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Tuesday, November 29, 2005

i might be great tomorrow but hopeless yesterday 




Cadillac Ranch

First off, my Pen Pal did a little Druidic voodoo to bring me luck. Is this not the most badass thing you've ever seen? Thing is, it totally worked. Like, immediately. We will now all turn east and bow to the Pen Pal.

Now, updates.
Kids are fine, Pman is relatively fine, job search seems to be winding down, my friend Arie is moving to Longmont, social life is sort of out of hand.

What's that you say? You're simply dying to know what's happening with my ill-starred romance? You're the one person I'm on speaking terms with (besides my mother) who isn't sick to death of the topic and who doesn't become violently ill at the sight of the letter S? Well, okay then.

Day 10.

After a week of him dodging me, I finally go over to his house to return his book and give him the scarf I made him (Yeah, I know. Shut up. I couldn't help it.) and a piece of apple pie. (Shut up. We had SO much.) It's dry and painful and very very sad and I feel crushed when it's over. Literally crushed, like maybe a gargoyle fell off the top of the building and struck me in the chest.

I run back to the car where Arie is waiting, making those awful weird facial contortions you do when you're trying like hell not to cry and run your mascara.

He seemed genuinely pleased by the scarf, but, well, you know.

Arie and I ritualistically delete all his numbers from my cell, saving only the pictures I took of him in the scarf because there's no number attached. I've been preparing myself for this day, and as hard as it is, there's a small measure of relief knowing it's out of my hands now. My vestigal pride won't let me contact him now--I'm too far out on the plank. But it's a little okay--I'm trying to hate him so I don't like him so much. Brea and I decide he died at sea (How romantic! Like Shelley!)so I don't feel like such a moron for pining for him.

Day 12.

Pman and I have an honest talk--perhaps a little too honest--and I head out to meet Arie for some much-needed "fresh air." Now, I know we both hang out at the same bar--we always have, just usually different days and times--and I'm aware there's a possibility he might be there--but a quick check of the time tells me if he's likely to be there, he'll be there already when we get there. So I'll have plenty of time to turn straight around and run if I see him when I walk in.

Besides, it wouldn't be that bad if I ran into him, right? It's not like I'm following him or anything, and to be frank yet mysterious, there are several reasons why I would get custody of this particular establishment. But I promise at this point I am still committed to walking away, if nothing else because it seems clear he wants nothing to do with me.

So the coast is clear when we show up, and we settle in to a conversation with one of the (off-duty)bartenders who, coincidentally, is the kid brother of the boy I dumped in high school for Isabel's dad. Half an hour later, sure as shootin', of all of the gin joints in all the world...well, you know.

And he's wearing the scarf.

He smiles sheepishly and waves, and I try my hardest to make myself not register his presence. He and his friends take the table as far as possible from where I sit. They leave half an hour later, and I resign myself to a future of uncomfortable run-ins with him. I amuse myself by collecting money from all the Comedy Works boys for the jukebox, because the jukebox is one of my top ten all-time inventions, right up there with the camera phone and the washing machine.

As I'm taking Arie home that night, guess who calls me. He tells me he just wanted to say hi, and hopes I'm doing well, etc. And then he calls me back again. And then one more time. I go over to his house and bring G. Love CDs to amuse him. I feel...victorious.

Because he called ME first. He tried to pass it off saying he got an unidentified call, thought it was me, and was simply returning my call. (Bullshit.) Laying aside the fact that this doesn't make any kind of sense, I know his number nearly by heart not from dialing it, because I don't, but from simply seeing it on my screen. I've deleted him half a dozen times before, but I still know when his number comes up. I seriously doubt he'd mistake some random call for my number. I'd be willing to put down cash that he knows my number perfectly well.

We dance. It's lovely. That morning I had a weird dream with him and Brea and Rose and fish and chips. It doesn't make any sense, but I like having him in my dreams anyway.

He tells me we're breaking up tomorrow. I secretly roll my eyes.

Day 13.

Damn it. I left my makeup bag at his house and start to feel the oppressive glare of Kryptonite. I'm helpless without my perfume and nail file, besides, my daily meds are in there! (And no, they're not psychotropic.) I call several times but don't feel guilty because I really NEED that bag to be within my aura at ALL times. Arie says, "You did that on purpose."

I tell her, "No, I left my earrings there on purpose. The bag was an accident." He finally calls me back--he left his phone at home that day--and I just tell him I'm coming over, don't care what he's doing or wearing but I need that bag. Arie and I roll through Burger King and I take her home, and he calls me about four times, before I get there.

And it's perfect. I bring some CDs he wanted to borrow (I'm learning the angles, here. He'll have to return them someday...) It's just the most romantic evening, most of which I won't be sharing with you today. But. He tells me he's worn the scarf every day since I've given it to him, the second-nicest compliment about my knitting I've ever gotten. We dance some more. He spins me. I hand him a CD he's never heard before, knowing he'll love it, he resists because he doesn't know it, I insist, and he loves it. He still says we're breaking up tomorrow, but do I want to go see a movie first?

What? A date? Well, not a date, he says. I secretly roll my eyes. I've totally got him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but...you know.

I think I've cracked the code. All I basically have to do is refuse to go away. He's surprisingly stubborn, resisting me this long even, and it might be a lot longer before I gentle him, but he's incredibly insecure and vulnerable, and I think every sweet thing I do for him thaws him a little bit. And since basically all my free time is spent telling everyone I know how great I think he is, complimenting him comes naturally.

He doesn't compliment me often, but I understand why. Tonight he does. (And I'm keeping those to myself.) He tells me he thinks I see the him in him, with which I agree, because I feel the same way about him. You know, he's a Cancer, and while I take my astrology with an enormous nugget of salt, he does cook for a living, he lives and dies by his music, and his wardrobe is notable mostly because all his clothes are very very soft. And he's very tactile.

We are never in the same room without touching, basically. The other night was an aberration that was deeply uncomfortable for both of us. And this is why we are always alone together. We met at our bar once, a while ago, and just being in the same room, the bartender saw it immediately, as did one of S.'s coworkers, who has looked at me in a very appraising way, eyebrow raised, ever since. I'll bet he's dying to know what's really going on, but I wouldn't ask S. if I were him, either.

So this is essentially the most manipulative, warlike scarf ever created in the history of man. And make no mistake, this is war. I mean, it's love, but it's also battle. The scarf that won the war. If the British had scarves like these during the Revolutionary War, we'd all be finishing up our kippers right now.

Come on. You didn't think it was a coincidence, did you? If there ever was a boy whose heart would be melted by a soft, long, moss-green scarf in the coldest week of winter so far, knit for him by a girl who adores him, this is the guy.

So, bingo. It's all part of the master plan.

He's told me several times that he doesn't feel that way about me, that he's not that into me, etc.

Well, I looked into his eyes last night and I call bullshit. (We spent a goodly part of time gazing, in fact.) There is no possible way on Earth this man will not be mine. I know that look and although someday he might not be that into me, this was NOT that day. And he called me first, when he could have let it ride. Boyfriend is goin' down.

He will be mine, oh yes, he will be mine.

It may still take lots of time and patience, but I am not taking no for an answer. That look is unmistakeable if you've ever stared into it or felt it in your own eyes. If you have no clue what I'm talking about, then you'd better make your prayers to the Good Fairy that one day, you do.

It just occurred to me that S. finding this website is one of the most potentially terrifying things I can think of.

I'm in ecstasy. It probably won't last, so let me enjoy it today.

Friday, November 18, 2005

every step i took in faith betrayed me 

Day 3.

Luckily (perspective is a funny thing, huh?) my two little ones woke up with a scorching case of contact dermatitis, enormous blisters and all, causing much excitement throughout the household.

If I saw other children walking around town looking like this, I would think, "Oh. Right. Plague. Hmmm...."

And when your formerly Caucasian child has an epicanthic eye fold...well, I was grateful for the heavy-duty distraction.

Those bitch-ass motherfuckers at my last job bounced my last paycheck.

Looking for a job seems like just too much exposure, too much risk. All I really want to do is hide under the covers with my knitting and snarl at people who try to take the remote control. I've sort of had my fill of rejection, lately, and I just don't have the energy to bounce back.

The really ironic, painful thing about this breakup is that he's the only one who might understand exactly how I feel, but clearly we don't chat much lately.

Universe, if you're listening, I could use a little magic right about now. If you aren't in the middle of something, you know.

P.S. Yay Ambien!

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

my eyes are not the reverence of you 

The End of the Affair: Day One

Fuckfuckfuck. I am in serious pain. In the movies this is where he would show up at my window with an old-skool boombox, or maybe we would accidentally be handcuffed together.

I hate movies.

I hate everything.

My stomach hurts.

I hope the children will let me lay down and die in peace.

It won't get any worse than this, unless he starts dating my sister, but it won't get better for a while, either.

Fuckfuckfuck!!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

a girl in need of a tourniquet 

Okay, so there are spinning infinite universes of drama going on with me now, so I will be minimalist for once and give you this one thought.

I knew he would be really amused (for a specific reason) if I texted him "5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100." (It's a song lyric.) But the one great thing about us is that even if I didn't know, I would have done it anyway.

That, and my phrase du jour is "bitch-ass motherfuckers." Try it. It's surprisingly versatile.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

i was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy 

I realized yesterday why I can be so negative here. I was raised to be a good girl, a nice girl, modest and unassuming. It's so uncouth to go traipsing around town telling everyone how great your life is, how you never thought you would ever be this happy, how you just can't seem to do any wrong.

When your life blows, it's another story. After all, tragedy is the heart of comedy, but happiness just isn't...funny. And funny trumps all.

With this in mind, I realize that I've given you the impression that S. is a hyper-narcissistic, self-involved jackass with a piece of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic for a heart.

Come on guys, you know me better than that, surely.

There are reasons I cannot get this boy off my mind. I actually made a list, and came up with 50 or so. 53, to be exact, but I had to put the pen down so I could cook dinner.

Would you like to see a little excerpt?

Of course you would.

#1. Dead sexy. (Trust me.)
#2. Feeds people for a living.
#7. Makes me feel like the only other person on Earth when we are together.
#11. Walks as fast as I do. (If you've ever seen me cocktail, that's reallyreally fast.)
#13. Both cat and dog person.
#17. Very gentlemanly: holds open doors, pays for cabs, has put his body between me and a moving vehicle at least once.)
#21. Likes to drunk dial.
#23. Uses words like "smitten."
#25. Will interrupt a fight to kiss me.
#27. Always makes me feel something, even if it's rage or frustration.
#28. Always opens snack-food bags upside-down. (This is actually irritating, but almost like it was specifically designed to irritate ME, and, therefore, cute.)
#29. If he were an animal, he'd be a squirrel. (50 bonus points if you can guess what animal I'd be.)
#32. Fixes my scratched CDs with this incredible lo-fi toilet paper trick.(Even better than the Magic CD Fixer Thingie Brea got me for Christmas.)
#38. Frequently a jackass, never a liar.
#42. Addicted to America's Next Top Model.
#44. Favorite colors are green and orange. Orange?
#45. Tries really hard to always do the right thing.
#46. Smells really really good-like cinnamon. He smells like food.
#48. Got all shmoopy the first time I put on his T-shirt.
#49. Always apologizes for being a jackass.
#50. Tells me when I touch his heart.
#51. Reads. Actual books. But reads cookbooks more.
#54. Uses perfect grammar in text messages. (I just thought of this one.)
#55. Still wants the G.I.Joe aircraft carrier he never got for Christmas.

There are more, and of course I left out the dirty ones, but that should give you an idea.

By the way, he did call on Saturday. I went over there and finally decided that this is all bullshit, and when he said, of course we're breaking up tomorrow, I said, "Well, I don't accept." I thought that this complete reversal might work out, like, dude, give me the keys and shove over, I'm driving, you suck at this, but it seems he's as stubborn as I. (Oh dear.) And then I was all, Hiiii, Wayyyne...

And then he called very late (it's not late, man, it's early...)on Sunday, we had a dreadful fight where he said horrible things to me, like, he's just using me for sex. Which made me cry, but after further reflection, it makes me laugh. It gives me the giggles, actually.

I don't know any guy willing to suffer THIS much for sex, not even with me. This would be, like, the most counterintuitive, time-and-energy-wasting attempt to scam a girl into bed EVER. I know guys who can barely pick up a phone (or a check) in the effort to get laid. (Of course, I know some guys who can manage it instantaneously, like a magic trick, but still.) Besides, I may not be the Whore of Babylon, quite, but I don't require THIS much suffering.

Were that nasty comment to be true, he would have to be the stupidest man alive. He would be the sexual equivalent of that bridge to nowhere in Alaska.

And trust me, this is not a guy who's going to get off on hurting me.

My theory is, he's trying to push me away, because the intensity scares him (which it should) and he honestly doesn't feel he deserves me. (He's said that, too--sober.)

Think about that. Really, I mean it. This guy thinks I am so fabulous that there is no way he could be good enough. And he's trying like hell, with his sad drunken comments, to push me away for my own good, but at the same time, he thinks I'm so great that he can't actually let me go. This may sound masochistic, but there's no way he could be so mean to me if he didn't have very strong feelings. (I guess it could be masochistic, but then I would have to find out anyway why I'm all of a sudden needing to be hurt, and...anyway, no. This is ME, guys.)

I should add, there is SOME stuff I'm not telling you. I have to have some private life, out of the spotlight, right? We don't want another BritBrit on our hands, do we?

Well, I think that's enough naked honesty and guts spilled for one day. Any requests?

(P.S. I dreamt last night that I went into surgery to reconnect my tubes, but the actual process was...darning. And they woke me up from the anesthesia and said, "Go on, you do it. You need the practice." Aside from all the creepy interpretations we could divine, this means one thing: I dream in yarn.)

Monday, November 07, 2005

in the dark your brain glows 

I'm gonna lighten the mood around this dump a little with some snapshots from my life...

...This (other) guy I was dating all of a sudden dropped off the face of the earth. I get a hold of him a few days later, and his excuses are more lame than Tiny Tim. My girl and I go down to his job and just glare menacingly at him for twenty minutes or so. We didn't buy anything, didn't try to talk to him, just stared.

It made him very nervous (as well it should)...

...There's a dude who does tarot readings for donations around Larimer Square. He's kind of a buddy of mine, my Wilson (isn't that the fence guy from Home Improvement?), and I always end up lurching over to his rug and telling him my traumas at three in the morning. He reads my cards and he tells me the more of my cards he sees, the more he likes me (good line, that.) So I got my cards read this weekend for the bargain price of one cigarette, one fork that I stole from my job (just ran in, grabbed a fork and ran away again. Yoink!) and my phone number. I can't resist a good one-day-we'll-tell-our-grandkids-how-we-met story...

...Went to my old old job and it improved my mood to have been missed so by everyone. The guy who assaulted me has shaved his head, but not his facial hair, and he looks like they just disconnected him from the electroshock machine and sent him home with a daypass. Some predators look like normal people, but some look exactly like what they are...

...Danced dirty with the Devil on Halloween. The dude works with granite and let's just say he can bench-press way more than 130 lbs. Went home with my costume covered in infernal body paint...

...Same holiday, different night: watching my girl Arie get chatted up by Speed Racer...

...Evidently I dropped my phone in the gutter in front of Buca Di Beppo when I was going in to work (I thought I left it at home). A chef there found it, saw the number of another local bar and brought it to them, where they scrolled through my numbers until they found "Mom" and called her to ask which of her kids worked downtown. I was pretty shocked when Josh the bartender brought my phone to me at work. Elapsed time: 45 minutes. I had my phone back in my possession within the hour and I didn't even know it was gone...

...Leaving a haunt of mine at closing time, I am somehow waylaid by two guys and their female friend. They saw me leave and stopped me and told me this whole story about how they went to my high school as freshmen when I was a senior and totally crushed on me from afar. No idea if this is true or not, but either way it's an excellent line and will get my vote for Best Pickup Line of 2005...

...Pman overhears our elderly neighbors talking smack about us. Apparently we scandalize the neighborhood. They predict Pman and I won't last, and I laugh crazily...

...Having a fabulous correspondence with a Platonic admirer. What did I do to deserve actual fans? Tell me and I'll do it more. Girls, the good ones really are all taken. I think we should move on to 18-year-olds...

...Coming home shortly before dawn with my platonic friend Dan, who is an accident investigator, we come across a piping-hot fresh accident. Dan sprang into action to keep the drunken teenagers from leaving the scene, and while I was useless, it was a heck of a chance to watch real paramedics in action. I have pictures in my camera because the destruction was unbelieveable. Laughing nervously at Dan, who got all flushed talking about "debris fields" and "zones of impact," and at the salt shaker in the driver's seat of the offending car...

...Arie and I make Nico really nervous when we team up and dance around him (he's so sweet) so we do it whenever we can, just to embarrass him. He's like the cutest little brother ever...

...Getting dragged to the club to hear my friend's DJ friend, and upon meeting him, realize he's one of ex-#1's great friends since childhood, a guy I've known since high school. My friend Tim says, "If the world were any smaller, I'd fall off" and I giggle because I think it's such a beautiful piece of language...

...Bartender Josh (see above) finds me crying on the crosswalk and takes me with him for a round of shots. Unfortunately his destination is a bachelor party at a strip club, so I spend forty minutes staring uncomfortably at my spent limes, until I catch sight of my "vagetarian" neighbor drooling over the ladies and I get the giggles (BTW those places creep me out hardcore)...

...Dancing with an overly-pretty pilot, and spinning him around with a poorly-aimed uppercut when he groped me rather inappropriately. I felt bad, like I had overreacted, almost immediately, but when I apologized, he turned away. So I walked out. He ran out after me and kissed me in the snow...but then he never called, even after begging me for my number. Go figure...

...Swinging on an indoor swing, under a black light, in a warehouse, at the least counter-culture warehouse party I've ever been to, certain that the fastenings will break and I'll go flying into the outhouse. I don't much care...

...Which pretty much describes my state of mind for the past few weeks. The merry-go-round is going faster and faster, and it's all I can do to hold fast to the neck of the ostrich I'm riding. Things just get weirder and weirder with S. but I'm going to hold off a little on updating you on that.

By the way, I totally take back the curse. This is why I don't practice voodoo. I'm just too damn impulsive. I'd rather not sink to that level, and besides, people have a way of engineering their own doom.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

i'll go swimming in the wet concrete 

Okay, S. Uncle.

In a couple of days, we'll have our big farewell. I hope it's today, not Tuesday or Wednesday, and I hope you'll call me and say, but I really want to see you!

But we both know that's not going to happen.

Because since when has what I wanted entered into your decision-making processes?

You're an idiot, dude. I mean, I'm surprised you can feed yourself and manage without diapers. How has anyone gotten to the age you've reached without a little healthy respect for the mysterious workings of the universe? When we met, it was One of Those Things. It was downright magical. And you've pissed it away, all that hope and good feeling and trust. I had a lot of trust for you in the beginning, which is a special thing for me, since I never needed Fox Mulder to tell me to Trust No One--it comes naturally to me. It just seemed that we understood each other so well at first.

And I know I've been a little tweaky since we started Not Dating. Well, dude, what do you expect when you're forcing me to act against my nature? I'm all passion and fire and assertive action and a will of kryptonite, and you've forced me to be passive and accepting and coy and disingenuous. I think you would like me if you would just let me be me, but you really love your self-protective mind-games. I don't know why you felt I was so dangerous, but I will admit it does me a wee bit of good to know that at least one person in my orbit is WAY more fucked in the head than me.

I've brought you beautiful, strange gifts that I know you appreciate. I've tried to keep an open heart even though you and every other man I know are telling me I'm worthless crap, this month. I've tried to guard against the bitterness and suspicion, but the dark side has won. You've sucked all the hope out of this relationship. You've stripped me of some of my natural optimism.

You've made a mess of me. I deserve more of the blame than you, I guess, but I'm not taking ALL of the responsibility. I suppose it's only a reflection of how sad and pathetic my daily life has been lately, that I thought you knew me so well.

The worst thing is, I'm not really telling you goodbye. I hate you as much as I like you but I will most likely continue taking the crumbs. With the lack of anything remotely comparable in my life, I'll keep taking the rare compliment and not quite starving.

But I want you to know:

I curse you, S. I hope you get everything you say you want, the wife, the kids, the dog, the picket fence, and I hope it's like dust and ashes in your mouth. I hope your wife is faithless, your kids are nihilistic, your dog is incontinent and your house has severe plumbing problems. I hope the love that you have willfully denied me curdles in your soul and your children sleep restlessly in their beds, dreaming of the day they can escape you. I hope the other men in your neighborhood secretly pity you when they see you lighting your barbeque grill and mowing the lawn. I hope you pay for treating me like this. I hope you pay in love and tears, pound for pound. You turned up your nose at my love, and I hope your heart's desire is denied you in kind. I hope you find your perfect, shiny, factory new baby-momma love, and I hope she gives you genital warts. The universe works in strange ways, and I believe there is a balance. And I think when the universe gives you a gift, like a person who "gets" you and makes you feel safe, and then you piss all over it, well, the universe will not be denied, and I think you are just going to have to suffer in kind.

You have hurt me really badly. You suck mightily, saith the bartender.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

i am still dreaming of your face 

Well, hmmm...I appear to have "alienated my fan base." It's okay. You can call me a pyrowhore if you want to.

I don't want to spend all day on a post before I've caught up on my comments, so here are the highlights.

Pman is dating someone.

I am being released from my employment obligations--the joint's not doing well.

Brea has laryngitis.

I am still (un)involved with S. It's a mess but it's gone from being one of the messiest situations in my life to one of the least messy--at this point it's unbalanced and chaotic in a familiar, reassuring way.

Or as S. says, "We suck at breaking up."

I've gone to some really awesome parties lately, and if I've disgraced myself, I don't remember it, which is a mercy.

And that is my little Wednesday wish for you all: if you must humiliate yourself, I wish for you to unremember it.