyer trying to find my phone. I quickly sent off a text. "Yes. Dinner. I'm in. I'll already be in the U Street/Logan Circle area meeting a friend earlier. So... 9:15 somewhere around there?" He immediately responded "9:15-perfect. What about Commissary?" "Love it!" I said. "You've got yourself a date."

About 7 hours later I sent out another tweet...

"Out and about, but am I with #MrUnicorn?"

And I was.

A Date With A Unicorn: Part 8

2011-01-13T16:09:00.000-08:00

When Mr. Unicorn asked me to come home with him, I was initially hesitant. Thinking it was way too soon. That this romance had taken on a tornado-like fury and needed to subside to something more manageable. But then - something stood out it my mind. Earlier in the evening, while I'd been busy getting to know "the girlfriends" I'd overheard Mr. Unicorn talking about me to one of his friends.

"She is so fuckin smart!" I heard him say as if with pride. I looked over my shoulder at the pair of them. "She is so fuckin smart," he said again, shaking his head and smiling. I don't know why this seemed so important to me at the time, but those words rang in my ear. She's so fuckin smart. She...is...so...fuckin...smart.

Maybe because "smart" isn't the kind of quality you expect a guy to look for or care about in a hook-up or a fling and therefore it was logical that Mr. U didn't view me that way. Maybe because so many other guys often seem intimidated or disinterested or disapproving of the fact that I'm a lawyer. And the fact that I often display all the other characteristics that often come with that title - opinionated, engaged, passionate, talkative, independent, ambitious, contentious, stubborn, hard-working, busy and sometimes even brash. Or maybe it was because here he was bragging to his friend about me and that's what he chose to say: "She's so fuckin smart." I don't know whether it was the intellectual ego stroke or the intuition that this guy liked me for the right reasons, but I said yes. "Yes, let's go," I said.

We went back to Mr. U's apartment, the site of the infamous New Year's Eve kiss and didn't waste much time. If I were less of a prude (I'm not), I might be inclined to give you more details (I'm not). I can honestly and satisfactorily report back, however, that I stuck to my word, and he stuck to his word. There's was just enough fooling around to confirm our baffling chemistry and not much more. While he wasn't a perfect gentleman, he was, to his credit, reasonably well behaved. So there you have it.

In the morning, I woke up and looked down at the shirt he had given me to wear. "What?" I seemed to shout inside my own thoughts. "What? am I wearing?" I hit him with a pillow. "Does this shirt say 'Booty Squad'" I yelled at him incredulously. "Am I or am I not wearing a shirt that says muther fuckin 'Booty Squad'?" "No," he laughed, and pulled the t-shirt down flat so it became easier to read. It said, "Footy Squad." Something to do with a British soccer or rugby team. "Oh," I said. "Sorry." We laughed. "I guess you're awake," he said. "And I know I'm awake." "Breakfast?" he asked. "Coffee," I groaned.

And then, this man, who couldn't get any more perfect (in my eyes) did the unthinkable. He got up. Got dressed. And went out - in the cold - to get me coffee. And breakfast. (To any guy readers that are hoping this guy stops being so great because he's making you look bad - sorry - but it can't be helped. This is just un-fucking-believable).

He came back with breakfast and coffee and a paper and we sat up in bed and did crosswords, sang along to music playing on his laptop and talked and kissed a little more. It was perfect. It felt so normal to wake up there and just hang out with him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At the same time though, it still felt as though the universe had shifted. Things were different. I could tell. To all those people who say that being physical with someone or going home with someone too soon doesn't matter or change anything is wrong. Not because this act or that act was done. Or not. It has nothing to do with any of that. It's just a deeper kind of intimacy. A familiarity. A closeness. What some one's place looks like. What books they read. Wearing their clothes. Knowing what they sleep in. Sleeping next to them. He wasn't my boyfriend. But it felt like that. What people in a relationship would do. Wake up. Drink coffee. Read the paper. And that is what I want. Obviously. I'm not trying to play cool here. Obviously. I clearly think that's where this is leading. But we aren't there yet. And we aren't supposed to be there yet. And why were we rushing it? With the exponential increase in intimacy, we lost some of that electric mystery and newness. I felt less giddy and more comfortable. Less excited and more content.

"What are you thinking about," he asked me. "Oh, just about last night," I answered. "Still not sure whether or not it was a good idea." "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "I'm glad you came." "It was nice," I insisted. "It really was. I just hope it was the right thing." He looked at me worried. "It was definitely hot!" I assured him. "It was definitely hot!" he echoed back. "We know we have chemistry," I concluded. "Oh, we have chemistry," he agreed. And then I kissed him.

Later on, Mr. Unicorn walked me to the metro and kissed me goodbye. "When I'm I going to see you again?" he asked me. "Wednesday," I said. "Till Wednesday then," he said. As I made my way down the escalator, I watched Mr. U walking away from me on the sidewalk freshly dusted with snow. I couldn't help but wonder if staying the night had changed the way he saw me, or where we were headed. I could only hope that it hadn't and wait - with bated breath - till Wednesday then.