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It is 5:59pm.
I haven’t heard from The Principal since Monday night. I had called him, because he’d said he would text me during my Monday Patio night with Chloe then call on Tuesday night when I was going to be free. But that bitch Chloe had to go and get herself a date so plans changed. I called him instead assuming he would then text me Tuesday as he had previously said he would do on Monday. Nada.
The whole intricate planning of communication was brought on by our Friday night conversation, a.k.a fight. I told The Principal I was unhappy by how little we communicated during the week. He attempted to brush it off. I got sarcastic. He got pissed at my sarcasm in another futile attempt to brush off the matter at hand. Then, he mentioned how I could do better at the communication part.
Summary: If I wanted more out of our relationship I have to do more about it as he cannot bear the responsibility of making me feel like I’m loved.
Result: I stopped talking to him. Decided this relationship was over and went to bed planning on telling him to eff off in the morning when I would potentially be less vicious.
In the morning I woke up alone and half hoped he had packed up and went back to New Mexico. But there he was, looking sheepish and sitting on my couch. I gave him the evil eye as I went about my business, but he kept being sheepish and nice and really kissing my ass. We had a brief talk. He spouted a few basic feelings, which I hardened my heart against because really? Basic feelings from him are like jewels, but I have to scratch his eyes out for them? Doesn’t he want to tell me he loves me and misses me on a regular basis? (More than once a month or in passing occasionally?)
We went Christmas shopping and he kissed more ass. I recognized it as nothing more than trying to get into my good graces, but that tiny part of me was glad he would put in any kind of effort. By the end of the day I softened slightly. We hung out like friends. Is this what we really are? Just meant to be friends? Because friends don’t have to have lots of communication, they can just pick up where ever and have a good time.
It is now 6:20pm. No call. No text.
Last minute I decided to get dolled up and attend company Christmas Party with The Principal last Saturday. He told me I looked great. He did not pull me into his arms and tell me how beautiful I was and how he was going to love showing me off... I made a mental note that I do not live in a romance novel.
At the Christmas Party I walk in on his arm in my flowy dress. Work Guy eyes me. I feel beautiful.
Chloe met up with us and I proceeded to having a great time ...
6:27pm. He calls. He sounds pleased by his effort.
He mentions my “girl’s night.” I don’t mention his lack of texting as promised...
6:48pm. He tries to get off phone. My fault for typing and giving him an opening to talk about my book.
The Principal moves on to talking about projects at his house. The conversation goes nowhere. He’s just talking to talk. I try to put in few comments, get into what he’s talking about. I fail.
7:01pm. He says he’s going to “get off the phone now” to take his dog on a walk. Would I like him to call me tomorrow? Ummmm… I replied he could call me if he wanted to talk to me. He laughed. I sighed. We said goodnight.
No I miss you. No I love you.
Just disconnection.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The guy from work.
I have been very mindful to keep away from people at work. Never at ease with making new friends I have kept my nose to computer and stayed away from making work relationships. Many reasons for this:
1. I’m shy.
I know this seems silly to those who know me or read this, but I am actually a very shy person. Since junior high I have been judged as stuck up or superior and ridiculed. Stay away and I can say they don’t know me. If they get to know me they can find something real to bitch about that will hurt more.
2. I have to make a paycheck.
If I become uncomfortable with a work relationship it can interfere with my work. Meaning I might escape, i.e. quit, or be fired for poor performance. People might see me as unprofessional and I won’t advance.
3. I have more important things to think about.
Work is what I do to make ends meet, not the purpose of my existence. I want to leave, and carry on with life not worry about what so-and-so will think of me.
My reasons are based on how I will be perceived… but let’s face it, how people perceive you is how they treat you and when you spend 40 fucking hours a week with them you kind of want to be treated well.
So, a few months ago we had a new batch of sales people come through. One late afternoon of training, when they were left to their own devices, waiting for five o’clock to roll around, one guy comes up to my desk to chat. Five minutes into the conversation I got a call and excused myself thinking he would go away. No such luck. He waited. I wanted to kick him.
I endured a 30 minute conversation of smiling and trying to be polite. My face felt like it was going to fall apart. The following afternoon repeated the painful experience and I felt like all the guys around me were laughing. After this particular suitor got into the job he left me alone and all was right with the world again.
Until one day in the break room... I was getting some water and he approached asking about my book. This thing is nothing but a pain in my ass.
“I heard you are writing a book about dating.” He says.
“Uh…”
“Someone told me you are writing a book.”
“Yes… started it about internet dating. Experiences and stuff.”
I am super eloquent when caught off guard. I proceeded in half sentences about why I began to write this failure of a journal and then dislodged myself from the conversation so I could crawl back to my cube. I thought it was over and vowed never to find myself in the break room with him again.
Less than ten minutes later I get an email explaining that he heard about my book through conversations he’d had with co-workers regarding his own dating experiences. They suggested he write a book about all the crazies he encountered. The subject came up that I was doing so. Who the fuck is discussing me? I thought.
We emailed back and forth, casually, it seemed. I talked about the Principal and the start of our LDR. He talked about the long term relationships he’d endured and how he was approaching dating now (not internet yet) mixed in with trivialities of life in general. Very disarming.
He gave me his number more than twice, which I deleted upon receiving. One day however, he mentioned a short story based on a photo taken at work he’d written and I gave him my personal email. I also let him read my blog.
The plot thickens.
He would email me at home and I would check to see if he had. Bad business. Everything was very mundane and normal until he went out of town, emailed me drunk how much he liked me and I had to be professional, shoot him down. He took it with stride. Apologized for putting me in that position, etc, etc. The helping factor was that I’d learned he’d fooled around with at least two other people at work and called him out on it.
Now, I realize this guy is a womanizer and using my own ego against me. By confessing how much he likes me, as a person, he has my soft side, but I understand the confession was all about getting to the soft side so he can get to every side.
I also know I love the Principal. My Catholic guilt is severely kicking my ass because while I love the Principal I enjoy getting the attention of Work Guy.
Work Guy emails me about his dates and how he picks up on girls. It happens to be hilarious, but I try to be supportive. By constantly asking him what he wants I feel I am pushing him toward a truth: He doesn’t know what he wants.
I have tried to explain to him that if he understands he is pursuing women to have fun, be light hearted with, then he will attract such women. But if he is looking for a relationship his methods are all wrong. Fun party girls are not going to give him depth and commitment. When told that, he’s content with not being ready for a relationship after his two consecutive long term girlfriends. However, it just doesn’t add up.
Becoming his friend through the safe medium of email allowed me to see his humor and intelligence. It was just too bad the dude is a Lech. He messed around with a hot Scottsdale looking workmate so she could get back at her estranged lover, who is another workmate. Then he screwed a young workmate who happens to be the company gossip mill… All the while hitting on random girls at Target and the grocery store. Goal: How many numbers he can get.
I do admire his energy. He seems to be able to go out with multiple girls all the time. It makes me tired just to think about it. All the getting to know you shit and being yourself, but not offending anybody that usually makes my back hurt, he seems to thrive on.
At first, I felt like I was making a friend. I looked forward to emailing him, laughing at his responses. And it felt safe. I wasn’t actually face to face with him, nor interested in him as anything other than a friend/co-worker, even after his drunken email.
One afternoon I was emailing him about going to Scottsdale to pick up a chair the Principal had ordered. He lived “right around the corner” and would meet me for a drink if I was up for it. At the time he had been dating a girl for 5 weeks so I didn’t think it was odd for two co-workers to get a drink. (Yes, I know I am stupid.)
We had bar food and a couple beers. It was the first time I had a face to face conversation with him since he asked about my book in the break room. I doubted my sanity that this was a good thing
for me to be doing…
Casually, but quite obviously, he checked out the waitress. I had to snort. She was a waitress in her thirties, severely underweight and a little worse for the wear. I said as much and he was appalled. She couldn’t be that old! I gave him my interpretation of waitresses of that age. She probably had kids, and why the hell was she waitressing? Not that it’s a bad profession, but how do her goals match up with his?
Work Guy was further taken aback. This was some sort of freaking revelation for him. Should he actually look beyond a tight ass and consider the shit that could potentially come out of a woman’s mouth which might make her enjoyable to just be around? The next day he was all over the ideology that he should not date waitresses… But hostesses were still game. They exhibited some class, right?
After dinner we half hugged like friends with leprosy and drove away.
We discussed his affinity for socks. He wears colorful, wacky socks and makes sure to match them to his outfit. If he wasn’t such a womanizer I would assume him gay. I also had to insert how my socks rarely match and are often inside out.
A week later, owing him money from the first night, we got sushi on my dime. I was determined to make it even because I didn’t want him thinking we went out and he bought my dinner. It wasn’t as laid back this time. I was uncomfortable and it felt like a date. Dangerous ground as I have a boyfriend in another state who only occasionally talks to me.
Work Guy gave me fuzzy socks to mix match at my pleasure. It was a nice gesture… but a date like gesture and I told him so. Backing off he shrugged and said he couldn’t not buy them for me, he laughed when he saw them. I brushed it off.
I have a tendency to be naive about male attention…
At the end of the night we walked out to our cars, he gave me a hug and looked into my eyes. I patted his shoulder, said no (to that “I might try to kiss you look”) and then complimented his sweater. Right there in the parking lot he took off his sweater and gave it to me. Then said goodnight and walked off in his undershirt.
I drove home, repeatedly telling myself it was merely a friendly act of giving me a sweater he’d bought for $5 at Old Navy and not a romantic gesture of any sort. But it smelled good and manly. So I put it on.
The next night I went over to Angie’s house for beer and girl talk. Her relationship with Buff Guy is going exceedingly well. They are in love, he is swooning over her and she feels, for the first time, like she is truly adored. I love her so I didn’t bitch slap her. It is impossible for me to be jealous when I know she deserves every bit of this great time she’s having.
I talked about Work Guy casually, but her ears perked up about the socks and sweater. I just hung my head and cried out “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Her look had said it all. What was I doing? It was inappropriate to be emailing and sometimes texting a guy who is not my boyfriend.
Angie, always quick to counsel me, jumps in that I wouldn’t be seeking this attention if I was getting what I needed from the Principal. (One of the reasons she is my best friend is because she constantly tells me how I’m gorgeous and could have my pick of any men. She’s delusional, but I like it.) She also gets real testy whenever I talk about the communication deficiencies I have with the Principal.
So, I decided I no longer needed to talk to Work Guy. It was detrimental to my relationship and I could no longer call it innocent. I texted him that our friendship was inappropriate and we should not communicate outside of work nor email about non-work related things. He was very understanding.
The next day at work was tense. I didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at me. He left early and I felt a wave of relief that it was over.
Monday morning I ran into him in the break room. There were a couple other people there, all chatting, and Work Guy looked like he’d rather have hot pokers shoved up his arse than try to wade through coworkers to get his tea. I tried to be casual. It was so awkward. When I got back to my desk, I emailed him that he needn’t feel uncomfortable around me. I hoped he wouldn’t be one of those guys who hates a girl after she rejects his advances…
He liked that I called him out on his acting like a ninny. We joked. Relief. I wouldn’t need to find a new job after all...
1. I’m shy.
I know this seems silly to those who know me or read this, but I am actually a very shy person. Since junior high I have been judged as stuck up or superior and ridiculed. Stay away and I can say they don’t know me. If they get to know me they can find something real to bitch about that will hurt more.
2. I have to make a paycheck.
If I become uncomfortable with a work relationship it can interfere with my work. Meaning I might escape, i.e. quit, or be fired for poor performance. People might see me as unprofessional and I won’t advance.
3. I have more important things to think about.
Work is what I do to make ends meet, not the purpose of my existence. I want to leave, and carry on with life not worry about what so-and-so will think of me.
My reasons are based on how I will be perceived… but let’s face it, how people perceive you is how they treat you and when you spend 40 fucking hours a week with them you kind of want to be treated well.
So, a few months ago we had a new batch of sales people come through. One late afternoon of training, when they were left to their own devices, waiting for five o’clock to roll around, one guy comes up to my desk to chat. Five minutes into the conversation I got a call and excused myself thinking he would go away. No such luck. He waited. I wanted to kick him.
I endured a 30 minute conversation of smiling and trying to be polite. My face felt like it was going to fall apart. The following afternoon repeated the painful experience and I felt like all the guys around me were laughing. After this particular suitor got into the job he left me alone and all was right with the world again.
Until one day in the break room... I was getting some water and he approached asking about my book. This thing is nothing but a pain in my ass.
“I heard you are writing a book about dating.” He says.
“Uh…”
“Someone told me you are writing a book.”
“Yes… started it about internet dating. Experiences and stuff.”
I am super eloquent when caught off guard. I proceeded in half sentences about why I began to write this failure of a journal and then dislodged myself from the conversation so I could crawl back to my cube. I thought it was over and vowed never to find myself in the break room with him again.
Less than ten minutes later I get an email explaining that he heard about my book through conversations he’d had with co-workers regarding his own dating experiences. They suggested he write a book about all the crazies he encountered. The subject came up that I was doing so. Who the fuck is discussing me? I thought.
We emailed back and forth, casually, it seemed. I talked about the Principal and the start of our LDR. He talked about the long term relationships he’d endured and how he was approaching dating now (not internet yet) mixed in with trivialities of life in general. Very disarming.
He gave me his number more than twice, which I deleted upon receiving. One day however, he mentioned a short story based on a photo taken at work he’d written and I gave him my personal email. I also let him read my blog.
The plot thickens.
He would email me at home and I would check to see if he had. Bad business. Everything was very mundane and normal until he went out of town, emailed me drunk how much he liked me and I had to be professional, shoot him down. He took it with stride. Apologized for putting me in that position, etc, etc. The helping factor was that I’d learned he’d fooled around with at least two other people at work and called him out on it.
Now, I realize this guy is a womanizer and using my own ego against me. By confessing how much he likes me, as a person, he has my soft side, but I understand the confession was all about getting to the soft side so he can get to every side.
I also know I love the Principal. My Catholic guilt is severely kicking my ass because while I love the Principal I enjoy getting the attention of Work Guy.
Work Guy emails me about his dates and how he picks up on girls. It happens to be hilarious, but I try to be supportive. By constantly asking him what he wants I feel I am pushing him toward a truth: He doesn’t know what he wants.
I have tried to explain to him that if he understands he is pursuing women to have fun, be light hearted with, then he will attract such women. But if he is looking for a relationship his methods are all wrong. Fun party girls are not going to give him depth and commitment. When told that, he’s content with not being ready for a relationship after his two consecutive long term girlfriends. However, it just doesn’t add up.
Becoming his friend through the safe medium of email allowed me to see his humor and intelligence. It was just too bad the dude is a Lech. He messed around with a hot Scottsdale looking workmate so she could get back at her estranged lover, who is another workmate. Then he screwed a young workmate who happens to be the company gossip mill… All the while hitting on random girls at Target and the grocery store. Goal: How many numbers he can get.
I do admire his energy. He seems to be able to go out with multiple girls all the time. It makes me tired just to think about it. All the getting to know you shit and being yourself, but not offending anybody that usually makes my back hurt, he seems to thrive on.
At first, I felt like I was making a friend. I looked forward to emailing him, laughing at his responses. And it felt safe. I wasn’t actually face to face with him, nor interested in him as anything other than a friend/co-worker, even after his drunken email.
One afternoon I was emailing him about going to Scottsdale to pick up a chair the Principal had ordered. He lived “right around the corner” and would meet me for a drink if I was up for it. At the time he had been dating a girl for 5 weeks so I didn’t think it was odd for two co-workers to get a drink. (Yes, I know I am stupid.)
We had bar food and a couple beers. It was the first time I had a face to face conversation with him since he asked about my book in the break room. I doubted my sanity that this was a good thing
for me to be doing…
Casually, but quite obviously, he checked out the waitress. I had to snort. She was a waitress in her thirties, severely underweight and a little worse for the wear. I said as much and he was appalled. She couldn’t be that old! I gave him my interpretation of waitresses of that age. She probably had kids, and why the hell was she waitressing? Not that it’s a bad profession, but how do her goals match up with his?
Work Guy was further taken aback. This was some sort of freaking revelation for him. Should he actually look beyond a tight ass and consider the shit that could potentially come out of a woman’s mouth which might make her enjoyable to just be around? The next day he was all over the ideology that he should not date waitresses… But hostesses were still game. They exhibited some class, right?
After dinner we half hugged like friends with leprosy and drove away.
We discussed his affinity for socks. He wears colorful, wacky socks and makes sure to match them to his outfit. If he wasn’t such a womanizer I would assume him gay. I also had to insert how my socks rarely match and are often inside out.
A week later, owing him money from the first night, we got sushi on my dime. I was determined to make it even because I didn’t want him thinking we went out and he bought my dinner. It wasn’t as laid back this time. I was uncomfortable and it felt like a date. Dangerous ground as I have a boyfriend in another state who only occasionally talks to me.
Work Guy gave me fuzzy socks to mix match at my pleasure. It was a nice gesture… but a date like gesture and I told him so. Backing off he shrugged and said he couldn’t not buy them for me, he laughed when he saw them. I brushed it off.
I have a tendency to be naive about male attention…
At the end of the night we walked out to our cars, he gave me a hug and looked into my eyes. I patted his shoulder, said no (to that “I might try to kiss you look”) and then complimented his sweater. Right there in the parking lot he took off his sweater and gave it to me. Then said goodnight and walked off in his undershirt.
I drove home, repeatedly telling myself it was merely a friendly act of giving me a sweater he’d bought for $5 at Old Navy and not a romantic gesture of any sort. But it smelled good and manly. So I put it on.
The next night I went over to Angie’s house for beer and girl talk. Her relationship with Buff Guy is going exceedingly well. They are in love, he is swooning over her and she feels, for the first time, like she is truly adored. I love her so I didn’t bitch slap her. It is impossible for me to be jealous when I know she deserves every bit of this great time she’s having.
I talked about Work Guy casually, but her ears perked up about the socks and sweater. I just hung my head and cried out “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Her look had said it all. What was I doing? It was inappropriate to be emailing and sometimes texting a guy who is not my boyfriend.
Angie, always quick to counsel me, jumps in that I wouldn’t be seeking this attention if I was getting what I needed from the Principal. (One of the reasons she is my best friend is because she constantly tells me how I’m gorgeous and could have my pick of any men. She’s delusional, but I like it.) She also gets real testy whenever I talk about the communication deficiencies I have with the Principal.
So, I decided I no longer needed to talk to Work Guy. It was detrimental to my relationship and I could no longer call it innocent. I texted him that our friendship was inappropriate and we should not communicate outside of work nor email about non-work related things. He was very understanding.
The next day at work was tense. I didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at me. He left early and I felt a wave of relief that it was over.
Monday morning I ran into him in the break room. There were a couple other people there, all chatting, and Work Guy looked like he’d rather have hot pokers shoved up his arse than try to wade through coworkers to get his tea. I tried to be casual. It was so awkward. When I got back to my desk, I emailed him that he needn’t feel uncomfortable around me. I hoped he wouldn’t be one of those guys who hates a girl after she rejects his advances…
He liked that I called him out on his acting like a ninny. We joked. Relief. I wouldn’t need to find a new job after all...
Cosmic Love: by Florence and the Machine
My friend Chloe gave me a mixed cd with some of her favorite songs. This Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machines made me move. I had to pull it out of the car, bring it in the house and dance like an eejit. Later, I heard the words and they made me realize the passion I felt in the music was only secondary to the meaning of the song.
It's about longing. Being utterly consumed by a passionate connection that you cannot stand being in your own body. Your soul is reaching out into the universe just to hear that heartbeat.
"A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart"
It's about longing. Being utterly consumed by a passionate connection that you cannot stand being in your own body. Your soul is reaching out into the universe just to hear that heartbeat.
"A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart"
It's been a long time since I've been driven by the need to dance. This song brought about a tiny internal freedom. Thanks, Chloe.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Needing Men
The concept of “needing a man” is considered outdated and ridiculous to most modern women today. We go through school, get jobs, buy property, develop political views and basically can live our lives just as men do. Women no longer need men to do odd jobs around the house as we can Google or YouTube any how-to manual/ video we might need at the click of a button… or pay a professional.
Societal constraints dropping away by means of the sexual revolution have allowed women to approach sex separated from an obligatory relationship as well. Considered completely capable, in most cases, women are free in all ways to support and protect themselves. Select technology has also made them free to please themselves…
So, we thoroughly modern Millie’s don’t need men as much as we may want men. We want to share our lives, confide in another living person about what matters to us and feel that we are cared about. But is that really a want… or is it a new kind of need? Dr. Gray, Men are from Mars Women are from Venus, believes so. And after my most recent stint in reading fiction I may believe so too.
In most books I have read recently, there seems to be a hero and a heroine. They have their differences, even rail against one another for some time before an event has them crashing together. Most of all, there is some need that binds them. This magnet rope wraps them in a state of need becoming an electric desire that makes them want each other so fiercely they end up falling in the depths of the deepest love. Whenever the moment comes where the heroine dips her head in futility and succumbs to admittance of her need for the hero I find myself shaking my head.
Why? I ask. Why couldn’t she just suck it up and do it herself? Because he needed her to need him. In fixing her problem he felt he won her respect, if not her heart. Now, while we all can’t be saved by pirates, it is nice to imagine telling a man you need help and enjoying his pride at doing the simplest thing for you.
Needing a man to help you take out the trash is insulting. Right? Are you not strong enough to take the trash out on your own? Are you not aware enough of your surroundings to make it to the dumpster safely and back inside? Are you not capable enough to do the job without making a mess, and if you do make a mess, won’t you clean up after yourself?
Women have learned over the past 50 years to take offence when a man would do for her what she knows she can do for herself. The difference is that today men know that we are capable creatures, where as 50 years ago there were still some serious doubts.
So, I’ll go back in time and say Yes! I need a man to take the trash out! Not because I can’t, but because I don’t like doing it and it needs to go out sometime. Like now… but it is too cold and late at night for little ole me to venture out of doors unescorted….
Dr. Gray further believes that we women sabotage our relationships by not needing men. Everybody’s got to screw it up somehow.
Societal constraints dropping away by means of the sexual revolution have allowed women to approach sex separated from an obligatory relationship as well. Considered completely capable, in most cases, women are free in all ways to support and protect themselves. Select technology has also made them free to please themselves…
So, we thoroughly modern Millie’s don’t need men as much as we may want men. We want to share our lives, confide in another living person about what matters to us and feel that we are cared about. But is that really a want… or is it a new kind of need? Dr. Gray, Men are from Mars Women are from Venus, believes so. And after my most recent stint in reading fiction I may believe so too.
In most books I have read recently, there seems to be a hero and a heroine. They have their differences, even rail against one another for some time before an event has them crashing together. Most of all, there is some need that binds them. This magnet rope wraps them in a state of need becoming an electric desire that makes them want each other so fiercely they end up falling in the depths of the deepest love. Whenever the moment comes where the heroine dips her head in futility and succumbs to admittance of her need for the hero I find myself shaking my head.
Why? I ask. Why couldn’t she just suck it up and do it herself? Because he needed her to need him. In fixing her problem he felt he won her respect, if not her heart. Now, while we all can’t be saved by pirates, it is nice to imagine telling a man you need help and enjoying his pride at doing the simplest thing for you.
Needing a man to help you take out the trash is insulting. Right? Are you not strong enough to take the trash out on your own? Are you not aware enough of your surroundings to make it to the dumpster safely and back inside? Are you not capable enough to do the job without making a mess, and if you do make a mess, won’t you clean up after yourself?
Women have learned over the past 50 years to take offence when a man would do for her what she knows she can do for herself. The difference is that today men know that we are capable creatures, where as 50 years ago there were still some serious doubts.
So, I’ll go back in time and say Yes! I need a man to take the trash out! Not because I can’t, but because I don’t like doing it and it needs to go out sometime. Like now… but it is too cold and late at night for little ole me to venture out of doors unescorted….
Dr. Gray further believes that we women sabotage our relationships by not needing men. Everybody’s got to screw it up somehow.
Naming the Puppy
Okay, the whole reason behind my names for the men in this journal is the same as naming puppies, as a rule.
When you go to a pet store/pound/adoption place you never, EVER, name a cute cuddly animal that you see. If you do, then you are setting yourself up for disaster. Should another person walk up and decide to take home little “Dewdrop” or whatever the hell you named it, you would be heartbroken.
Or, you decide to take the mutt home yourself where it proceeds to shitting and pissing all over the carpet. If you name the puppy, you become emotionally attached. You either cry because it runs away or you cry because there is new shit for you to clean up.
By calling a puppy what it is, “brown dog” or “smooshed face”, you are only stating the facts and keeping a distance from it. For the sake of my own emotional health I have found that when a “guy” rejects me or is annoying I tend to take it less personally than if John, Dick or Harry does it.
But for the record, none of the guys in this journal are named John or Dick or Harry, though there are some hairy guys… hehehehe! Sorry, I’m a bit corny which is yet another reason I remain a spinster…
When you go to a pet store/pound/adoption place you never, EVER, name a cute cuddly animal that you see. If you do, then you are setting yourself up for disaster. Should another person walk up and decide to take home little “Dewdrop” or whatever the hell you named it, you would be heartbroken.
Or, you decide to take the mutt home yourself where it proceeds to shitting and pissing all over the carpet. If you name the puppy, you become emotionally attached. You either cry because it runs away or you cry because there is new shit for you to clean up.
By calling a puppy what it is, “brown dog” or “smooshed face”, you are only stating the facts and keeping a distance from it. For the sake of my own emotional health I have found that when a “guy” rejects me or is annoying I tend to take it less personally than if John, Dick or Harry does it.
But for the record, none of the guys in this journal are named John or Dick or Harry, though there are some hairy guys… hehehehe! Sorry, I’m a bit corny which is yet another reason I remain a spinster…
The Land of Kate
There is a place called Kate.
It is this funny little realm where a normal looking girl can transform mystically into a fairy, pixie, or kung fu killer.
In this land of Kate, I can become my true self. I can head bang. I can karate chop. I can speak foreign languages. Most of all, I don’t have to think about anything other than what pops out of my ever loving soul. Dancing like an idiot is second nature in the land of Kate, as is singing off key. Laughing maniacally in this place is most renowned.
Mostly, I think that being one’s true self from time to time and reveling in the feeling of abandonment is the most freeing, fleeting moment we can have. Embrace the land of Kate! Hug it like a stuffed animal won at the fair! Rub up against it like a cat in heat! Shimmy at it!
We all need that place that springs into existence suddenly and unannounced to make us realize what life is really all about. When we can snigger at ourselves and say “what the hell” then we can drop the pain, regret, worry, grief, heartbreak, loneliness and turmoil that the day to day toils of life normally provide. We can let loose, be free and get jiggy.
It is this funny little realm where a normal looking girl can transform mystically into a fairy, pixie, or kung fu killer.
In this land of Kate, I can become my true self. I can head bang. I can karate chop. I can speak foreign languages. Most of all, I don’t have to think about anything other than what pops out of my ever loving soul. Dancing like an idiot is second nature in the land of Kate, as is singing off key. Laughing maniacally in this place is most renowned.
Mostly, I think that being one’s true self from time to time and reveling in the feeling of abandonment is the most freeing, fleeting moment we can have. Embrace the land of Kate! Hug it like a stuffed animal won at the fair! Rub up against it like a cat in heat! Shimmy at it!
We all need that place that springs into existence suddenly and unannounced to make us realize what life is really all about. When we can snigger at ourselves and say “what the hell” then we can drop the pain, regret, worry, grief, heartbreak, loneliness and turmoil that the day to day toils of life normally provide. We can let loose, be free and get jiggy.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Wedding
After a disheartening weekend in NM with the Principal I returned to my routine only to get sick. Crappy cold took me down. In my miserable state I couldn't help but notice how I would call my sis and mom to complain (poor Meggie getting a 7 a.m. status update on my pity party) but felt it was useless to look for sympathy from the Principal. He didn't ask so I didn't tell.
When he returned to AZ to attend a friend's wedding he acted as if I was getting better. I tried to downplay how shitty I felt. As if to compete with my illness he was cranky about the fact I don't own an ironing board and we were running late to the wedding.
Now, picture this. I'm in a cute little black dress, all done up and this guy has to ask why women are always so okay with being late. I batted my fabulous eyelashes and... Nothing. Apologies were croaking out of my mouth but his irritation overshadowed everything else. Finally, I just stared out the window and wondered when I lost my appeal.
The wedding started an hour late. I was a bit smug but had no one to share that with. As the evening wore on we started to have a good time. I was feeling high on the attention he was giving me, the fact he danced with me made my heart sing, and I thought maybe this strange undertone was dissolving.
We had a conversation about weddings. How difficult they can be to organize, expensive. Looking around me I couldn't help but think it was too much. The Principal didn't agree. He'd want to do it up right, with all the trimmings. Something akin to panic coursed through my blood. Every little girl dreams of a big wedding, but now that I'm an adult I can think of better things to do with twenty grand rather than throwing a generic party.
Casually, which in my case is pretty direct, I told the Principal my mom couldn't afford to contribute to her daughter's weddings so whatever Meghan and I do, we're footing the bill. He came back with "I'm sure my parents would help out." I gave him a look. "And I have money stashed away." It was a strange comment. Were we really discussing this.
I quickly jumped in with a comment that only a Republican would have money "stashed away" and they should be smart enough not to blow it on an expensive wedding. I could tell he didn't agree but dropped the subject. Phew.
Leaving the wedding I suggested we meet my mom and her out of town friends at the hotel they were sampling. The Principal looked irritated and commented he wanted to take me home and have sex. Romantic, right? One minute he's talking about paying for a white wedding and the next he's Mr. Forward. I rolled my eyes. Wasn't it just the weekend before that sex was the last thing on his mind?
When he returned to AZ to attend a friend's wedding he acted as if I was getting better. I tried to downplay how shitty I felt. As if to compete with my illness he was cranky about the fact I don't own an ironing board and we were running late to the wedding.
Now, picture this. I'm in a cute little black dress, all done up and this guy has to ask why women are always so okay with being late. I batted my fabulous eyelashes and... Nothing. Apologies were croaking out of my mouth but his irritation overshadowed everything else. Finally, I just stared out the window and wondered when I lost my appeal.
The wedding started an hour late. I was a bit smug but had no one to share that with. As the evening wore on we started to have a good time. I was feeling high on the attention he was giving me, the fact he danced with me made my heart sing, and I thought maybe this strange undertone was dissolving.
We had a conversation about weddings. How difficult they can be to organize, expensive. Looking around me I couldn't help but think it was too much. The Principal didn't agree. He'd want to do it up right, with all the trimmings. Something akin to panic coursed through my blood. Every little girl dreams of a big wedding, but now that I'm an adult I can think of better things to do with twenty grand rather than throwing a generic party.
Casually, which in my case is pretty direct, I told the Principal my mom couldn't afford to contribute to her daughter's weddings so whatever Meghan and I do, we're footing the bill. He came back with "I'm sure my parents would help out." I gave him a look. "And I have money stashed away." It was a strange comment. Were we really discussing this.
I quickly jumped in with a comment that only a Republican would have money "stashed away" and they should be smart enough not to blow it on an expensive wedding. I could tell he didn't agree but dropped the subject. Phew.
Leaving the wedding I suggested we meet my mom and her out of town friends at the hotel they were sampling. The Principal looked irritated and commented he wanted to take me home and have sex. Romantic, right? One minute he's talking about paying for a white wedding and the next he's Mr. Forward. I rolled my eyes. Wasn't it just the weekend before that sex was the last thing on his mind?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Being in a Relationship by myself
Ok. I feel like anytime I talk about this I sound whiney.
My boyfriend took a new job, moved to a new town, and has now closed on his very own home. The last time he took any interest in me was probably before he moved. See? Super freak whiney.
When we discussed his move it was all roses and how much we'll freaking miss each other. The vague promises that he'll try to get me to move with him, like he couldn't bare to be apart. He seems to be doing JUST FINE. In fact he tells me all about every detail of his life. I need not speak, or interject any ideas. He's got it ALL covered. Even when he doesn't.
I'm extremely frustrated. I remember this from the EX, and saying that or making comparisons isn't fair. But still, this feeling of sinking back into the farthest recess of my body so I don't claw the hell out of the Principal or slipping into a warm bath of numbness whenever he disregards what comes out of my mouth is getting old. I never thought my self-esteem was low, just made me humble. However, the more I've discussed things with friends, and of course my mother thedoomsday prophet, I think I have been putting myself down too much for the Principal's sake.
Example: At dinner with Julie and Kelly I talked about how the Principal never asks about my week or what I've been up to when we talk on the phone. We only discuss the stress of his transition.
"I know my life isn't super exciting or anything-"
"What?! YOU are exciting AND interesting!" Julie slammed her teensy little hands on the table.
I shrugged, but it made me realize I was making myself less so he could be more. If my life was less interesting then what he was going through there would be a reason we didn't discuss it. I was making excuses.
Example: At a furniture store we got to talking to a sales lady. The Principal was preening about working at the mine (the town gets a hard-on when they hear the mine is re-opening) and the sales lady was asking twenty questions. The Principal made me sound as if I was refusing to move to this bustling city for silly reasons. Like the fact that I own a house.
In response I said "I have a job in Phoenix." The sales lady nodded in understanding and asked what I did. "I answer phones."
The light went out of her face as if to say "You couldn't leave that behind to move with the man you love?" The Principal was smirking and making comments so it seemed he was after me constantly to come with him. I breathed in deeply and tried to become a shadow.
When I told my lovely mother about the above example she tried to slap me. "Why did you say it like that?"
"Like what?" I was confused.
"You said just 'answer phones"! You were putting yourself down!"
"Uh, that's not putting myself down. My job description is answering phones, mom."
"But you don't have to say it like that." It was a ridiculous conversation which continued at this vein for a minimum of ten minutes until my lovely mother threw her hands up and pretended she conceded my point in a tone that let me know she really didn't.
I have been trying to figure out how to talk about this with the Principal and there seems to be no safe route. We are destined to fight about this. How do you explain you're not getting enough affection? Shouldn't it come naturally?
I worried about this as I drove to New Mexico to help him move into his house. I drove for 5 hours, with 2 dogs, and didn't even get a "How was the drive" or "I'm so happy to see you". If I did, they were in jest. I was expected to be there. The end.
We chatted, it was strained, then we went to bed. First night in his very first house. He rolled over and fell asleep. I lay awake shivering in the cold, (I'm not trying to be melodramatic, the furnace wasn't reaching the room we slept in), wondering why the Principal didn't want to even lay near me.
In the morning it was get up and get ready. No kissing, no holding each other. No nothing. Dissatisfied I took a shower and sat outside with the dogs. Wishing it was beer:thirthy.
Back and forth we moved his stuff from storage to house. I commented on paint colors and the look I received was scathing. A gray wall? Was I insane? I crawled back into my own little world and pretended it was okay. It is a far more lonely world when you share space with aperson who acts like you shouldn't really be there.
We went to bed.
We woke up. He acted like he wanted to have sex, asked if I had any protection, I rolled over and told him to go to hell. He just moved in, wasn't prepared for that. Had other things on his mind. Uhhh... You knew your girlfriend was driving 5 fucking hours to help you move and it never crossed your mind to have sex with her? Thanks.
I rolled over, got up and took a shower. Less than an hour later I was on my way back to AZ (5 hours again) so I could spend 3 hours cleaning offices and drive another 40 minutes home to do laundry and go back to work the following day. There was no text to see if I made it home safely. I went about my week with the impression I may have made up the very idea of the Principal.
Perhaps being single is the best way to go.
My boyfriend took a new job, moved to a new town, and has now closed on his very own home. The last time he took any interest in me was probably before he moved. See? Super freak whiney.
When we discussed his move it was all roses and how much we'll freaking miss each other. The vague promises that he'll try to get me to move with him, like he couldn't bare to be apart. He seems to be doing JUST FINE. In fact he tells me all about every detail of his life. I need not speak, or interject any ideas. He's got it ALL covered. Even when he doesn't.
I'm extremely frustrated. I remember this from the EX, and saying that or making comparisons isn't fair. But still, this feeling of sinking back into the farthest recess of my body so I don't claw the hell out of the Principal or slipping into a warm bath of numbness whenever he disregards what comes out of my mouth is getting old. I never thought my self-esteem was low, just made me humble. However, the more I've discussed things with friends, and of course my mother thedoomsday prophet, I think I have been putting myself down too much for the Principal's sake.
Example: At dinner with Julie and Kelly I talked about how the Principal never asks about my week or what I've been up to when we talk on the phone. We only discuss the stress of his transition.
"I know my life isn't super exciting or anything-"
"What?! YOU are exciting AND interesting!" Julie slammed her teensy little hands on the table.
I shrugged, but it made me realize I was making myself less so he could be more. If my life was less interesting then what he was going through there would be a reason we didn't discuss it. I was making excuses.
Example: At a furniture store we got to talking to a sales lady. The Principal was preening about working at the mine (the town gets a hard-on when they hear the mine is re-opening) and the sales lady was asking twenty questions. The Principal made me sound as if I was refusing to move to this bustling city for silly reasons. Like the fact that I own a house.
In response I said "I have a job in Phoenix." The sales lady nodded in understanding and asked what I did. "I answer phones."
The light went out of her face as if to say "You couldn't leave that behind to move with the man you love?" The Principal was smirking and making comments so it seemed he was after me constantly to come with him. I breathed in deeply and tried to become a shadow.
When I told my lovely mother about the above example she tried to slap me. "Why did you say it like that?"
"Like what?" I was confused.
"You said just 'answer phones"! You were putting yourself down!"
"Uh, that's not putting myself down. My job description is answering phones, mom."
"But you don't have to say it like that." It was a ridiculous conversation which continued at this vein for a minimum of ten minutes until my lovely mother threw her hands up and pretended she conceded my point in a tone that let me know she really didn't.
I have been trying to figure out how to talk about this with the Principal and there seems to be no safe route. We are destined to fight about this. How do you explain you're not getting enough affection? Shouldn't it come naturally?
I worried about this as I drove to New Mexico to help him move into his house. I drove for 5 hours, with 2 dogs, and didn't even get a "How was the drive" or "I'm so happy to see you". If I did, they were in jest. I was expected to be there. The end.
We chatted, it was strained, then we went to bed. First night in his very first house. He rolled over and fell asleep. I lay awake shivering in the cold, (I'm not trying to be melodramatic, the furnace wasn't reaching the room we slept in), wondering why the Principal didn't want to even lay near me.
In the morning it was get up and get ready. No kissing, no holding each other. No nothing. Dissatisfied I took a shower and sat outside with the dogs. Wishing it was beer:thirthy.
Back and forth we moved his stuff from storage to house. I commented on paint colors and the look I received was scathing. A gray wall? Was I insane? I crawled back into my own little world and pretended it was okay. It is a far more lonely world when you share space with aperson who acts like you shouldn't really be there.
We went to bed.
We woke up. He acted like he wanted to have sex, asked if I had any protection, I rolled over and told him to go to hell. He just moved in, wasn't prepared for that. Had other things on his mind. Uhhh... You knew your girlfriend was driving 5 fucking hours to help you move and it never crossed your mind to have sex with her? Thanks.
I rolled over, got up and took a shower. Less than an hour later I was on my way back to AZ (5 hours again) so I could spend 3 hours cleaning offices and drive another 40 minutes home to do laundry and go back to work the following day. There was no text to see if I made it home safely. I went about my week with the impression I may have made up the very idea of the Principal.
Perhaps being single is the best way to go.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Waiting it out
Last week I texted the Principal that I missed him. We are, after all, 5 hours away from one another and I did miss him. His response: he'd be back in Phoenix in 48 hours. Like that should make it ok. Would it have killed him to say he missed me too?
Probably.
I decided I needed to go back to taking Dr. Gray's dating advice. Let the man pursue and the woman be receptive. If the Principal wants to talk he can contact me. I'll give him the room to pursue again.
I think my plan has backfired, but I'm sticking with it anyway. He came home from work Friday night and we did the usual routine. Sit around, have a beer and exchange stories. He told me all about work, I filled him in on the dogs. There was a strange undertone in the conversation.
Later, when we talked about Thanksgiving vacation coming up he offhandedly mentioned "if" he could get Friday after off. We'd been planning on Disneyland with my mom, sister and brother-in-law since the summer. My sister was working on finding a goddamn house big enough for the dogs and all of us. And he still hadn't asked for the time off?
As calmly as I could, I asked when he was going to find out. He waved his hand dismissively. He'd take care of it... I started to push, he looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Very simply I looked him straight in the eye. He needed to let me know yes, or no by Monday so I could stop my sister from booking a vacation house. There were 4 people besides him making plans. If he can't go, that's understandable but I'm not about to get screwed by it. Again.
The subject was dropped and changed. But the undertone remained. I had this sneaking suspicion the Principal was just biding time until he closed on his house and he could get rid of me. He wouldn't need anyone to watch his dog or house his belongings. He could quite literally move on.
He went to bed before I did. I ground my teeth. He's tired by 9pm every night... You'd think, maybe, just maybe, after a long week away from your girlfriend you could muster enough enthusiasm to, oh I don't know, take her to bed with you? When I joined him a half hour later he didn't even notice.
The following day the undertone was more of a fine mist that settled over everything we did. It crept up my nose and dug in under my fingernails. I started writing to clear my head. The Principal busied himself outside. When I went out to start on the yard, he went inside. At one point, before he headed out to the store, I tried to engage him in a hot, steamy kiss. He smiled and kept his distance so he could get going. He had things to do. I felt so utterly stupid.
After 4 grueling hours in the heat and sun, battling with shrubs, weeds and grass I was ready for a shower and a nap. We were going to The Melting Pot for dinner and I wanted to enjoy every minute of it. Unfortunately, the Principal decided at that moment to lay down in the bedroom for a nap. I was blocked from my shower. I suppose I could have used the guest bath, but all my stuff was in the other room.
Out in the living room I set a blanket on the couch so I wouldn't sweat into the cushins. He came over, a few minutes later, and asked why I was sleeping in the living room. Would he have really wanted my sweaty, stinky body in bed with him?
The nap was a bust. When he got up from his nap I cleaned up and made myself pretty for our dinner out. Melty decadent yumminess in a romatic candle liight setting. I was going to eat it all up.
In an offhand sort of way the Principal told me I looked beautiful. You know, because its required or something. He mentioned it while explaining his observation of how long it took me to get ready. Next, came the joking about how costly the Melting Pot is. He'd mentioned it before. I looked at him straightfaced and offered to go to a different restaurant. He laughed it off.
Again. He started talking about the prices again a mile later. Mentioning the last time he went to the Melting Pot with friends (he excluded the part where it was a date he'd been forced to go on which I remembered from previous conversations) they hadn't even made it to dessert. I wanted to scream! That's the whole fucking point of going there in the first place. Calmly, I again offered to go someplace else. He waved it off again.
Passing by Red Lobster he pointed it out. "We could have popcorn shrimp!" I clamped my hands more tightly together and dismissed the urge to vomit. I told him we could go there if he'd like. He scrunched up his nose and declared we were on our way to the Melting Pot. At this point I didn't care where we ended up as long as they served beer. I was starting to choke on this strange undertone. Perhaps the Principal had been posessed by the EX....
Dinner was a waste. You really should go to the Melting Pot with someone who is into you. All the tables are secluded, romantically lit and the music is strictly background. While the food was amazing and the service great, my date was uninterested. We were the only couple I saw who sat apart. When I leaned over to kiss him I got the brush off after. Conversation was painful, at one point so much so I was forced to look away. On one topic I was ready to leave the restaurant all together.
Then of course there was the preoccupation with his phone. Checking sports stats.. I used to have these moments with the EX.
By the third course the Principal was already planning the night to be over. Following dessert he was ready for PJs. A glance at the bill earned another comment about the price. I sat there feeling as if I was shrinking into myself. No romance, not even a normal evening. If this had been a first or second date I would have accidentally lost his phone number on purpose. The food had been wonderful, I'm sure, but as we were walking out the door two feet apart from one another, I realized I couldn't remember what any of it tasted like.
The drive home was full of yawns. True to his word, 30 seconds after walking in the door he had on his PJs and was sprawled across the couch. I changed into my own and would have normally tamed my wild hair into a ponytail but it still looked too good for that. It was the kind of rockin' hair that happens every blue moon and should be savored.... Should be worn out to a bar so strange men can stare at me and then massacred by sweaty, hot sex. Obviously THAT wasn't happening tonight.
30 minutes after the PJs were on, the Principal was off to bed. I stared after him as I was abandoned on the couch to watch Stripes. There was no goodnight kiss. Just a sheepish look. I drank a couple beers, alone. The weather was beautiful outside, finally cooling down and I couldn't help but feel as if my relationship was doing the same thing. Fall always brings changes, nostalgia and restlessness...
When I climbed into bed, there was barely a sliver of mattress available. The Principal was sprawled across the bed snoring. All of the covers were pushed to the side and the pillows pushed against the headboard. I cringed at the familiarity of such a scene. He rolled over and draped an arm over me, I think more for his own comfort than mine. Despite all the rich food and few beers consumed earlier, I had a difficult time trying to fall asleep.
Daylight came early. The Principal rose around 7am, because he goes to sleep before normal people's grandmothers would. When he's up, I'm awake. The atmosphere in the house changes. I forced myself to roll over and finish getting the whole 8 hours I wanted. It didn't wourk out very well.
Back outside to the yard. Lose myself in manual labor. The Principal helped out by tilling the ground for a good hour before football yanked him by the balls back into the house. I chopped, trimmed, raked, cussed. It was a fabulous release from the tension inside the house.
I think, at some point later that morning, the Principal realized something was amiss. He started laughing and cracking his jokes again. Reaching over to touch me more when he passed by. At one point, after I'd cleaned up from the yard work and was beginning to wonder whether he'd ever leave for New Mexico so I could go to work, he made a half-assed attempt to come on to me.
Men! Please pay attention: This doesn't work!
"You're all clean now." He smirked at me on the couch.
"Yup." I smiled back, or at least I think I did. I might have lost the ability and wasn't aware.
"I haven't had a shower yet, wouldn't want to get you dirty."
"Okay..." yeah, what girl would want that. why don't you go take a fucking shower and then proposition me? why bring up what you're not going to do to me? where is the passion?
Needless to say, I went on to clean my offices in Casa Grande and left the Principal to finish watching his sports before hitting the road himself. He gave me a big hug, passionate kiss, but I can't remember what that felt like either. I was fading.
The ball was back in the Principal's court. If he wants me, he can pursue me. Long distance sucks and I know I haven't been the most appetizing thing to come home to considering the mess I've been. But, and yes there is always, if you have such a short period of time with the one you love wouldn't you want to make the best of it?
Probably.
I decided I needed to go back to taking Dr. Gray's dating advice. Let the man pursue and the woman be receptive. If the Principal wants to talk he can contact me. I'll give him the room to pursue again.
I think my plan has backfired, but I'm sticking with it anyway. He came home from work Friday night and we did the usual routine. Sit around, have a beer and exchange stories. He told me all about work, I filled him in on the dogs. There was a strange undertone in the conversation.
Later, when we talked about Thanksgiving vacation coming up he offhandedly mentioned "if" he could get Friday after off. We'd been planning on Disneyland with my mom, sister and brother-in-law since the summer. My sister was working on finding a goddamn house big enough for the dogs and all of us. And he still hadn't asked for the time off?
As calmly as I could, I asked when he was going to find out. He waved his hand dismissively. He'd take care of it... I started to push, he looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Very simply I looked him straight in the eye. He needed to let me know yes, or no by Monday so I could stop my sister from booking a vacation house. There were 4 people besides him making plans. If he can't go, that's understandable but I'm not about to get screwed by it. Again.
The subject was dropped and changed. But the undertone remained. I had this sneaking suspicion the Principal was just biding time until he closed on his house and he could get rid of me. He wouldn't need anyone to watch his dog or house his belongings. He could quite literally move on.
He went to bed before I did. I ground my teeth. He's tired by 9pm every night... You'd think, maybe, just maybe, after a long week away from your girlfriend you could muster enough enthusiasm to, oh I don't know, take her to bed with you? When I joined him a half hour later he didn't even notice.
The following day the undertone was more of a fine mist that settled over everything we did. It crept up my nose and dug in under my fingernails. I started writing to clear my head. The Principal busied himself outside. When I went out to start on the yard, he went inside. At one point, before he headed out to the store, I tried to engage him in a hot, steamy kiss. He smiled and kept his distance so he could get going. He had things to do. I felt so utterly stupid.
After 4 grueling hours in the heat and sun, battling with shrubs, weeds and grass I was ready for a shower and a nap. We were going to The Melting Pot for dinner and I wanted to enjoy every minute of it. Unfortunately, the Principal decided at that moment to lay down in the bedroom for a nap. I was blocked from my shower. I suppose I could have used the guest bath, but all my stuff was in the other room.
Out in the living room I set a blanket on the couch so I wouldn't sweat into the cushins. He came over, a few minutes later, and asked why I was sleeping in the living room. Would he have really wanted my sweaty, stinky body in bed with him?
The nap was a bust. When he got up from his nap I cleaned up and made myself pretty for our dinner out. Melty decadent yumminess in a romatic candle liight setting. I was going to eat it all up.
In an offhand sort of way the Principal told me I looked beautiful. You know, because its required or something. He mentioned it while explaining his observation of how long it took me to get ready. Next, came the joking about how costly the Melting Pot is. He'd mentioned it before. I looked at him straightfaced and offered to go to a different restaurant. He laughed it off.
Again. He started talking about the prices again a mile later. Mentioning the last time he went to the Melting Pot with friends (he excluded the part where it was a date he'd been forced to go on which I remembered from previous conversations) they hadn't even made it to dessert. I wanted to scream! That's the whole fucking point of going there in the first place. Calmly, I again offered to go someplace else. He waved it off again.
Passing by Red Lobster he pointed it out. "We could have popcorn shrimp!" I clamped my hands more tightly together and dismissed the urge to vomit. I told him we could go there if he'd like. He scrunched up his nose and declared we were on our way to the Melting Pot. At this point I didn't care where we ended up as long as they served beer. I was starting to choke on this strange undertone. Perhaps the Principal had been posessed by the EX....
Dinner was a waste. You really should go to the Melting Pot with someone who is into you. All the tables are secluded, romantically lit and the music is strictly background. While the food was amazing and the service great, my date was uninterested. We were the only couple I saw who sat apart. When I leaned over to kiss him I got the brush off after. Conversation was painful, at one point so much so I was forced to look away. On one topic I was ready to leave the restaurant all together.
Then of course there was the preoccupation with his phone. Checking sports stats.. I used to have these moments with the EX.
By the third course the Principal was already planning the night to be over. Following dessert he was ready for PJs. A glance at the bill earned another comment about the price. I sat there feeling as if I was shrinking into myself. No romance, not even a normal evening. If this had been a first or second date I would have accidentally lost his phone number on purpose. The food had been wonderful, I'm sure, but as we were walking out the door two feet apart from one another, I realized I couldn't remember what any of it tasted like.
The drive home was full of yawns. True to his word, 30 seconds after walking in the door he had on his PJs and was sprawled across the couch. I changed into my own and would have normally tamed my wild hair into a ponytail but it still looked too good for that. It was the kind of rockin' hair that happens every blue moon and should be savored.... Should be worn out to a bar so strange men can stare at me and then massacred by sweaty, hot sex. Obviously THAT wasn't happening tonight.
30 minutes after the PJs were on, the Principal was off to bed. I stared after him as I was abandoned on the couch to watch Stripes. There was no goodnight kiss. Just a sheepish look. I drank a couple beers, alone. The weather was beautiful outside, finally cooling down and I couldn't help but feel as if my relationship was doing the same thing. Fall always brings changes, nostalgia and restlessness...
When I climbed into bed, there was barely a sliver of mattress available. The Principal was sprawled across the bed snoring. All of the covers were pushed to the side and the pillows pushed against the headboard. I cringed at the familiarity of such a scene. He rolled over and draped an arm over me, I think more for his own comfort than mine. Despite all the rich food and few beers consumed earlier, I had a difficult time trying to fall asleep.
Daylight came early. The Principal rose around 7am, because he goes to sleep before normal people's grandmothers would. When he's up, I'm awake. The atmosphere in the house changes. I forced myself to roll over and finish getting the whole 8 hours I wanted. It didn't wourk out very well.
Back outside to the yard. Lose myself in manual labor. The Principal helped out by tilling the ground for a good hour before football yanked him by the balls back into the house. I chopped, trimmed, raked, cussed. It was a fabulous release from the tension inside the house.
I think, at some point later that morning, the Principal realized something was amiss. He started laughing and cracking his jokes again. Reaching over to touch me more when he passed by. At one point, after I'd cleaned up from the yard work and was beginning to wonder whether he'd ever leave for New Mexico so I could go to work, he made a half-assed attempt to come on to me.
Men! Please pay attention: This doesn't work!
"You're all clean now." He smirked at me on the couch.
"Yup." I smiled back, or at least I think I did. I might have lost the ability and wasn't aware.
"I haven't had a shower yet, wouldn't want to get you dirty."
"Okay..." yeah, what girl would want that. why don't you go take a fucking shower and then proposition me? why bring up what you're not going to do to me? where is the passion?
Needless to say, I went on to clean my offices in Casa Grande and left the Principal to finish watching his sports before hitting the road himself. He gave me a big hug, passionate kiss, but I can't remember what that felt like either. I was fading.
The ball was back in the Principal's court. If he wants me, he can pursue me. Long distance sucks and I know I haven't been the most appetizing thing to come home to considering the mess I've been. But, and yes there is always, if you have such a short period of time with the one you love wouldn't you want to make the best of it?
Concert with the Tall Guy
Tall Guy and I had been on approximately 2 dates, had flirted ridiculously over the phone and texted every waking minute of the day. For our third date, he'd scored tickets to the U2 concert. YAY! I was so excited to go to a concert, it had been ages.
And who doesn't LOVE U2??
The day of the concert I rushed home, changed quickly and was walking the dog outside the condo when the giant arrived. Apparently my dog is a fierce protector because he bounded over and rubbed his body all over Tall Guy's legs. I thought it was fate. My dog was even crazy about this guy.
We sat in traffic for 2 hours getting to the concert. If we hadn't had so much to talk about it would have been extremely uncomfortable. There was much talk of music, listening to different bands on his iPod to see if I was familiar with them or liked the tracks. So, far... great time.
The concert stage was massive, and we arrived just in time to grab a beer and rush to our seats before U2 took the stage. We were in the nose bleeds, but it didn't matter. The music and lights could only be described as crazy amazing and I kind of liked being able to sit back in Tall Guy's arms and just enjoy the sensory overload.
Having to yell at each other over the music sucked, especially since he insisted I yell into his less deaf ear. So I was constantly leaning over his huge body to the opposite side. Needles to say, I butted heads with him a few times. I would have been mortified, but then he leaned over and yelled in my ear "This feels like falling in love!"
It really did. Everything was exciting and vibrant. The music pulsed, I felt good in his arms. There was a glow around us. Transported back in time I felt like I was a high school freshman again, having a first crush. And he kept telling me how beautiful, sexy, desirable I was. Who wouldn't love that?
We left early, running through the arena with hands entwined. When I couldn't keep up Tall Guy would swing me up into his arms. It felt surreal... But finally I was happy about dating again.
And who doesn't LOVE U2??
The day of the concert I rushed home, changed quickly and was walking the dog outside the condo when the giant arrived. Apparently my dog is a fierce protector because he bounded over and rubbed his body all over Tall Guy's legs. I thought it was fate. My dog was even crazy about this guy.
We sat in traffic for 2 hours getting to the concert. If we hadn't had so much to talk about it would have been extremely uncomfortable. There was much talk of music, listening to different bands on his iPod to see if I was familiar with them or liked the tracks. So, far... great time.
The concert stage was massive, and we arrived just in time to grab a beer and rush to our seats before U2 took the stage. We were in the nose bleeds, but it didn't matter. The music and lights could only be described as crazy amazing and I kind of liked being able to sit back in Tall Guy's arms and just enjoy the sensory overload.
Having to yell at each other over the music sucked, especially since he insisted I yell into his less deaf ear. So I was constantly leaning over his huge body to the opposite side. Needles to say, I butted heads with him a few times. I would have been mortified, but then he leaned over and yelled in my ear "This feels like falling in love!"
It really did. Everything was exciting and vibrant. The music pulsed, I felt good in his arms. There was a glow around us. Transported back in time I felt like I was a high school freshman again, having a first crush. And he kept telling me how beautiful, sexy, desirable I was. Who wouldn't love that?
We left early, running through the arena with hands entwined. When I couldn't keep up Tall Guy would swing me up into his arms. It felt surreal... But finally I was happy about dating again.
Friday, October 8, 2010
The First Fight
A few weeks ago I mentioned to The Principal that we had never been in an argument. He was home for the weekend and we had a great time. I didn't want to fight with him, but found it strange how we could date for nine months and hadn't snapped yet.
His response was simple. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll have plenty of fights." And he dazzled me with his devilish grin.
I should have kept my mouth closed.
The following weekend we worked together around the yard, lounged in the pool and just enjoyed being... After taking a nap to chase away his headache, we went downtown to an Irish pub. Goal: meet Julie's new boyfriend. I was excited to see her with him. The Principal was AMAZING.
He sat across from new boyfriend guy and chatted him right up so Julie and I could talk. He'd laugh, touch, kiss me so breezily I was afraid he'd turned into a pod person. Normally he's so reserved, this display of open affection was nothing short of miraculous. Julie even commented on it.
The new happy couple had a few drinks then had to take off, so we sat on the patio finishing our beers, listening to the live music, and talking. It was one of those blissfully fun times. Out of nowhere, the conversation turned to a topic that had the Principal going over unfamiliar territory. His past relationships. I salivated, nearly to the point of drooling in public, at the opportunity to find out more about this area of his life. What girl doesn't want to know a little about the other women in their man's history?
The atmosphere was light. He talked openly like never before, I asked questions to keep him talking. A pizza was grabbed, more beer was picked up and finally we were at home on the patio. It was the most fun time we'd spent together in months. I was high on the Principal.
I don't know what happened, but all at once everything in the evening that was light and fun drifted into the night like smoke. If there was a catalyst, I missed it. The Principal clamped down on his past when I asked some question. The same question he would have jokingly answered five minutes earlier. I pressed, not understanding. He became angry, I got defensive.
'Why do you want to know about this?"
"We were just talking about it, it's a discussion. What crawled up your butt?"
He was stern and defiant. I started to cry. I tried to explain I only wanted to know more about him because I'm interested in who he is. Because I love him. I felt like an idiot for letting this upset me, but he was mad.
"I just asked-"
"No! You didn't just ask! You pushed..."
"We were having such a good time. I don't understand what went wrong..."
Eventually, we exchanged more mean words and I stopped talking to him all together. My heart ached from the loss of all that joy we'd been having, at the feeling of being so at one with the Principal. Now I was outside drinking beer and reading a book, wiping tears off my cheeks while he went to bed. Deja vu much?
When I was tired enough, I debated whether or not to sleep on the couch. This is my freaking house! In the bedroom the Principal was passed out on the floor with the dogs. I debated, again, whether I should leave him there or not. Nah, I'm not that mean. I wanted to kick him awake, but at the same time didn't even want to touch him. Instead, I went with the "Hey, you" tactic.
In bed, I stayed as far away from him as possible. I lay on my side, facing the window as close to the edge of the mattress as I could get. As I closed my eyes I swore this would not repeat my relationship with the EX through the Principal. In the morning, I'd gauge what was going on here and move forward. But all through the night my body was hyper aware the Principal was so close.
I woke to scoot farther away if his skin even brushed mine. Early, I gave up trying. The dogs wanted food and the pool looked soothing. Shortly after I was starting to relax on my hot pink inter tube, he emerged from the house. I pretended not to notice as he sat on the patio smoking a cigarette and watching me. I could feel the anger coming from him.
Thankful for the tube, water and distance, I floated blindly to the far side. There would be no relaxing until we talked this out, but my true fear was that this would be the first step toward the end. I mean, The Principal drives all this way to have fun, to be with me and he won't continue wanting to if I can't keep my mouth shut and we fight.
After stubbing out his cigarette, he made his way over to the pool, sat down and put in his feet, right in front of me. His unshaven face looked worn, as if debating how to start. Eventually he did. Saying he hadn't felt good about things when he went to bed last night and that hadn't improved when he woke up. I nodded, agreed. I felt foolish there in the pool, like a little kid having a conversation with her father about being bad. It dawned on me I felt that way because I used to hide from my dad's temper by getting in the pool. Huh, mini psych lesson for the day.
"I ruined a great time by being stubborn..." he muttered. I wanted to agree but instead admitted I don't always know when to give up. He asked what we were going to do. Contemplating, I watched him from behind my glasses.
"We get over it."
"How do we do that?" he replied after some time.
"We forgive each other and move on. Or we don't." I said simply. After all the stress and heart break I'd endured in the past year I was preparing myself for the fact he may not want to go on. I steeled myself. I could handle it.
He appeared to digest the statement. Roll it around a bit. Then he slid into the pool, grabbed me up in my ridiculous inter tube and kissed me. We hugged and kissed and smiled. I knew then, it would be ok for now.
His response was simple. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll have plenty of fights." And he dazzled me with his devilish grin.
I should have kept my mouth closed.
The following weekend we worked together around the yard, lounged in the pool and just enjoyed being... After taking a nap to chase away his headache, we went downtown to an Irish pub. Goal: meet Julie's new boyfriend. I was excited to see her with him. The Principal was AMAZING.
He sat across from new boyfriend guy and chatted him right up so Julie and I could talk. He'd laugh, touch, kiss me so breezily I was afraid he'd turned into a pod person. Normally he's so reserved, this display of open affection was nothing short of miraculous. Julie even commented on it.
The new happy couple had a few drinks then had to take off, so we sat on the patio finishing our beers, listening to the live music, and talking. It was one of those blissfully fun times. Out of nowhere, the conversation turned to a topic that had the Principal going over unfamiliar territory. His past relationships. I salivated, nearly to the point of drooling in public, at the opportunity to find out more about this area of his life. What girl doesn't want to know a little about the other women in their man's history?
The atmosphere was light. He talked openly like never before, I asked questions to keep him talking. A pizza was grabbed, more beer was picked up and finally we were at home on the patio. It was the most fun time we'd spent together in months. I was high on the Principal.
I don't know what happened, but all at once everything in the evening that was light and fun drifted into the night like smoke. If there was a catalyst, I missed it. The Principal clamped down on his past when I asked some question. The same question he would have jokingly answered five minutes earlier. I pressed, not understanding. He became angry, I got defensive.
'Why do you want to know about this?"
"We were just talking about it, it's a discussion. What crawled up your butt?"
He was stern and defiant. I started to cry. I tried to explain I only wanted to know more about him because I'm interested in who he is. Because I love him. I felt like an idiot for letting this upset me, but he was mad.
"I just asked-"
"No! You didn't just ask! You pushed..."
"We were having such a good time. I don't understand what went wrong..."
Eventually, we exchanged more mean words and I stopped talking to him all together. My heart ached from the loss of all that joy we'd been having, at the feeling of being so at one with the Principal. Now I was outside drinking beer and reading a book, wiping tears off my cheeks while he went to bed. Deja vu much?
When I was tired enough, I debated whether or not to sleep on the couch. This is my freaking house! In the bedroom the Principal was passed out on the floor with the dogs. I debated, again, whether I should leave him there or not. Nah, I'm not that mean. I wanted to kick him awake, but at the same time didn't even want to touch him. Instead, I went with the "Hey, you" tactic.
In bed, I stayed as far away from him as possible. I lay on my side, facing the window as close to the edge of the mattress as I could get. As I closed my eyes I swore this would not repeat my relationship with the EX through the Principal. In the morning, I'd gauge what was going on here and move forward. But all through the night my body was hyper aware the Principal was so close.
I woke to scoot farther away if his skin even brushed mine. Early, I gave up trying. The dogs wanted food and the pool looked soothing. Shortly after I was starting to relax on my hot pink inter tube, he emerged from the house. I pretended not to notice as he sat on the patio smoking a cigarette and watching me. I could feel the anger coming from him.
Thankful for the tube, water and distance, I floated blindly to the far side. There would be no relaxing until we talked this out, but my true fear was that this would be the first step toward the end. I mean, The Principal drives all this way to have fun, to be with me and he won't continue wanting to if I can't keep my mouth shut and we fight.
After stubbing out his cigarette, he made his way over to the pool, sat down and put in his feet, right in front of me. His unshaven face looked worn, as if debating how to start. Eventually he did. Saying he hadn't felt good about things when he went to bed last night and that hadn't improved when he woke up. I nodded, agreed. I felt foolish there in the pool, like a little kid having a conversation with her father about being bad. It dawned on me I felt that way because I used to hide from my dad's temper by getting in the pool. Huh, mini psych lesson for the day.
"I ruined a great time by being stubborn..." he muttered. I wanted to agree but instead admitted I don't always know when to give up. He asked what we were going to do. Contemplating, I watched him from behind my glasses.
"We get over it."
"How do we do that?" he replied after some time.
"We forgive each other and move on. Or we don't." I said simply. After all the stress and heart break I'd endured in the past year I was preparing myself for the fact he may not want to go on. I steeled myself. I could handle it.
He appeared to digest the statement. Roll it around a bit. Then he slid into the pool, grabbed me up in my ridiculous inter tube and kissed me. We hugged and kissed and smiled. I knew then, it would be ok for now.
LDR
I am in a long distance relationship. Every Friday night I rush home to clean the house, and pace anxiously until The Principal arrives. We catch up on the week, have a beer and go to bed. Sometimes I cook so he has a hot meal when he arrives. If not I make sure to have his favorite sandwich fixings. I need a frilly apron with ruffles down the edges, I really do. Last week he walked in the house with a bouquet and a 12 pack. I felt like I'd been transported back to the 50's, and I liked it. The flowers were purple, because he said he knows how much I like purple.
On Saturday, we work on the house or yard or pool, do a little grocery shopping. Maybe stop by Home Depot or even Bed Bath and Beyond. I don't know, its a busy little weekend. I'll try out a new recipe for dinner. Sometimes we go out. I take advantage of him every chance I get. I do his laundry (I don't know why I do it, he doesn't ask and tries to do it himself. I just want to do something for him.)
Sunday he watches football, to my chagrin. On the TV and computer at the same time. I'm pretty sure he gets mobile updates as well. Its disturbing, but we made a deal. I look the other way on the football crap and I get to pick whatever we watch (movies, TV shows) 7 out of 10 times. I sit outside and read a book. We make lunch, talk about what we have going on the next week. He packs and leaves. I go down to CG and clean my offices. When I return home that night, the house is silent, the back yard is silent and I am alone. I stretch out in bed, take up the entire space to ensure I don't get any doggy company in the middle of the night. His pillow still smells like him.
The rest of the week seems to go by uneventfully. I spend the first half missing him, but by the end of the week I almost dread having him come home because I've grown used to my alone time. And he invades it all weekend. But when he's here I like that. Back and forth, my mind goes from missing/needing to independence/self-sufficiency.
I know this routine will change once he closes on his house. Then, he'll be expecting a rotation of states each weekend. I'll be expected to travel every other week to see him. This will get old. We'll take a weekend off. Then it will be every other weekend off. Then we'll break up. Yes, I'm being a pessimist. I just can't see how The Principal will decide to dedicate himself to all the travel and hard work just to have lil ole me do his laundry and pretending to be Holly Homemaker, when quite obviously I'm Holly's defunct cousin who develops hives when forced to dust, fold clothes, or put anything away.
Plus its the end of the week. He'll be home in a few short hours and I'll forget all the negative thoughts again.
First half of the week= Missing my wonderful man. Seeing a future I could share with him and blah, blah blah.
Second half of the week= Rethinking living the rest of my life alone because that is so much simpler than waiting for that freaking shoe to drop.
On Saturday, we work on the house or yard or pool, do a little grocery shopping. Maybe stop by Home Depot or even Bed Bath and Beyond. I don't know, its a busy little weekend. I'll try out a new recipe for dinner. Sometimes we go out. I take advantage of him every chance I get. I do his laundry (I don't know why I do it, he doesn't ask and tries to do it himself. I just want to do something for him.)
Sunday he watches football, to my chagrin. On the TV and computer at the same time. I'm pretty sure he gets mobile updates as well. Its disturbing, but we made a deal. I look the other way on the football crap and I get to pick whatever we watch (movies, TV shows) 7 out of 10 times. I sit outside and read a book. We make lunch, talk about what we have going on the next week. He packs and leaves. I go down to CG and clean my offices. When I return home that night, the house is silent, the back yard is silent and I am alone. I stretch out in bed, take up the entire space to ensure I don't get any doggy company in the middle of the night. His pillow still smells like him.
The rest of the week seems to go by uneventfully. I spend the first half missing him, but by the end of the week I almost dread having him come home because I've grown used to my alone time. And he invades it all weekend. But when he's here I like that. Back and forth, my mind goes from missing/needing to independence/self-sufficiency.
I know this routine will change once he closes on his house. Then, he'll be expecting a rotation of states each weekend. I'll be expected to travel every other week to see him. This will get old. We'll take a weekend off. Then it will be every other weekend off. Then we'll break up. Yes, I'm being a pessimist. I just can't see how The Principal will decide to dedicate himself to all the travel and hard work just to have lil ole me do his laundry and pretending to be Holly Homemaker, when quite obviously I'm Holly's defunct cousin who develops hives when forced to dust, fold clothes, or put anything away.
Plus its the end of the week. He'll be home in a few short hours and I'll forget all the negative thoughts again.
First half of the week= Missing my wonderful man. Seeing a future I could share with him and blah, blah blah.
Second half of the week= Rethinking living the rest of my life alone because that is so much simpler than waiting for that freaking shoe to drop.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The End of The Cat
I have to start this chapter at the Beginning of The Cat.
Not that I necessarily hate cats, I'm just not a cat person. The first cat in our family was due to me, because I was young and thought a kitty would be cute and cuddly and fun. Instead, she hissed and clawed and growled. She took pleasure from all my little friends running away from her in fright. She was evil. It was not the start of a very good track record...
So, when I was out with my boss looking at dogs to adopt for our senior community I saw a heartbreaking little cat. He was all black and his green eyes completely crossed. The volunteers told me he was hit in the head with a weed whacker when he was a kitty, that's why he looked the way he did. And to top it off they called him Whacker. I had to giggle.
Back at work I called my sister, the wrong person to confide in about adopting/buying an animal. You think she'll give you sound advice but in the end she is just telling you to get the damned thing. "Go back and if he's still there its meant to be. You can adopt him for the community." So I went back, and there he was, all pathetic looking.
He stayed in my office one day, on my desk. Then I took him to meet my parents and their black cat. Dad fell in love, possessively, with Whacker. My big ole dad just tenderly stroked the cat's head and told me either I kept him at my home, or he did. The end. Over his shoulder my lovely mother was pointing at me and mouthing "We don't need another animal, you take that fucking thing home with you!!!"
And I did. Whacker, whom my dad demanded must be renamed, went home with me. The EX and I had recently moved in together. I walked in with the cat in a carrier. The EX eyed it.
"What's in there."
"A cat."
"Is it going to stay here?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe. Do you mind?"
"Do I have a choice?"
I thought about it a second. "Not really." And that should have told us both a hell of a lot about our relationship.
So, The Cat stayed. At first he was all pathetic and mild mannered. After a vet check I discovered he had a respiratory and eye infection and needed meds. Once the meds cleared him all up The Cat turned into Chucky. He bolted through the house at night after all the lights went out. For such a little thing, he managed to slam into the mirrored closet doors, break dishes and knock himself out against the bed. In the mornings the Cat would nibble my chin or nose or just sleep on my head regardless of how many attempts I made to shove him away.
He would sit behind me yowling while I got ready for work. When he could stand it no longer he lunged up and attached his claws into my sweatpant clad ass. It was ridiculous.
But the EX was on my sister's side. They thought it was cruel to de-claw. After several days walking around with a cat hanging from my ass I told them both to shut the hell up and called the vet. The EX continued to fight me on it, as if he had a choice in the matter now.
About a week before The Cat's appointment, as I sat on the end of the EX's massive sectional, that he made love to more frequently than me, The Cat decided to lay on his side and use ALL four paws to scamper the length of the couch. Digging in deep.
In my sweetest voice I called out "Honey, you have to come see the kitty doing the cutest thing!"
The look on his face was priceless, but followed by anger at me for allowing The Cat to do it in the first place. I rolled my eyes and reminded him why I was getting this demon spawn's hand-o-knives surgically removed.
That first year with The Cat was marked by many strange and expensive events. He would sit in the kitchen, just out of reach and eye me, trying to guess how long it would take me to get around the bar to catch him. Then he would send one of my plates crashing to the ground. Or knock the trash can down while I was at work so the dog would tear everything up in a holy freaking mess. I had to buy an enclosed trash bin cabinet to keep them both out.
He also liked to sit on the edge of the tub while I showered. Plotting some other scheme I'm sure... The night he figured out how to turn the TV on I could have skinned him alive. Every five minutes he'd turn the big screen on, I'd have to get out of bed to turn it off. Finally I just muted the effing thing and gave the Cat the finger.
The worst was right after the EX left. I was excited to be getting home early, planned on playing with the animals, going for a walk and relaxing with a book. I was smiling in earnest for the first time in almost a year. When I opened the door to the condo a murder scene greeted me, with The Cat dancing around in all the blood.
It was smeared all over the tile, the walls, to my right in the steel water dish, crimson sparkled out at me. The carpet in the bedroom was pink, my brand new white quilt looked as if someone had been stabbed to death on it. Blood dotted the mirrored closets. In a panic I checked over the dog who had a little gash on his tongue and on his paws. The Cat was unscathed. The weapon of choice... A glass pesto jar that had sat untouched on the counter for 2 months. All the glass had been smashed, eaten up with the pesto, by the dog. And the fucking Cat was loving every minute of it.
In shock I stroked the dog's head as he shivered, told him I would just go to the bathroom and then we'd pay a lil visit to the emergency vet. You'd think the bathroom would have been safe... No, blood on the toilet, in the toilet, even in the freaking tub. I quickly cleaned the toilet up, peed with a pounding heart and took the dog to the vet.
3 hours and a hundred bucks later I returned to the bloody condo with a dog who would eventually "pass" all that glass. The next four hours was spent cleaning. Every time I turned around The Cat was in the bucket of red mop water splashing it all over the place. I swear to God, if I could have caught him, I would've killed him. No holding back. My relaxing evening turned into an all nighter of hellish labor.
In addition to the big events, there were the little ones. Like how every morning he would stalk me from the bottom of the bed trying to wake me up. I would crack an eye, see him coming, and right before he pounced I would kick/throw/elbow/scream him off the bed. That "little cat" had tripled his size and was now more of a panther than domestic animal. He lived solely to torture me. (and to complete his first attempt at killing the dog)
Few weeks after the pesto jar, I took The Cat in for his annual vet visit. Everything was fine. Until the blood work came back and I discovered he had feline leukemia. That, apparently, is very bad. Immediately I rushed home from work, scooped up the cat and took him back to be retested. I felt awful for all the kicking/throwing/screaming I'd done to this poor animal. And awful guilty for allowing him to expose all my sister's cats and my mom's own demon feline. He probably knew and was deceptively trying to kill them all slowly. Evil bastard.
Six weeks and three hundred dollars later, The Cat was positive. Every time he did some shitty thing he'd plop down on the ground, look up at me like "What? I've got leukemia." and there was nothing I could do about it. But eventually I moved on and went back to our battle in earnest. By Christmas I had him in the cutest little reindeer outfit, complete with antlers, and he hated every minute of my enjoyment! (my dad bought it so I cannot be blamed. it's rude not to put a gift to use)
There were some great times too. After The Cat would scream at me when I got home from a vacation, because he'd had no one to torture, he would cuddle up to my face in bed and purr. He'd reach out with those long monkey arms and pet me, or hug against me. Or how he would stretch out on his back when I got home from work. He managed to get his entire body flat and straight so you could just rub him up and down.
Everyone who knows me, knows I loved that Cat. Regardless of how many times I tossed him through the air or tried to give him away to unsuspecting parties, he was mine, and I was convinced he was going to make my life a living hell for the next 20 years or so. I had the Guinness Book of World Records on speed dial for the day he achieved the record of being the oldest, most annoying cat and won the record for causing the most damage.
Then, a couple weeks ago I came home and The Cat was laying on his side on the kitchen floor. He was wet, the giant water dish overturned. Both dogs were pacing around him, concerned, but not upset. The Cat just looked up at me like "Can you just get this fixed."
I was in shock mode again. What the hell happened? The Cat's hind leg looked useless and his eyes were bright with pain.
Calmly, I put both the dogs outside, grabbed the carrier and pulled the top of. Poor thing dragged himself over to get in. It was heartbreaking, but gave me hope. From the looks of the scene, I suspected The Cat had jumped, miscalculated and fell off the counter. Broken leg? Or hip. Please God, not the back. As terrible as it sounds, I was worried I wouldn't have enough money to fix him.
As I got in the car, I called my lovely mother to tell her I'd need to use her credit card for this. I was such a piece of shit, couldn't even take care of my own cat. Silently, I promised him I would pawn everything I own to make this right. Starting with jewelry from the EX.
At the vet I got a true look at the damage. It was dog teeth that had broken The Cat. The vet said this happens all the time and from the looks of the wounds, it wasn't serious. She'd call me in a bit with more after they sedated my now panting and crying cat. He kept reaching out to me, wanting me to all but lay on top of him to make the pain go away. That was when I started crying and couldn't stop.
He gave the vet tech an evil glare when she took off his collar. Despite his pain, he flipped over in the carrier and chewed on the skull and cross bones as if to say "Mine".
Three hours later I had cleaned the whole house. The irony of mopping up The Cats blood was not lost on me. I texted the Principal. He blamed Angus. I wasn't sure it was his dog, but I didn't want to believe either dog could have hurt The Cat who beat the both of them up so often. My heart wasn't breaking. I had hope. Pain meds, xrays, no broken bones, probably just muscle injuries. I could bring him home...
The vet was very clear there was something more, she couldn't figure out his pain. It would have cost over a grand to put him in the hospital for the night and I could nurse him at home. He needed to be home. The Principal, just in town, got there before me. When I saw the look on his face my hope faltered a bit. I shoved it back in place.
I settled him alone in the bedroom on a heating pad. The back end of his body was like ice. I knew this was bad but I had hope. The Cat cried more and more. The Principal told me to let him rest. Every ten minute I went back to check. The Cat was pathetic. Wanted water and slurped it down greedily. He got worse. We had to take him to the ER soon but I wanted to try the pain meds. I gave it to him, stroked his head as he thrashed at his useless leg. Ten minutes to see how the meds worked then we were going.
"I think he's dead." My voice was shaky. It was not my voice.
He leaned over The Cat. He rested his head on his chest. The Principal even blew air into his mouth. I hadn't realized yet but I was sobbing, pacing, waiting for the Principal to lift The Cat into the carrier and rush out to the hospital.
Instead, he turned back to me shaking his head and opening his arms to embrace me. He had to be wrong! The Cat couldn't be killed. I was going to fix this, make him better! But when I knelt down in front of Jeter, I couldn't even touch him. Once I spoke, it became a chant "I'm so sorry.." I rocked back and forth.
Not that I necessarily hate cats, I'm just not a cat person. The first cat in our family was due to me, because I was young and thought a kitty would be cute and cuddly and fun. Instead, she hissed and clawed and growled. She took pleasure from all my little friends running away from her in fright. She was evil. It was not the start of a very good track record...
So, when I was out with my boss looking at dogs to adopt for our senior community I saw a heartbreaking little cat. He was all black and his green eyes completely crossed. The volunteers told me he was hit in the head with a weed whacker when he was a kitty, that's why he looked the way he did. And to top it off they called him Whacker. I had to giggle.
Back at work I called my sister, the wrong person to confide in about adopting/buying an animal. You think she'll give you sound advice but in the end she is just telling you to get the damned thing. "Go back and if he's still there its meant to be. You can adopt him for the community." So I went back, and there he was, all pathetic looking.
He stayed in my office one day, on my desk. Then I took him to meet my parents and their black cat. Dad fell in love, possessively, with Whacker. My big ole dad just tenderly stroked the cat's head and told me either I kept him at my home, or he did. The end. Over his shoulder my lovely mother was pointing at me and mouthing "We don't need another animal, you take that fucking thing home with you!!!"
And I did. Whacker, whom my dad demanded must be renamed, went home with me. The EX and I had recently moved in together. I walked in with the cat in a carrier. The EX eyed it.
"What's in there."
"A cat."
"Is it going to stay here?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe. Do you mind?"
"Do I have a choice?"
I thought about it a second. "Not really." And that should have told us both a hell of a lot about our relationship.
So, The Cat stayed. At first he was all pathetic and mild mannered. After a vet check I discovered he had a respiratory and eye infection and needed meds. Once the meds cleared him all up The Cat turned into Chucky. He bolted through the house at night after all the lights went out. For such a little thing, he managed to slam into the mirrored closet doors, break dishes and knock himself out against the bed. In the mornings the Cat would nibble my chin or nose or just sleep on my head regardless of how many attempts I made to shove him away.
He would sit behind me yowling while I got ready for work. When he could stand it no longer he lunged up and attached his claws into my sweatpant clad ass. It was ridiculous.
But the EX was on my sister's side. They thought it was cruel to de-claw. After several days walking around with a cat hanging from my ass I told them both to shut the hell up and called the vet. The EX continued to fight me on it, as if he had a choice in the matter now.
About a week before The Cat's appointment, as I sat on the end of the EX's massive sectional, that he made love to more frequently than me, The Cat decided to lay on his side and use ALL four paws to scamper the length of the couch. Digging in deep.
In my sweetest voice I called out "Honey, you have to come see the kitty doing the cutest thing!"
The look on his face was priceless, but followed by anger at me for allowing The Cat to do it in the first place. I rolled my eyes and reminded him why I was getting this demon spawn's hand-o-knives surgically removed.
That first year with The Cat was marked by many strange and expensive events. He would sit in the kitchen, just out of reach and eye me, trying to guess how long it would take me to get around the bar to catch him. Then he would send one of my plates crashing to the ground. Or knock the trash can down while I was at work so the dog would tear everything up in a holy freaking mess. I had to buy an enclosed trash bin cabinet to keep them both out.
He also liked to sit on the edge of the tub while I showered. Plotting some other scheme I'm sure... The night he figured out how to turn the TV on I could have skinned him alive. Every five minutes he'd turn the big screen on, I'd have to get out of bed to turn it off. Finally I just muted the effing thing and gave the Cat the finger.
The worst was right after the EX left. I was excited to be getting home early, planned on playing with the animals, going for a walk and relaxing with a book. I was smiling in earnest for the first time in almost a year. When I opened the door to the condo a murder scene greeted me, with The Cat dancing around in all the blood.
It was smeared all over the tile, the walls, to my right in the steel water dish, crimson sparkled out at me. The carpet in the bedroom was pink, my brand new white quilt looked as if someone had been stabbed to death on it. Blood dotted the mirrored closets. In a panic I checked over the dog who had a little gash on his tongue and on his paws. The Cat was unscathed. The weapon of choice... A glass pesto jar that had sat untouched on the counter for 2 months. All the glass had been smashed, eaten up with the pesto, by the dog. And the fucking Cat was loving every minute of it.
In shock I stroked the dog's head as he shivered, told him I would just go to the bathroom and then we'd pay a lil visit to the emergency vet. You'd think the bathroom would have been safe... No, blood on the toilet, in the toilet, even in the freaking tub. I quickly cleaned the toilet up, peed with a pounding heart and took the dog to the vet.
3 hours and a hundred bucks later I returned to the bloody condo with a dog who would eventually "pass" all that glass. The next four hours was spent cleaning. Every time I turned around The Cat was in the bucket of red mop water splashing it all over the place. I swear to God, if I could have caught him, I would've killed him. No holding back. My relaxing evening turned into an all nighter of hellish labor.
In addition to the big events, there were the little ones. Like how every morning he would stalk me from the bottom of the bed trying to wake me up. I would crack an eye, see him coming, and right before he pounced I would kick/throw/elbow/scream him off the bed. That "little cat" had tripled his size and was now more of a panther than domestic animal. He lived solely to torture me. (and to complete his first attempt at killing the dog)
Few weeks after the pesto jar, I took The Cat in for his annual vet visit. Everything was fine. Until the blood work came back and I discovered he had feline leukemia. That, apparently, is very bad. Immediately I rushed home from work, scooped up the cat and took him back to be retested. I felt awful for all the kicking/throwing/screaming I'd done to this poor animal. And awful guilty for allowing him to expose all my sister's cats and my mom's own demon feline. He probably knew and was deceptively trying to kill them all slowly. Evil bastard.
Six weeks and three hundred dollars later, The Cat was positive. Every time he did some shitty thing he'd plop down on the ground, look up at me like "What? I've got leukemia." and there was nothing I could do about it. But eventually I moved on and went back to our battle in earnest. By Christmas I had him in the cutest little reindeer outfit, complete with antlers, and he hated every minute of my enjoyment! (my dad bought it so I cannot be blamed. it's rude not to put a gift to use)
There were some great times too. After The Cat would scream at me when I got home from a vacation, because he'd had no one to torture, he would cuddle up to my face in bed and purr. He'd reach out with those long monkey arms and pet me, or hug against me. Or how he would stretch out on his back when I got home from work. He managed to get his entire body flat and straight so you could just rub him up and down.
Everyone who knows me, knows I loved that Cat. Regardless of how many times I tossed him through the air or tried to give him away to unsuspecting parties, he was mine, and I was convinced he was going to make my life a living hell for the next 20 years or so. I had the Guinness Book of World Records on speed dial for the day he achieved the record of being the oldest, most annoying cat and won the record for causing the most damage.
Then, a couple weeks ago I came home and The Cat was laying on his side on the kitchen floor. He was wet, the giant water dish overturned. Both dogs were pacing around him, concerned, but not upset. The Cat just looked up at me like "Can you just get this fixed."
I was in shock mode again. What the hell happened? The Cat's hind leg looked useless and his eyes were bright with pain.
Calmly, I put both the dogs outside, grabbed the carrier and pulled the top of. Poor thing dragged himself over to get in. It was heartbreaking, but gave me hope. From the looks of the scene, I suspected The Cat had jumped, miscalculated and fell off the counter. Broken leg? Or hip. Please God, not the back. As terrible as it sounds, I was worried I wouldn't have enough money to fix him.
As I got in the car, I called my lovely mother to tell her I'd need to use her credit card for this. I was such a piece of shit, couldn't even take care of my own cat. Silently, I promised him I would pawn everything I own to make this right. Starting with jewelry from the EX.
At the vet I got a true look at the damage. It was dog teeth that had broken The Cat. The vet said this happens all the time and from the looks of the wounds, it wasn't serious. She'd call me in a bit with more after they sedated my now panting and crying cat. He kept reaching out to me, wanting me to all but lay on top of him to make the pain go away. That was when I started crying and couldn't stop.
He gave the vet tech an evil glare when she took off his collar. Despite his pain, he flipped over in the carrier and chewed on the skull and cross bones as if to say "Mine".
Three hours later I had cleaned the whole house. The irony of mopping up The Cats blood was not lost on me. I texted the Principal. He blamed Angus. I wasn't sure it was his dog, but I didn't want to believe either dog could have hurt The Cat who beat the both of them up so often. My heart wasn't breaking. I had hope. Pain meds, xrays, no broken bones, probably just muscle injuries. I could bring him home...
The vet was very clear there was something more, she couldn't figure out his pain. It would have cost over a grand to put him in the hospital for the night and I could nurse him at home. He needed to be home. The Principal, just in town, got there before me. When I saw the look on his face my hope faltered a bit. I shoved it back in place.
I settled him alone in the bedroom on a heating pad. The back end of his body was like ice. I knew this was bad but I had hope. The Cat cried more and more. The Principal told me to let him rest. Every ten minute I went back to check. The Cat was pathetic. Wanted water and slurped it down greedily. He got worse. We had to take him to the ER soon but I wanted to try the pain meds. I gave it to him, stroked his head as he thrashed at his useless leg. Ten minutes to see how the meds worked then we were going.
When I went back he was silent. Unmoving.
I yelled for the Principal."I think he's dead." My voice was shaky. It was not my voice.
He leaned over The Cat. He rested his head on his chest. The Principal even blew air into his mouth. I hadn't realized yet but I was sobbing, pacing, waiting for the Principal to lift The Cat into the carrier and rush out to the hospital.
Instead, he turned back to me shaking his head and opening his arms to embrace me. He had to be wrong! The Cat couldn't be killed. I was going to fix this, make him better! But when I knelt down in front of Jeter, I couldn't even touch him. Once I spoke, it became a chant "I'm so sorry.." I rocked back and forth.
The Principal tried to get me to sit up so he could hold me, give comfort. "Are you sure?" My hope lit up again. I mean, The Cat didn't look dead, couldn't be dead.
He checked every time I asked "Are you sure." I raced to get a flash light so The Principal could check his eyes. Then my heart was ripped into eighty-four thousand pieces again and I would sob uncontrollably. I wanted to die. I didn't deserve to live. Normal, decent people take care of their cats. I allowed mine to mauled by my own fucking dogs.
The Principal gently laid Jeter in his kitty bed, the very first one I had gotten him at the senior community. He loved that bed. I followed the Principal into the spare room where he put on his shoes. I couldn't leave The Cat alone. I shouldn't have ever left him alone, that's why he's dead. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, but we're going to the vet anyway. Okay?"
"Do you think I killed him, giving him more pain meds?" I fell to my knees. My stomach knotted underneath my rib cage and suctioned itself to my heart. I had killed my own cat. Once I realized I was sobbing into the Principal's knee I moved to face the bed, but there was the quiet cat. I bit my lip hard.
There are so many things in this life I have lifted up and carried on my shoulders. Was it really so much to ask that my asshole cat be unscathed? I couldn't breath. This can't be happening.
We got in the car, drove halfway to the vet, realized neither of us brought a wallet and had to go back. Which was a good thing, I needed tissues. Snot was running like a river. My eyes refused to stop leaking, my heart was shredding through my back and my mind.. My mind was treading the darkest waters it had in years. I had to bite my lip to keep from asking "Are you sure...
I just stared down at Jeter in his kitty bed. Curled up with his head turned and one paw resting on the edge, just the way he loved to sleep. I stroked his body trying to convey all the love I would have shown him over the next 20 years if he would only stay... I tried to hold his paw up to my face, but he was no longer as pliant as he once was. I thought it was impossible, but my heart shattered even more.
The vet took him, and he was cremated. When she asked me how old the Cat I cried even harder. Not even four years old...
It would have cost double to get the ashes. I already have one dead man's ashes in my house... it just would be too strange. I walked briskly out of the office, to the car, where I immediately dissolved into gut wrenching pain again. I left him alone, forever. It wasn't right. I was wrong. Were they sure... What if they're wrong..
We drove home in silence. I swore this pain was never going to leave my body. My soul hurt. I had to tell my family what I had done. They'd tell me it wasn't my fault. I would have to pretend I understood that. I cried so much that my eyes ached. When I lay down, water rained from my cheeks. It would be better in the morning, right?
I woke up sobbing. One look in the mirror and I saw eggs had been laid beneath my eyes. They were swollen nearly shut and my nose was raw. The Principal didn't drive all the way from New Mexico to see this. I was ruining everything already, but I couldn't seem to care. That long legged cat from hell broke my heart. I should have protected him. I shoved on some sunglasses and continued to cry.
Ice packs didn't help because the tears wouldn't cease. Laughter only made me feel worse, I had no right to laugh when that Cat was killed in my very home. The worst part was the dogs. Angus continued to look for The Cat and Cutter was only mildly put off by his absence. I wanted both of them gone. The Principal would soon have a permanent home and could take them.
All weekend I was a walking zombie. The Principal was an amazing support system. Smiling, making jokes, dancing in his little elvish way. He was sweet and understanding. He made me food. Looked after the dogs so I wouldn't be forced to. Took all of the Cat's effects, food, meds, kitty litter, to a shelter. I can't imagine what he thought of me crying and carrying on the way I did. But I didn't care. The Cat was dead. Nothing else matters.
Everyone says I'll get over it. It has been a few weeks and I no longer cry constantly. I can look at the top of the refrigerator without sobbing. I can look at the dogs, play with them. But I am not over it. Jeter was my cat. My constant. And now he no longer exists.
This may seem like a long post, but it was too brief a life. I mean he didn't even get to break all of my plates yet... I never got to take him swimming or to dress him up as a ballerina...
Playing House
The Principal moved some stuff in to my place during his transition to far, far away. I helped a little. I didn't have a panic attack when I saw my garage fill up. I didn't freak out when he claimed a spare bedroom to put some things in. No fear was shown. Not even a drop.
We spent the next two weekends like an old married couple. Grocery shopping, making sure he had enough jeans for work, watching movies, Home Depot, yard work, cooking at home, folding laundry. I told Julie about it. She snorted and asked if I'd ever seen "Old School." My reply was that we'd had a nice little Saturday, missed out on going to Bed, Bath & Beyond and she could shut the hell up.
As much as I enjoyed having him in my house and spending time together... The old me was itching for my space. I would miss him soon after he left but leading up to his departure I had to force my hands to stop rubbing together like Mr. Burns. My solitude is ingrained and I miss it as if it were a person when its gone. Kind of like I'm cheating on the Principal wanting my alone time and vice versa.
The best part, that first weekend when he was getting ready to leave he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me. He told me he loved me and we would make things work. It felt good to have the reassurance even though that day my glass was half full. It was nice to know this was hard on him too.
Communication hit an all time high for us. There were more calls and texts and even an instance of Skype, which is so freaking weird I barely have words to describe it. My heart squeezed to be able to see him on the computer. My ego fell when I saw how I looked in the little window. Do I always make those awful faces? My eyes looked like they were trying to escape my face! Ugh. Fucking technology.
We spent the next two weekends like an old married couple. Grocery shopping, making sure he had enough jeans for work, watching movies, Home Depot, yard work, cooking at home, folding laundry. I told Julie about it. She snorted and asked if I'd ever seen "Old School." My reply was that we'd had a nice little Saturday, missed out on going to Bed, Bath & Beyond and she could shut the hell up.
As much as I enjoyed having him in my house and spending time together... The old me was itching for my space. I would miss him soon after he left but leading up to his departure I had to force my hands to stop rubbing together like Mr. Burns. My solitude is ingrained and I miss it as if it were a person when its gone. Kind of like I'm cheating on the Principal wanting my alone time and vice versa.
The best part, that first weekend when he was getting ready to leave he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me. He told me he loved me and we would make things work. It felt good to have the reassurance even though that day my glass was half full. It was nice to know this was hard on him too.
Communication hit an all time high for us. There were more calls and texts and even an instance of Skype, which is so freaking weird I barely have words to describe it. My heart squeezed to be able to see him on the computer. My ego fell when I saw how I looked in the little window. Do I always make those awful faces? My eyes looked like they were trying to escape my face! Ugh. Fucking technology.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Offer Letter
I knew it was going to happen. I thought I was prepared. Then I get a text from The Principal that confirmed my worst fear... He got the job far, far way.
Sitting at my desk I hung my head like a pathetic loser and replied that I was thrilled for him. Tickled, really. Then I ate about four thousand M&M's in hopes they might make me feel better, which of course never really works.
I imagined how I would feel if I was offered the job I really wanted, was changing careers for the better, and had the opportunity to move. I would be on cloud 9 for sure! And I didn't want to be petty.... and I am so not the type of person to say "what about me?" But for the rest of the week, I wondered what would become of me after he is gone.
Every time we talked on the phone I was upbeat. The Principal was super stoked about the idea of buying a house... on land... that he could fix up... And didn't understand why I asked him when he would have time for such a project. His response was "What else am I going to do there besides work?"
Ummm... Drive to see your girlfriend in AZ every weekend like you said you would so we can still have a relationship despite being 300 miles away from one another! Of course I didn't say that. I kept my mouth shut. I'm doing that a lot lately and I think it might be poisoning me from the inside out.
I talked to Julie on the phone practically every night and she texted me during the day to see how I was doing. She knows I shut off and refuse to process things I don't like. At the beginning of the week when I was pining away and convinced that this relationship was doomed and my heart was on the fringe of breaking into a million pieces, Julie came over to pick some stuff up. She looked me over and quickly decided I would feel better if we had some cocktails and came up with a game plan.
According to Julie, a scripted idea of what I want to say to the Principal was the best way to go. I could hit all of my major points, leave no room for misunderstanding, and get a clear picture of where I stand with this man. Finally.
Points:
1) How does he feel about me?
2) Where does he see this relationship going?
I'm sure there were many more but by the time I arrived at his place Saturday night those were the only two that mattered to me. The see-saw of my emotions had gone from heart break to numbness in about two days, shifting me from verge of devastation to self-contained robot. This thing with the Principal was either going to work out... or not. One way or another. I could be direct and know where I'm heading.
I sat at the kitchen table while he made pizza. He was so... jubilant. So happy. And I was going to ruin it, again, with my talk of feelings.
"So, I need to ask you some questions."
"Uh-oh... 'Bout what?"
"Emotional stuff..."
Maniacal laughing.
"Well, you are moving to BFE in like a month and I think we should figure out where this is going."
"OK, ask your questions." Continues snickering.
"How do you feel about me?" I expected a long pause.
"Oh, I'm crazy 'bout ya." He answers immediately, with what I think is real enthusiasm. I actually blush, but I'm still too numb to let it penetrate all the way to my heart.
"Yeah? Well, I don't exactly know what that means."
"It means I'm crazy about you." He grins at me because he thinks this is fun now.
"OK... So what are your plans for this relationship. You know- goals, future."
More belly laughing, much teasing. The Principal should be glad he was cooking and I had no immediate access to cutlery.
"Just answer the question. You're going to be living in another state. I need to know what to expect, otherwise what's the point?"
The conversation went around and around and though I was composed on the outside, there is this strange ripping inside my chest. He's crazy about me. But he doesn't love me. Or he does love me but doesn't know how to say it? I'm sitting there asking, without asking, and he can't tell me yes or no. I tell him I'm an adult and I can take it. I hope I'm not lying.
Then the Principal admits that he know what I'm looking for. But then why does he continue to tease me and make me squirm? Is he really so evil? Because he's a big pussy. His words, not mine. I try to ask why but he's already off on another tangent about how I may be ruining a very romantic way he planned on telling me "It."
(Like this anonymous emotion is the equivalent to one of Stephen King's nightmares.)
"What if I was planning something really romantic?"
"You weren't."
"But what if I was? What if I was going to have a plane write it in the sky?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"I might... Or, I could have wanted to take you up in a hot air balloon, with champagne, and when you gazed down on the fields it would be written in the crops." With expansive hand gestures.
"You're afraid of heights and I'm allergic to champagne." I rolled my eyes and kicked him.
With that he threw up his arms and tried to escape back into the condo. I followed but only so I could kick him more directly in the ass. To my horror, he turned on me. Grabbed me by the waist and backed me against the kitchen table so he could stare directly into my eyes. He said my full name. Like in a bad after school movie. I rolled my eyes again.
"I really do love you."
I looked to the side. I couldn't resist.
"Would have been so much cooler if it had been written in the sky..."
Sitting at my desk I hung my head like a pathetic loser and replied that I was thrilled for him. Tickled, really. Then I ate about four thousand M&M's in hopes they might make me feel better, which of course never really works.
I imagined how I would feel if I was offered the job I really wanted, was changing careers for the better, and had the opportunity to move. I would be on cloud 9 for sure! And I didn't want to be petty.... and I am so not the type of person to say "what about me?" But for the rest of the week, I wondered what would become of me after he is gone.
Every time we talked on the phone I was upbeat. The Principal was super stoked about the idea of buying a house... on land... that he could fix up... And didn't understand why I asked him when he would have time for such a project. His response was "What else am I going to do there besides work?"
Ummm... Drive to see your girlfriend in AZ every weekend like you said you would so we can still have a relationship despite being 300 miles away from one another! Of course I didn't say that. I kept my mouth shut. I'm doing that a lot lately and I think it might be poisoning me from the inside out.
I talked to Julie on the phone practically every night and she texted me during the day to see how I was doing. She knows I shut off and refuse to process things I don't like. At the beginning of the week when I was pining away and convinced that this relationship was doomed and my heart was on the fringe of breaking into a million pieces, Julie came over to pick some stuff up. She looked me over and quickly decided I would feel better if we had some cocktails and came up with a game plan.
According to Julie, a scripted idea of what I want to say to the Principal was the best way to go. I could hit all of my major points, leave no room for misunderstanding, and get a clear picture of where I stand with this man. Finally.
Points:
1) How does he feel about me?
2) Where does he see this relationship going?
I'm sure there were many more but by the time I arrived at his place Saturday night those were the only two that mattered to me. The see-saw of my emotions had gone from heart break to numbness in about two days, shifting me from verge of devastation to self-contained robot. This thing with the Principal was either going to work out... or not. One way or another. I could be direct and know where I'm heading.
I sat at the kitchen table while he made pizza. He was so... jubilant. So happy. And I was going to ruin it, again, with my talk of feelings.
"So, I need to ask you some questions."
"Uh-oh... 'Bout what?"
"Emotional stuff..."
Maniacal laughing.
"Well, you are moving to BFE in like a month and I think we should figure out where this is going."
"OK, ask your questions." Continues snickering.
"How do you feel about me?" I expected a long pause.
"Oh, I'm crazy 'bout ya." He answers immediately, with what I think is real enthusiasm. I actually blush, but I'm still too numb to let it penetrate all the way to my heart.
"Yeah? Well, I don't exactly know what that means."
"It means I'm crazy about you." He grins at me because he thinks this is fun now.
"OK... So what are your plans for this relationship. You know- goals, future."
More belly laughing, much teasing. The Principal should be glad he was cooking and I had no immediate access to cutlery.
"Just answer the question. You're going to be living in another state. I need to know what to expect, otherwise what's the point?"
The conversation went around and around and though I was composed on the outside, there is this strange ripping inside my chest. He's crazy about me. But he doesn't love me. Or he does love me but doesn't know how to say it? I'm sitting there asking, without asking, and he can't tell me yes or no. I tell him I'm an adult and I can take it. I hope I'm not lying.
Then the Principal admits that he know what I'm looking for. But then why does he continue to tease me and make me squirm? Is he really so evil? Because he's a big pussy. His words, not mine. I try to ask why but he's already off on another tangent about how I may be ruining a very romantic way he planned on telling me "It."
(Like this anonymous emotion is the equivalent to one of Stephen King's nightmares.)
"What if I was planning something really romantic?"
"You weren't."
"But what if I was? What if I was going to have a plane write it in the sky?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"I might... Or, I could have wanted to take you up in a hot air balloon, with champagne, and when you gazed down on the fields it would be written in the crops." With expansive hand gestures.
"You're afraid of heights and I'm allergic to champagne." I rolled my eyes and kicked him.
With that he threw up his arms and tried to escape back into the condo. I followed but only so I could kick him more directly in the ass. To my horror, he turned on me. Grabbed me by the waist and backed me against the kitchen table so he could stare directly into my eyes. He said my full name. Like in a bad after school movie. I rolled my eyes again.
"I really do love you."
I looked to the side. I couldn't resist.
"Would have been so much cooler if it had been written in the sky..."
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
My First Online In-Person Date
"Awwww! The Katester has a date! Whoo-hoo!" hooted my co-worker Mark. He thought my return to dating was going to be very entertaining. Everybody at work did. My mom was practically foaming at the mouth with excitement while my dad watched TV pretending he had no idea what was going on. My sister was worried.. but from a distance.
When did my attempt at a love life become popular? I need to learn how to keep things to myself...
The day of my first date with the dude I met online was hell. Everybody at work wanted to know where we were going, what he was like, what I was going to wear... I hadn't even thought about what I was going to wear. Shit. I guess that is sort of important.
Mark kept teasing me, saying I'd be doing the nasty in no time at all. Kelly kept giving me advice that was supposed to be emotionally nurturing. My sister kept texting me. The nerves in my teeth even hurt. Why had I decided to do this? Oh yeah, peer pressure.
At five o'clock I went home and beautified. There was hair to be washed, blow-dried and curled. Make-up to be applied. Clothes to unbury, dewrinkled in the dryer and tossed aside if they made me look fat. 40 minutes before our date I was dressed and my hair looked fabulous. Too bad I had to go out.
We had decided to meet at an Italian restaurant somewhere between both our cities. I attempted to make my nerves deaf by rocking out to Paramore as loud as my car would allow. Five minutes before I arrived at the place, I had an intense urge to turn around and go back home.
But that's what wussies do. And I am NOT a wussy.
I waited in front of the place, unable to believe I was early for once in my life. My spot gave me a clear shot of the online dude as he walked up. If I could have turned invisible I would have. Wasn't it bad enough this was practically a blind date? Did he really have to bring me roses?
Besides the flowers the date was nice. My stomach was so sucked in I could hardly eat my eggplant parm, and I even passed on getting a beer. Conversation was difficult with lots of awkward pauses, but that's kind of normal, right? He had a nice smile. Seemed sincere. Nice to look at in a shy, boy next door kind of way.
After we had talked and ate and it was time to go he walked me to my car. Nice, right? When we got there he gave me the world's quickest, barely touch, "she-might-have-cooties" hug and ran away. Well, he didn't literally run away but he moved out of there damn fast.
I kept it together. Waited until he left the parking lot, way before me. Then I cried exactly two tears and cranked up the rock.
He must have thought I was fat. Why didn't I lose some weight before I started dating? Or maybe I was too nervous? What if he thought I was ugly or boring? Did I have food in my teeth? Each time the tears would threaten again I would sing along with Hayley Williams. Pretend I didn't care.
This dating shit is emotional.
When I got home I called Markie to whine. I hadn't intended but he said I didn't sound perky. I broke the date down, looked at it from all angles. Mark, bless his big Philly heart was such a sweetie and told me that if this guy didn't want me he was fucking nuts. He made me feel a little better.
Then the online dude texted me. He was worried he'd been too nervous at dinner. He said he hadn't expected me to be so beautiful, which was probably a line. Hell, I don't care if it was a line! A guy was attracted enough to feed me a line!
Whoo-hoo!
When did my attempt at a love life become popular? I need to learn how to keep things to myself...
The day of my first date with the dude I met online was hell. Everybody at work wanted to know where we were going, what he was like, what I was going to wear... I hadn't even thought about what I was going to wear. Shit. I guess that is sort of important.
Mark kept teasing me, saying I'd be doing the nasty in no time at all. Kelly kept giving me advice that was supposed to be emotionally nurturing. My sister kept texting me. The nerves in my teeth even hurt. Why had I decided to do this? Oh yeah, peer pressure.
At five o'clock I went home and beautified. There was hair to be washed, blow-dried and curled. Make-up to be applied. Clothes to unbury, dewrinkled in the dryer and tossed aside if they made me look fat. 40 minutes before our date I was dressed and my hair looked fabulous. Too bad I had to go out.
We had decided to meet at an Italian restaurant somewhere between both our cities. I attempted to make my nerves deaf by rocking out to Paramore as loud as my car would allow. Five minutes before I arrived at the place, I had an intense urge to turn around and go back home.
But that's what wussies do. And I am NOT a wussy.
I waited in front of the place, unable to believe I was early for once in my life. My spot gave me a clear shot of the online dude as he walked up. If I could have turned invisible I would have. Wasn't it bad enough this was practically a blind date? Did he really have to bring me roses?
Besides the flowers the date was nice. My stomach was so sucked in I could hardly eat my eggplant parm, and I even passed on getting a beer. Conversation was difficult with lots of awkward pauses, but that's kind of normal, right? He had a nice smile. Seemed sincere. Nice to look at in a shy, boy next door kind of way.
After we had talked and ate and it was time to go he walked me to my car. Nice, right? When we got there he gave me the world's quickest, barely touch, "she-might-have-cooties" hug and ran away. Well, he didn't literally run away but he moved out of there damn fast.
I kept it together. Waited until he left the parking lot, way before me. Then I cried exactly two tears and cranked up the rock.
He must have thought I was fat. Why didn't I lose some weight before I started dating? Or maybe I was too nervous? What if he thought I was ugly or boring? Did I have food in my teeth? Each time the tears would threaten again I would sing along with Hayley Williams. Pretend I didn't care.
This dating shit is emotional.
When I got home I called Markie to whine. I hadn't intended but he said I didn't sound perky. I broke the date down, looked at it from all angles. Mark, bless his big Philly heart was such a sweetie and told me that if this guy didn't want me he was fucking nuts. He made me feel a little better.
Then the online dude texted me. He was worried he'd been too nervous at dinner. He said he hadn't expected me to be so beautiful, which was probably a line. Hell, I don't care if it was a line! A guy was attracted enough to feed me a line!
Whoo-hoo!
The End of the EX
I came home to my condo, walked in the living room, and soaked up the space. Kind of like a CSI actress, but one that makes considerably less money. The living room hadn't been this empty since I first moved in almost two years ago. It seemed bigger now. I could almost see the air pass through the newly created vacancies, reclaiming it. So I just stood there and stared at all the dog hair covered carpet I'd forgotten was there for 10 months. Ugh, I would need to vacuum soon.
Gone was the goliath of sectionals that allowed only a foot and a half walk space around it. The 60 inch TV, thick and tall, no longer dominated the entire room. No more scarred coffee table with crap loaded all over it or baseball themed end tables. This living room now contained only an ancient wood entertainment center, empty except for dust, a love seat that had seen better days and indentations in the carpet where real furniture used to exist.
I absorbed all this, walked around the kitchen and to the bedroom. It looked pretty much the same. The right closet door stood open revealing its emptiness. The curtains bellowed out where the one white dresser had been so I moved the old wrought iron bench in front of the window. That bench had been there before. Some things are consistent. I'd had that bench longer than anything else in the condo. I gave it a little pat. Good bench.
I plopped down on the bed, kicked my shoes off and proceeded to get undressed from normal people clothes into my sweat pants. Less than 5 seconds later I was heading out the sliding glass doors to my patio with a cold beer and what would hopefully turn out to be a good book. After all, it was a pleasant enough distraction before the EX moved out.
That's the beginning of my story. My boyfriend of seven years, off and on, moved out. Quickly. He ran away, really. And I was ok with it. Well, as ok as anyone can be after fighting for eight months, gaining 20 pounds and having forgotten what it's like to have sex with an actual person.
I just went on with my life as if nothing had changed, because the only real thing actually changed was the condo had been cleared out. At least he took the tension, too.
Now, I must say that my entire relationship with the EX cannot be looked at badly. He was a great guy who just happened to piss me off to no end when we were romantically involved. We must have broken up at least ten times over the years, but we always got back together. Why? Because it was like going home. No matter how crappy we were to each other, in the end we knew we cared. And we had been young and immature when we met at age nineteen.
But something broke wide apart when we moved in together. I had been working my ass off at 4 different jobs: Cleaning offices on the weekends, teaching dance for kids a few nights a week, dancing for a company, and climbing the corporate ladder into sales at my main job. All of this to pay the bills. I said I needed help. The EX said he wanted us to live together because I could only see him once a week. It took longer for us to move in together than the living arrangement lasted.
And the most ironic part... By the time he moved in I was making more money than I ever thought possible after a sudden promotion. I no longer needed him to move in with me to share bills. In fact, I was paying my rent a couple months in advance just to get rid of some of that cash. Months before when I had been crying about not being able to afford a new mattress the EX was unwilling to pitch in. I was now buying new bedroom furniture and book shelves galore. He paid for the white dresser and made sure he took it with him when he left.
After months of yelling, silent treatments, crying and a lot of beer, our relationship hit the fan and disintegrated into nothing. He moved out. I bought a new red couch and a much classier, streamlined version of his TV. It was over and there would never be another repeat performance. The EX had left the building.
My friends, at least the ones starting to develop at work, were amazed I acted no differently after such a life altering change. Ummm.. People go through this shit all the time and live normally. It wasn't an actual divorce or anything. No custody hearing. The EX was told to fuck off when he asked about visitation for the dog. MY dog. I politely said no. I offered him the cat. He rolled his eyes. So all in all this was a no nonsense, easy break up.
Then why did I have no desire to ever date again?
Gone was the goliath of sectionals that allowed only a foot and a half walk space around it. The 60 inch TV, thick and tall, no longer dominated the entire room. No more scarred coffee table with crap loaded all over it or baseball themed end tables. This living room now contained only an ancient wood entertainment center, empty except for dust, a love seat that had seen better days and indentations in the carpet where real furniture used to exist.
I absorbed all this, walked around the kitchen and to the bedroom. It looked pretty much the same. The right closet door stood open revealing its emptiness. The curtains bellowed out where the one white dresser had been so I moved the old wrought iron bench in front of the window. That bench had been there before. Some things are consistent. I'd had that bench longer than anything else in the condo. I gave it a little pat. Good bench.
I plopped down on the bed, kicked my shoes off and proceeded to get undressed from normal people clothes into my sweat pants. Less than 5 seconds later I was heading out the sliding glass doors to my patio with a cold beer and what would hopefully turn out to be a good book. After all, it was a pleasant enough distraction before the EX moved out.
That's the beginning of my story. My boyfriend of seven years, off and on, moved out. Quickly. He ran away, really. And I was ok with it. Well, as ok as anyone can be after fighting for eight months, gaining 20 pounds and having forgotten what it's like to have sex with an actual person.
I just went on with my life as if nothing had changed, because the only real thing actually changed was the condo had been cleared out. At least he took the tension, too.
Now, I must say that my entire relationship with the EX cannot be looked at badly. He was a great guy who just happened to piss me off to no end when we were romantically involved. We must have broken up at least ten times over the years, but we always got back together. Why? Because it was like going home. No matter how crappy we were to each other, in the end we knew we cared. And we had been young and immature when we met at age nineteen.
But something broke wide apart when we moved in together. I had been working my ass off at 4 different jobs: Cleaning offices on the weekends, teaching dance for kids a few nights a week, dancing for a company, and climbing the corporate ladder into sales at my main job. All of this to pay the bills. I said I needed help. The EX said he wanted us to live together because I could only see him once a week. It took longer for us to move in together than the living arrangement lasted.
And the most ironic part... By the time he moved in I was making more money than I ever thought possible after a sudden promotion. I no longer needed him to move in with me to share bills. In fact, I was paying my rent a couple months in advance just to get rid of some of that cash. Months before when I had been crying about not being able to afford a new mattress the EX was unwilling to pitch in. I was now buying new bedroom furniture and book shelves galore. He paid for the white dresser and made sure he took it with him when he left.
After months of yelling, silent treatments, crying and a lot of beer, our relationship hit the fan and disintegrated into nothing. He moved out. I bought a new red couch and a much classier, streamlined version of his TV. It was over and there would never be another repeat performance. The EX had left the building.
My friends, at least the ones starting to develop at work, were amazed I acted no differently after such a life altering change. Ummm.. People go through this shit all the time and live normally. It wasn't an actual divorce or anything. No custody hearing. The EX was told to fuck off when he asked about visitation for the dog. MY dog. I politely said no. I offered him the cat. He rolled his eyes. So all in all this was a no nonsense, easy break up.
Then why did I have no desire to ever date again?
The Job
Here I am head over heels for a guy for the first time in years. I mean, I am actually crazy about the Principal. He's smart, funny, kind, dorky, sexy, interesting, focused, gentle, giving, great cook, considerate, cute, good looking... I could go on. He breaks my heart a little just being around him.
The job from far, far away contacted the Principal moving forward. They wanted to do the background check and took the job posting off the internet. Translation: The Principal is in the top running. My wonderful, fabulous boyfriend is most probably moving to another state. Half of me wanted to jump up and down because I know how much he wants this opportunity. The other half of me wanted to call in sick to work, sleep wrapped in my biggest quilt until after noon when it would be acceptable to start drinking.
But I went to work and I was excited for him. The cheeky bastard.
I decided to try an experiment later in the day. Tell the Principal I miss him. Weird, I know. Normal couples have no issue saying something so smarmy but its like we're allergic to even private displays of affection. And we've been dating for 7 months. So I texted him that I missed having him and his cat-hater dog around. It had only been a few days since they were over, but I really did miss them.
He responded with a smiley face. Automatically I went back into my "fuck technological communication" mode. Seriously? Smiley face? In the olden days would he have drawn a smiley face in lieu of a letter that traveled hundreds of miles to get to me? Just a smiley face?Grrr.... This will never work in another state.
The next day, however, the Principal asked if he could bring the dog over while he went to class. I got to see them both, hang out for a while. Kiss that wonderful boyfriend who will soon be very inaccessible. I think, maybe, he missed me too. But I'm probably just being used to babysit anxious dog because I'm a sucker. Hmph..
When the Principal returned from his class to reclaim the mutt, we sat out on the patio and chatted. He talked about making the move to small town USA and how at first he was worried, but now thinks he will really like the quiet. I tried not to look terrified.
There was talk of buying a house, moving up in the company (that had not yet given him an offer letter) and then there was mention of how he will be able to make copious amounts of moeny and I will never have to work again. What?!? He amended that with "Unless you want to have a dance studio of your own."
My eyes probably bugged out of my head and this time I was the one waving my arms around trying to get rid of the topic. Could the Principal be telling me in that one little sentence how committed he is emotionally? Is this his equivalent to "I love you"?
Even as my heart began to soar it crashed back down to reality. Was this as good as its going to get? Am I going to have to analyze every conversation I ever have with this man to kind of think I maybe know what he's feeling?
The Principal asked why I was snickering and shaking my head. I shrugged my shoulders.
And told him not to worry about it.
The job from far, far away contacted the Principal moving forward. They wanted to do the background check and took the job posting off the internet. Translation: The Principal is in the top running. My wonderful, fabulous boyfriend is most probably moving to another state. Half of me wanted to jump up and down because I know how much he wants this opportunity. The other half of me wanted to call in sick to work, sleep wrapped in my biggest quilt until after noon when it would be acceptable to start drinking.
But I went to work and I was excited for him. The cheeky bastard.
I decided to try an experiment later in the day. Tell the Principal I miss him. Weird, I know. Normal couples have no issue saying something so smarmy but its like we're allergic to even private displays of affection. And we've been dating for 7 months. So I texted him that I missed having him and his cat-hater dog around. It had only been a few days since they were over, but I really did miss them.
He responded with a smiley face. Automatically I went back into my "fuck technological communication" mode. Seriously? Smiley face? In the olden days would he have drawn a smiley face in lieu of a letter that traveled hundreds of miles to get to me? Just a smiley face?Grrr.... This will never work in another state.
The next day, however, the Principal asked if he could bring the dog over while he went to class. I got to see them both, hang out for a while. Kiss that wonderful boyfriend who will soon be very inaccessible. I think, maybe, he missed me too. But I'm probably just being used to babysit anxious dog because I'm a sucker. Hmph..
When the Principal returned from his class to reclaim the mutt, we sat out on the patio and chatted. He talked about making the move to small town USA and how at first he was worried, but now thinks he will really like the quiet. I tried not to look terrified.
There was talk of buying a house, moving up in the company (that had not yet given him an offer letter) and then there was mention of how he will be able to make copious amounts of moeny and I will never have to work again. What?!? He amended that with "Unless you want to have a dance studio of your own."
My eyes probably bugged out of my head and this time I was the one waving my arms around trying to get rid of the topic. Could the Principal be telling me in that one little sentence how committed he is emotionally? Is this his equivalent to "I love you"?
Even as my heart began to soar it crashed back down to reality. Was this as good as its going to get? Am I going to have to analyze every conversation I ever have with this man to kind of think I maybe know what he's feeling?
The Principal asked why I was snickering and shaking my head. I shrugged my shoulders.
And told him not to worry about it.
The "We" Topic
Saturday night date came around I headed over to his place with lead in my stomach. The dreads were circling through my body and I just wanted to go home, get another crappy romance novel and a six pack. If I chickened out though, he might suspect something was up and I would have to endure another week of worry.... So I drove onward.
After loosening up, and much talk of the dog, I brought up the job. The Principal explained what he would be doing, the company and the town. All of which I had researched extensively while at my lame ass job. I let him talk.
Nervously I raised a hand, as if in class, and asked what "we" were going to do if he moved and took on this new, bigger, complex, un-principal job. I even did the finger quotes on the we for him. The Principal blinked a few times, shrugged and repeated that he'd drive here every weekend to see me. I needed to give him a push. (Where are stairs when you really need them?)
I reminded him of the "emotional committment" conversation. One of the reasons he wasn't "emotionally committed" was because we didn't get to see each other very often. So, how would the "emotional committment" progress if he moved away and we saw each other less? (I chose to leave the finger quotes out of it that time, but really really wanted to use them...)
The Principal, drinking beer faster than I am at this point, told me not to worry about it. Ha. Ha-ha. I wanted to smack him. Just stand up and in classic Knot's Landing fashion lay a straight armed smack across his face. You know, the type of slap that takes a woman off balance so she lurches forward, follows through with a hair toss back then yells "I never!" with breathless indignation....
He expects me to not worry about the fact that my first real relationship in over two years is about to end? Bah! Taking the peaceful route, I told him calmly I was worried we won't see each other every weekend like he thinks we will. Then what will happpen with the whole progression of committed emotions?
I believe there was some major babbling coming out of my mouth punctuated repeatedly by "I really want you to get the job." The Principal was waving his hands all over the place as if he could just air out the subject and be done with this uncomfortable topic of feelings. We probably looked quite funny out on his patio: Waving around like he was being attacked by miniture birds. Me squirming spasmadically.
In the end he just leaned forward, patted my leg and scrunched up his face.
"You have nothing to worry about." - The Principal
I think he muttered under his breath that he just hadn't said "it" yet, but its more likely that I hallucinated that part. I threw up my hands. "We speak different languages!" How am I ever going to get anywhere with this guy? But the Principal just laughed and gave me a smile with twinkling mischief in his eyes.
I wanted to smack him again. I wanted to at the very least shake the shit out of him so he could see how serious I am. Women need reassurance, damnit. Instead we went for more beer.
After loosening up, and much talk of the dog, I brought up the job. The Principal explained what he would be doing, the company and the town. All of which I had researched extensively while at my lame ass job. I let him talk.
Nervously I raised a hand, as if in class, and asked what "we" were going to do if he moved and took on this new, bigger, complex, un-principal job. I even did the finger quotes on the we for him. The Principal blinked a few times, shrugged and repeated that he'd drive here every weekend to see me. I needed to give him a push. (Where are stairs when you really need them?)
I reminded him of the "emotional committment" conversation. One of the reasons he wasn't "emotionally committed" was because we didn't get to see each other very often. So, how would the "emotional committment" progress if he moved away and we saw each other less? (I chose to leave the finger quotes out of it that time, but really really wanted to use them...)
The Principal, drinking beer faster than I am at this point, told me not to worry about it. Ha. Ha-ha. I wanted to smack him. Just stand up and in classic Knot's Landing fashion lay a straight armed smack across his face. You know, the type of slap that takes a woman off balance so she lurches forward, follows through with a hair toss back then yells "I never!" with breathless indignation....
He expects me to not worry about the fact that my first real relationship in over two years is about to end? Bah! Taking the peaceful route, I told him calmly I was worried we won't see each other every weekend like he thinks we will. Then what will happpen with the whole progression of committed emotions?
I believe there was some major babbling coming out of my mouth punctuated repeatedly by "I really want you to get the job." The Principal was waving his hands all over the place as if he could just air out the subject and be done with this uncomfortable topic of feelings. We probably looked quite funny out on his patio: Waving around like he was being attacked by miniture birds. Me squirming spasmadically.
In the end he just leaned forward, patted my leg and scrunched up his face.
"You have nothing to worry about." - The Principal
I think he muttered under his breath that he just hadn't said "it" yet, but its more likely that I hallucinated that part. I threw up my hands. "We speak different languages!" How am I ever going to get anywhere with this guy? But the Principal just laughed and gave me a smile with twinkling mischief in his eyes.
I wanted to smack him again. I wanted to at the very least shake the shit out of him so he could see how serious I am. Women need reassurance, damnit. Instead we went for more beer.
Sharing
All week the Principal has been texting and calling me about his new dog's separation anxiety. Part of me wanted to feel special, like he was sharing something and we were getting closer. But in reality I know he just wanted someone to vent his frustrations to. He was talking at me. I was slightly annoyed.
Later that night after more listening to him go on and on, inserting my occassional "Try this" or "It will get better", he thanked me for all my advice. To top it all off he called me sweetheart. And damn it. I melted.
The problem lately is that I melt a lot about the Principal. A look, a touch, all the nice crap that he's been spewing regularly. I miss him when he leaves. I smile like a gremlin when he sends me a message. I even freaking dream about him. Its bad. Very, very bad. Not the dreaming part, though, that can be very very good... But all the feely stuff is making my head hurt.
Especially since he got an interview for a job far, far away that he really wants. I can't go falling in love with this dude if he's going to move to another state. With his dog. That he's obsessed with. Can not be falling in love with that.
To get a better perspective on my situation and a dose of the downers I called up my mom.
"The Principal is going to New Mexico next week to interview for that job."
"Oh really. Well, then I guess that's the end of him. Better start looking for someone else."
"Mom..."
"What? How can you date him in another state? It can't work! You said yourself that you don't want a long distance relationship."
"I don't want a long distance relationship... He said he would drive home every weekend."
"Yeah, that won't last long. He'll get tired of the drive, wasting the money and time. I'm just saying don't get your hopes up."
"I want him to get the job."
"Of course you do because that's what he needs to do. Its what's best for him. You just aren't going with him."
"What if I did?"
"Hmph. Did he ask you to go with him?"
Naturally, the Principal and I hadn't discussed that. I began to worry, pace, and eventually just broke down all together, which in my world translates to reading a romance novel while getting drunk. A very sloppy combination. The dog and cat both hid from me, the little bastards. Then again, I was walking around saying "Yeah right, Nora! Everyone just falls in love like that!" I knew I had to have the "Where is this relationship going" talk with the Principal, and soon or I would drive myself crazy.
More than I already am.
Later that night after more listening to him go on and on, inserting my occassional "Try this" or "It will get better", he thanked me for all my advice. To top it all off he called me sweetheart. And damn it. I melted.
The problem lately is that I melt a lot about the Principal. A look, a touch, all the nice crap that he's been spewing regularly. I miss him when he leaves. I smile like a gremlin when he sends me a message. I even freaking dream about him. Its bad. Very, very bad. Not the dreaming part, though, that can be very very good... But all the feely stuff is making my head hurt.
Especially since he got an interview for a job far, far away that he really wants. I can't go falling in love with this dude if he's going to move to another state. With his dog. That he's obsessed with. Can not be falling in love with that.
To get a better perspective on my situation and a dose of the downers I called up my mom.
"The Principal is going to New Mexico next week to interview for that job."
"Oh really. Well, then I guess that's the end of him. Better start looking for someone else."
"Mom..."
"What? How can you date him in another state? It can't work! You said yourself that you don't want a long distance relationship."
"I don't want a long distance relationship... He said he would drive home every weekend."
"Yeah, that won't last long. He'll get tired of the drive, wasting the money and time. I'm just saying don't get your hopes up."
"I want him to get the job."
"Of course you do because that's what he needs to do. Its what's best for him. You just aren't going with him."
"What if I did?"
"Hmph. Did he ask you to go with him?"
Naturally, the Principal and I hadn't discussed that. I began to worry, pace, and eventually just broke down all together, which in my world translates to reading a romance novel while getting drunk. A very sloppy combination. The dog and cat both hid from me, the little bastards. Then again, I was walking around saying "Yeah right, Nora! Everyone just falls in love like that!" I knew I had to have the "Where is this relationship going" talk with the Principal, and soon or I would drive myself crazy.
More than I already am.
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