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?

Chicken and Waffles with Work Guy

We talk ALL the time. About whatever. I feel like I'm in high school, but for the first it is a good feeling. Not the normal, Oh, God! That boy is soooo cute, I wonder if he'll call me.. type of way. Just the exciting, everything is new type of way. Every day at work he tells me how cute I look, or that he likes my outfit, or how pretty my hair is. I can't help but wonder what this guy's deal is.

After breaking up with the Principal, Work Guy thought he had the green light to date me whenever he wanted. He started showing up at my house and asking me out constantly. I need space! Who would have thought after complaining about being alone for the past 4 months of my relationship with the Principal, this overzealous attempt to win my affection would seem overbearing? I am a loner...

One night after work I explained to Work Guy that I wanted to go home, read a romance novel and go to bed. He didn't see why that meant we couldn't see each other. I arrived home and there he was. Waiting. He walked up to me while I glared mercilessly. Bribery. He brought me a 12 pack, a romance novel, cigarettes in a gift bag. I glared more. "Fine. I guess you bought your way in."

He followed me into the house and began making out with me. After a while I explained how manipulative his approach was. I just ended a 1 year relationship, one that I had hoped beyond hope would lead to marriage and all that junk, and I needed to evaluate where I'm going in life. He gave me those doe eyes, like a little beaten puppy when I sent him on his way. I had to institute some boundaries...

So the next day, as planned, we went to Lolo's Chicken and Waffles. My God! Chicken and Waffles in Phoenix! I had begun to believe the only place close to me to get yummy, greasy chicken and waffles was Roscoe's in LA. Anyway, Work Guy picked me up and we drove downtown where I proceeded to gorge myself. He laughed at my joy, but honestly it is the best freaking meal ever. We discussed favorite foods, that are really bad for you and after leaving Lolo's visited Carolina's Mexican food down the street. It was a hole in the wall where they make their own tortillas every day and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Work Guy bought me a dozen fresh tortillas and we headed home. In the car, I fell asleep on his shoulder to the aroma of warm flour tortillas.

When we arrived at my house he offered to come in and rub my full belly (which is apparently what his friend's wife does after a Lolo's outing) but I declined. I was full, happy and ready to be alone. Chicken and waffles requires a serious nap and this guy was probably going to try to stick his tongue in my mouth. No thanks.

The next few weeks followed the same pattern. He asked me out, I had to turn him down 50% of the time just to feel normal. The whole experience was forcing me to re-evaluate what the hell I want out of a relationship.

Too much space=unhappiness. Too much attention=anxiety attacks. I can be so open about things but then I crave my privacy. All this self analysis has made me believe I will just never get married because I don't know what I really want.

Except I do know that I want more chicken and waffles...

Valentine's Day Flowers

The Saturday before Valentine's Day my doorbell rang. Since I do not have a peephole and was not expecting anyone, I crawled on the floor in the guest bedroom and peered out the blinds. Florist...

I ran to answer the door and retrieve my gift, a tiny vase with a handful of red carnations and 2 roses. Who the hell would send me this? The card was no help, simply said "Happy Valentines Day". Much like Sherlock, I called the florist and was told they would call me back with a name. 8 hours later I called them again. They needed to get clearance from the sender.

I figured it was my mother or sister who would send such a little arrangement to make me feel better. Nope. Not Work Guy either... So I texted the Principal. Yup, problem solved. Except... I was struck by what a poor attempt he made to win me over with such a palrty bouquet. Could he really be that cheap?

I felt petty for wondering this, but my lovely mother made it very clear that if a man is trying to win you over he should pull out all the stops.

Valentine's Day I wake up to a text from Work Guy to look by my front door. A dozen roses, a box of truffles and a sweet card explaining how much he cares about me. At work, a potted bouquet of tulips, chocolate covered strawberries and a funny card. After work he took me to a nice restaurant with candlelight and made me a romantic mixed cd to listen to on the way home. I was shocked and felt super special. The poor guy was sick and still went out of his way just to make the one over-commercialized romatc holiday of the year a treat for me.

The Principal texted me that he loved me and missed me very much. My response was "Happy Valentines Day."

Childhood Crush

Over the past decade since I left high school I have had a recurring dream about my childhood crush. Every time I have a dream, always different, I have an overwhelming urge to find him and see how he's doing.



We met in grade school. I would beat him up on the playground and he always came back for more. We walked in the same group of kids homeward bound each afternoon. His mom disliked me even as a child (might have something to do with my chasing after her cat... or perpetually clubbing her son over the head, both apparently bad things...)



In the second grade his best friend had a crush on my best friend so they tried to double date us on the walk home. Those were magical 15 minutes, let me tell you. They decided to give us both a peice of jewelry from their mother's collection. I gave mine back. In the third grade, I beat him up outside the title company because he called the crossing guard "Nacho". Turns out that was really his name but I still felt it was offensive therefore I should defend the old man's honor. My mom's boss caught me and found the scene hilarious. My lovely mother did not.



Fourth grade was when he started sending me love letters. I told him, in a very sophisticated voice, that I was not allowed to date until I turned sixteen and he should look me up then.



Fifth grade, my best friend and I decided we should kiss him in the tree house. He sat in betwen us and was made to close his eyes and wait. We giggled and pointing at one another to go first. She did. It was the first time my stomach sank over a boy. All I could think was that she got to kiss him first. I would never get that back. So I declined and clambered out of the tree house. We all went back to playing, jumping on the trampoline, racing in a flirtatious tag. On the otherside of the house he asked why I chickened out. I just shrugged. He told me I could still kiss him. So he closed his eyes again. I leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. Then ran away.



Sixth grade. The love letters advanced to poetry. He had beautiful penmanship. I felt so excited that this boy would create such amazing poetry just for me... Until I realized he was just copying it out of my favorite poetry book in the library. I'm still sad I didn't go klepto on that book. It was old and worn and huge. Smelled like books should smell. I miss it and if ever I find myself at that Elementary school again my sticky fingers will totally jack that volume... So watch out Evergreen librarian.



Junior High was a blur of crushes. New boys to beat up and learning the art of flirting that hadn't been introduced to me yet. There was still some romancing from my Crush but we were separated by new people and friends (and a growth spurt on my part that made me feellike he looked to be my younger brother..). One year, I convinced him to date my friend who was desperately in love with him. He was cold to her and broke her heart by dumping her. I was so angry for hurting my friend I stopped talking to him until Freshman year when we sat next to each other in English.



As Freshmans, we were all a little scared. But I was convinced I wouldn't talk to him at all. Ever. For being so mean to my dear friend. One Monday morning I realized I had forgotten my news clippings to discuss for class. I was sitting there, wringing my hands because this teacher was horrible if you forgot your work. He leaned over and handed me some extras he brought. I was touched. We started passing notes. Around Valentine's Day the school had a dance. Still not allowed to date, I was going to meet a guy there with a group of girls. My Crush passed me a note in English asking me. I felt that sinking feeling again. No, I had already agreed to go with the other boy.



The dance was awkward and interupted by my friend's parents dropping in to see if I'd heard from her. She had run away. My "date" didn't understand why I had to leave to go home to see if she would show up at my house....



On Valentine's Day, I was sitting in my closet reading a book (long story) and waiting for someone to call me. Anyone. I was in high school, you were only as important as how much you talked on the phone. Crush called and asked me to go outside. I was in a faded yellow pair of gym shorts and a cheer t-shirt, but outside I went. There he was, standing outside my gate with a big white teddy bear and fancy roses. Right behind him was his mean looking mom in her car. All I could do was shuffle back and forth, say thank you and go back in the house. It was so sweet. But weird with his mom staring at me like I might come after her cat again.



Nothing came from it. He still passed me notes. I still smiled at him shyly and threatened to beat him up.



Sophmore year. Like before, we had a few classes together. In the new school, recently built, there were more new people to meet. That was when I was introduced to the guy who would be my high school sweet heart. Two weeks before Homecoming, my Crush asked me to the dance right after I met the Sweetheart (who already had a date). He wasn't my boyfriend and all that so I said yes. The Crush, like always, was super romantic. Bought a red tie to match my dress, and a beautiful corsage even though most people didn't wear those to Homecoming. The whole night was overshadowed by the fact that Sweetheart was becoming my boyfriend and Crush knew it. We never talked about it again.



Junior year I broke up with Sweetheart just before prom. We still went together and were surprisingly the happiest couple. My crush on the Crush redeveloped. I handed him a note one day, even though he had a girlfriend, that said



"I know you have a girlfriend, so this will make no difference, but I still felt I had to tell you. I like you. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable."



He read it. Looked up and asked who it was from. I stuttered that it was from me. He stared at me, then walked away. It was what I had been expecting.



A few weeks later, though, he was single and asked me out. We went to a restaurant in Phoenix and were extremely awkward around each other. The next day my mom woke me up by setting a rose in a vase with a teddy bear on my nightstand. The card read, "Thank you for going out with me last night". I smiled.



We went for walks in the evenings and ran through the sprinklers. One night it started raining and we jumped into an apartment pool. He carried me in the water and we kissed. He took me to a movie, then played "The way you look tonight" on his car radio in his driveway so we could dance. His mom interupted us with the excuse that it was late and I should go home. Crush walked me to my car and kissed me goodnight. Again with the mother from the front door calling out "Goodnight! Call us so we know you made it home ok." With sarcasm. I lived a few streets over. But I called anyway. Just to be sarcastic back.



He came over after my dad had his first surgery and we discovered the cancer. 3 months to live. My aunt had bought me beer, we talked trash about all of our family members then she "went to bed" when he came over. Crush cleaned up the house and laid me down on the couch. He would only kiss me once. He didn't want to take advantage. I chastised him for being such a goody-goody. Yes, I used those words. But he was, didn't drink or smoke or do drugs. All he did was get good grades and go to school.



The rest of the summer I didn't have much time for anyone. I drove my dad to treatments at 5:30am, returning home 12 hours later Monday through Friday and worked at Dairy Queen Saturday and Sunday. All summer. Right before the end of the summer, I had a quick reunion with the ex-Sweetheart. He was preparing to go to college. We met for lunch and of course I ran into the Crush and his mother. The look she gave me was scathing. The Crush had given me space for my dad, but I never felt like anything had developed between us. I did not get back with the Sweetheart. He moved to the big city to start college and I wanted him to enjoy that. Also, I did not want to get married right after high school and he would. In fact, he got married one week before I graduated.



The Crush changed. He started doing all the things I had chastised him about. He started hanging with the rich kids, drinking and smoking pot. He acted differently and I missed the sweet guy who used to send me notes. We graduated. He went to Tucson, I went to Phoenix.



A few months after moving he called me at my apartment asking me to come stay with him at his dorm. He sounded so strange and was implying more than a visit. This was not the boy I had been in love with over and over again since the age of 6. I told him no, and never heard from him again.



Then, one night when I was 23 I had a dream about him. I had only heard smidges of gossip about him, drugs and drinking. Now I had this intense urge to find him, see if he was ok. I looked on MySpace, nothing. So I tried Classmates.com. I even paid for a membership so I could contact him. It was lame. I wrote him an email:



"This will sound really weird but I had a dream about you and thought I should check in to see how you have been."



He replied and we began chatting again. He asked to take me to dinner sometime if I was "unattached". I told him I was and we tentatively set a date for the weekend before Valentines Day. My heart soared! What if, all along I was meant to be with this guy and had missed my chances only to reunite now! I was waiting to hear back as to when we would meet. Friday night, still no word but I wasn't worried. Then on the way home from rehearsal, my dad called. Odd, usually my mom called.



Apparently, that day an engagement announcement was in the paper and my Crush was getting married. Heart sank. And I was angry. Why would he make such a big deal about my being unattached for us to have dinner when he was freaking engaged?!? Here I was thinking I had a date but in reality it was just two old friends having dinner to catch up. Or did he want something else? One last chance to bang me before getting married?



I went home and looked up the engagement announcement and was disgusted. No email from the Crush. So I sent one congratulating him. Took a few days to get a response. He had wanted to tell me in person and still wanted to get dinner or lunch with me.

Not sure how to proceed, and wanting to seem worldly I accepted. He met me at my apartment and we went to Macayo's for lunch. He had filled out, no longer the string bean I remembered from high school, still handsome. We chatted about life and what we had been up to. I had 2 margaritas and got a little sloppy. Mistake. I admitted to thinking he had asked me out on a date and he apologized. The whole afternoon was nice and I gave him a long hug before he left. All in all, it worked out fine (even though he didn't sound too excited about getting married.)

After he left he sent me a text: "I was fine not hearing from you for years. Now it feels like my world won't be complete without you in it." I was drunk and found it sweet. But I never heard from him again. He was getting married after all.

This year, I had another dream. Just basic, looking through socks and worrying about money. He was there and helped me sort the socks, asking why I was upset. We walked around the house and talked about my worries. That's it. But the compulsion returned and I had to see how he was doing.

I looked on Facebook and myspace, even googled him. Nothing. As a last resort I checked my phone, and wonder of all wonders still had his number. I called, swearing he couldn't have the same number 6 years later. He answered..... I threw my phone in my purse, jostled it around and later sent him a text apologizing for purse dialing him. Never heard back.

My compulsion is relieved. I know he is ok, still out there somewhere doing his thing.