Post Break-up meeting

After a week of being sick to my stomach over the Work Guy, I had had enough. I decided to email him, seeing as I had already deleted his phone number. This will sound cliché, but that’s how I roll… I needed closure. I needed to know how he could go from falling all over himself for me to a remote electronic message that told me I was no longer of service to him.

So for two days we emailed back and forth. Why was he so cruel, what had I done so wrong to be treated like I would cause a scene? And most of all, even though I shouldn’t, I still love him. I want what we had back. I had the time to think about the things I took too far and should have done better. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t just want to be a better girlfriend and have him back. I wanted him to see that he had areas of opportunity to improve as well.

My emails were long and detailed. His were crisp and to the point. I made it abundantly clear I didn’t think he had ever really cared about me if he could discard me so casually. He didn’t like that. (Somehow I knew he wouldn’t like being told how to fell but I bet a million bucks he doesn’t see the irony in that.)
I even begged. It was not my proudest moment, but I thought if he saw how much I cared he would realize the mistake he was making.

He said we would take two days and then talk about it again. I waited those two days and asked if we were going to meet up or he just wanted to continue emailing. Reluctantly he emailed that he would send me some of his thoughts and if I still wanted to meet he would. Encouraging. I made my peace that this man-child no longer wanted me, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him take the cowardly way out of simply writing us off because

I hadn’t satisfied his needs.

No, he was going to have to look me in the eye one last time.

So I drove up to his area and waited at the local Starbucks. I was nervous. I felt alone, sick and sad. But my resolve was there. Even if I am alone for the rest of my life, even if I had done many things wrong in every relationship I have ever had, I am by far not the worst person in the world. It is not crazy for me to feel he left me out. It is not abnormal to get upset and angry with the person you love when they won’t try to see things from your perspective. Most of all, if I am going to be in a relationship it is going to be with someone who will communicate with me about our problems. Someone who will work for it and expects me to work too.
I very calmly addressed his thoughts he’d emailed. I told him what I felt I should have been better at, tried harder at. I believe I am capable of being better. His eyes were faded. He really didn’t care to work at anything.

He was done. I told him what I hadn’t gotten from him, how that made me anxious. How the things I had gotten upset about were valid and did not deserved to be dismissed. I was no longer making a case for why we should work things out now. I was giving him the conversation we should have had in lieu of his abortive text.
It lasted less than an hour and was all even toned. I ended with,

“I realize that you have no desire to make this work,” sad shake of the head from him.
“but I felt like we both needed to sit down and talk about this in order to move on. Remember last year when we first met outside of work? You were talking about breaking up with Target Girl, shooting her an email or texting her?” his eyes got wide, teary looking.

“I told you to go over to her house and tell her how you felt. You had been dating her a month and she deserved that respect.” He sees where this is going and looks even more baleful.

“So, what hurt me the most is that for a week I was so sick to my stomach thinking about how horribly awful I had to have been for you to do that to me. To text me you no longer wanted me, and were doing me a favor because I was getting older and want to have a family.” His eyes are wide with shock now. Like this is a revelation. I am betting at this point he hasn’t shared with a single female how exactly we broke up.

“I didn’t even merit the amount of respect you gave Target Girl. You have no idea how that felt. This is definitely one for the Book.” Shock, disbelief. Yes, you bastard. You made yet another chapter in the Book.

He apologized. We hugged, I cried. And damn it, I really wanted to kiss him. We walked to our cars apart.

There was something lighter about me though. I had gotten my say, aired my sins, and told him in my own way what an immature dick he is. I cranked up Lady Gaga “Bad Romance” and drove home.

Reflecting on the End of Work Guy

Ange saved me. She made me see how I should have never dated this guy in the first place. She had disliked his arrogance. Perhaps this is why I hadn't filled her on much of what was going on lately. Deep down, I knew it was wrong.

I went over to her house and spilled all about the dumping I received from Work Guy. I gave her the details on why I had gotten so upset with him over and over. His reaction was always a defense. A sly manipulation that made me feel like I was over reacting or stupid. How he skirted ever addressing our communication or validating why I would feel left out or embarrassed or annoyed.

I do things wrong in relationships. Everyone does. But I at least tried to talk about it.

I can be silly and childish and impatient and anxious. I won't say I am always mature. But I sure as hell won't say Work Guy is.

After he practically stalked me into dating him, rebuffed my need for space to grow into a healthy relationship he tells me it isn't healthy for me to expect the same level of attention I had grown used to. Acts like he contributes way more to "us" because he overuses the phrase "I love you" and brings me gifts while refusing to acknowledge the defunct communication. Yet during all of that, I should have made him feel more loved. Apparently the only way I could have done that was just never to get upset. Ange said any normal person would have been upset.

Then he TEXTED me to circumnavigate the cold hard fact he is no longer interested in a relationship with me. Makes me feel broken, and stupid. Like I ruined it completely, all by myself. Tries to get me to be the one to end things because the relationship isn't going to result in marriage or children... my clock is ticking so he's doing me a favor. Played on the notion that I am approaching 30, which he knows bothers me. Very effective, hairy man.

I am so lucky this guy only wasted 8 months of my time.

Red Flags I learned from this relationship:
If a guy lays it on that thick- he is full of shit
When someone says "It will be fine" stop them right there and tell them to go to hell
In a conversation about something that upsets you, never let a guy make you feel like you have no right to feel that way. They are your feelings. People are bound to step on one another's toes from time to time. The only way to move past it is to talk.
Go with your gut. When you start questioning, start walking.

Thank you, Work Guy. Not for being a coward and breaking up with me via text or making me need to find a new place of employment or all the flowers or nice places you took me to... but for going away.

The End of Work Guy

What can I say? I crashed and burned again.

Work Guy texted me last and asked if it bothered me that we no longer discussed moving in together. For the past 2 months we have been distant. After that rocky trip to California I cried after a baseball game. I sensed the wrongness of what was going on between us and didn't know how to fix it. He just had this tired look on his face like "Just be happy."

I think what changed was that Work Guy settled into his "relationship mode" and I believed he was tired of me. He started treating me like a novelty instead of me, and I was getting the impression that he was wanting the type of relationship he's had before. Only problem: He didn't like those relationships.

I started becoming his ex, or probably worse. I wonder if she was really as bad as he made her seem or if he created that monster himself.

At the beginning of August an internal job opportunity came around. Out of state. I remembered when we used to talk about the Principal. Work Guy said he would never consider moving while in a relationship with me, or at least not without some serious discussion. Our discussion involved him telling me he wouldn't apply unless the job met his criteria and he didn't think it would. He had a long talk with his uncle about. Within a few days he applied. I was bewildered. What did that mean for us.

I threw a fit. I never wanted to be the girl that said "What about me!" but there was no other way. A year to the month my last boyfriend was in the process of leaving town for a job and I thought Work Guy would be a little more sensitive to how that would make me feel. I'm such an ass.

He said "You knew this was something I wanted to do. We have talked about how I would need a branch manager position to move up and that would most likely involve a move."

As a hypothetical, yes, I understood that. But deep down I also knew this would end our relationship. My only solace was the reassurance he would make me a part of it through discussion.

I said "We haven't discussed it!"

He said "There is nothing really to talk about until I get offered the job. And I probably won't even get it."

I said "So after they offer you the job you want and need to move up in the company we will discuss it? So basically I get the choice of having a long distance relationship, AGAIN, or losing you. Sounds win win to me." What was I supposed to say?

He said "We would work it out. I would only be there a year, year and a half tops. And once I got settled we could talk about moving you out there." De ja fucking voo. I began drinking more beer and staying home by myself. Wrong decision.

I ranted and raved about how terribly appealing that all sounded. He accused me of making him wear the Principal's sins. He knew all about my last relationship, he should know he chose to try those sins on for size.

We nearly broke up. I started to withdraw, again, which is my defense mechanism when I am certain I will get hurt. He asked if I wanted him to withdraw from the application. I didn't want to make him do anything. I just wanted to be involved, have some reassurance that we were actually in this together. I didn't get the reassurance because apparently we were not.

Last weekend we went to Couer d' Alene to visit his grandfather. Work Guy was coming in on a different flight and I had a layover in Boise. After meeting with my cousin, I missed my flight. I couldn't believe this. After our near breakup I was attempting to be a quieter version of me. Just be involved with Work Guy and his life, don't talk about myself. Don't draw attention to my crazy. maybe he'll like me better if I'm.. less.

Well, I threw a fit. I could not control the undulating sobs that racked my body. I called him for reassurance, for help. I needed him so much right at that moment I thought my heart was breaking. He sounded like a distant version of a caring person. I know he wanted to help me, but he just kept asking me what I was going to do. I didn't know what I should do. I really just wanted to lay down on the tarmac and become an airplane pancake.

Each time I called him it got worse and worse. I wanted guidance, he just wanted me to figure it out and tell him what I was doing. My brilliant plan to rent a car was shot down as being to long and dangerous. After 2 hours of bawling and running around the Boise airport I relented, got a hotel room and watched my phone for trickling of texts. My outburst of emotion was terrible. I felt like a fool. But all I really had wanted was to have him hug me and tell me everything would be ok. He went out to the bar with his cousin and texted me briefly.

I wanted to be held. I am stupid for thinking it is ok to request this. I am stupid to think because he was sweet, tender and understanding 3 months ago he would just want to hump me now. I told him such. Ooops. Forgot not to be me.

There was an incident involving ribs. While dinner was being prepared, Work Guy casually mentions that he and I will run into town to get something I will eat. I became uncomfortable. His grandma gave me a skeptical look. Here I was a guest in this house and refusing to eat their food. His grandpa assured me I could whip something up from last nights turkey. Work Guy shrugged and got himself a drink. Leaving me alone in a million dollar kitchen with his grandma.

I gingerly poked around, not that I mind making my own food, but having to ask a stranger in their kitchen where everything is can be kind of stressful. I threw some leftovers in a pan with spices, olive oil, and salad dressing. Grandma told me it didn't look very good and asked if I cook that stuff for Work Guy. No, I don't cook often. I have issues with cooking which was making this even more fun.

I thought I was going to cry, wondering why I am such a freaking crybaby all the time with this guy. Why do I always feel on the fringes of doing something wrong? Why can't I just whip something up and banter happily with his family? Why does it take me so long to warm up to people? What is wrong with me?

The next day we had fun jet skiing, even though Work Guy was distant. He doesn't like me, he doesn't like me, he doesn't like me. Why did he ever like me? How am I supposed to act?

We stopped for some drinks at a picnic bar (only the rich). He shared a story about his ex. Once his mom had gone out to get dinner. She brought home a bunch of pork salads for everyone and mixed them all together. Then, when she realized his girlfriend didn't eat lettuce, it tasted watery and strange, his mom proceeded to pick the lettuce out for her. His girlfriend was so embarrassed and mad at him for putting her in that position.

I stared at him. This story was meant to make me feel better, I think. Because his ex's dislike of foods is stranger than mine. I pointed out how embarrassing it was for me to go about eating something different and could relate to his ex. I don't think he liked that. To him it wasn't a big deal. Probably because it did not directly affect him, therefore should not bother anyone else. I'm sure his ex would not have been angry with him had he been able to empathize.

Later at a different dinner, I was having a great conversation with his grandpa, whose personality is much like my father's. The topic of road trips came about and Work Guy immediately complained about how many bathroom stops I needed. Yes, I pee a lot. He knows this and thank you for sharing. But the look on his face and tone changed. This was not playful teasing, he was actually irritated. I tried to make it banter, tease him for shopping around in the stores we stopped at. But I was still getting the dirty look. My skin crawled. Does he hate me because I have to go to the bathroom frequently? This may seem extreme, but he had never looked at me this way or talked about me in such a disapproving manner.

Anyway. So last night I ask where he is going with this not talking about moving in together stuff. Still in text. Trying to be light. Hopeful because he is opening up. I didn't think we'd be moving in together anytime soon. There were things to work on, but I wanted it to work with him. Without further ado, the man who said he wanted to marry me, had been saving for a ring, said he loved me more than anyone he had ever known, told me he no longer felt as strongly and couldn't see a long term relationship with me anymore. He wanted to be open about this because I want to have children (someday). Lots of little things, he just doesn't think we are compatible. He was ok dating me in the short term if that was what I wanted.

Who wants to be with someone who doesn't really want to be with them? Not me. The ironic part is that I was the one in the beginning who thought we weren't compatible, and he pushed. I was the one who warned him that I would someday want to get married and have kids and I didn't think that was something he wanted. I was wary because I feared he would not be as excited by me when the chase was over and he had me. Then I let go and embraced him.

I know I write all the bad stuff in here, because that's what gets the blood boiling. But I genuinely loved Work Guy. When he stopped putting on a show for people he was very sensitive, sweet, caring and smart. He became my best friend. Then he decided we weren't compatible. He didn't want to work on things because he had already made up his mind that we wouldn't work.

I am so sick and sad and angry. I have the cliche "Can't eat or sleep or stop crying and shaking." All I can think is that he lied to me about the way he felt, or lied to himself so he could get the goal. I wish I had never met him. I wish I had been different, done things better. I regret the 10 pounds I gained back after painfully loosing them last year.

Going in to work was dreadful. I knew he would be there. He brought me coffee, I jumped, muttered thank you, and couldn't keep myself from crying. I know he saw, even though he tried not to look at me directly. After half the day was over I told my boss I was ill with allergies and needed to go home. Where I forced some food in me so I would not puke. Where I cannot sleep. Where I sobbed uncontrollably because this man made me feel like the biggest loser in the entire fucking world.

I wondered who he has lined up next.

When we were friends I had the perfect girl pegged for him:
Cute, bubbly.
Hobbies:
Working out all the time so she can look good in designer jeans
Cocktails with the girls at posh places
Perfect hair and nails, always
Intelligent, but can play it down
Content being a girlfriend, not an individual

I thought he needed someone who could depend on him to make her feel good, which he would know he is responsible for, and in turn she would make it her mission to please him, which is what he feels he deserves for being such a good guy for her. I don't think he would see this as co-dependent. Where as I just wanted to be myself, and be loved. Have him be himself, and love him.

It is over, and I am heartbroken.
Now I am off to Ange's house to watch he dye her roots, her medicine for the hole in my chest.

Memories...

I'm not sure why, but I didn't learn how to ride a bike until I was nine. I had a scooter, roller skates, and managed just fine. But when I was nine I was forced to conquer a bike. Everyone else was doing it.

We had a couple rickety Schwinn's, too big for me, that I learned on. Battling black widows in the shed to pull them out was definitely not a motivator. But I learned.

From 9-12 I rode, fell down, rode and fell down more. As a 12th birthday present I got a ten-speed. Granted, I knew nothing of all the different "speeds" you could go other than peddle, pump, and slide. It became a joke, my falling down. This was also when wearing a helmet was a rarity and made you a sissy, even to adults.

So, one spring day I was riding home from school, just after a crosswalk and back on the sidewalk that I fell. Hard. For no apparent reason to my knowledge. I fell off the bike, into the street and slid along the blacktop into traffic. My arms were pinned underneath me, dragging my wrists across the blacktop. When I was no longer moving I noticed people were stopped in their cars staring at me. I stood, picked up the bike and started limping home. Halfway I decided it was too painful to walk so slowly and rode the rest of the way.

I took stock of the damage. Huge gash in the left knee with pebbles sticking out. Both of my wrists looked like someone had put out a cigar in exactly the same place. Above my right temple, road rash. (Hair still refuses to grow there.) Another big gash through my right eyebrow. (No hair there either.) And a big right shoulder burn.

Clothes came off and bubbled bath ensued. I was sitting there in the tub, as I liked to do in childhood, contemplating why I was such a bad biker. The bathroom door flew open and my neighbor (babysitter and surrogate grandma) looked me over. This sounds odd but to her I was still a baby.

"What the hell happened to you!" She yelled in her British voice.

"I fell off my bike. Again."

"You need to stop riding that fucking thing."

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Alright. Well, come over after you're cleaned up and I'll make you a ginger ale."

I threw the bike in the dumpster. My sister later retrieved it, brought it to college and had it stolen. I told her I was glad it would hurt the thief.




This weekend I went to Newport with Work Guy. We have been quite the trip buddies and having a good time. However, this was weird. On the way to his parents I mildly suggest we drive by the ocean. Last time we were there we just stayed around the harbor and I love the waves. He looked at me like I didn't comprehend.

"Umm, the beach is way over there.."

"No, I just meant when we get closer to your dad's. Maybe we could just drive by." I mean, I know the area. My sister went to school at UCI and I would drive over to the beach all the time.

"Oh, yeah maybe we can get close enough." Where was the guy who used to always go way out of his way. Now a 5 minute detour was improbable. He made more excuses. When did he start to find me stupid?


First night we get in and he is busy with his family and stays away from me. If I go outside, he goes in and such. Here we were in the kitchen as his step-mom is preparing steak and worrying over what I will eat and he walks away to leave me stuttering "I can have salad!"

I was really trying. I went to the store with her to get chicken, talked to everyone and was feeling pretty solid in my effort to be social. He was just moving around. I don't need to be anxious or uncomfortable. Then, as I'm eating, after everyone else is done, he asks if it's "ok to go out on the boat with his dad." I stared up at him and said mockingly "No, you cannot leave me." Why was he asking for permission in front of all these people? I didn't want to be left alone to make small talk but I have no choice.


It was strained and weird. Something is going on with us. I think he has tired of my novelty quirks and just wants me to be comfortable with whatever he wants to do.

In the morning, after graciously telling his step-mom I don't eat Canadian bacon, I suggested we get kayaks and paddle around. Work Guy looks at me like I'm a lunatic. He does not want to do that.

After some coffee, we went for a walk on the beach. In the parking lot I called my sister to coordinate our schedules. I had to see her while I was there. I've seen more of his family than my own. She was suggesting we stay with her, I said Work Guy is allergic to cats. He gave me a dirty look, very uncommon and serious, and told me he has allergy medicine. Then she suggested seeing Harry Potter. I told Work Guy and he looked like he would rather be dipped in tar. He's never seen a Harry Potter or read the books nor does he enjoy such works. Unlike me. The novelty girl.

I told Meghan he didn't like it. He gave me another scathing look. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I would rather be completely alone in this world than have to endure another look. Meghan suggested we ride the train up to LA, to avoid all the traffic. Work Guy doesn't like trains, we can drive. If I had any money and wasn't worried about losing my house, I would take a fucking train to LA, spend the remainder of the weekend with my sister and fly home to live out the rest of my life as a spinster.



On the way to the beach Work Guy talked to his uncle about going to the OC Fair that night. Apparently we would ride bikes there. He knows about my disability with bikes. But I reminded him again.


"It will be fine. We'll figure it out."

A little while later he brings up the bikes again. Dude. I suggested we rent bikes and see how it goes before attempting to ride one to opening day at the fair. Again, he says we'll figure something out.

After a silent walk on the beach where I felt peacefully alone, we headed back to the house to take the boat out on the harbor. On the boat I tried to talk about my renewed interest in writing. I love California, have always wanted to live there and maybe if I can sell a book and make a little money I can make that happen. Normally when we have these discussions they get involved with how's and whys. He seemed too tired to talk about my pipe dreams. So we talked about his. Lapsed into silence and further attempts to talk.

We pulled in to a restaurant for lunch and I asked why it was so awkward. Is he sick of me? He had the same fears, was acting the same way as me because of the tension. We laughed it off, hugged kissed and things felt a little better. After packing up and heading to his uncle's house, he brought up the bikes again. I was really going to have to do this....

I was given a rusty beach cruiser and assured I would be fine. "It's just like riding a bike." Ha. I got on and went forward. I can see why Californians are all about the outdoors. It's cool outside even in the summer and everywhere you ride it's beautiful. I started to feel pretty good about myself. Maybe I should get a bike at home. Use it to go to the market, down the canal with Kelly or Ange...

Up ahead the aunt and uncle turn at a street with heavy traffic. Very little room to turn. Could I make it? I became so nervous I hit the breaks, tried to hop off and slid. My left hand had a small gash and my hip hurt. But more so, I felt like a fucking fool. The tears welled up and made me even more ashamed. Work Guy pulled up next to me and I stared after the family members, praying they wouldn't turn around. I smiled and tried to stop the tears. I could make it. I could keep going. It will be all right. They came back and I laughed it off. Just the traffic made me nervous. Turns out it was like 3 miles to the fair, through traffic. Work Guy said we should just go back and get the car. I ruined everything and looked like an ass all because I am a 29 year old defect who can't ride a bike.

Peddling back I cried. The family stayed ahead, probably because it was obvious I was being a cry baby. Work Guy apologized. I wanted him to stop talking to me. If he didn't shut up I wouldn't be able to stop and the family would think I was even more pathetic. All I could think was, I told him I didn't want to ride a bike. No that I couldn't ride a bike, and he pressured me to do it. He didn't want to kayak or go to the beach or ride a train or see Harry Potter and he has bad allergies. I didn't pressure him.

Everyone joked after I cleaned up my hand and we drove to the fair. I told my last bike accident story to the aunt and she was aghast they made me get on a bike. I was such a problem. No beef or pork, no bikes. I was determined to be good natured and enjoy the fair. My hip was going to have a hell of a bruise.

I may hate bikes but I love roller coasters. The faster the ride, the better. Apparently that is a no, no with Work Guy. I went on 2 with the aunt and 1 with Work Guy. We walked around. He apologized more, but refused to be put out of his comfort zone to go on a ride. He won me a stuffed dog instead, which was very nice. I left it at the uncle's house.

I was determined to put this bike accident behind me, forgive Work Guy and move forward. The next morning I woke up early and jumped in the shower. We were supposed to be doing breakfast with his uncle and two little kids before meeting up with the rest of the family at the beach. As I was soaping up I felt proud of myself for getting out of bed at a decent hour and being prepared for whatever today was throwing at me.

Work Guy came into the bathroom and asked how long I was going to take. How long?! I have been in the shower exactly 5 minutes! Well, the kids are hungry and his uncle can't stall them for long... Why am I even here? Obviously I am in the way. If he wanted a weekend with his family then he should have said so and I would stay home. I like my home. No one ever makes me feel like I don't belong there.

"Just go to breakfast then."

"Well, I mean we can wait for a while.."

"I just got in the shower. I won't be ready for a while. It's fine."

"We'll bring you something back." Oh great. I hope its steak and eggs or a sausage sandwich.

A few minutes later he comes back to tell me that his uncle gave the kids some raisins to hold them off. I was feeling more and more anxious by the minute. Now I was allowed to go if I hurried. And I was still in the shower. Tears came. I told him again just to go. I wasn't going to be the bitchy girlfriend who made young children starve so she could apply makeup. Besides, they have to be starving if he's coming into the bathroom while I am soaking wet to tell me. How hard is it to say "Uncle, she just got in the shower. Feed the kids now and we'll pick something up on the way to the beach." Or something. When is it right to just leave your girlfriend at some foreign house while you go off?

I cried for a while and finished my shower. Makeup wasn't easy with tears. At least the family dog loved me. Two hours later they returned. Work Guy gave me a coffee and a turkey bacon and egg sandwich that I ate in pieces while tearfully telling him I felt left out. What was he supposed to do? The kids were hungry. I am a bad person for putting myself above little children with rumbling tummies. How can I justify how bad it made me feel? So I cried again, and the awkwardness returned.

We went to the beach and I was on little kid patrol. Ah, I was here for my uterus. The fact that I won't allow little kids to drown and want them to have a good time makes me a perfect companion. While I got sand shoved into my hand wound and dirty harbor water soaked into me all for following around a toddler, Work Guy stayed clean on the beach and looked down his nose at me. There was no "You're so great with my cousins." or "Thank you for pitching in while my aunt's away." No, it was expected because I am a girl and while I may not wake up completely showered and made up and can therefore be left behind if the occasion calls for it, I must also babysit.

We stopped on the way to my sister's house to grab food. It was awkward and I received the bored look. I thought to myself silently that I was one day away from going home. I love my sister, and was excited to see her. In our family we take what others like/need into account. I knew she was cleaning fiendishly to help reduce the cat hair for Work Guy's comfort. She wouldn't force him to go see Harry Potter. In fact they went out of their ways to make him feel at home. My brother-in-law pouring Guinness expertly every time Work Guy went dry.

We went back to AZ the next day. All was quiet. I was happy to get home and be alone. A bruise the size of my hand formed on my hip and under my knee. My hand got infected from all the sand. Work Guy never asked if I was ok.

Text Fight

Technology. I tell you it is ruining American's lives and saving ugly lamps. In the past, you had to fight face to face, or at least over the telephone. Nowadays you can just send a text message and throw your phone in your purse. Instant last word. Because if you refuse to continue the conversation by reading the response, you have, essentially, gotten the last word.

However, you will see irrate women all over dig viciously in their purses after hearing a tiny beep. They claw at their key boards or tap in a heated staccato on the touch screen. They drop open their handbags and shove that fucker to the bottom in hopes that will keep the next beep from surfacing. The wild look in their eyes confuses clerks at gas stations, tellers at the bank and co-workers. You think they would get it. I'm sure they text fight too.

After ditching Work Guy the night before, my failed attempt at socializing in a small group still giving me heart burn, I received no text until late afternoon. "How's your day?" Grrr...

I was still trying to analyze why I was so upset. Was I being ridiculous? I felt like I had some pretty valid points so I responded "Good, how's your day?"

"Fine. Played basketball. I missed you last night, and more this morning. I'm sorry if I annoyed you. Did you (or do you) just need a little space?" It went on from there.

That opening was like saying "Go ahead and tell me what bothered you." So I did. He rebuffed, apologized, wanted to know what the bigger deal was. It went back and forth for hours while I cleaned offices. I slammed that poor phone in my purse so many times.. It's a good thing I pay extra for insurance.

I told him I couldn't go to California with him for Easter. I knew he wouldn't be happy but my mom was bitching about purging the house of anything that reminded her of my father, and guess who gets to be in charge of that? Rather than spend an excruiatingly long short weekend repeating the Couple's night, only times ten and with his family, I should just stay home and take care of my own stuff. Plus, I had been stressing about getting home in time to clean that Sunday.

He revolted. Told me how sad he was that I didn't want to go. Did I say I didn't want to go? No! I said I couldn't go, I had other responsibilities to take care of and the whole cleaning thing! It was a solid excuse. He offered to help with my other responsibilities, help me clean or pay my mom's friend to clean for me...

Finally, my hysteria leaked through the written word and he said we should talk about it over the phone later. Did that mean I was winning? I let him have the last word, because somehow, I knew my silence was stronger.

When I got home from cleaning I read for a little while, wanting to calm my nerves. I really didn't want to have a talk with anyone about how bad I am in social situations. We made small talk before getting to the fight.

Why do people feel like they have to go over verbally what they already texted? I hate repition. But there he went, saying how sorry he was for grabbing my boobs when I've told him I don't like it, regardless if he's joking or not. He apologized, I told him that was nice. I'm sure he would apologize the next time he did it because that seemed to be the pattern. Grab boobs, don't do that, I'm sorry. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It just made me start getting mad again. So I took the stance I had with the social security conversation the night before. If you tell people who think they are right that they are in fact right they will shut the fuck up.

"It will be ok. I will get over it. I will go to California with you, meet all your family and have a good time." Insert smile. That was what he said he wanted, so that was what he would get.

"But you said you're going to be anxious, I don't want you to be anxious. I want you to have fun and be yourself. They're going to love you, I want them to get to know you so they see why I love you so much." Very sweet.

"Well, being myself means that I will be anxious. But I will go to California, meet your family and have fun." Insert a much, much more forced smile. He can't see me but one of my jobs had a training titled Smile! Customers can hear it! and I have always lived by that motto.

"I want you to tell me if you're anxious.."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't tell you if I'm anxious. I'll have fun, we'll have fun." I'm smiling really hard now. Annunciating clearly so he'll finally get it.

"But I want you to tell me if you're anxious. I want to help you." Good God. Please shoot me now. You don't want me to be anxious, but you want me to be myself? This will get us nowhere. I told you what you wanted to hear! I smiled like a pageant queen so you could hear it.

"No, I will not tell you. If this is what it feels like to be open then I would rather not tell you things are bothering me. You're making me feel like a nutcase, " granted I'm pretty sure I am a nutcase but I don't believe people should drive the point home, "and I told you we will go and have fun." The smile is causing my eyes to water.

I remember being 16, super depressed, in Iowa. My sister and I were surrounded by family members. My grandmother's evil eyes laughing as she made backhanded compliments. I would run to the safety of my room and hide, nervous tears screwing up my mascara. I couldn't explain it, or handle it. Instead of talking to me like I was a nutcase, my sister went to the drugstore and got me some over the counter stress reliever. Placebo effect, I'm sure, but what helped more than the drug was that my sister loved me for who I was. Imperfection wasn't going to make her think I was less strong.

This memory made me start crying. I miss my sister. I miss my mother, even though she lives disconcertingly close, but she isn't the same. I don't think she cares anymore. I think I am her sister-in-law rather than her daughter. I miss my father, who I will never see again and never give me the excuse to blame him for stressing me out. But most of all I miss my sister.

I cried quietly, while he talked about openess, blah, blah, helping me through the anxiety with a code word, commit me now, taking walks so I could calm down, wow he really does think I'm a psycho, blah, blah blah.

I just need him not to point out that I need the time to breathe. I just need him not to tease me when I get tongue tied or overwhelmed. I just need him to drop me off at my sisters house and leave me there until he is done with his family get together. Is that so much to ask?

I nodded and agreed. Not to any code word. Not to anything in particular. I just wanted to tell him he was right so he would shut the fuck up and I could ask my friends if they have any Xanax for my upcoming long holiday weekend with my honey.

Yes, That was sarcastic. And Yes. I realize I am a nutcase who would be better off never dating and raising many furry cats.

Couple's Dinner

After Lady Gaga, and getting to sleep in, Work Guy and I went to our breakfast place.

I always pay, because he pays for pretty much everything else we do. It was a beautiful morning, warm but with a cool breeze. We ate, talked little, then went back home to nap. It was so comforting. I enjoy him, just being around him.

So the next day at work he emailed and asked if I wanted to go for a fish fry at his best friend's house. As I do love some fried fish I said yes. Just me and Work Guy and his best friend and wife. It didn't dawn on me right away that this was becoming a habit. I suppose that is what couples do and all, I have just always feared actually becoming one.

Work Guy started planning our week. I told him that Friday night I was going out with Kelly and Ange, so he decided we would have a sleepover Thursday night then do the fish thing Saturday.

It was only Tuesday! My week suddenly was gone due to all this planning and I started to freak out. Thursday sleepover, Friday friends, Saturday couple dinner, Sunday Clean offices and BAM! I'm back to work on Monday. It was only Tuesday for Christ's sake! My response was no to Thursday. I have other things I want to do. I don't know what they are yet, but I don't want to miss out on them because I suddenly got shifted into a pattern of which I seem to have no control.

He laughed at me. Tried to get me to see how little we see each other, and let him stay over Thursday. I wasn't having it. He ended up coming over anyway. We went to Barnes & Noble to get a book I needed to read for work, he gave advice as to how I should approach the boss man for a promotion... I felt like I was being taught.

At the bookstore, however, he got to see my true colors. While he was off trying to find me a business book on culture, that I wanted to read about as much as I want to get a colonoscopy, I found 3 books I couldn't bare to part with. They sang to me, and smelled so good.

I began to panic, like I usually do at any bookstore, that my life will end too soon and I will have missed out on reading every book there is to read. Imagine! Dying before you had experienced every story there was! Never getting to meet those people trap in ink on a page requiring you to make them come to life!

He made me put the books back. I glared. I wanted to kick him and throw myself down on the floor like a three year old begging for a toy. Work Guy promised that if I bought none of the books here (he said I could get them cheaper online, like I didn't know that) he would buy me the one I need and one of the others I was clutching to my chest in a death grip.

I paced back and forth. I am poor. No money to spend on utilities let alone books.... Ok. Begrudgingly I handed over my stack. It was painful. They turned to dust before my eyes and I wanted to take a shower. Those poor books, had just been given the hope of a home to have it torn away.

We went to another store. I was relegated to the car.

After some pizza I felt more myself and stopped planning bizarre torture for Work Guy. Then I showed him the door. I was done for the night and he could go home now. I think he was slightly surprised that I made him go. I mean, he was already there, had packed a change of clothes "just in case" and it was after 9pm. I didn't care. I had told him no sleepover and I was holding on to any type of control I could manage.

Saturday rolled around and I really didn't want to leave my house. It needs to be cleaned, but all of these activities with Work Guy have made me lazy. I met up with him and we headed to the married friends home. Cutter was ecstatic. He drooled all over the back of the car, which made me smile because I know Work Guy hates that. He will never truly appreciate good drool from a happy doggie.

The couple were nice, I've met them twice before. We sat around and talked, shared memories from the two guys growing up. Cutter peed nine hundred thousand times to tell everyone who really owned the yard. Then he shit 3 more times to drive the point home. It was a lovely evening.

At one point, Work Guy and his buddy left for Starbucks to get the newly pregnant lady a tea. I helped her clean the kitchen, then we watched TV. I was a little uncomfortable. She's nice, but when did I lose my ability to talk to people about stuff? Once they came back we sat on the couch and watched TV. I wanted to go home. I can do this at home. Better yet, I could be reading my new book on the patio at home and not have to inject a sentence into the small talk every 30 minutes.

Around 10 I thought we would be leaving. We took the dogs outside to play, his friend trying to get them to share a rope bone, but Cutter set him straight on the whole idea of sharing. We sat around and drank some more, chatted. I got to hear about their other friends and experiences.

Why wasn't I talking more? Why was I so preoccupied with going home? I went inside to grab a cigarette and ended up playing with their dog. She blitzed around with her pudgy little body and I jumped back and forth to egg her on. Why do I get along better with animals than people? Then I petted their enormous cat. They really overfeed these poor creatures.

When I came back outside and shared with the group what I had been up to they all smiled indulgently. Kate and her love of animals. I felt like a novelty. Especially to Work Guy. I stood behind him, kind of like I was ready to be off. He ignored that and teased me, so I put my hand to his face. He shrugged it off, irritated. I felt as if I had spilled paint all over the Principal's floor again. Work Guy chastised me that I been petting the cat, and he's allergic. I wanted to become a shrinky dink.

He asked why I was standing, several times, very pointedly. I wanted to stand. Finally I sat. I zoned out while they talked. I could tell that the wife did too. She was used to this. It was her life. I started to daydream about being somewhere else.

Then Work Guy told me to have a cigarette. I was still holding it, but I always feel so uncomfortable smoking around people who don't. Not to mention one that's pregnant.

"Go ahead and smoke. You won't bother anyone."

"I'm ok."

"You can smoke, go ahead."

"Really, I'm ok." Tried to smile apologetically.

"You can have a cigarette, Kate. I can tell you want to."

"No. I am fine." Annunciate. Perhaps he'll understand.

The conversation continued on and I went back to daydreaming. After a while I noticed that Work Guy's beer wasn't getting any lower in his glass. I began to fixate on it. Just drink the damn beer! An hour later and it appeared he had maybe taken 1 sip. I wanted to scream. I could have just had 3 beers to your one sip, what is wrong with you! Granted I had stopped drinking because I had thought a four hour hang out session would come to its conclusion soon.

"Just smoke a cigarette already." He gave me an exasperated look. Everyone was staring at me. My throat closed and my chest began to tighten.

"I'm really ok." Nervous smile.

"I can tell you want one. You keep playing with your lighter."

"Really, I am fine." It felt like there was a wave of light pulsating in my chest. An atomic bomb. An ugly orgasm of pain ready to strike.

"Just have a cigarette, no one cares."

"Yeah, go ahead. We don't mind." His friend interjected.

I was losing control. My eyes would soon start to tear if no one left me the hell alone.

"I'll be ok. I would stop wanting one if you-" pointed evil look at Work Guy, "would stop bringing it up."

"Well, you were playing with your lighter!"

"It's sitting on my lap, and I wasn't even touching it!" I wanted to run away. Perhaps I could call Ange and have her call me back with some emergency that could help me flee this newly created living hell.

Finally there was a reprieve. And the beer very slowly inched down down his glass. He talked about our sex life, candidly. I tried to put on a brave face and joke around, but I wanted to slap him. We weren't to the stage yet, like his married friend, where he could just open up and share as if he was expected to take it for granted and mock openly.

Then, he talked about his grandpa getting social security. He laughed about the fact that the man is a millionaire yet he collects social security. He and his friend started going off about how people shouldn't get social security and they should just save their money for the future. Where was I? The Republican National Party?

That bad burny feeling was entering my chest again. What about people who live paycheck to paycheck? What about teachers? With a shrug they thought those people should fend for themselves. These two men who grew up in fancy suburbs, in nice houses and had relatives who made millions. Took private jets and had their own personal limos at their disposal. And they all believed that my mom shouldn't have a right to do anything but work for the rest of her life. Or me, for that matter. What about elderly people with no families to take care of them when they are too infirm to work? Their families couldn't afford to take care of them, their own children and save for the future.

I kept feeling like I was going to cry. That life is hopeless unless you're rich and have every opportunity to make money. As they argued with me, I kept hearing the Ben Fold's song "Bitch went nuts" in the background and finally just said the one thing I most certainly was not thinking.

"You're right." And breathed deeply as they thought they had won. I would just crawl deeper into the back of my mind and pretend I was at home. My heart was breaking into a thousand peices again. I will never be happy.

The boys started talking about a movie they wanted to see the next day. Futuristic comic book type that had gotten bad reviews. But there were chicks with pigtails and dragons so I should love it, right? Fuck off.

"I can't go tomorrow. I have to work." I wanted to say, some of us have to practice at working for the rest of our lives because if people like you keep breeding I won't have any social security to look forward to...

"We can got to a noon show." Work Guy says. Everyone looks at me expectantly. What am I to say?

"I have some other things around the house that I need to do before I go to work." What I really wanted to say was that I like to have some down time on my weekend before I have to go to work. Rushing to Casa Grande after a movie doesn't really fit in with that.

"It has dragons.." Oh if that's all it takes. Sure.

"No."

They all went inside and I had my cigarette. I was so wound up inside I wanted to cry, again. It was a beautiful cool night and I was forced to feel like my skin was too tight. I followed them in the house, praying we get to go soon. They made me watch the trailer of the movie, as if that would change my mind. I informed them it had gotten really bad reviews, again. They didn't care. I said no again.

We left, saying thank you and what a nice evening it had been. I decided I am just not a people person. In the car I was silently working through why the night had bothered me so much. I'm depressed, so that probably was the main thing.

Work Guy asked what I was thinking. And he's the college grad... I tried to brush it off but he pushed. I told him I didn't like how he kept telling me to smoke. He apologized. Told me he loves me. I wanted to say "Then you need to learn to take a hint."

He complained that I wasn't holding his hand. His arm had been draped over me, and I was holding on to that but had missed that he wanted a hand hold. He acted as though I missed something very important, told me he just needs to feel loved. It was an odd manipulation. Making me feel guilty for not holding his hand when I had felt like an idiot all night with his talk of our sex life, my smoking and democratic views. Didn't he remember me saying I how much I detest hand holding? I didn't think I could crawl back into myself any further.

In the parking lot where I had left my car, I looked back at Cutter and asked if he wanted to go home and read a book. Work Guy took the hint. So sometimes he can....

"Want to have a sleepover?"

"Not tonight." I smiled, trying to act like everything was ok. I kissed him briefly and went home. To my patio and book and the feeling that I was in the right place with the one person who would always treat me well. Cutter. I half expected a text or call from Work Guy as I read my book. Nothing.

The next morning, nothing. It is now afternoon, and nothing.

Couple's Party

Work Guy has wowed the crap out of me. He likes me without my makeup on. He takes me to basketball games and doesn't try to make me like basketball. We cuddle and go to breakfast and talk all the time. He throws the frisbee for Cutter (but everyone does that because you just can't ignore that fabulous dog unless you're completely soulless.) He brings me flowers every week and watches movies with me.

He did unfortunately force Cutter and I to hike a mountain, but rewarded us with sushi and ice cream after, so it wasn't a total nightmare. But the best part was that he got me Lady Gaga tickets.

We planned to stop by a friend's house for a bbq before the concert. I didn't really think anything of it at first. I mean we have been there before, nice married couple with no kids who like to cook and drink beer. My type of people. They don't even expect you to help with anything, just bring more beer and enjoy.

So we headed over there and I was greeted by the hosts, their friend who were getting married the following weekend, another married couple from work, and 3 other married couples quickly joined. I soon realized that I was out of my element.

One or two married couples out and about is manageable. They're happy not to be at home, or doing their taxes, so you can relax and talk as a group of individuals. But as the numbers rise, they start to communicate at as duo. Like Siamese twins....

For example, while alone with one wife we discussed in detail how happy her husband was with his new $12 shorts that he had taken to wearing them everyday. At first it was funny, but the rest of our conversation with the two of them centered around those shorts. And what a great deal they were, and how comfortable. Underneath it all you could tell she loathed the shorts, and he loved them all the more despite her.

I quickly ran out of witty things to say and just drank more beer. Then there was another couple that never separated from each other and told one another's stories while the other laughed and nodded. My focus became a tennis match. He talked, I looked to her to see the nod. Looked at him to continue, looked to her to see the nodding. My neck hurt and I couldn't concentrate on the story. The engaged couple pretty much just talked to the hostess about the upcoming wedding, so I stayed clear of them.

A guy and, I assume his girlfriend, never left the kitchen and acted as if they didn't care whether or not anyone else was at the party. The host manned the grill, occasionally pointing out his technique to the three men flanking him around the sizzling pork. I began to recede further into my head. If it weren't for the concert I would have fled.

In the car, I started by saying "The thing about couple's parties-" and was immediately given a look.

It wasn't designed to be a couple's party, he said. Just a bbq.

"Then why were there only couples there? I certainly didn't see any single people, or half couples in the group. And they follow each other around and talk for one another-"

"You're seriously over analyzing this."

"That's what I do. That's what I write about." and in a smaller voice "I thought you knew that, you've read my blog."

He quickly changed tack and tried to get me to talk it out the way I had started but my train had been derailed. Is this why I hardly write anymore? Because I'm over analyzing and not just going with the flow?

The concert was ok. I expected more from you, Gaga. But I still enjoyed the music, all the crazy costumed concert goers. We met up with his mother-in-law, who is 3 years older than my sister. She and her friend had come to the concert after flying back from Palm Springs on a private jet. Life is hard.

After the concert we went home and I tried to just go with the flow. I cuddled into him and slept the night through. I would just have to see where this went, and what becomes of me.

But I had to ask myself, how much do couples give up of themselves just to be together?