Drama at a Glance #13

I will not call, no matter what or how I think and feel.  I'm not craving attention.  I'm not needing just "some guy."  At this moment I just really miss my friend and love.

Drama at a Glance #12 - Played, Part Four

It's Saturday night, my last night of vacation before returning to work and parenting.  My suspended bubble of zero-responsibility is falling back to Earth, sure to pop the moment it hits a drought-induced, browned blade of grass. 

We've started the day like all others with a mega mug of French Roast and conversation.  Meg is one of my dearest friends.  Our lives get busy and we seem to sometimes go for years without talking.  When we meet up, though, it's easy to resume where we left off.  She knows me as well as Bea and more than most of my other friends.  That is the beauty of friendships from high school.  They see you through your worst and then some.  

After coffee we leave the comfy confines of her Sherman Oaks home to grab sushi in Century City.  From there it's a drive down Santa Monica Blvd. where the perfection of climate is unmet.  It is a most beautiful day tooling around in the Mercedes and at the end we're back in Sherman Oaks enjoying seafood enchiladas with top-shelf margaritas.  Back home, Meg downloads a movie when my Blackberry buzzes with a text notification.  It's Paul.  

After an exchange of pleasantries comes a loaded question:  "what are you looking for in a man?"

Hmm... loaded question.  "I want a man that makes me feel like a woman."

"Deep," he replies.  He says he's "looking for a woman with stability."  Interesting.  The implication being that his ex-wife is unstable I suppose.  

I turn the tables on him in regards to the whole picture thing.  I can sense him squirming through the digital 1's and 0's.  Too bad, now he know's what it feels like.  After a few moments he responds with a photo of himself at the IronMan last spring.  There's another of him with buddies on a Hawaiian pub crawl after the race.  Then finally, there is a photo he takes of himself in his bedroom (thankfully clothed) while his kids catch the latest Harry Potter installment downstairs.    

The discomfort is painfully obvious but it's nice to see him vulnerable like this.  It makes me feel less paranoid that he's after only one thing.  Meanwhile, behind him I catch something similar in the design of his headboard.  Upon zooming in I realize it's the exact same headboard as mine.  Wholly crap!  Did we seriously pick the same bedroom furniture?  Now that is bizarre to say the least.  I comment on it and forward a picture of mine.  

"No way!" he says.  Way.  We add it to the list of similar likes and tastes and decide to catch up the next day when I return to Austin.  Meg has successfully downloaded our film and our time together comes to wonderful, warm close.  

~~~~~~~~

Back in Austin, a lovely week unfolds with Paul.  Coffee Monday and Tuesday morning and lunch on Wednesday.  A quick trip to Amarillo and as I return Thursday afternoon he shoots a text:  "if you have a few minutes for kisses, stop by before picking up the kids."  Do I have a few minutes?  Holler!  Of course I do.  

I pull up in front of his town home and saunter up in my Uggs, Lucky skinny jeans and snowflake sweater from H & M.  I feel like and -- according to Meg the weekend before at the H & M store on Sunset Blvd -- look like a Swedish H&M model.  

"I'm anticipating the cold front," I say as I approach him at the threshold.  

"I see that," he responds.  Inside his home I drop my bag on the floor.  A heavy, oak desk occupies the dining room with deer heads watching from above.  In the living room sits the quintessential bachelor media set:  Large, flat-screen TV and multi-media recliner couch.      

"I like your place," I say, turning to take him up on those few minutes of kisses.  

"Thanks," he offers leaning in, mouth slightly open, lips connecting with mine.  Lips, tongues, arms entwined.  We segue to the couch.  Not quite able to lie down in the media-recliner position he takes a seat and I straddle him from on top.  "God you're hot," he whispers and I devour him with my mouth.


Twenty glorious minutes pass with the incredibly intense hot businessman from Dell.  A shame to have to stop, but duty calls on both ends for us to pick up our kids.  

A repeat the following afternoon, this time at my house and somewhere between the 20-minute disheveling breakout sessions a decision is made for a second date on Saturday.  

Saturday arrives full of possibility and excitement and my date picks me up promptly at 6 in his 330 BMW carriage, tunes from Hits 1 blasting through the speakers. What do you know, we even like the same music.  

It's silly to make so many shared interests mean something, but this is what I do... what a lot of us do:  we make things mean something to justify our emotional attachment.  Right?  Or maybe it just feels good to be in the company of someone successful, someone who knows what it's like to be separating from a 14-plus year relationship with children, someone who is turned on by me, just me.  Someone who so confidently takes charge, grabbing my hand and dancing me backwards until I fall onto the couch to be collected in a pool of deep, wet kisses.      

The night ends and after paying the sitter he returns for more kissing.  I expressed sentiment the day before that if things progressed in the direction of sex that I want to spend the night together.  I have no plans for this to be "the night" as my kids are sleeping upstairs.  I'd hate for them to find me wrapped in bed with a strange man and I don't want to mute my passion button (no pun intended) because kids are in the room across the hall.  

So how is it that I find myself going against my wishes, going against my best laid out plans to actually not get laid?  I know why.  It's because I am excited, turned on and hungry.  There is no way those senses can be overrun with logic.  Damn prehistoric brain.  Despite yesterday's declaration I find myself peeling down shorts and underwear to reveal a most fabulous cock.  Who says short men have small penises?  Not this guy.  

It starts simple with a blow job but he wants more, "I want to feel you naked on top of me."  Hmmm.... kay.  That sounds like a line but whatever, I'm going with it because I really want to focus on the positive.  But the positive outcome of this is fucking and not really good fucking.  That 6-month Accutane prescription for rosacea has dried out my face AND my v-jay-jay and 10 minutes of fucking a glorious penis might as well be 20 seconds with a Campbell's soup can.  

Christ my bottom is sore!  And don't you know he has to go (not that I wanted him to stay) and it feels like everything I feared has come to fruition.  I walk him to the door and return to the living room.  Sitting on the coffee table and staring into the dark, unlit fireplace I turn it over and over again.  Why did I let it come to this?  I feel like I've been used and treated like a piece of ass.  DAMNIT!  

I try talking myself out of the despair starting to swirl around me, having heard from Meg the week before the importance of getting re-calibrated with a proper fuck.  Was that a re-calibration?  No, while I won't admit for months to come I know in that very moment that was nothing.  Absolutely void and empty nothingness.  Do I feel "like a woman?"  No, I feel like a fool who's been played.

Drama at a Glance #12 - Played, Part Three

At the airport bar I wait for my flight to Burbank.  Bored and wanting to connect I text hot, Hispanic Paul.  Turns out he's at a bar too celebrating birthday month with guy friends.  


Making chit chat back and forth I learn he's 44.  He'll be spending the holiday at his family's ranch where they'll hunt and cook with the family.  


"Man my legs ache," he texts.  


"Hard workout?" I ask.


"Yes, weights and my quads are killing me."


"Sorry your legs hurt, but they sure do look good!"


"THAT WAS YOU!" he types immediately.  "In line at the Starbucks that one day."


Sheepishly I admit yes.  Can you be sheepish in a text?


It's time to board and everyone takes their unassigned seat on the Southwest flight as I giggle with excitement.  Flight attendants close the door to the plane and I'm off to Vegas where I'll make my connection to Southern California. The last text exchange:  "Have a Happy Thanksgiving," I type.


"You too... looking forward to our date."


Two plus hours tick by as I work in my Franklin Planner, laying out goals for the coming year and writing a financial plan.  We touch ground and I turn my phone back on to find a text from Peter:  "I know this is direct, but you are so pretty."


"Wow, thank you," I text, wondering if that was a parting comment as my flight left Austin.  A two-hour communication gap can be a vulnerable place to sit in having made a comment like that without a thank you or some other comment made back in quick, feedback fashion... at least that's how I'd be feeling.


At the same time my radar is up and I further wonder if not question the appropriateness.  It just seems a bit familiar.  He is exceptionally direct I tell myself, maybe it's in the culture of Hispanic men to be this bold. Or maybe it's just a reflection of his intense, sales personality.  Alpha men operate at a much different frequency than their non-alpha brothers.

Once in Burbank I search for Meg in baggage claim.  Another text from Paul, "send me a picture of you in LA."  This catches me further off guard.  I offer up an "okay" of some sort and tell him we'll touch base later.  Bummed or irritated, he texts, "argh... okay.  Have a good night."

The next morning starts off a beautiful relaxing holiday where the only expectation of me is to drink and eat turkey.  I can't remember the last time this occurred though I'm sure it was pre-marriage and kids.  Meg and I slowly drink our mega mugs of French Roast as we catch up on marriages, divorces and careers.  A text comes in and it's from Peter.  "You sure are sexy."

"What's wrong," Meg asks as my face distorts with discomforting curiosity.  

"It might just be me and my level of comfort around being complimented by the opposite sex... I don't know this just seems odd."  She withholds judgment and on my own I start to get a bit mental, catching myself in a 20+ year pattern of over-analyzying crap men say.  I mean, are they really that complex?  I talk myself down from the ledge.

"Why thank you," I type back.  And from there we go into a long weekend of him sending compliments and me eventually yielding to the request for a picture.  Maybe if I didn't have a lifetime of doubt and insecurity about what it is to be pretty, or if I didn't have an experience of being bullied on walks home from grade school, called vile names like nigger lips or just plain ugly, then maybe I'd be at ease with someone of the opposite sex giving me a compliment.  Maybe, or maybe not.  

The only thought present for me after the second compliment is this:  he's just looking for a piece of ass.  I try to push the paranoid thought back down from where it came, aware that our thoughts become things if we dwell on them long enough.  I coach myself to stay open, be kind to myself, "I deserve this," I say out loud to Meg.  A loyal, life-long friend, she agrees.

Drama at a Glance #12 - Played, Part Two

"Come on, we gotta go," I screech with impatience.  I'm back from my trip to Houston and Friday morning is filled with anticipation as I scramble to get my kids in the car for school.  Yes, the wiser wolf woman inside of me knows how utterly ridiculous this is to chase after a man at this age, at this stage on the heels of a pending divorce.  


The little girl inside, however -- the one who's ached for attention and affection over the past several years -- dresses in her hot, black winter trench and short-sweater dress with 3-inch heeled boots.  Like Trinity from the Matrix I am on a mission to find my man.  Or as one friend from work later describes:  "Momma needs a new pair of shoes."  TRUE DAT!


So off I go full of hope and optimism only to meet disappointment when he isn't there.  Of course he isn't there.  Seriously, get all dolled up for a chance encounter with not-so-tall, dark and handsome stranger?  Jeez, how embarrassing.  Oh well, not again I tell myself.  So the following Monday I lower my expectations, don barely a smudge of lipstick, torn and tattered jeans and a t-shirt.  Humidity levels hover around 58% so my thin, fine hair lays flat and fuzzy against my face... it's totally hot.  NOT!  But it's okay because he won't be there.


I saunter up to Starbuck in my cool new clogs from Coach just as a I see him out of the corner of my eye.  Isn't this exactly how my life rolls?  I cooly enter the store as he holds the door talking on his Blackberry.  His phone call wraps and soon we're catching up from the weekend, making small talk as if we've talked a hundred times before.  We grab our drinks, his also an Americano, and head outside to leave.  "Yeah, I have to get home.  Star Furniture is delivering my furniture today."


"Funny, I just bought furniture from there too,"  I tell him.  He hesitates, staring intently in an almost uncomfortable kind of way.  It reminds me of that day at Kona... flattering and unnerving all at once.  


"Would you like to go out sometime?"  


"Sure," I answer cooly while my inner little girl turns somersaults.  I tell myself, please don't dork out!


"What's your number?  Here, do you want to just enter it in my iPhone?"  I grab the device and nervously punch the key pad as my inner dork steps forward.  Stupid iPhone... why can't they have a qwerty keypad like Blackberry?  Technology or nerves impede my ability to type without errors.  


"I have the same problem," he shares.  "I'm new to this whole Apple thing too."  He offers up the Blackberry instead and I'm relieved.  As we conclude our time out in front of the coffee shop he moves toward the black BMW with new paper tags.  


"Is this yours?" I ask.  He nods and I offer, "That's what I drive."


"Yeah, I know."  What?  That's kind of weird.  Surely he didn't pick this up after that non-encounter at the sushi venue.  Same drink, new furniture from same store, same car and did he say he lived in my neighborhood?  


"Are you stalking me?" I ask.  


He laughs, "maybe."  


We back out of the parking lot in our dueling German autos and head east.  I'm not trying to follow him but it turns out he lives just a street before me and I'm finding it all just a little bizarre.  Maybe it's not a bad thing.  "Don't over think it," I tell myself.  


At home a few minutes later I crank my PC up to begin my work day.  Moments later an email from Paul at Dell.  "How about lunch tomorrow?"  Are you kidding?  Absolutely, but as fate has it one of the kiddos comes down with a fever.  I'm home bound the following day and email to reschedule.  


"No worries," he writes.  "Here is my schedule for the next two weeks."  And when laid over my own it appears there's an opening the Wednesday following Thanksgiving before I have to catch a flight to Amarillo.  Done, we have a date on the books.  This might actually be better I tell myself.  It's something to anticipate as I transition the girls over to their father for the holiday and make my way to LA for the 4-day break with KU roommate and sorority sister Meg... my first holiday without my girls.  

Drama at a Glance #12 - Played, Part One

He stares from across the patio at Kona Grill.  I turn to see who or what is behind me and greet the wall.  Turning back my dad says, "that guy is checking you out."  Mom agrees and it's only slightly uncomfortable to be caught in the gaze of an attractive man with my parents as witnesses.  

It is my first weekend without the kids as their father takes the parenting helm.  Returning the gaze of this dark haired stranger, it appears he too is in the midst of a father's weekend.  A disinterested teenage daughter across from him with an enthusiastic eight-year old to his right.  He could be squared with the table but he sits at a 90-degree angle, pointed toward our table, turning his attention to his table if only for a moment or two.  

Dad says, "watch, I'll give him five seconds.  One, two, three... see?"  And he turns back to look at me.  Subtle.

A tattoo on his ankle reveals his athleticism.  I am not a weekend warrior -- let alone an athlete -- but I'm pretty sure that's the red M of Ironman.  He keeps looking at me and it is unnerving to be the focus of his penetrating, brown-eyed stare.  Why is he doing this?  My doubt and insecurities bubble to the surface and I tell myself that I am not the world's most beautiful woman but reassure myself that I do possess that certain something, what the French call, je ne sais quoi... don't I???

The bill arrives breaking the tension and we take our leave through the side patio door.  As we walk to my car I am tickled if not flattered.  It's nice knowing that I can still attract a man... one who isn't married [from what I can tell] or working for the same company.  Seated behind the wheel of my black 2011 328i I opt to drive back by Kona when any number of other paths would get us home sooner.  And sure enough, as we slow to a stop he's there and he looks over, knowing that I know that he is interested.

The weekend is busy with painting touch-ups, furniture purchases and other chores that transition my home into that of a new divorcee.  And somewhere in the busyness of the day it hits me like a cinder block:  shit, that's the guy from Starbucks!  I forget, was it six months ago or more?  In line in front of me stood a man with sculpted tan legs.  The eternal smart ass without a filter, I quipped to my favorite barista, Michael, "nice legs."

It's Sunday following the Kona encounter and I wonder if I'll see him in the coming week.  It seems unlikely considering his absence in recent months.  A few days later I stand corrected as I wait in line for my Americano.  

"Hey, were you at Kona Grill Saturday?"

"Yeah, was that you?"  I verbally stumble, like would he be asking if he wasn't?  Dirr!  Red creeps up to my ears.  He either doesn't notice or rolls it up into the the algorithm of my charm.  The next several moments of conversation are on autopilot as I drink him in and cross-reference his attributes to my list:  Hispanic or dark Irish?  Yes on the former which by default grants him dark hair and eyes.  Fit, funny and smart?  Check, check, check.     

"Yeah, I'm going through a divorce right now."  Check that.  He's available, right?  

"Oh... me too.  It's hard."

"When will yours be final?" he asks.

"December.  You?"

"Me too... maybe January."  His drink is delivered on the counter and he grabs it to go.  "Well nice meeting you."

"You too," I reply.  He turns and scoots in a hurry.  He possesses one quality NOT on my list:  Short.  From around the espresso counter Michael greets me with a grin.  "He's going through a divorce too" I say.  

Michael offers, "Paul's a successful business man at Dell too."  Oh!  Well maybe being short doesn't matter.  I walk to my car to head on down the road to Houston for a business meeting.  Thoughts swim through my head as I navigate 290 West with the final one being that I positively cannot wait to get back to Austin and my little caffeine getaway at FM 1431 and Parmer. 

Drama at a Glance #11 - He Said She Said

To my Sunday morning text comes his response:  "Well said.  I was hoping we could be friends.  I really like you but do not see us in a long term either.  I cannot deal with a social butterfly, social butterflies are terrific but not as my partner. You have done nothing wrong and what I was really trying to say is that while your personality is terrific and I get along with you very well I know me.  Your job and traveling and desire to go out and socialize and inability to keep it to yourself is really not good for me and my particular dysfunctions.  We all have them and I do appreciate your acceptance of most of mine.  We can take a little time off here and talk when it feels comfortable.  I miss you already.  I'm sorry I was accusatory... my defenses are hyper active.  I'll probably be single forever and that actually sounds good, my discomfort in relations is acute."


You think?  And really, "well said?"  That sounds like a defense mechanism if you ask me.  I answer back:  "I'm pretty sure that if I had an ability to 'keep stuff to myself' that you'd find a way to twist that around and call me a liar.  If your discomfort in relationship is as acute as you say, then you might consider staying away from ADC.  It's unfair to women looking for a quality, healthy relationship to meet and think you're a candidate when you're not... Sorry, I'm getting personal now but I'm just terribly disappointed."


Disappointed that it had to reach this point, that we didn't talk over the phone instead of text, disappointed that I ever joined the "new friends" at Maggiano's that second night because I never would have gone if I had anticipated this reaction.  But wait a second, nothing was wrong with that either was it?  It was a great night that allowed me to hang with Beverly D and introduce her to a potentially strong client in Karen.  Anyone of the male persuasion coming up and wanting to talk would have heard "I have a boyfriend" just like the dude from the night before (a boyfriend who has an awesome cock and is fucking spectacular in bed and that I would never cheat on because no one on the planet rocks it like he does in bed or elsewhere).


But we digress.  He replies immediately:  "You JUST told me you only wanted a friendship.  You could not and would not subject yourself to me any further.  What did you expect?  I don't have to give up hope because you're personality type does not work for me.  My type does not work for you per your last text so I guess you should give up hope as well.  I guess you're saying I've been unfair to you?  There are never any guarantees.  If I find someone who is more of a homebody and doesn't require interactions with total strangers to make them "happy" then I feel I could make a go at it.  I'm wishing you well and trying to be nice in my last few texts.  I've said I'm sorry for my shortcomings.  I've said I miss you.  I've said I'm thinking of you in a positive light.  I haven't done anything to you!  I'm just getting along as best I can and I know I have fallen way short of your expectations but try to see the humanity here."


Hooked by adrenaline and need to be right I parry:  "I don't require social interactions with strangers to be happy.  You have taken one aspect of my personality and used it to end a relationship.  And yes, that is unfair."


I know how true to my core the above is, that one aspect of my personality has been used to end a relationship and that I absolutely can never diminish, hide or play small.  If the view is that I am too much, then perhaps he is NOT the lover for me as the quote goes from Women Who Run With Wolves, "Although some might really prefer me to behave myself and not climb all over the furniture in joy or all over people in welcome, do it anyway.  Some will draw back from [me] in fear or disgust.  [My] lover, however, will cherish this new aspect - if he or she be the right lover for me."

Drama at a Glance #10

I push the envelope and beg him to share what's going in his world that he is uncommunicative.  Twenty some minutes later the text comes in:  


"Yes, I don't get why you need to go to bars as a single woman by yourself.  A glass of wine and a bath... a good book.  A movie... I see it as another red flag, for me, it's not bad behavior per se, just an awkward match for me.  I'm assuming you did not answer last night because you went out with your new friends... I'm not even jealous, just weary.  So that's what's going on, you say you love me before you really know me, but seem to need constant stimuli/attention as if you were void and empty, not full and content, certainly not in love.  You said it took two plus years for Dean to say he loved you... I'm wondering if it's an unconscious game you play?  You want what you cannot have and if you get it you become bored.  No knee jerks please, think about it.  I used to be that way, human nature after all.  So in summary, I'm nervous.  I would love to keep it light and continue enjoying our time but because of your lifestyle (need to socialize) I'm not feeling very trustworthy.  My issue I know, or yours, I'll never know.  I guess I'll go to Houston with just K.  I don't feel safe with you."


What the fuck?  I am 43 and if there is one thing I know for sure it's that I do not have to defend myself or my "behavior" to this man I've dated for less than four months.  And that in and of its self is so incredibly liberating.  I think about how I would have reacted if 33.  I would be scrambling to explain myself in an immediate retort, or I would be calling and begging for some ridiculous pardon.  I say ridiculous because no one should have to apologize for their personality.  If I change my mind in a moment of spontaneity to eat out at a restaurant vs. my hotel room, then goddamn it, that's what I'm going to do.  And if the regulars at the restaurant want to talk and engage in conversation, then I'm going to do that too.  Here's my red flag:  IF IT'S THIS PAINFUL NOW, HOW WILL IT LOOK THREE YEARS FROM NOW LET ALONE THREE MONTHS?  My parents, co-workers and close friends insist that I cut bait now.


I take my time - four days in fact - to respond:  "When you sent your text Wednesday night there were two things that occurred to me.  One was that I had nothing to defend in your complaints or criticisms of me being a single woman at a bar, namely because I wasn't at a bar.  It was the bar area of Maggiano's restaurant where most people eat when they're dining alone.  The next thing I realized was I am not going to allow you or anyone to make ugly, untruthful statements to me.  To say I need attention and stimuli because I am empty and void is absurd.  You went personal and essentially called names when the truth is that I'm extroverted.  I shouldn't have to apologize or explain myself for being who I am and I won't.  I have never taken something you've shared about yourself and used it against you in anger.  I.E., I don't agree with isolating from people the way you do as a mechanism for coping with or processing life, but I don't judge you for it either.  It's who you are (an introvert possibly).  Nor do I judge you for chewing, drinking etc.  Anyway, your parting shot at the end of that text was that you don't feel safe with me.  If that's how you truly feel then you should honor that.  These outbursts you display have a similar impact on me and it is hard to envision a long-term relationship with someone who is all over the place emotionally.  We can talk this week, but as I see it we're going to have to be friends.  I don't expect you to change and I am not going to change who I am to accommodate your issues.  It's disappointing because I have feelings for you even if I am still just getting to know you.  My need for self preservation overrides sentiment, however, so friendship it will be if you're open to that.  I hope you had a good time at Robin's party.  I really like your family and was so looking forward to this weekend, but as usual you decided to punish me in the face of your own discomfort over some perceived infidelity."