You’re In A Mood

I’ve been battling a cold or flu or something this week.  When I arrived at group dinner, I felt off.  I was early as usual, and everybody else was a little tardy as usual.  Claire’s boyfriend joined us this time for a change which the dynamics of our normal group dinner different.  

Marcus was the first to arrive, and I immediately felt myself bristle.  Why?  Was it because I wasn’t feeling well or because things had been so weird the last time he and I had gone out on our non-date date?  The night where we said too much and drank too much?  The night he should have at least made out with me?  

I definitely knew I didn’t feel like putting up with anybody’s bullshit even his.  And I told him that.  He laughed, “Well, you’re in a mood.”  I nodded in agreement.  

Most of my dinner conversations were with Claire, a handful with her boyfriend, and but a few with Marcus.  I didn’t want to talk with him because all I wanted to do was talk with him.  Does that even make sense?  Dear lord, I’m losing my mind.

Rum & Thai

Marcus and I had dinner the other night on a night that should have maybe never have happened or should be repeated every night.  I don’t know.  It was perhaps the most confusing night I’ve ever had.  And that says something.

Earlier that afternoon, my makeup artist Michael heard that I’d be having dinner with Marcus then told me that it was absolutely necessary I look good but not over the top.  I readily agreed.  Michael worked his magic as he always does, and I left his place looking like a million bucks–but in a ladylike elegant way.  

Of course I stayed too long at Michael’s as we often get caught up in our own conversations, so I ended up arriving at the Thai restaurant to meet Marcus a few minutes late.  Me?  Late?  I know, right?  This was a first.  I parked too far away then had to backtrack.  Wasn’t entirely sure where the Thai place was.  Thank God for Google Maps!

Walking into the restaurant, I immediately saw him.  Marcus.  Seated and looking at a menu.  I wasn’t in the door for a moment before Marcus saw me, smiled, and stood up to greet me.  Our usual warm hug.  He always looks good, feels good.  I may never get over that.  

And Now . . . We Wait? (Unedited)

(Editor’s Note.  This post = Stream-of-Consciousness Version.  I’m too tired to edit my thoughts.  I’d almost apologize, but I’m too tired to care.)

Reentering the dating world scared the bejeezus out of me today.  (I’ve mentally annulled that summer date with Devon because it should never have happened.)  Overthinking everything to the extreme.  Haven’t slept well in a while either.

Random Guy (let’s call him “Pete”), 6’2”, adopted two kittens took a keen interest in me this week, much to my surprise and delight.  Monday night, we spent over two hours talking on the phone.  Comfortably too.  Tuesday night, we repeated the just over two-hour talk on the phone.  Comfortable again.  That second night of talk, he confidently told me he wanted to take me out on a date that night or any night or every night.  He was rather eager to meet me.  

We agreed to meet for the first time face-to-face for a quick dinner then a comedy show.  Pete was already attending the comedy show with his buddy, so I figured it would be a relatively safe date option.  If Pete proved to be weird at all, I could easily leave as we were in a public area.  If he was indeed as quiet/introverted as he had warned me, having him around his friend would allow me to see if Pete had a decent personality.  (Granted, I had already concluded via our phone chats that he was interesting.  And I love me some interesting men!)

The Truth (or Dare) Will Set You Free

Recently, I dined with friends.  Given my latest bought of introversion and lack of savings, I wasn’t in the mood to join in the merriment.  For the past two weeks, I’ve added to my list of excuses.  The morning before the group dinner, I continued to add to the myriad of reasons I had conjured in order to get out of the evening.  Even on my drive to meet my friends, I kept thinking of all the reasons and excuses I could still provide successfully to get out of dinner.  My friends would have been temporarily disappointed (I hope), but they would have continued on in their evening and made the best of it.  I could have easily sunk back into my introvert hole and wallowed in my minor bout of depression.  The abandoning of fun seemed like an exceptionally good idea.

I was the first to arrive at dinner and immediately regretted talking myself into attending.  The first friend to show up happened to be the person who normally shows up last, Marcus.  He looked nice, and I told him that.  He looked really nice.  Even better than the last time all of us had hung out.  I noticed he still hadn’t trimmed this wisp of hair at the nape of his neck.  I had an alarming urge to reach out stroke his hair, run my fingers down his neck, nibble on his ear, etc.  A host of things I had no business thinking.

Devious

Him: “You’re devious.”
Me: “Devious? What have I done that’s even remotely devious?”
Him, shrugging: “You just are.”
Me: “No, you can’t say that. Give me even ONE example where I’ve been devious.”
Him: “Hey now, don’t look up at me with those big innocent-looking eyes!”
Me: “I’m not making a face! This is me waiting for you to give me an example because I know you don’t have anything on me!”
Him, laughing: “Just because I don’t have anything on you doesn’t mean you’re not devious.”
Me: “Pretty sure it does.”
Him: “You’re sparkly eyes aren’t fooling anyone.”
Me: “So devious people have sparkly eyes? Are you calling me a villain?”
Him: “You’re either wearing too little or too much eye sparkle to look like a villain.”
Me: “Just face it, you have no proof that I’m devious. My parents have proof . . .”
Him, interrupting me: “See! Your parents have proof! Therefore, you ARE devious!”
Me: “No, no . . . My parents have proof as to whether or not I am devious, not that I AM devious. They know me better.”
Him: “Oh, I know you well.”
Me, quietly whispering: “Oh no, no you don’t.”

Dear Guy Who Had the Audacity to Touch My Hair, don’t open doors unless you are ready to see what’s behind them. Also, I’m not devious. Not even a little bit. Cunning and calculating, maybe. But not devious. 

A Two-Date Minimum

Marcus: “We went on two dates.”
Me: “Uh, no, we went on only one date.”
Marcus: “Two dates. I swear.”
Me: “No, I’d remember.”
Marcus: “I have a two-date minimum. We had to have gone on two dates.”
Me: “Fine. What was our second date then?”
Marcus: “I don’t remember. My mind doesn’t work that way.”

Clearly, his mind doesn’t work in many ways. And now we know why I went out on only ONE date with him. Ha ha!

(For what it is worth, he owes me a date.  And I plan on redeeming it one of these days.)

Marcus Revisited, Reentered

A year ago, Marcus reentered my life.  In hindsight, I’m still not sure if that turned out to be a good thing or not.  

Last year, I posted on FB, “There comes that blissful day in a girl’s life when she leaves the house with no real plans only to discover it was a really really really really good idea that not only she showered this week but also decided to wear her best outfit that day for no real rhyme or reason.”

Seeing Marcus again made my heart happier than I thought it could be, but since that day?  Having him back into my life has not brought the joy I had hoped.  Newly single, I wanted to see if something could happen between me and Beard again.  But nothing did.  Marcus has had several months, and he’s not made any attempts to date me, to woo me, etc.  My ex-boyfriend Ross was right . . . Marcus doesn’t care.  At least not the way I thought he did or could have or should have.  And that kind of sucks.  Maybe I was always the one who pursued him–even on a platonic level.

Games We Play

I’m too old for games.  For games in friendships, romance, and relationships, that is.  High school is over, so should the game-playing be.  Right?  I wish.

Devon*, you are the image that pops up when my brain looks up “guys who play relationship games” because that’s all you do.  How on earth is such game playing fulfilling?  I can’t imagine you are happy.  You have no right to message me about how you inferred that I was seeing someone/anyone who wasn’t you.  You have no right to any information about my dating life because you are not currently participating in my dating life.  You asked me out once then left me alone for all intents and purposes.  I’m not a mind reader, but I’m also not stupid.  If a guy is interested in a girl, he will pursue her.  He will find a reason to be with her, talk with her, etc.  You can play the field all you want, but I’m not a player.  I’m not participating in your games.  I don’t compare you to my ex, and I don’t want you to compare me to your ex.  You have a few options: be my friend, actually ask me out on a date again, or leave me alone.  I’m okay with any of these options.  Just pick one and stick with it.  Stop being an idiot and man up, grow up, or shut up.

Marcus, every time I think I understand you completely, I learn I don’t understand you remotely.  I’ll go a step further and admit I understand but don’t understand the two of us together.  How can two single people who are attracted to each other on every level of life not be together especially when there are no known impediments?  Why the heck we are not married is beyond my comprehension.  I’d give it all up for you, but marriage takes two people.  Not just one person with an active imagination.  We’ve never been able to make it work, but we’ve never really tried either.  It seems likely we never will, and I don’t know why.  Waiting for perfection will take longer than either of us has.

Like I said, I’m too old for games.  If you like me, ask me out.  If you don’t like me as anything more than a friend, don’t treat me as anything other than a friend.  It’s that easy.

The Breakup

THE BREAKUP

On a random Tuesday several months ago at 4:30 AM, Ross* came over, woke me up, and told me we were done.  He claimed I had cheated on him, that I didn’t love him, that I wasn’t happy with him, etc.  I never cheated on him, certainly did love him, but had indeed grown unhappy with him.

I entered a realm I know all too well–Andy’s Emotional Survival Mode–the one that gets stuff done without putting any real thoughts or feelings into anything because that’s just not important yet.  After putting as much of my stuff into my car as I could, I grabbed my cat then drove away from the apartment he had provided for me.  Drove several hours to my mom’s house, spent the night there, rented an SUV, drove back down to my now-old apartment, and packed that SUV like nothing I have ever packed before in my life, drove all the way back up to my mom’s house, unpacked everything from the SUV, and began trying to sort through the chaos of my life including getting a new phone as it appeared that Ross had hacked into my phone.  A great way to end a three-year relationship to the man I had once believed I would spend the rest of my life with.