Archive | November, 2014

A Glimpse into a Highliy Desirable Future

28 Nov

I wanted to invite him over when I was doing well. When I didn’t have  a a cold, and my boy was not feverish, and I hadn’t had a crazy day at work and sat in traffic for hours. I wanted him to come over when I was home alone, when I could cook us a fancy meal and open up a bottle of wine, and wear make up and a flimsy dress, and light candles, and feel attractive.

But at the end of the day I had, feeling defeated and lonely, when he asked if I wanted a hug, I said yes. Yes to a hug in sweats. Yes with the dishes unwashed. Yes without makeup. Yes with checking in on my boy every half hour to make sure his fever wasn’t going up again.

He wore sweats too. And when he came in I just held him, for a long time, standing by the door. His hands were on my back, touching my shoulders, then in my hair, and when I pulled back, he pulled me in for a kiss, a nice, warm, long one, by the open front door.

Later, on the sofa, we sat and chatted about our day. His daughter, almost two, had also had a fever and been sent home from daycare. Now she was with her mom. I told him about my boy, and the driving him to his grandparents in traffic, and going to work, and visiting M, and wanting to fix things that couldn’t be fixed.

Then he said he was hungry and I whipped something up and went in to check on my boy while he ate, and then we were on the sofa again, and he was rubbing my feet, and his touch was so soft and tender, that I wanted to cry.

With a sick child in the other room, with sweats, and no makeup, we went into my room to have the most comforting quiet sex you could possibly have, with someone you’ve only known for a couple of weeks, and do not allow yourself to fall for just yet. I had planned for alcohol and sexy outfits and fireworks, but as we lay in bed later, holding each other, I realized we both still had our socks on, and that was just fine.

I had an image then, of life with a partner. For the last two years I’ve been pretty much convinced that living with a partner was not for me. That a boyfriend would suit me fine, but that I would always need my own space, that I would never like someone enough to want to share my space with them. Now, I had a glimpse of a life, where things were not always sexy and glamorous. But how amazing it would feel to have someone there with me to share the ups and downs, and have quiet sex with, while my sick son was sleeping off his fever.

This was Wednesday. And in case you’re wondering, last night was my night off, and it was complete with dining, and wining and sexy outfits and candles. And it was delicious! But something about lying on the sofa with him, and having him rub my feet with the fuzzy socks on and tell me about his day, was nonetheless spectacular.


Fourth Date Boxing Match

23 Nov

He said first dates are like the first round of a boxing match. You’re pretty much just sizing each other up, taking a good look at your opponent and trying to figure them out. It’s only during the second round that the fight actually begins. So I guess that means we’re boxing now.

Yesterday was our fourth date, and it was a stay-at-home-and-watch-a-movie date, the kind where you never get to the end of the movie, because you end up naked, wrapped in each others arms, sleepy and satisfied.

I’m going to call him D here.

He’s divorced, has twin girls that are almost two, and he has them half the week, so he know what it means to raise children. My first impression of him, during our first chat online, even before talking to him on the phone, was that he was decent and sensitive. The kind of guy that tells you that he likes you, but doesn’t try to kiss you on a first date. That asks if you’re enjoying yourself and cares about your answer. That brings you flowers when you invite him to dinner and a movie at your place, and doesn’t try anything until he’s certain you’ll be into it. The kind that doesn’t give you empty compliments, but says things that seem real and sincere. That says thank you at the end of an amazing make out session. The kind you defeinitely want to have a fifth date with.

As always with me, things are moving quickly, and I don’t feel like pacing myself. We’ve been going out for only a week, and I’ve already seen him four times (and seeing him again tomorrow). I love this feeling of walking around in a haze, and smiling to myself, and daydreaming about him. And this time, somehow, I’m not horribly nervous either. Sure I’m a little shy, sure I’m excitable, but something about his manner puts me at ease. It feels safe somehow to start liking him.

And I am.


14 Nov

No one here to tell me this is going to be alright. Or to just shut me up and have sex with me so I don’t have to think about it. Maybe it’s better this way. Painful but better.

Sitting in her room by her bed, on a really bad day, post chemo, nausious and achy. I wanted to give her this big speech I had planned, but I couldn’t.

A few years back, before her mother passed away, I remember a night at the hospital, urging her to tell her mom anything she felt she needed to say. “You don’t want to regret not having said something important.” And here I am giving myself the same advice now, unable to follow it. Because when I see her, all I want is to make her somehow magically better. I can’t even begin to say stuff where the subtext is: you might not get better.

But I want her to know. I need her to know that she has been there for me at every single important summit in my life. That I have no childhood friends, but she is the closest to it. That she is my constant. That she’s been there consistantly througout my horrible military service, my stupid crushes, my very long relationship with BD, the moving abroad, the returning home, the yearning to get married and have children and the fear that He did not love me enough, the wedding, the birth, the realization that He did not love me enough, the horribly painful breakup, the career change, the raising my boy, the writing this blog, the moving to a new home, the dating, with its ups and downs… She’s been there all along. Like a rock that I could lean on. Someone I could tell anything to, and never risk being judged. Someone who always looked out for me, who chose my side 100% percent of the time, even if I was wrong, who remembered all the important dates and kept in touch even when I was too distracted to call, who’d listen to me bitch and answer: that sucks honey, I’m sorry, without trying to fix it. I want her to know how much I love her, how much our friendship means to me. How no matter what happens, she will always be my best friend and I will never forget her.

And that’s not all. I know life has been rough on her. I know that none of us know what the future holds. But I believe that we are put on this Earth to become the best version of oursleves that we can be, and I want her to know that I think she’s really evolved. She’s absolutely nothing like that girl I met 15 years ago. She may be sick, but she’s a much newer and improved version of herself in many ways. More trusting, more forgiving, more open to see and accept the good in people and in the world, less comprimising, more realistic, and somehow not less hopeful.

I think about little things, like the way she slices apples meticulously to make a perfect pie, and the way she jokes about the holocaust or teases boys and how she used to be so rough aroung the edges that people didn’t know how to react. And how she lived a street away from me when we were students, and we’d walk to class together in the morning, stopping for coffee. And how her roomate wrote her a love song and she freaked out and knocked on my door at 3 am and spent the night on the sofa.

I will always remember cooking and baking, and eating and chatting. Parties at her parents’ huge house, and making fun of everyone and everything, and long distance crushes and disambiguation and douche canoes and rising to the occasion. Dancing at a club. Learning how to drink at a local bar with bar tenders that hit on us and cut our bill in half consistently. Bachelorette parties. Deaths. Births. Sitting together with our closest friends and forcing ourselves to say one good thing that happened to us this month, even when it was hard to think of something. We didn’t do that in our last meeting. I want us to do that again now.

And receiving the news that she was sick, and consoling J as she cried, telling her that this was nothing but a bump in the road. A hell of bump this is.

Whatever happens. M, I love you. What a chicken shit way to tell you that.

Demons and Instant Relationships

5 Nov

instant relationship

The demons in my head have been torturing me these last couple of days. This ALWAYS happens to me when I begin liking a guy. I know none of my feelings have anything whatsoever to do with reality, and they are all part of a huge panic attack, and yet they feel entirely valid.

He’s not into me the way I am into him.

He senses my keeness, it’ll drive him away. Better to play hard to get.

I shouldn’t have said that / done that.

He probably doesn’t even want to see me tonight, but feels bad cancelling last minute.

Truthfully, he thinks I’m fat, he’s just too nice to say it.

He’s hiding some big secret, which once revieled will hurt me deeply.

And the worst one, which is also my strongest self doubt when it comes to relationships: Eventually, I will fall in love with him, as I so easily do, and he will not love me back. Then I will get hurt. Better off back out now, before I sink deeper into this stupid affair.

One of my biggest problems in life is that I have no patience. If you’ve been following my blog, you know this is a recurring motif. I don’t really want to date anybody. I want an instant relationship, one that you pour out of a bag into a cup, mix with hot water and it simply comes into being. I want a man that knows me, knows all my triggers and how to console me, and how to touch me. I want him to love me, the way you love someone you’ve been with for a while, deeply, a kind of love that provides security, the kind of love that allows for mistakes to be made. There is no room for mistakes in the game of courting.

This man I’ve been seeing, I like him. I’d like to get to know him. He’s doing everything by the book and it isn’t enough. If he doesn’t text me in the morning, it’s a sign that he doesn’t want to see me anymore. If he does text, but the text is too plain or short, that’s a sign he felt obligated to text and had nothing he wanted to say. His only option is to constantly be super-romantic and court the fuck out of me, and then, I’ll probably think he’s coming on too strong.

I have no patience for this. It’s too fucking hard to be “on” all the time, to overthink everything. I want to just be. To not think. And the only time I’m able to do that is when I sleep with him. But then after I do, I wonder what that says to him, and how if I were really interested in him, I shouldn’t have slept with him on the second date, and how now he’ll lose interest.

Oh man, I exhaust myself sometimes.

Ode to Online Dating

2 Nov

I met him online, we chatted for a while

He likes awesome music and knows how to make me smile

Spent hours on the phone with him, like I was 16

Sent him links to songs I like, stared hours at the screen

We spent an awesome evening, playing music at the park

My heart skipped a beat when he kissed me in the dark

I know I barely know him, I should probably take it slow

Instead I just forget myself and go with the flow

My phone hums, my heart skips a beat

It might be the man I’m waiting to meet

He’ll send me a short silly nonchalant text

I’ll read between the lines, and figure out the rest

My phone hums, he wants us to meet

Tonight at the park, my heart skips a beat

I’ll talk about all kinds of things he doesn’t understand,

He’ll play me that song I like, he’ll take me by the hand

I spent the night at his place, I wore that skimpy dress

My face and hair were perfect but my heart was a mess

I know I barely know him, I should probably take it slow

Instead I just forget myself and go with the flow

My phone hums, my heart skips a beat

It might be the man I’m waiting to meet

He’ll send me a short silly nonchalant text

I’ll read between emoticons, and figure out the rest

My phone hums, I check it right away

Been hours since he wrote me last, I’m going insane

I’ll read between the lines, I’ll see what isn’t there

I’ll answer with a winky face, not showing that I care