Shampoo, rinse, repeat.
Have a wonderful night together, travel out of town for work, feel boyfriend/lover retreat to his cave, come back from travel and confront increasing despondency, hear accusations of infidelity, cancel anticipated plans for romantic weekend, REPEAT.
I return from New Jersey and find zero voice messages in response to my two. Cruising down the toll road from Austin International: "Well, I'm guessing you're in another mood over some arbitrary thing you heard me say or not say so... call when you're ready to talk." Star date: last Friday in July.
Star date: last Saturday in July. Two hours of grueling advanced bikram yoga are behind me and Laine is en route so we can make a weekend of it in Houston. I'm to meet her friend, Jason, who's recently relocated to Houston from Austin to work on-site for a newly-landed client. He's 26 years her junior and 12 years mine. "Am I seriously ready to raise another child?" inquires a fellow mom-friend.
No, but then again, aren't all men children? R has the emotional maturity of a 12-year old and he's almost 50. What difference truly exists between a 30-year-old and 50-year-old man? I'm willing to bet the difference is inconsequential. Actually, I'm willing to bet this guy is infinitely more mature- if based only on Laine's description of him. Time will tell.
We check into the Hilton Post Oak and make our way to the executive suite. Thank you Hilton Honors!
From the suitcase I retrieve the red Karen Millen from earlier in the week, though I have zero intentions of being unzipped from it tonight. In fact, I could not care less about meeting Jason - let alone fucking him - considering how wrapped up I still am in the mood spectrum of R. For a guy, R is more mercurial than a 17-year-old about to start her period. Christ. Like Katie Perry's "Hot & Cold," there is no telling which man I'm going to get when I call. Time and perspective cause me to wonder whether R might be bipolar.
Anyway, into the red dress I slip and Laine in her black&white Ann Taylor business chic dress. It's off to that alleged naughty adult play-ground called Maggiano's where the illustrious NOTHING happened in June when R toppled off the edge of his emotional mantle. Tonight should bear a different outcome though, and lo and behold it does. Jason shows up, a strapping young man oozing with confidence and the ability to carry an adult conversation about something other than himself.
From Maggiano's to inside the loop it is a musically-inspired cab ride from one bar to the next until tunes blaring from cab-driver Alex's stereo inspire us to head for Drink Houston. At this four-clubs-in-one we work our way through the Latin club until we recognize the heavy bass beats of the rap room. Phew, finally something bearing a resemblance to Hits 1. A quick glance around the clubs... are we the only white people here?
At an earlier club the bartender misunderstood me when I asked for gin and tonic and somehow heard me say, "I'll take a scotch and water." It would have been simple enough to ask for another drink, Jason even volunteered to correct the error; but I found nostalgia in the glass reflecting on my ex and even ordered another. An hour later at Drink Houston we down crown shots as the DJ pumps Flo Rida through the speakers right behind us. The alcohol, club temps and sexual energy dull rational thinking.
Jason pulls Laine and me to the dance floor, positioning Laine in front and me in back. Flo Rida segues into Rihanna and Calvin Harris and we find our groove. What did Jason just say? Something about never being in this position again? What position is that? That of a dance sandwich? A possible three-way? Hard to say with that heavy bass beat coursing through my head.
We close the place down and Alex takes us back to our hotel. Jason wants to know if he can stay at the hotel so he doesn't have to drive home. Later, Laine will tell me how easily the cab could have taken him home seeing he lives less than a mile away. Funny, not ha, ha. Funny as in interesting.
The buzz wanes and room service fails to take our call. "Let's go see concierge," I suggest. Jason and I walk/run to the elevator. In the lobby we assault concierge with our need to keep the party going. "What? What do you mean you don't serve alcohol after 2? It's a hotel, are you kidding?"
Serious bummer. We walk with mild disappointment back to the elevator, but the mood shifts. Did someone just say, squirrel? The door closes and we distract ourselves with a kiss, a lovely kiss that begs the question: just where exactly is this evening going?
Back in our suite Laine wears a lovely fitted night gown. Jason excuses himself to the bathroom.
"I don't know for sure, but I'm thinking he might want a threesome. What do you think?" Am I really asking this? A lifetime ago my ex made this request of me and I could NEVER go there. Now suddenly I'm throwing caution to the wind... maybe because I'm older, maybe because I have nothing invested in this person I met less than five hours earlier. Significantly more sober, Laine shuts the idea down and frankly, I'm relieved. Things are 99% over with R back home, but they need to be absolutely complete before I move on with someone new.
Jason returns from the bathroom as Laine walks back to finish her night-time routine. "So, I was thinking maybe we could all snuggle," Jason proposes to me.
"Uhm, yeah. Well... talk to Laine. I'll be right back."
I exit for a bio break. Moments later I hear the two of them talking as I wash my hands and face. "I'm going to take the pull-out sofa," Laine tells him.
"Nooo, come snuggle." I change into my night shirt as they continue their discussion on sleeping arrangements. I brush my teeth and exit to find them both in one of the two queen-sized beds.
"All right you two, I'm just gonna... " what? this is a little awkward.
"Come snuggle with us," he invites.
"No, I'm good. I'll just sleep over here."
"Nope, you're coming over here. Come," he commands.
I crawl into bed and our positions aren't much different from the dance floor with Laine in front, Jason in the middle and me in back... all of us falling asleep on our sides. I close my eyes and feel Jason reach back to touch my hip. It's sweet in an odd kind of way. I quickly fall to sleep, but only to stir off and on over the next few hours. An urge to pee wakes me providing the perfect exit strategy from a very crowded bed.
I fall into the empty bed with room to stretch out, cool off and fall asleep once and for all. Jason departs a few hours later, mumbling something about conference calls and brunch with Laine. My head pounds but water sends pain running for the hills and stops the cramping in my left calf.
It's a long drive home following a big brunch and pleasant goodbye at the Grand Lux Cafe. Laine and I say our goodbyes in my driveway back in the ATX and then it's back to the at-times-engulfing loneliness I feel in a post-divorced world. I think about R and anger quickly supplants despair.
I call R's cell wondering why he had to let what would have been a delightful weekend disintegrate into dust. "Look," he says. "I think you're terrific." Oh Christ, spare me the placating about to ensue.
"But, I told you before I'm not going to fall in love with you. I mean, I can come over there and fuck you if want me to but that's all. I just want to fuck you."
And there it is. The ugliest most hateful thing a human being has ever said to me in my entire life. He is completely and utterly dead to me.
Three weeks later a text comes in on a Sunday night:
R: You are laying on your back on my bed. Head falling back and my cock so far down your throat your eyes water. You gag but you welcome my cock. You cannot wait for the punishment you know is coming and you surrender completely.
Me: (seriously?) Hello to you u too.
R: ; )
R: I still desire you...
I think of a message he sent months before when I expressed my disappointment over his desire to return to Austin Dinner Club while we were still dating: "TFB." TFB I texted back then, confused by another digital age acronym. "Too fucking bad" he told me. I think about texting that to him now, but refrain in the spirit of politeness.
Me: And I you (if he was remotely emotionally stable and mature)
R: Come over, while I'm in the mood. You will not be disappointed.
Seriously, "while I'm in the mood?" Isn't that the crux of it all right there? In a second each moment we shared flashes through my head. What I believed was connection and intimacy was only my projection, a fantasy only in my head. I made up it was about us when it was only ever about selfish, childish R. What a narcissistic twerp, but better to learn that in a few months than in a few years.
Me: I have an early flight tomorrow (I lie)
R: Crapooooola. You would have suffered so well.
Me: (Yawn).
R: I miss punishing you.
Me: Yes, I'm sure it would be a blast, but then I'd leave in the morning and the afterglow would eventually fade because I want more and you can't give me that.
R: Live for the moment...
And he drones on and on in such a boring fashion.
R: The wand misses you.
Me: I bought my own (whatever)
The next day a weak apology comes over in a text. Too fucking bad, I think. R can find someone else to punish in the bed as well as out of the bed with his hateful, ugly rants. I don't even want a friendship with this poop stain of a human being.
And like that, the door is unequivocally closed forever. Shampoo, rinse... get out of the shower.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Drama at a Glance #22 - One Step Back?
We snuggle on the couch watching TV as if we were a married couple.
"I don't get how this show has won critical acclaim. The writing sucks."
"Oh my God, how can you be so negative? Besides, Mary-Louise Parker is totally hot," he parries.
"And she's acting horribly. She was infinitely better in Fried Green Tomatoes. The writing and the acting are both horrible."
"Do you want me to change the channel?" he asks, poking me in the ribs.
"No," I giggle.
"You're nuts," he tells me. Leaning against him I lean my head back to smile. "And you're so pretty" he adds.
"Thank you," I say. I want more of this... not the compliments per se, but the snuggling, the simple everyday-ness of relationship. Can we do this?
The show ends and we make our way upstairs. "Undress me, please."
"What? Why?"
"Don't act all put out... just unzip me. See, right here," I tease. "I like it when you do this. It makes me feel sexy." And down goes the zipper so I can step out of the lovely, red Karen Millen so he can hang it up on a hook in the bathroom.
He stands back taking an intense long look with his big green eyes. "Follow me... over here," he says grabbing my right hand. He stands me up against the bed with its covers pulled back to the foot and removes my leopard-print bra and panties. "Lay on your back across the bed." I assume the position looking up at him wantonly. What started in New Orleans has become a mainstay in our lovemaking, even in the off-again, on-again drama of summer.
I stare up at him, hungry... turned on. I bite my lower lip in anticipation not unlike that fictional girl in Seattle. "Close your eyes," he demands. I inhale deeply and close my eyes as he climbs on top straddling me. My hands graze his obliques. This almost 50-year old puts guys half his age to shame. "No... put your hands back on the bed."
Ever the dutiful lover I acquiesce because yielding to him brings me such delicious joy. Snapshots from last night zip through my brain as they did on the drive to Austin Dinner Club earlier. We're laying in bed expressing how we've neither one ever experienced sex like this. It is truly the best sex of our lives.
"Lift your head," he instructs. Something soft and fuzzy is placed over my eyes. Will he tie my hands to the corners of the bed this time too? He speaks before I can finish my thought. "Bring your legs up over your head, spread eagle." R gently grabs my left foot and secures it with a satin-type of strap. I test the knot only to meet heavy resistance in the sound of the chaise lounge. Grabbing my right foot he secures it with an equally strong knot. And there I am, all bottoms up and slightly vulnerable wondering what he has in store.
"I am going to fuck you really hard now. Are you ready?" he asks. I hesitate as I hear the magic wand spring to life. "Are you ready?" he repeats with a little zap of the wand on my clit.
"YES," I hiss between closed teeth. Will I ever grow accustom to the intensity of sensation from this particular piece of equipment? R reaches for my hands, telling me to take control of the wand without ever saying a word. At the helm of my own orgasmic destiny I place the wand exactly where I need to maximize the pleasure about to ensue. R then moves his hands up the length of my legs to my feet and back down my calves to my ham strings.
He squeezes the back of my legs in a gentle, massaging fashion as a preamble to gripping my ass, right thumb finding its way just inside my introitus. He lingers there 30 seconds, then a minute. "Now, please!" I beg.
"Shhh... I'm in charge," he declares. "In fact, I want you to turn over." He quickly unties my feet and turns me on all four. "Remember this," he whispers in my ear as he returns the wand to my hands. "Now come back just a little." With his hands back on my hips he pulls me back and without a word thrusts himself deep inside. I open my legs slightly to lower myself down further onto the bed. We find our rhythm after another adjustment or two and here we are, making love as we have come to define it over the past five months.
I maneuver the wand within inches of a climax but it eludes time and time again. Ever observant and in tune with my own needs in bed, R suggests a return to my back. He helps me turn over and removes the cover from my eyes. "Hi," he says softly bending down and deeply kissing me.
"Hi back at you," I return. He lays on top of me, cock at the helm as we stare at each other like we have countless times before. And suddenly there it is, connection... the reason I keep coming back. In the distance a familiar sensation builds in intensity as muscles contract and find their release. My body tingles all the way down to my toes not unlike our first morning together last March.
R smiles sweetly at me and just like before he reassuringly says, "again." Surrendering our eyes lock and emotion finds its release as well. Two weeks before R told me he couldn't allow himself to fall in love with me. Does he feel the same now? Can he step out of his story to see the potential in US?
We fall asleep once more in each others arms but not before discussing plans to have dinner at my place when I return from New Jersey on Friday. I want to believe we're on the road back to relationship. I want to believe this is more than just sex. I want to believe that he's the man I want, the man I need. I want, I want, I want.
"I don't get how this show has won critical acclaim. The writing sucks."
"Oh my God, how can you be so negative? Besides, Mary-Louise Parker is totally hot," he parries.
"And she's acting horribly. She was infinitely better in Fried Green Tomatoes. The writing and the acting are both horrible."
"Do you want me to change the channel?" he asks, poking me in the ribs.
"No," I giggle.
"You're nuts," he tells me. Leaning against him I lean my head back to smile. "And you're so pretty" he adds.
"Thank you," I say. I want more of this... not the compliments per se, but the snuggling, the simple everyday-ness of relationship. Can we do this?
The show ends and we make our way upstairs. "Undress me, please."
"What? Why?"
"Don't act all put out... just unzip me. See, right here," I tease. "I like it when you do this. It makes me feel sexy." And down goes the zipper so I can step out of the lovely, red Karen Millen so he can hang it up on a hook in the bathroom.
He stands back taking an intense long look with his big green eyes. "Follow me... over here," he says grabbing my right hand. He stands me up against the bed with its covers pulled back to the foot and removes my leopard-print bra and panties. "Lay on your back across the bed." I assume the position looking up at him wantonly. What started in New Orleans has become a mainstay in our lovemaking, even in the off-again, on-again drama of summer.
I stare up at him, hungry... turned on. I bite my lower lip in anticipation not unlike that fictional girl in Seattle. "Close your eyes," he demands. I inhale deeply and close my eyes as he climbs on top straddling me. My hands graze his obliques. This almost 50-year old puts guys half his age to shame. "No... put your hands back on the bed."
Ever the dutiful lover I acquiesce because yielding to him brings me such delicious joy. Snapshots from last night zip through my brain as they did on the drive to Austin Dinner Club earlier. We're laying in bed expressing how we've neither one ever experienced sex like this. It is truly the best sex of our lives.
"Lift your head," he instructs. Something soft and fuzzy is placed over my eyes. Will he tie my hands to the corners of the bed this time too? He speaks before I can finish my thought. "Bring your legs up over your head, spread eagle." R gently grabs my left foot and secures it with a satin-type of strap. I test the knot only to meet heavy resistance in the sound of the chaise lounge. Grabbing my right foot he secures it with an equally strong knot. And there I am, all bottoms up and slightly vulnerable wondering what he has in store.
"I am going to fuck you really hard now. Are you ready?" he asks. I hesitate as I hear the magic wand spring to life. "Are you ready?" he repeats with a little zap of the wand on my clit.
"YES," I hiss between closed teeth. Will I ever grow accustom to the intensity of sensation from this particular piece of equipment? R reaches for my hands, telling me to take control of the wand without ever saying a word. At the helm of my own orgasmic destiny I place the wand exactly where I need to maximize the pleasure about to ensue. R then moves his hands up the length of my legs to my feet and back down my calves to my ham strings.
He squeezes the back of my legs in a gentle, massaging fashion as a preamble to gripping my ass, right thumb finding its way just inside my introitus. He lingers there 30 seconds, then a minute. "Now, please!" I beg.
"Shhh... I'm in charge," he declares. "In fact, I want you to turn over." He quickly unties my feet and turns me on all four. "Remember this," he whispers in my ear as he returns the wand to my hands. "Now come back just a little." With his hands back on my hips he pulls me back and without a word thrusts himself deep inside. I open my legs slightly to lower myself down further onto the bed. We find our rhythm after another adjustment or two and here we are, making love as we have come to define it over the past five months.
I maneuver the wand within inches of a climax but it eludes time and time again. Ever observant and in tune with my own needs in bed, R suggests a return to my back. He helps me turn over and removes the cover from my eyes. "Hi," he says softly bending down and deeply kissing me.
"Hi back at you," I return. He lays on top of me, cock at the helm as we stare at each other like we have countless times before. And suddenly there it is, connection... the reason I keep coming back. In the distance a familiar sensation builds in intensity as muscles contract and find their release. My body tingles all the way down to my toes not unlike our first morning together last March.
R smiles sweetly at me and just like before he reassuringly says, "again." Surrendering our eyes lock and emotion finds its release as well. Two weeks before R told me he couldn't allow himself to fall in love with me. Does he feel the same now? Can he step out of his story to see the potential in US?
We fall asleep once more in each others arms but not before discussing plans to have dinner at my place when I return from New Jersey on Friday. I want to believe we're on the road back to relationship. I want to believe this is more than just sex. I want to believe that he's the man I want, the man I need. I want, I want, I want.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Drama at a Glance #21 - Red and Gold
Crap I am out of time. I pull the zipper up on my "woman in red" Karen Millen dress, slip on my satin, peep-toe heels and race down the stairs to my true love. The garage door lifts and Central Texas sun peeks around the corner over my black 328i with its sexy lines, camel interior and exquisite stereo.
Inside I remove my shoes to drive barefooted. It really is safer this way as three-inch heels have a way of getting caught under the gas and brake pedals. Shifting into reverse I back out slowly, mindful the neighbors kids could be playing (lurking) about. Seeing the coast is clear I merge into traffic and make my way toward the freeway.
Kings of Leon blast through the speakers as "Sex on Fire" concludes and Sirius XM The Pulse segues into Mumford & Sons' "Roll Away Your Stone." Snapshots of last night zip through my brain as I accelerate to 75 down Loop 1. Candles flicker while R and I stand on our knees in the center of my bed devouring each other with kiss after kiss.
I grab my phone and dial R before I can over-think my next move.
"Are you alone tonight? Or are you with your son?"
"Hi... he's at his mom's tonight. In fact, I only have him twice this week and then he's on vacation with his mom for a week starting on Friday."
"Hmm. Feel like company?"
"Aren't you going to the Austin Dinner Club tonight?"
"Yeah, but I don't care. Nothing is going to happen there I'm pretty sure."
"I'd love to see you."
"Well it might be late, like 9 o'clock or something. Are you going to be up that late?" I tease. "How about if I call you to make sure."
"Okay," R replies. "But I'm pretty sure I'll be up."
"Hope so," I say and hang up the phone, returning it to the center console below the gear shift.
I am stuck behind a dip-shit in a Mitsubishi in the left lane. Who the hell are these people that actually drive below the speed limit in the passing lane? And how can they NOT notice the 8-10 cars behind them? It is one of life's greatest mysteries and I'd ram my bumper up their rear-end if it wouldn't result in a ticket and $5000 worth of repairs. "Move the F out of the way," I mutter.
Something catches my attention in the rearview mirror. A quick glance reveals xenon headlights as a gold BMW driver races toward my back bumper. Seriously dude? I roll my eyes as Gold Finger gets a little familiar with my back side and crank up Carly Rae Jepsen whose "Call Me Maybe" pours from the speakers. Dip-shit holds steady just as an advance in the center lane provides the clearing I need to gain the upper hand. I move to the right, but Mitsubishi dip-shit goes for a power play and blocks my pass by accelerating. Nice! MF'r.
Gold Finger stays the course in the left lane and I have not only missed my chance to pass Mitsubishi Red but now I'm behind the Beemer. Damn! My ego waxes to full strength and I dart back to the left to regain dominance. Gold Finger spots an opening and jumps two lanes to the right to pass Mitsubishi DS. No he did not do that! No I did not just follow him to a T! Mitsubishi DS fades into the distance while Gold Finger and I weave in and out of traffic, dancing a tango of sorts.
We race past Windsor, then Enfield. We whip past Lake Austin Blvd for the 5th Street/Cesar Chavez exits. Finally a shot to pass and win the race. A random thought: wait, I wonder if this guy is headed to the dinner club? Nah, couldn't be. I push the pedal down and speed up to 90 and zip to the front. Loop 1 curves as I take the 5th Street exit at 80 miles an hour all adrenaline and not an ounce of sense as I make the curve like a pro. I slow for a yellow light, Gold Finger still hot on my trail. Hmm, this will be a little awkward if he's going to the same restaurant.
I turn right and right again. In a cozy little parking spot I reach for my shoes while opening my door. Two spots over Gold Finger exits his car. "Nice driving," he says with a smile.
"Not too bad yourself," I offer.
"Going to the Austin Dinner Club?" he asks. Oops.
"Yes I am," I reply. He's cute in a nerdy kind of way. Tall with dark hair and glasses. Maybe there's hope for tonight after all.
"Are you going to lock your doors?" he asks. What? Of course I'm going to lock my doors, like, as soon as I get situated. Is he walking with a limp? Inside we take our seats and meet our host from ADC and another guy who is way too young.
"Here's your menu," he suggests. Do I look like I've never been to a restaurant before? Ugh, and so it begins, the immediate picking apart of a potential suitor in a post-divorce world. My filter (baggage) kicks into overdrive as I take a giant gulp of Tanqueray and tonic.
I smile politely as us girls are trained to do. "Thank you," I answer. And the next two hours cannot pass fast enough. I want to leave and run to R, run to what I know with all of its imperfection.
Dinner finally concludes and the ADC host comes over before I can bolt. She inquires delicately into R and what happened. He's a customer of hers and I don't exactly have permission to disclose all of his idiosyncrasies. I do share that it's been a summer of ups and downs, but that we were together last night... in fact, "I'm on my way to his place tonight."
"I don't think it's over yet for you guys. Go," she encourages. And with that it's a turn on my heels and a dart toward my car.
Inside I remove my shoes to drive barefooted. It really is safer this way as three-inch heels have a way of getting caught under the gas and brake pedals. Shifting into reverse I back out slowly, mindful the neighbors kids could be playing (lurking) about. Seeing the coast is clear I merge into traffic and make my way toward the freeway.
Kings of Leon blast through the speakers as "Sex on Fire" concludes and Sirius XM The Pulse segues into Mumford & Sons' "Roll Away Your Stone." Snapshots of last night zip through my brain as I accelerate to 75 down Loop 1. Candles flicker while R and I stand on our knees in the center of my bed devouring each other with kiss after kiss.
I grab my phone and dial R before I can over-think my next move.
"Are you alone tonight? Or are you with your son?"
"Hi... he's at his mom's tonight. In fact, I only have him twice this week and then he's on vacation with his mom for a week starting on Friday."
"Hmm. Feel like company?"
"Aren't you going to the Austin Dinner Club tonight?"
"Yeah, but I don't care. Nothing is going to happen there I'm pretty sure."
"I'd love to see you."
"Well it might be late, like 9 o'clock or something. Are you going to be up that late?" I tease. "How about if I call you to make sure."
"Okay," R replies. "But I'm pretty sure I'll be up."
"Hope so," I say and hang up the phone, returning it to the center console below the gear shift.
I am stuck behind a dip-shit in a Mitsubishi in the left lane. Who the hell are these people that actually drive below the speed limit in the passing lane? And how can they NOT notice the 8-10 cars behind them? It is one of life's greatest mysteries and I'd ram my bumper up their rear-end if it wouldn't result in a ticket and $5000 worth of repairs. "Move the F out of the way," I mutter.
Something catches my attention in the rearview mirror. A quick glance reveals xenon headlights as a gold BMW driver races toward my back bumper. Seriously dude? I roll my eyes as Gold Finger gets a little familiar with my back side and crank up Carly Rae Jepsen whose "Call Me Maybe" pours from the speakers. Dip-shit holds steady just as an advance in the center lane provides the clearing I need to gain the upper hand. I move to the right, but Mitsubishi dip-shit goes for a power play and blocks my pass by accelerating. Nice! MF'r.
Gold Finger stays the course in the left lane and I have not only missed my chance to pass Mitsubishi Red but now I'm behind the Beemer. Damn! My ego waxes to full strength and I dart back to the left to regain dominance. Gold Finger spots an opening and jumps two lanes to the right to pass Mitsubishi DS. No he did not do that! No I did not just follow him to a T! Mitsubishi DS fades into the distance while Gold Finger and I weave in and out of traffic, dancing a tango of sorts.
We race past Windsor, then Enfield. We whip past Lake Austin Blvd for the 5th Street/Cesar Chavez exits. Finally a shot to pass and win the race. A random thought: wait, I wonder if this guy is headed to the dinner club? Nah, couldn't be. I push the pedal down and speed up to 90 and zip to the front. Loop 1 curves as I take the 5th Street exit at 80 miles an hour all adrenaline and not an ounce of sense as I make the curve like a pro. I slow for a yellow light, Gold Finger still hot on my trail. Hmm, this will be a little awkward if he's going to the same restaurant.
I turn right and right again. In a cozy little parking spot I reach for my shoes while opening my door. Two spots over Gold Finger exits his car. "Nice driving," he says with a smile.
"Not too bad yourself," I offer.
"Going to the Austin Dinner Club?" he asks. Oops.
"Yes I am," I reply. He's cute in a nerdy kind of way. Tall with dark hair and glasses. Maybe there's hope for tonight after all.
"Are you going to lock your doors?" he asks. What? Of course I'm going to lock my doors, like, as soon as I get situated. Is he walking with a limp? Inside we take our seats and meet our host from ADC and another guy who is way too young.
"Here's your menu," he suggests. Do I look like I've never been to a restaurant before? Ugh, and so it begins, the immediate picking apart of a potential suitor in a post-divorce world. My filter (baggage) kicks into overdrive as I take a giant gulp of Tanqueray and tonic.
I smile politely as us girls are trained to do. "Thank you," I answer. And the next two hours cannot pass fast enough. I want to leave and run to R, run to what I know with all of its imperfection.
Dinner finally concludes and the ADC host comes over before I can bolt. She inquires delicately into R and what happened. He's a customer of hers and I don't exactly have permission to disclose all of his idiosyncrasies. I do share that it's been a summer of ups and downs, but that we were together last night... in fact, "I'm on my way to his place tonight."
"I don't think it's over yet for you guys. Go," she encourages. And with that it's a turn on my heels and a dart toward my car.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Drama at a Glance #20 - Two Steps Forward...
We cruise up the freeway, four hot moms and our five five-year-old daughters returning back to the ATX after a fun-filled weekend in Port A. Up until 4am the night before playing naughty truth-or-dare (naughty as in not yet ready to "share in a blog" naughty - if ever), we are hung over big time jonzing for carbs, caffeine, aspirin and water.
I tell myself it's time to push back from the booze. I find myself dehydrated if not a little shaky more mornings than not these days... these weeks... these months. Or maybe it's just that Summer 2012 is one big party now that my ex and I are apart and he keeps the kids every other week. I feel young again, and what I really mean by that is that I feel younger now than when was I technically YOUNG. Such a funny thing to feel younger and more carefree in my 40s than in my 20s or 30s. Is it being "sexy and free" or is it the growing detachment from looking good, from giving a damn what others think?
Who knows.
We roll up to hot-mom #1's house and separate into our individual vehicles for the final miles home. My kid's are throwing an ever-not-so-subtle tantrum about being unable to stay one more night with their friends and all I can think is that I have to get us home, unloaded, unpacked, laundered and re-packed so I can take them to their dads. As I face the herculean weight of my task-heavy evening I throw a tantrum of my own if only on the inside. In just one hour I'll have peace and quiet. In just one hour I will be completely and utterly alone for 10 days, and by alone what I really mean is lonely.
Loneliness creeps over me and I want something, anything to cope with this emotion. I crack open the cooler to find half of a large bottle of wine remaining from our moms-gone-wild beach weekend. Wait, I still have to take the kids to their dad's... where's my phone? If he'll respond to my text I will be able to fully escape the pain of being alone if only for one night.
Local time is 5 'til 6. "Come on girls," I bellow from downstairs. "It's time to go." We grab suitcases, nap mats and lunch boxes and make our way to the car. Looking at my phone I hesitate. Do I really want to re-engage him? Logically, I cannot see a future with someone if he categorically refuses to discuss our issues, if he insists on reacting like a child to his perceptions (misperceptions) and interpretations.
Fifteen minutes later the girls greet their dad and have to be reminded to hug me goodbye. Ouch, let's tear that self-inflicted wound open just a little more why don't we? Back in my car, I head back into traffic until I reach a traffic light. Sadness, loneliness and disappointment in myself as a parent permeate the car. I retrieve my phone and dial but don't you know that I reach his voicemail? Ugh, can someone just hand me those nails over there so I can hammer the rest of this lid on my coffin of self pity?
"Hey there," I say in a light but not too upbeat tone. "Just back from a great weekend away and have dropped the kids off at their dad's. Wondered if you might like to come over."
If there's anything worse than reaching for a cigarette after quitting for more than a week it's reaching for a cigarette only to find the packet EMPTY. Minutes tick by, then half an hour. Oh well, I guess that's a NO. I chuckle a little and turn to coping mechanism #2 before plopping on the couch to catch America's Got Talent. An hour in the phone rings and every single last trace of pity, sadness and loneliness vanishes when I hear his voice.
"I just now heard your message. When did you leave it?"
"Around 6."
"I wish I'd heard it earlier." Oh, no. Not what I want to hear. I go into super-persuasion mode.
"Are you in the middle of something?"
"Nah, not really... Just pulled up to Santa Rita's to order food."
"I see..." think, think, think. "What if you ordered it to go?"
"Eh, I don't know. Why don't you come down here?"
"I was there last time AND the time before that."
"Well, I'd have to go home and get the Magic Wand."
"No, we don't need the wand."
"We need the wand."
"Fine, order your food, go home for the wand and then head up here picking your food up on the way."
Silence meets me on the other end as he contemplates my suggestion. "Okay, I have to get up early though to get ahead of traffic."
"Not a problem. I need your ass out of here by 5:30 to get to the 6am Bikram class."
"Okay. I'm on my way."
"K, see you in a bit." I end our call as serotonin floods my brain, lubricating my synapses to better maximize the firing of neurotransmitters and neutralize all remnants of loneliness. I'm nearly hyper unpacking the remaining beach clothes, towels and gear while turning on the shower.
A quick wash and shave and I am ready to take a long, deep drag on R. I take a final glance in the mirror at this summer's tan when the doorbell rings. Tonight is going to be fun.
I tell myself it's time to push back from the booze. I find myself dehydrated if not a little shaky more mornings than not these days... these weeks... these months. Or maybe it's just that Summer 2012 is one big party now that my ex and I are apart and he keeps the kids every other week. I feel young again, and what I really mean by that is that I feel younger now than when was I technically YOUNG. Such a funny thing to feel younger and more carefree in my 40s than in my 20s or 30s. Is it being "sexy and free" or is it the growing detachment from looking good, from giving a damn what others think?
Who knows.
We roll up to hot-mom #1's house and separate into our individual vehicles for the final miles home. My kid's are throwing an ever-not-so-subtle tantrum about being unable to stay one more night with their friends and all I can think is that I have to get us home, unloaded, unpacked, laundered and re-packed so I can take them to their dads. As I face the herculean weight of my task-heavy evening I throw a tantrum of my own if only on the inside. In just one hour I'll have peace and quiet. In just one hour I will be completely and utterly alone for 10 days, and by alone what I really mean is lonely.
Loneliness creeps over me and I want something, anything to cope with this emotion. I crack open the cooler to find half of a large bottle of wine remaining from our moms-gone-wild beach weekend. Wait, I still have to take the kids to their dad's... where's my phone? If he'll respond to my text I will be able to fully escape the pain of being alone if only for one night.
Local time is 5 'til 6. "Come on girls," I bellow from downstairs. "It's time to go." We grab suitcases, nap mats and lunch boxes and make our way to the car. Looking at my phone I hesitate. Do I really want to re-engage him? Logically, I cannot see a future with someone if he categorically refuses to discuss our issues, if he insists on reacting like a child to his perceptions (misperceptions) and interpretations.
Fifteen minutes later the girls greet their dad and have to be reminded to hug me goodbye. Ouch, let's tear that self-inflicted wound open just a little more why don't we? Back in my car, I head back into traffic until I reach a traffic light. Sadness, loneliness and disappointment in myself as a parent permeate the car. I retrieve my phone and dial but don't you know that I reach his voicemail? Ugh, can someone just hand me those nails over there so I can hammer the rest of this lid on my coffin of self pity?
"Hey there," I say in a light but not too upbeat tone. "Just back from a great weekend away and have dropped the kids off at their dad's. Wondered if you might like to come over."
If there's anything worse than reaching for a cigarette after quitting for more than a week it's reaching for a cigarette only to find the packet EMPTY. Minutes tick by, then half an hour. Oh well, I guess that's a NO. I chuckle a little and turn to coping mechanism #2 before plopping on the couch to catch America's Got Talent. An hour in the phone rings and every single last trace of pity, sadness and loneliness vanishes when I hear his voice.
"I just now heard your message. When did you leave it?"
"Around 6."
"I wish I'd heard it earlier." Oh, no. Not what I want to hear. I go into super-persuasion mode.
"Are you in the middle of something?"
"Nah, not really... Just pulled up to Santa Rita's to order food."
"I see..." think, think, think. "What if you ordered it to go?"
"Eh, I don't know. Why don't you come down here?"
"I was there last time AND the time before that."
"Well, I'd have to go home and get the Magic Wand."
"No, we don't need the wand."
"We need the wand."
"Fine, order your food, go home for the wand and then head up here picking your food up on the way."
Silence meets me on the other end as he contemplates my suggestion. "Okay, I have to get up early though to get ahead of traffic."
"Not a problem. I need your ass out of here by 5:30 to get to the 6am Bikram class."
"Okay. I'm on my way."
"K, see you in a bit." I end our call as serotonin floods my brain, lubricating my synapses to better maximize the firing of neurotransmitters and neutralize all remnants of loneliness. I'm nearly hyper unpacking the remaining beach clothes, towels and gear while turning on the shower.
A quick wash and shave and I am ready to take a long, deep drag on R. I take a final glance in the mirror at this summer's tan when the doorbell rings. Tonight is going to be fun.
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