My crutch, a quarter of the reason why I'm dating challenged- a man who I loved and despised at the same time, has come full circle. After giving up men for 6 months, allowing myself to reevaluate and re-organize my life and choices I've made, and break the never ending cycle of one bad decision after another has led me to the same place where I began, loving and resenting a man- creating a neverending tug-o-war between my soul and my head.
I've actually hit the 3 month mark with a man, which hasn't happened in 7 years- it's an ongoing joke with my friends and myself that 2 months is the deciding factor, that two months is the expiration date until everything spoils. I have a boyfriend (weird even saying it let alone writing it) so I should be happy right? In relationship bliss, comfy cozy, and secure? NOPE. All this man has brought me is the realization that old habits die hard. I've done the impossible, found an emotionally unavailable, commitment phobic individual that wants to TRY to make it work. Possibly my equal, because through my time with yours truly I realized that I too am emotionally unavailable and terrified of commitment. Only my reasons are different- I don't trust, and haven't trusted giving myself completely to someone else in many years. His reasons are giving up his freedom, giving up his women (it's come to my attention that he may or may not have been a male whore for the last 12 years of his life).
I am dating a 31 year old Peter Pan. So what do I do now? He's me, but a man. Do I have faith and stay strong? Or put up my defensive guard and walk away? Through all my reflection I distinctly remembering saying to myself, "It is probably impossible but I'm willing to find it, I have officially realized that out of all the different people I've met and dated, I need to be with a man who is exactly like me. That's the only way I will be happy and I'll wait for it and settle for nothing less." I've met him, but is he worth the risk? And am I prepared to teach a 31 year old man how to be in a relationship because he's just as clueless as I am? Difference is, I fight for and am very passionate about every person in my life, so being a natural nurturer, the equation isn't that difficult to figure out.....
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tiny Dancer
I met the Tiny Dancer during the demise of my Stalker Stephen phase.
It was August in NYC, my second month of living in the city or as I like to call it, the honeymoon phase. I still wasn't working, treating my time here as an extended vacation. Only instead of deciding what to visit and where my next culinary adventure was going to be, I was debating whether or not I had the extra $3 to by myself one of my guilty pleasure smut magazines, and had to settle for sunshine on my sticky asphalt coated rooftop patiently waiting for mother nature's sweet breath to wipe the sweat beads off my body. We obviously hadn't discovered Central Park yet hell I thought the East Village and Alphabet City were the embodiment of all things violent and crime ridden, oh the ignorance.
Officially moved in and unpacked, my roommate K and I decided to get out and explore. We headed downtown to this delectable little indoor/outdoor Mexican cafe. The kind that transforms itself in the summer time to open air, buzzing ceiling fans, loud chatter, and free flowing Sangria. We collectively gathered our friends and wedged ourselves into the few remaining seats on the community table. In walks the Tiny Dancer (we'll call him TD for short). We instantly hit it off after first meeting- he was handsome, funny and goofy, an extrovert, and had great style. I knew instantly he was gay, it was something about the way he moved and expressed himself. So, I opened up immediately and let my guard down because I was in a comfort zone, a safe place. Until he kissed me later that night. Oh right, not gay, huh. What followed was a few weeks of sweet gestures- flowers, thoughtful acts, spending whatever free time we had together (well, I had all the free time in the world so it was more like whatever free time he had). So far so good, right? Then came the boozing. TD loves 3 things, alcohol, dancing, and basketball. Very simple, some men are not these complicated creatures we are always trying to decode. It was after those few weeks that I realized I was dating a man exactly like my crutch, old habits die hard.
I am not a baseball hat and sneaker wearing girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that it was just never my thing, ever. TD felt that I needed some improvement and instead of accepting me for all that I am, which he was drawn to in the first place, he set out to mold me into exactly what he wanted. It started with little comments and requests. "Your jeans are too loose. Do you OWN sneakers? We should get you a cute pair of Puma's. (rather I should get, see he never really paid for much figured he would reap the benefits of my parent's support at the time) I like the way she is wearing her hair, maybe you should try that. I didn't really like the dress you wore on our first date (it was a gorgeous DVF green leopard print silk dress, I think it scared him a little? Or maybe he secretly wanted to borrow it.)" The list goes ON and ON! Then came the fighting. He claimed to never like to fight, but much like my crutch, he couldn't grasp that I'm not a jealous person and I don't like or need drama in relationships. It's misconstrued as not caring, as not passionate. Wrong. And, much like my crutch, he would act out and try to provoke those feelings of insecurity, because that's all jealousy is right? Insecurity? If he wasn't flirting with the bartender, or the friend, or the bathroom attendant, or even the framed photograph of a woman on the wall, he was finding the soft spots in my armor and jabbing at them, trying to break me down. I think that we've all experienced people like this in our lives. It's a form of emotional abuse and control. Creating arguments and fights, attacking instead of communicating, turning the tables so that you are the one apologizing, you are the one feeling stupid and over reactive, and in the end, the one walking on eggshells in avoidance of setting them off again. I remember saying on more then one occasion that he was exactly like the Crutch, but couldn't walk away. His idea of a compliment, which yes this really did come out of his mouth, was "Wow, your boobs look kinda big in this light." This overwhelmingly romantic event happened on his terrace late at night and he couldn't for the life of him understand how that would upset me. (I'm not so well-endowed in that department) I laugh about it now.
The dancing! Oh the dancing!! TD LOVED to dance, hence why I've dubbed him the Tiny Dancer. But we need to get one thing straight, no one dances better then TD, and he will challenge you to a dance off to prove it. So special. I love to dance too, but more for fun then anything else. After 3 1/2 years I was finally able to get over my insecurities of dancing in public. When I met him I loved it, didn't care if I was good, knew I wasn't bad, but every time he would scold me. "No! You can't dance like THAT to this beat! You look silly! You have to move your hips like this, your upper body is too stiff!" It goes on and on and on. Again, another method to break me down. We lasted 2 months, and he ended things with me. And it took me all of 1 month to be completely over it. I'll never forget the night I met his new girlfriend (they worked together so I'm about 99% positive she was in the picture before we broke up) it was classic. Let's just say, through observation, sometimes those VIP tables aren't very sturdy I once saw a very loud very drunk girl fall through one......
It was August in NYC, my second month of living in the city or as I like to call it, the honeymoon phase. I still wasn't working, treating my time here as an extended vacation. Only instead of deciding what to visit and where my next culinary adventure was going to be, I was debating whether or not I had the extra $3 to by myself one of my guilty pleasure smut magazines, and had to settle for sunshine on my sticky asphalt coated rooftop patiently waiting for mother nature's sweet breath to wipe the sweat beads off my body. We obviously hadn't discovered Central Park yet hell I thought the East Village and Alphabet City were the embodiment of all things violent and crime ridden, oh the ignorance.
Officially moved in and unpacked, my roommate K and I decided to get out and explore. We headed downtown to this delectable little indoor/outdoor Mexican cafe. The kind that transforms itself in the summer time to open air, buzzing ceiling fans, loud chatter, and free flowing Sangria. We collectively gathered our friends and wedged ourselves into the few remaining seats on the community table. In walks the Tiny Dancer (we'll call him TD for short). We instantly hit it off after first meeting- he was handsome, funny and goofy, an extrovert, and had great style. I knew instantly he was gay, it was something about the way he moved and expressed himself. So, I opened up immediately and let my guard down because I was in a comfort zone, a safe place. Until he kissed me later that night. Oh right, not gay, huh. What followed was a few weeks of sweet gestures- flowers, thoughtful acts, spending whatever free time we had together (well, I had all the free time in the world so it was more like whatever free time he had). So far so good, right? Then came the boozing. TD loves 3 things, alcohol, dancing, and basketball. Very simple, some men are not these complicated creatures we are always trying to decode. It was after those few weeks that I realized I was dating a man exactly like my crutch, old habits die hard.
I am not a baseball hat and sneaker wearing girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that it was just never my thing, ever. TD felt that I needed some improvement and instead of accepting me for all that I am, which he was drawn to in the first place, he set out to mold me into exactly what he wanted. It started with little comments and requests. "Your jeans are too loose. Do you OWN sneakers? We should get you a cute pair of Puma's. (rather I should get, see he never really paid for much figured he would reap the benefits of my parent's support at the time) I like the way she is wearing her hair, maybe you should try that. I didn't really like the dress you wore on our first date (it was a gorgeous DVF green leopard print silk dress, I think it scared him a little? Or maybe he secretly wanted to borrow it.)" The list goes ON and ON! Then came the fighting. He claimed to never like to fight, but much like my crutch, he couldn't grasp that I'm not a jealous person and I don't like or need drama in relationships. It's misconstrued as not caring, as not passionate. Wrong. And, much like my crutch, he would act out and try to provoke those feelings of insecurity, because that's all jealousy is right? Insecurity? If he wasn't flirting with the bartender, or the friend, or the bathroom attendant, or even the framed photograph of a woman on the wall, he was finding the soft spots in my armor and jabbing at them, trying to break me down. I think that we've all experienced people like this in our lives. It's a form of emotional abuse and control. Creating arguments and fights, attacking instead of communicating, turning the tables so that you are the one apologizing, you are the one feeling stupid and over reactive, and in the end, the one walking on eggshells in avoidance of setting them off again. I remember saying on more then one occasion that he was exactly like the Crutch, but couldn't walk away. His idea of a compliment, which yes this really did come out of his mouth, was "Wow, your boobs look kinda big in this light." This overwhelmingly romantic event happened on his terrace late at night and he couldn't for the life of him understand how that would upset me. (I'm not so well-endowed in that department) I laugh about it now.
The dancing! Oh the dancing!! TD LOVED to dance, hence why I've dubbed him the Tiny Dancer. But we need to get one thing straight, no one dances better then TD, and he will challenge you to a dance off to prove it. So special. I love to dance too, but more for fun then anything else. After 3 1/2 years I was finally able to get over my insecurities of dancing in public. When I met him I loved it, didn't care if I was good, knew I wasn't bad, but every time he would scold me. "No! You can't dance like THAT to this beat! You look silly! You have to move your hips like this, your upper body is too stiff!" It goes on and on and on. Again, another method to break me down. We lasted 2 months, and he ended things with me. And it took me all of 1 month to be completely over it. I'll never forget the night I met his new girlfriend (they worked together so I'm about 99% positive she was in the picture before we broke up) it was classic. Let's just say, through observation, sometimes those VIP tables aren't very sturdy I once saw a very loud very drunk girl fall through one......
Friday, January 16, 2009
And Again...
The texting fool struck again, it's become a weekly amusement and growing annoyance depending on the mood I'm in. Follow below:
Boy: (exactly as he wrote it... special) "how bout i buy u some chix fingers 2nite at the bar and we call that "a dinner"?!? can u get ur cute butt into see me! this is not a mass text miss" (his idea of a date- we'll get to that in a few)
Me: "you just don't give up do you.. probably not making it, have other plans tonight"
Boy: "big date?!?!?" (a little over zealous with the punctuation, no?!?#???!!!@)
Me: (no response, was too lazy to write back, oopsies)
Perhaps to understand this man (or boy, really) it's important to go over the back story of how this very special person came into my life. I met him at that neighborhood haunt I so fondly speak of on the same day I met my stalker. The bar/restaurant of sorts filled with ten year veteran regulars, prep school elitists, and popped collars and pearls with the sounds of Journey flooding your ears and a barely legal crowd marching along.
We began our flirting affair in 2005, I was a naive newcomer and wasn't completely knowledgeable of this particular type of man. The type from Manhattan that was raised with a silver spoon in their mouth, growing up in the arms of nannies, in and out of the private schools with the city as their playground. Basically, a realistic version of Peter Pan and his Neverland- childishness, a false sense of invincibility, and escapism. Only his Neverland included a never ending flow of booze and very drunk, very eager, women. When he's not busy impregnating the Upper East Side he works for his Father's business and the easiest way to piss him off, as I discovered one evening, is to tell him he'll be doing the same thing every night at the same bar until he's in his 50's, basically screwing and drinking his life away. He didn't appreciate my future telling skills very much, I can't understand why for the life of me. But there's also an underlying sadness about him, an acute vulnerability underneath the stench of false security. Sometimes I feel bad for him, but then he will, for example, tug at my friend's shirt like a newborn looking for breast milk (Freud anyone?) because she is not showing enough cleavage for his liking, then laugh at his believed wittiness. Not appropriate.
For 4 years we've been having the same argument:
Boy: "Come on, just stay over"
Me: "Are we dating?" (which we obviously were not, I was just making a point which may or may not have been lost on him)
Boy: "No, but we are having fun!!"
Me: "Not going to happen. You're not my boyfriend, we're not dating, and you've never even taken me on a date, sorry kid." I say as I try to fight him off, as per usual.
Boy: "I'll buy you chicken fingers from downstairs, does that work?" As he proceeds to take his pants off and turn girl on girl porn on his TV- all without my permission- while smiling as if that's going to do it for me. Really? That's not okay. And that's a true story.
He asked me to dinner for his 30th Birthday. I went and had an amazing date believe it or not. Until we went to a bar after and he tried to liquor me up. It's quite sad really and completely lost on me as it didn't work. I guess at this point he tried all angles with no avail, and still wasn't getting it. The months that followed involved more ridiculous texting conversations, my continued rebuttals, and the eventual discovery that he actually managed to land himself a girlfriend. Oh but that didn't stop him, obviously. After I moved to the neighborhood my girlfriends and I decided to finish our night at the haunt. He painted the picture of relationship unhappiness and restlessness with one arm around my waist sneaking perv sniffs of my hair. What's interesting is sometimes I do like him as a person, it's quite confusing really and I finally stopped trying to figure it out.
The night ended with a group of us heading to his apartment for after hours cocktails and food (apparently there are 'regulars' that head upstairs with him, as I witnessed that evening seeing them hovering around the bar and entrance to join, weird but not a complete surprise). We sat around, laughed, talked, ate, until he announced that I would be staying with him that night. Wait. He has a girlfriend. I don't think so. I informed him that it's not okay and I would never go there (or be that girl), and that nothing will ever happen between us, etc, etc, etc. His response was, "Nothing is going to happen, you're just sleeping here with me." I've actually fallen for that one before therefore I've learned through experience that it's a bunch of BS. I stood up told him to walk me home, he refused because he was tired, and let me walk out the door at 4AM in the city by myself. Then proceeded to tell his friends the next week that he was the one who told me I couldn't stay because he has a girlfriend. May I remind you this is a 31 year old grown man, classy.
I'm on strike, I'll get my fill of Journey elsewhere thank you very much.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
You Won't....
I can't help but talk about the other amazing experiences I've had with people in my life beyond those I've dated. I'm dedicating this section to my friend Dawn, who taught me at the very ripe age of 18 to laugh constantly and not take life so seriously. Having been friends with her for about 10 years now we have countless memories under our belts, but there are two in particular that I will always find pure happiness in solely because of their absolute ridiculousness. The first one involving Miami, Tommy Lee, Range Rovers, and Burger King.
Seeing that our birthdays are 24 hours apart, we try every year to celebrate together. About 4 years ago Miami became our destination of choice. It was convenient, we could drive there, we knew the area, and who doesn't want a little bit of SoBe mayhem? Little did we know, we booked our weekend during the Ultra Music Festival. Which is basically code for massive parties, amazing DJs (but seriously how much of the fist pumping music can one handle in a 4 hour time frame let alone a whole week? Oh right, drugs, yeah none of that for us), and half naked baked crisp pumped up women on the arms of chain wearing tight t-shirt spiked haired men. I'm being harsh, that's only about 75% of the population.
Our night began at one of the hotspots on Collins Street, we made sure we went early enough to get in (hahahaha) and were probably one of the first 20 people there. After hours of spilled martinis (apologies Dawn, I'm not good with those martini glasses they're not very functional), a supposed renown plastic surgeon from France giving bad albeit free consultations, and Dawn yelling at a guy that he looks like Brad Pitt while giving the one eyebrow hey you wanna look, we decided to call it a night. Standing outside lighting our cigarettes before trying to figure out how we're going to get back to the hotel we hear, "Hey! You were the girls inside with Tommy right?" I'm not understanding, "Who? Tommy? No, do I know you?" Amazed that I have no idea who Tommy is he continues, "Tommy Lee!!" No my friend, we were not with Tommy Lee inside, in fact I may still be able to fit into my very first training bra so I sincerely doubt my twins would have kept his attention for more then 5 minutes. Flattered nonetheless, they invite us to go to another party, we say yes, and hop into their car with about 8 other people.
The next destination was an even hotter hot spot (even my gag reflex is in full effect for writing the word 'hotspot' let alone saying it). I'm going to be honest, at this point I may have been a teeny bit tipsy and my feet hurt and I was a little oblivious to my surroundings as per usual. I can't decide If I think that I'm too cool to look around while playing the whole 'no big deal I'm coy game,' or if I really am that oblivious and just don't care. Either way we left about an hour later and that's when we realized we were at Puff Daddy's aka Sean Combs aka Puffy aka Puff aka P. Diddy aka Sean John's private party at a private club. I really just wanted to take my shoes off and be one with the sidewalk. So I did, take my shoes off in dirty south beach and then continued to walk into a dirty dive bar, barefoot, atop broken glass (it's okay my feet were like leather, couldn't feel a thing- I may or may not be disgusted with myself and lack of shoes). The rest of the night/ early morning/ next day went like this: Headed to the boys' condo that was like entering a top secret experimental laboratory, you had to have a key to get to each floor. I have enough trouble remembering my own keys and if I get locked out I can at least utilize the credit card (well Dawn could, she's a bit of an expert). Had a completely G- Rated evening except for that my left breast may have been grazed in passing, slept at their place instead of taking a taxi all the way back to the hotel, and woke up with full make up and the same outfit on with one eye open and ready to conquer the day (the other eye was kind of stuck, it was a mixture of eye gunk and mascara). Instead of letting us take a cab they did what any logical man would do. Then handed us, whom they barely know mind you, the keys to their brand new $80,000 car because that's normal behavior. After being questioned by the resident valet on whether or not we were authorized users of the car, then stared at and questioned by the residents about what fabulous party we were going to at 11AM because we were STILL dressed in our outfits from the night before, we quietly crawled into the car and sped off. Oh we took our sweet time with the windows down and music blasting. Had a little Burger King for breakfast, snooped through the car (obviously), and swore that we were probably being voice recorded because this particular model of vehicle actually had a recording device. About an hour later the boys started getting worried and called for our whereabouts. Needless to say that was the last we heard from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber. At least I had a "You won't..." moment that weekend. Let's just say I got Dawn to dance on top of the bar of a non bar dancing lounge the next night while the bartender threw napkins around her and may have involved a flashlight moonlighting as a makeshift spotlight. Hee hee, classic. You won't........
Seeing that our birthdays are 24 hours apart, we try every year to celebrate together. About 4 years ago Miami became our destination of choice. It was convenient, we could drive there, we knew the area, and who doesn't want a little bit of SoBe mayhem? Little did we know, we booked our weekend during the Ultra Music Festival. Which is basically code for massive parties, amazing DJs (but seriously how much of the fist pumping music can one handle in a 4 hour time frame let alone a whole week? Oh right, drugs, yeah none of that for us), and half naked baked crisp pumped up women on the arms of chain wearing tight t-shirt spiked haired men. I'm being harsh, that's only about 75% of the population.
Our night began at one of the hotspots on Collins Street, we made sure we went early enough to get in (hahahaha) and were probably one of the first 20 people there. After hours of spilled martinis (apologies Dawn, I'm not good with those martini glasses they're not very functional), a supposed renown plastic surgeon from France giving bad albeit free consultations, and Dawn yelling at a guy that he looks like Brad Pitt while giving the one eyebrow hey you wanna look, we decided to call it a night. Standing outside lighting our cigarettes before trying to figure out how we're going to get back to the hotel we hear, "Hey! You were the girls inside with Tommy right?" I'm not understanding, "Who? Tommy? No, do I know you?" Amazed that I have no idea who Tommy is he continues, "Tommy Lee!!" No my friend, we were not with Tommy Lee inside, in fact I may still be able to fit into my very first training bra so I sincerely doubt my twins would have kept his attention for more then 5 minutes. Flattered nonetheless, they invite us to go to another party, we say yes, and hop into their car with about 8 other people.
The next destination was an even hotter hot spot (even my gag reflex is in full effect for writing the word 'hotspot' let alone saying it). I'm going to be honest, at this point I may have been a teeny bit tipsy and my feet hurt and I was a little oblivious to my surroundings as per usual. I can't decide If I think that I'm too cool to look around while playing the whole 'no big deal I'm coy game,' or if I really am that oblivious and just don't care. Either way we left about an hour later and that's when we realized we were at Puff Daddy's aka Sean Combs aka Puffy aka Puff aka P. Diddy aka Sean John's private party at a private club. I really just wanted to take my shoes off and be one with the sidewalk. So I did, take my shoes off in dirty south beach and then continued to walk into a dirty dive bar, barefoot, atop broken glass (it's okay my feet were like leather, couldn't feel a thing- I may or may not be disgusted with myself and lack of shoes). The rest of the night/ early morning/ next day went like this: Headed to the boys' condo that was like entering a top secret experimental laboratory, you had to have a key to get to each floor. I have enough trouble remembering my own keys and if I get locked out I can at least utilize the credit card (well Dawn could, she's a bit of an expert). Had a completely G- Rated evening except for that my left breast may have been grazed in passing, slept at their place instead of taking a taxi all the way back to the hotel, and woke up with full make up and the same outfit on with one eye open and ready to conquer the day (the other eye was kind of stuck, it was a mixture of eye gunk and mascara). Instead of letting us take a cab they did what any logical man would do. Then handed us, whom they barely know mind you, the keys to their brand new $80,000 car because that's normal behavior. After being questioned by the resident valet on whether or not we were authorized users of the car, then stared at and questioned by the residents about what fabulous party we were going to at 11AM because we were STILL dressed in our outfits from the night before, we quietly crawled into the car and sped off. Oh we took our sweet time with the windows down and music blasting. Had a little Burger King for breakfast, snooped through the car (obviously), and swore that we were probably being voice recorded because this particular model of vehicle actually had a recording device. About an hour later the boys started getting worried and called for our whereabouts. Needless to say that was the last we heard from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber. At least I had a "You won't..." moment that weekend. Let's just say I got Dawn to dance on top of the bar of a non bar dancing lounge the next night while the bartender threw napkins around her and may have involved a flashlight moonlighting as a makeshift spotlight. Hee hee, classic. You won't........
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Just Walk Away from the Phone...
I had to document the most ridiculous texting conversation I had today as an aside.. please follow below:
It was supposed to be a very snowy weekend and the boy I knew was doing his usual guest bartending stint at the local haunt.
Boy: "In stead of waiting for 8 inches tomorrow, come in and get your 8 inches tonight!"
I really didn't read the message and disregarded it, I thought it was a mass text message and scolded him for it. When in reality I was just having a blond moment and realized what it really said the next day.
Me: "I just had an 'Oh I get it' moment about your text from last night, I didn't really read it until today."
Boy: "Haha, thought it was pretty funny myself!"
Me: "Whatever tickles your pickle kiddo."
Boy: "Why don't you tickle my pickle?!?! ;)"
(including the wink smiley face was completely necessary)
Me: "No comment.. When you have something intelligent to say get back to me.."
Boy: "Wow"
(I don't think he's understanding what I mean by having something intelligent to say)
Me: "Hee hee"
(consequently I felt bad for being so harsh, we have to be kind to the less fortunate ones)
Boy: "I still don't see why we just don't get naked one of these days!"
Me: "I'm worth a lot more then a one night hook up and won't settle for anything less.. Don't you know that by now silly?"
Boy: "Has nothing to do with worth.. just fun.. don't you know that by now silly?"
Me: "I can have more then enough 'fun' with myself.."
Boy: "Can I watch"
I'm officially dumber.
It was supposed to be a very snowy weekend and the boy I knew was doing his usual guest bartending stint at the local haunt.
Boy: "In stead of waiting for 8 inches tomorrow, come in and get your 8 inches tonight!"
I really didn't read the message and disregarded it, I thought it was a mass text message and scolded him for it. When in reality I was just having a blond moment and realized what it really said the next day.
Me: "I just had an 'Oh I get it' moment about your text from last night, I didn't really read it until today."
Boy: "Haha, thought it was pretty funny myself!"
Me: "Whatever tickles your pickle kiddo."
Boy: "Why don't you tickle my pickle?!?! ;)"
(including the wink smiley face was completely necessary)
Me: "No comment.. When you have something intelligent to say get back to me.."
Boy: "Wow"
(I don't think he's understanding what I mean by having something intelligent to say)
Me: "Hee hee"
(consequently I felt bad for being so harsh, we have to be kind to the less fortunate ones)
Boy: "I still don't see why we just don't get naked one of these days!"
Me: "I'm worth a lot more then a one night hook up and won't settle for anything less.. Don't you know that by now silly?"
Boy: "Has nothing to do with worth.. just fun.. don't you know that by now silly?"
Me: "I can have more then enough 'fun' with myself.."
Boy: "Can I watch"
I'm officially dumber.
Wait.. That's Not Normal
I consider him my very first stalker, now that's what dreams are made of. I almost don't know where to start it's all just so bizarre. It was a sunny summer day, the streets sweet with the smell of cooking garbage and sweat. I had just signed the lease for my very first apartment in NYC with my college roommate and was officially a very new barely established Florida transplant, and I desperately needed a drink. In fact my knees, and apparently my judgement, were a little shaky that afternoon.
It's funny how things seem to go in full circle. The bar of choice just happened to be that particular local haunt in the Upper East that I've had a love/hate relationship with from before I became an official resident. He was a regular (you can always tell the regulars, or the resident alcoholics as I like to call them by the amount of bills they have piled on the bar in front of them) donned in his suit of choice- baseball hat, t-shirt, and running shorts. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we exchanged numbers. Warning! I've officially entered the dangerous waters territorial to men in their late 30s/40s that are allergic to women in their 30s because they think they're desperate, completely oblivious to their own desperation. The type that has magic mirrors at home with magic reflections and magic affirmations of how amazing they are. He would only date blond women under the age of 25. I think back at the situation and often wonder- wasn't the first warning sign enough? Or maybe, I had to learn a few.
First date- nice dinner and drinks, first text to make sure I got home okay- nice and considerate, the *mwah*?!?! What 40 year old grown man texts *mwah* to a woman he's known for 2 days after a first date. One week later I officially moved to NYC with my life in the back of a UHaul. Picture it, my dad, my brother, and the man I just met moving me into my apartment. Strange indeed, apparently seeing me sweaty, in sneakers and work out clothes, and working next to my brother and father makes this man all hot and bothered. What happened in the next week officially goes down as a romantic evening gone wrong.
Philharmonic in the park is one of those wonderful things NYC has to offer that everyone talks about wanting to experience, but after a long day at work never really has the energy to commit. I was unemployed at the time- I consider moving to New York without a job my most fearless experience as of yet, or incredibly rash and stupid I haven't decided. Either way I met him at his apartment and the 5 of us headed to Central Park. The third being the ENORMOUS wicker picnic basket bought especially for the occasion, and the fourth and fifth being the two bottles of wine (see above, resident alcoholic, just sayin) considered necessary for a relaxing evening. The blanket was set, and for those who haven't experienced this musical experience, you are basically blanket to blanket with everyone else crowded on the great lawn. I could probably reach over and touch my neighbor if I wanted to reach out and touch someone. Oh, but no worries, there would be no infringement on our personal space during the evening's activities because we ended up being the entertainment, no one could miss us. Our picnic basket which was the mother board transformer of all picnic baskets opened up to two tables on opposite sides. Then came the glassware, silverware, gourmet meal and... candles! We had candles in a crowded event on our blanket in Central Park. I may have finished off a bottle of wine by myself that night, enough said.
He was a very nice man, but it all was so very overwhelming with a little bit of disturbing. He brought up the 3 date rule- the one where you sleep with a man after 3 dates, he freely declared that my roommate had to 'share' me with him, and he was already planning our first vacation and possible engagement, while scrubbing that imaginary red wine stain on his white carpet that he convinced was still there, all in 3 weeks. Not to mention the day I decided to snoop in his bathroom. Now I've never been a snooper, always felt too guilty and assumed I would get caught. But I did and I found old make up (lipstick, foundation, compact) and tampons. In a single man's home. Who doesn't have sisters. And lives alone. Oh but apparently that wasn't enough for me to leave, it was the text that I got one morning that I realized he was watching me, keeping tabs on me, and basically stalking me. I ran, and I ran far but could never really escape until recently when the emails that I never responded to finally stopped. I saw him one day recently, I was out to dinner with a friend and decided to check out a local restaurant (forgot to mention- he lives 10 blocks away from me but he still hasn't realized it, phew) and remembered he was a local there. I scanned the bar just in case and there he was with his pile of bills chatting away. "Go! go! go!" I yelled as I practically pushed my friend into oncoming traffic making my getaway before being spotted.
If a man is 40 years old, successful, AND desperately wanting to make a 25 year old his wife, it's not normal and likely that he has issues. What's normal is 40 years old, successful, and wanting to play with a 25 year old with their left hand in their pocket concealing the "I'm just going through a separation with my wife wedding ring". Now that's considered normal in this wonderful city. New Yorkers are special.
It's funny how things seem to go in full circle. The bar of choice just happened to be that particular local haunt in the Upper East that I've had a love/hate relationship with from before I became an official resident. He was a regular (you can always tell the regulars, or the resident alcoholics as I like to call them by the amount of bills they have piled on the bar in front of them) donned in his suit of choice- baseball hat, t-shirt, and running shorts. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we exchanged numbers. Warning! I've officially entered the dangerous waters territorial to men in their late 30s/40s that are allergic to women in their 30s because they think they're desperate, completely oblivious to their own desperation. The type that has magic mirrors at home with magic reflections and magic affirmations of how amazing they are. He would only date blond women under the age of 25. I think back at the situation and often wonder- wasn't the first warning sign enough? Or maybe, I had to learn a few.
First date- nice dinner and drinks, first text to make sure I got home okay- nice and considerate, the *mwah*?!?! What 40 year old grown man texts *mwah* to a woman he's known for 2 days after a first date. One week later I officially moved to NYC with my life in the back of a UHaul. Picture it, my dad, my brother, and the man I just met moving me into my apartment. Strange indeed, apparently seeing me sweaty, in sneakers and work out clothes, and working next to my brother and father makes this man all hot and bothered. What happened in the next week officially goes down as a romantic evening gone wrong.
Philharmonic in the park is one of those wonderful things NYC has to offer that everyone talks about wanting to experience, but after a long day at work never really has the energy to commit. I was unemployed at the time- I consider moving to New York without a job my most fearless experience as of yet, or incredibly rash and stupid I haven't decided. Either way I met him at his apartment and the 5 of us headed to Central Park. The third being the ENORMOUS wicker picnic basket bought especially for the occasion, and the fourth and fifth being the two bottles of wine (see above, resident alcoholic, just sayin) considered necessary for a relaxing evening. The blanket was set, and for those who haven't experienced this musical experience, you are basically blanket to blanket with everyone else crowded on the great lawn. I could probably reach over and touch my neighbor if I wanted to reach out and touch someone. Oh, but no worries, there would be no infringement on our personal space during the evening's activities because we ended up being the entertainment, no one could miss us. Our picnic basket which was the mother board transformer of all picnic baskets opened up to two tables on opposite sides. Then came the glassware, silverware, gourmet meal and... candles! We had candles in a crowded event on our blanket in Central Park. I may have finished off a bottle of wine by myself that night, enough said.
He was a very nice man, but it all was so very overwhelming with a little bit of disturbing. He brought up the 3 date rule- the one where you sleep with a man after 3 dates, he freely declared that my roommate had to 'share' me with him, and he was already planning our first vacation and possible engagement, while scrubbing that imaginary red wine stain on his white carpet that he convinced was still there, all in 3 weeks. Not to mention the day I decided to snoop in his bathroom. Now I've never been a snooper, always felt too guilty and assumed I would get caught. But I did and I found old make up (lipstick, foundation, compact) and tampons. In a single man's home. Who doesn't have sisters. And lives alone. Oh but apparently that wasn't enough for me to leave, it was the text that I got one morning that I realized he was watching me, keeping tabs on me, and basically stalking me. I ran, and I ran far but could never really escape until recently when the emails that I never responded to finally stopped. I saw him one day recently, I was out to dinner with a friend and decided to check out a local restaurant (forgot to mention- he lives 10 blocks away from me but he still hasn't realized it, phew) and remembered he was a local there. I scanned the bar just in case and there he was with his pile of bills chatting away. "Go! go! go!" I yelled as I practically pushed my friend into oncoming traffic making my getaway before being spotted.
If a man is 40 years old, successful, AND desperately wanting to make a 25 year old his wife, it's not normal and likely that he has issues. What's normal is 40 years old, successful, and wanting to play with a 25 year old with their left hand in their pocket concealing the "I'm just going through a separation with my wife wedding ring". Now that's considered normal in this wonderful city. New Yorkers are special.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
My Crutch- a Quarter of the Reason Why I'm Dating Challenged
Everyone has a crutch, men and women. The one relationship in our lives that has affected us, molded us, for good or for bad- and consequently in some way, great or small, has determined how we relate to current and future relationships.
To understand the outstanding and colorful choices I've made in men, it's important to examine my crutch. The one integral relationship of my life that has always been the reference point, the excuse, the pity party, the learning lesson. I call him my crutch because with every failed relationship it always goes back to him. I blame all of my trust issues, intimate insecurities, and inability to hold a long term relationship on him. However, at some point in my life I have to grow up right? He's been an excuse for 7 years now. So in September, after choosing one wrong man after another, I, for the first time in I can't even remember how long (maybe since I was 17 eek!), have taken a break. Taken a break from dating, meeting, flirting with, and dealing with men. It's been 4 blissful, stress free months. It's been my incubation period of reflection, growth, and strength- basically rehab for dating challenged individuals like myself. Which leads me to examine the most interesting, amusing, heartbreaking, and hilarious situations I've muddled myself in for the last 7 years. I think I'm finally ready to date now, but who knows, I've never been known to do things the easy way.
My journey started at the naive age of 20, during the height of my college days. I was a blond haired wide eyed carefree fake ID toting never had a bad day in my life kid. Never into the confines of the sorority sub culture, I had my core group of friends, my 8 hour a week part time job, and my soon to be first serious relationship. He was new to me being 7 years my senior, tall, handsome, a little mysterious (which I look back now and realize it was probably just sketchiness from the ABC of drugs he consumed, which I also found out about later- stay tuned). He pursued me for 3 months, I finally gave in, and with in 2 weeks he confessed his love for me. I met the family, he called us the Brad and Jennifer of couples as in Pitt and Aniston. I can't decide if I want to cringe or laugh at the comparison and the fact that a comparison was even made- I may have just thrown up a little in my mouth. What followed was 2 years of emotional abuse, lying, cheating, his drug habit- GHB, Coke, Ecstasy, K, oh my, and an endless cycle of intense love to absolute despite. I was a silent and often clueless observer. I believed everything he said, saw only the good and beautiful things about him, and continued down the self destructive path that I now consider a blessing. Because through him I became stronger, less naive, more realistic, and learned about people, controlling behavior, and how to heal. At the end of the relationship I told him that I had no idea who he was, this man who took my spirit away from me. I didn't know who this man really was that I dated for 2 years, and couldn't walk away from until I left college one year after that. He was the last person I saw as I drove away, saying and believing that I would never come back. Here's a list of some other very important things I learned from that relationship:
To understand the outstanding and colorful choices I've made in men, it's important to examine my crutch. The one integral relationship of my life that has always been the reference point, the excuse, the pity party, the learning lesson. I call him my crutch because with every failed relationship it always goes back to him. I blame all of my trust issues, intimate insecurities, and inability to hold a long term relationship on him. However, at some point in my life I have to grow up right? He's been an excuse for 7 years now. So in September, after choosing one wrong man after another, I, for the first time in I can't even remember how long (maybe since I was 17 eek!), have taken a break. Taken a break from dating, meeting, flirting with, and dealing with men. It's been 4 blissful, stress free months. It's been my incubation period of reflection, growth, and strength- basically rehab for dating challenged individuals like myself. Which leads me to examine the most interesting, amusing, heartbreaking, and hilarious situations I've muddled myself in for the last 7 years. I think I'm finally ready to date now, but who knows, I've never been known to do things the easy way.
My journey started at the naive age of 20, during the height of my college days. I was a blond haired wide eyed carefree fake ID toting never had a bad day in my life kid. Never into the confines of the sorority sub culture, I had my core group of friends, my 8 hour a week part time job, and my soon to be first serious relationship. He was new to me being 7 years my senior, tall, handsome, a little mysterious (which I look back now and realize it was probably just sketchiness from the ABC of drugs he consumed, which I also found out about later- stay tuned). He pursued me for 3 months, I finally gave in, and with in 2 weeks he confessed his love for me. I met the family, he called us the Brad and Jennifer of couples as in Pitt and Aniston. I can't decide if I want to cringe or laugh at the comparison and the fact that a comparison was even made- I may have just thrown up a little in my mouth. What followed was 2 years of emotional abuse, lying, cheating, his drug habit- GHB, Coke, Ecstasy, K, oh my, and an endless cycle of intense love to absolute despite. I was a silent and often clueless observer. I believed everything he said, saw only the good and beautiful things about him, and continued down the self destructive path that I now consider a blessing. Because through him I became stronger, less naive, more realistic, and learned about people, controlling behavior, and how to heal. At the end of the relationship I told him that I had no idea who he was, this man who took my spirit away from me. I didn't know who this man really was that I dated for 2 years, and couldn't walk away from until I left college one year after that. He was the last person I saw as I drove away, saying and believing that I would never come back. Here's a list of some other very important things I learned from that relationship:
- If a man never allows you into his home but once when you first started dating, and you have a twin bed which he sleeps in daily, something's not right. Especially when he proclaims that when a man starts fixing up his house he has a new woman in his life which mysteriously happened after we had been dating for quite a while... huh.
- If you go to an after party at a house full of gym rats notorious for drug paraphernalia and threesomes where there might be a dog licking peanut butter off a girl strategically placed because that's your significant others friends, it's not right.
- If at said after party he exits a locked bathroom with a nurse known for her incessant advances toward your significant other, they WERE NOT just talking, and do not believe otherwise (even if he runs after your car as you speed away).
- If you go through a whole pack of cigarettes in one night due to stress and his whereabouts- well that's just stupid.
- If his new girlfriend, donned in a pink t-shirt, pink tube socks, and pink high tops (no joke), with a highly perched bleach blond pony tail, pushes you at restaurant for waving hello then locks herself in a room with a load of cocaine and a bottle of whiskey, consider the company he keeps- see bullet point 2.
- Never trust a man who tells you he wants to marry you after two weeks.
- And it's yet to be established, but if a man loves the chase more then the catch, he'll keep on chasing after he already has the catch- only you might be gutted, stuffed, and hung on display.
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