The Truth About Cocks and Dolls

Foreign Band - Part 2

2008-11-08T11:09:00.007-05:00

I called George back right away. I could hear a din of people behind him and imagined the fans, old friends, acquaintances and industry folks clamoring for his attention. Despite all that, I was the one he was talking to.

"So what's this other party downtown?" I asked.

"It's at this bar on Bowery," he gave me the address. "If there's a list, I'll make sure your name is on it. I'll be down there with a couple of friends in about half an hour."

DJ Darla and I hopped in a taxi and headed over to the Bowery, where some of her friends met up with us.

Even as I passed the young, semi-hip crowd to get to the bar, I didn't count on George showing up. Still, it was one of those random nights out in the city that seemed sprinkled with fairy dust. It was this energy that drew people to New York, this wondrous feeling that anything could happen, so you better be ready to follow the adventure.

Darla and I found seats at the bar and ordered drinks. About halfway through my cocktail, I felt someone to my left tap my shoulder.

"Hi!" I smiled at George, who somehow snuck past and grabbed the bar stool next to me. "Did you just get here?"

"About ten minutes ago. Indie Film Director is here, so I was watching him outside for a bit, trying to impress these two girls, seeing if he was going to make a spectacle of himself."

George introduced me to a couple of his friends, who promptly left us to chat.

"How was the meet and greet?"

"Lots of people wanting to take pictures, some autographs, though Singer Spencer gets the worst of it. I did get to see some friends who came from out of town to see the show, so that was pretty cool. The rest of the band wanted me to come back to the hotel with them, but I said I had to find that girl from the front row." George smiled and I noticed he had a slight overbite.

A photographer from the concert came over to us. When I talked to her at the show she seemed down to earth, but in front of George Guitarist she was different. She fawned over him, name-dropped, and seemed practically under physical strain in her effort to impress him. I didn't get it, because it looked so obviously phony, and this is a woman who claimed to have had a lot of contact with celebrities. In any event, George was gracious in listening to her, but after a couple of minutes we turned back to each other and continued our conversation.

It's funny, I didn't even think about him in terms of being in this band that was about to make it big. To me he was a guy I saw across the room (or stage) that I found attractive. I just thought it was great that we were getting along so well on a personal level too.

George is not from the country that Foreign Band now resides in, so we talked about travel and living abroad. When he found out that I love to sing, he offered to produce a track for me. He also has separate creative projects that he works on and so do I, so that was another topic of focus for us, along with what inspires us. This was especially fascinating for me, because George is somebody who makes his living doing creative work, and it's not an easy life, but it's akin to the kind of life I want to have someday.

George's friends came around and asked if we wanted to go to another bar, so we all piled into a taxi and were dropped off at some place on the Lower East Side.

At that bar, some Italian guy came over with a bottle of wine and asked us to share it with him. I thought maybe he was a fan of Foreign Band, until he asked George what he did for a living.

I turned towards George with a pseudo-puzzled expression, "Yeah, what do you do again? Are you some kind of musician or something?" I teased.

I guess the group of us had some kind of great energy to us, because strangers kept coming over to us. They didn't know who George was, so it was rather puzzling, but fun, though George and I would quickly turn our focus back to each other.

His friends were good-natured about it. "Hey George," one of them called out, "what the hell happened during your guitar solo? It fell apart."

George nodded toward me, "Ask this one, it's all her fault."

"You better get at least a kiss out of it," his friend replied, "Though I don't know, you'll get a face full of red lipstick."

George just smiled. I reached over to the nearest table, grabbed a cocktail napkin, and wiped off my crimson lipstick. Before I realized what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed George. He kissed back and put his arms around me. The rest of the bar ceased to exist.

It gets a little blurry past this point. We must have closed out the bar, because I didn't get home until after 4:00am. We shared a taxi, which dropped me off first then continued on to his hotel.

George called me the next day and I saw him that night. I'll keep that story to myself.

Since then. we have exchanged a few emails. He asked me to send him a sample of my singing, so that he could produce that song for me. He and Foreign Band are working on their new album and playing more gigs abroad, but they'll be back in America next year.

I have no illusions about having any sort of relationship with George, though I would like to maintain a friendship if possible. I see him more as a muse and mentor. He and the rest of Foreign Band work incredibly hard for every ounce of success they attain, and it has motivated me to get my own life together and turn my focus to artistic pursuits above all else. What could have been a frivolous hookup with a musician turned out to be a rather significant turning point for me. Who knew.

Foreign Band - Part 1

2008-10-11T11:01:00.009-04:00

Chances are, you don't know Foreign Band, even though they are pretty big abroad. Considering their great music, memorable live shows, and diligent work ethic, chances are good that America (and the rest of the world) will know Foreign Band in the next year or two.

I discovered Foreign Band X months ago, was floored by their music, and amazed I hadn't come across them before. Added to the pleasant surprise was an announcement that they'd be playing New York soon. Usually I'm late to the party and discover bands after they've toured for their best album, broken up, died, etc. Not this time. I bought a ticket and anxiously awaited the day of the show.

Despite spreading the word to my friends, I ended up going to the concert solo. No big deal. Either I'd run into people I knew, talk to new people, or enjoy the music on my own. Done it before and would do it again.

The day of the show, I got to the venue more than an hour early. Usually, I don't care about proximity, but that night I wanted to be as close to the front as possible.

There were a cluster of girls at the front of the line and a guy I knew socially through clubbing, Journalist Jason. Jason greeted me warmly, introduced me to the girls, and gave me a swig of something out of an energy drink bottle that looked like Gatorade and tasted like rubbing alcohol.

I chatted with the group, who were massive Foreign Band fans. One talked of flying to various cities to see them live. Another showed me a tattoo design she created involving a full-length portrait of the lead singer. These gals were hardcore and fun to talk to, especially since they were as enthusiastic (if not moreso) about Foreign Band as I was.

At one point while we were outside, I saw a cute guy in black jeans and a hooded sweatshirt wandering around.

"That's George Guitarist! He's such a sweetheart," said one of the girls in line.

Singer Spencer was more the acknowledged heartthrob of Foreign Band, but George was definitely more my type.

Doors at 8pm, and we were finally let in. I was lucky enough to get a spot in the very first row of people, dead center. Not the best for people-watching, but great for band-watching.

After the opening band, the roadies came up to get Foreign Band ready for their show. George Guitarist came out with them to set up his instrument. He looked over at me and we smiled at each other. I felt a jolt of excitement in my stomach.

The show began and the crowd around me erupted in fanatical screaming and arm waving, as they reached for Singer Spencer, an intense and elusive performer who teased them into a frenzy.

Unlike most of the people around me, I focused on George, who kept looking at me and smiling. Or was he? With the bright lights, the audience mostly in darkness, could he really be aiming his attention at me?

During one song, George had a guitar solo and he came around to the center of the stage, right across from me. He waved a beckoning finger at me and I smiled. Then he mouthed,

"You are so fucking hot."

!!!!!!!!

Somehow I managed not to have my jaw fall open in shock, and instead blew him a kiss.

There were a few more glances exchanged during the rest of the concert and then it was over.

Afterwards, I lingered at the venue, where I ran into people I knew. We chatted about how amazing the show was. One of my friends said,

"That guitarist seemed really into you!"

I'm sure I blushed. "We did kind of have a moment."

I wasn't going to try to get backstage or wait around for the band to come out. Instead, DJ Darla (an acquaintance) and I planned on going to an after-party downtown, in the hopes that the band might turn up later.

As we were heading outside, I felt someone tug on my hair.

I turned around and it was George Guitarist.

"Do you know how many times I fucked up out there because I was staring at you?" he said.

I laughed and asked him his name, partly because I was so nervous I wasn't sure I remembered and partly because I didn't want to seem like such a fangirl.

"Are you going to the afterparty at Downtown Club?"

"What after-party?" He looked confused.

"You don't know about your own band's after-party? That's no good." I took out a pen and paper, wrote down the name of the place and address, along with my name and phone number.

"I have to talk to some friends downstairs, but I'll come out to this later."

"You should."

We smiled at each other again and went off in opposite directions.

When we got outside, I asked DJ Darla: "Did that really happen?"

She confirmed that it did.

We didn't want to get to Downtown Club too early, so we went to Tiki Bar for a drink or two first.

My head was buzzing. "You know, I don't even expect George to come to the club later, or to ever hear from him, but what already happened tonight was pretty cool."

"You never know..." said DJ Darla.

I went outside for a cigarette and saw I had a new voicemail:

"Hey, this is George from Foreign Band. So there's this other party happening downtown and I can get you on the list if you want to meet up there. Otherwise, we're still in town tomorrow and I don't have anything going on in the evening, so maybe we could do something then. Give me a call."

Holy shit.

Reality check, please.

To be continued...

tentative at best

2008-10-05T01:10:00.003-04:00

Let's not call it flaky, let's call it whimsical. Capricious, even.

I didn't used to be this way. I used to rely on a firm schedule and found comfort in social activity that was planned days--if not weeks--in advance. Now, not so much.

I say "let's play it by ear" a lot. I won't buy concert tickets more than a few weeks ahead of time. I have no idea how I'll use up the rest of my personal and vacation days this year. I get nervous when somebody asks to do something more than a couple of days from now. I panic if I feel like my time is being imposed on.

What changed? Did I suddenly realize what precious little free time I had? It's not as if it suddenly dawned on me. How did I go from being so rigid socially to enjoying spontaneous plans so much? How did I go from being thoroughly dependable to a more unknown quantity?

J had a lot to do with it. Between the two of us, we had a healthy social calendar. There were birthdays and weddings and holidays and funerals. There was his giant family and my clan of friends. There were our mutual friends. There was always something to do, something we were invited to.

For a while, I loved having days filled with so much to do, with a person who adored me so much. Then I started realizing that we never had a full weekend to ourselves, to do nothing. Even in the early stages of our relationship, we never had that long stretch of time where we sequestered ourselves in bed and tuned out the rest of the world (mental note to make sure that happens in my next relationship). And when we did have a so-called lazy day, even those had a rigidity to them; there were workouts and errands and little things that always seemed to take longer than expected.

Eventually, the time time we spent together started to feel structured, even when it centered around fun activities. I became frustrated that so many social obligations were stacking up weeks and months into the future. I felt like I had less time to myself, too. Despite asserting to J that I was not a phone person, there were frequent phone calls (he checked in with me up to five times a day). What started out as a feeling of having this loving person so dedicated to me grew into a feeling of being smothered and controlled. Some of our biggest fights were about my need for more personal space. I could see how the relationship could become codependent. I had a life outside the relationship that was beginning to feel hampered.

Since the breakup, one of the things I cherish most is having my schedule back to myself. Invited to a party? No need to check with J to see if there is a conflict on his end. Want to stay in all weekend and be a couch potato? I have the final say. Want to spend days in a row being a social hermit and ignoring all calls/emails/texts? So be it. My free time is all my own.

The problem is this nervousness I've developed about making firm plans too far ahead of time. I was the furthest thing from spontaneous for most of my life and now I've swung to the opposite extreme. Last weekend, I had no plans for Saturday and set plans for Sunday. I ended up going to a last minute gathering on Saturday and bailing on Sunday plans.

Have I become less dependable? Maybe a little, except with my mother and closest friends. With everyone else, it's a crap shoot. I'm probably a frustrating person to date right now and yet potential suitors are on the horizon. My independence and new-found unpredictability is probably attractive to many, yet I've been on the other side of the fence, dealing with people like today's me, and I know how maddening it can be.

There's nothing I can do about it right now. I'm enjoying the last minute, the unexpected, following my whims, carving out my own trajectory. It leads to adventure. I am all about adventure these days.

We're Going to Do This

2008-09-29T23:29:00.008-04:00

I always said that no blog would be worth sacrificing a relationship for. That I'd respect a significant other's wishes for privacy and end the blog if it was going to become an issue. J did not want to live in a fishbowl, which I respected. He made assumptions about what I wrote about and, to the best of my knowledge, never actually read a single post, preferring to imagine it as something more base and sensational than it was.

J is no longer in the picture. I won't go into why, at least not in this post. I won't go into when, because this gives me a 14-month blurry timeline to play with.

I have accumulated a lot of stories these last 14 months, and there's no need to do something so ordinary as tell them in chronological order.

Let's start with Barman Ben.

For those just joining in, or those whose memories are as bad as mine (that's why I have to write everything down), a brief rundown on this Ben character:

I met him nearly two years ago at Cozy Bar, where he still bartends today. Handsome, charming, mysterious, the man was a cocktail of trouble, and I instantly developed a maddening, overwhelming crush on him. He intrigued and inspired me so much, I wrote a short story about him, possibly my best fiction to date. I gave him a copy of the story and he loved it; he mentions what a good writer I am to this day when introducing me to other patrons. Ben himself is an actor (stage and screen). One of the Cozy regulars, Magazine Mitch, teased me about my crush when not mercilessly hitting on me. He and I went to see Ben in a play where he appeared entirely naked. Ben flirted, and I could have sworn some spark was there between us, but nothing ever came of it. Then I started seeing J and my visits to Cozy Bar became less frequent.

Barman Ben got under my skin in a way few other men ever have, and while I made peace with the fact that nothing would ever happen between us, there remained a secret thrill of seeing him behind that bar, and a lingering question mark in the back of my head. What if?

One night X months ago, I went to Cozy Bar with my friend Dancer Denise. We expected a girls night, but within minutes of arriving got caught up talking to others. There was a special energy to the place that night and it was extra-lively. Lots of familiar faces, retro music, and a buzz of effervescent conversation had us in high spirits in no time.

Barman Ben was behind the bar and his usual dapper self. I stood at my usual spot at the corner of the bar and fended off overtures from the men around me, polite but disinterested, watching Ben without watching him. All this time and he still had a mesmerizing effect on me.

"Why don't you just tell him you want to fuck him?" Magazine Mitch asked.

"Can you not say that so loudly please?" I knew Ben couldn't hear us, but I couldn't be too sure.

"Do you want me to tell him?"

"I'm sure at this point he pretty much knows." I shrugged.

"Face it, Dolly, it's never going to happen."

"I know."

"So that's why you should get with me."

I laughed. "We're not going to make out, Mitch."

"I liked you better before you lost the weight. You were less cocky then."

Denise ended up leaving with a cute boy she picked up at the bar. Barman Ben and I raised our eyebrows over the spontaneous pair-up and smiled. I felt him looking at me throughout the night but made it a point not to look back... much. He was exceptionally flirty with a random girl I ended up talking to, as if to show me how well his charms worked on others. There was something pointed about it, and I smirked at the prolonged hug he gave her when she left.

He teased me about not having my money ready quickly enough when I ordered drinks. I teased back the next round, waving around a twenty and smirking with mock impatience. When he gave me my change, our hands lingered, squeezed together, took an inordinate amount of time to separate. I looked down at my drink, remembered to breathe.

What was happening here?

I sensed a new curiosity from Ben, an intrigue. I didn't dare imagine anything would come of it, not after the way I tortured myself about him in the past. So I played it cool, flirted with guys who talked to me but made it clear I was a dead end. Eventually, it was near closing time and it was just me, Magazine Mitch, and a handful of others. It was past last call, but Ben still served me and didn't take my money.

Then it was just Mitch, Ben, and me. Past 4:00am. The three of us stood outside and smoked cigarettes. Mitch and Ben discussed music I wasn't familiar with and I focused on being still. I didn't want to appear as drunk as I was. Ben sent me a sidelong glance from time to time, which I matched.

I lit another cigarette and continued to listen to their conversation. Out of nowhere, Ben pulled me over to him, had me stand in front of him like a human shield and talked to Mitch over my shoulder. I smoked while he pressed against me and felt me up from behind, hand up my dress, against my thighs and hips.

Ben took the cigarette out of my left hand, threw it into the street, and placed my hand between us on his crotch. Just like that. And just like that I complied, stroked him over his trousers like it was the most natural thing.

I understood two things right then:

1. This was not about hearts and flowers, this was physical. The romantic portrait I conjured of him in my story was not the same Barman Ben grinding against me. And that was okay, because--

2. In that moment, I knew I would do anything he wanted me to. He could have stripped me down right outside the bar in broad (early morning) daylight and I wouldn't have blinked.

Magazine Mitch carried on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening before him, until he finally said,

"Should I leave you two to it then?"

"Come back in for a few minutes," Ben nodded at the door. "Both of you."

Ben poured Mitch half a pint and led me to the back room. He put my handbag on the pool table, pulled me over to the wall and said,

"We're going to do this, but we're not going to do this tonight."

And then we were kissing.

There weren't any butterflies, because butterflies are the stuff of stories that might have a happy ending, and this was a dead end from the start. So kissing Ben didn't make my heart take flight. It actually felt like an out-of-body experience, like it must be happening to someone else, maybe somebody a little less numb with alcohol.

Ben unbuckled his pants, but this time he didn't need to guide my hand. His own hands travelled south, past fishnet and lace boundaries, but I was too drunk to feel anything beyond a surreal thrill.

He guided me to a nearby couch, sat me down, and stood in front of me. Halfway through he said,

"You're good at this..." he tilted my head so I looked up at him, "and you know you're good at this."

Of course, this is when Mitch decided he needed the bathroom. He wandered past and started saying something to Ben, only seeing his back at first. Then he realized.

"Oh. Never mind then."

I think I laughed, despite having my mouth full.

Ben didn't let me finish and I don't know why. I think he was close. Whatever the reason, that was it. He took one taxi home and I took another, but not before Mitch congratulated me.

When I woke up that afternoon, it took me a while to believe that what happened with Barman Ben really happened. I wish I had been less drunk, to remember what he smelled like, what he tasted like, what his hair felt like between my fingers. It's okay. I remember enough.

I finally kissed him. Yes, there was the other stuff, but that didn't matter to me as much as the kissing did, because that's all I ever wanted. I didn't want to bed him or date him, I wanted one moment, mouth-to-mouth. And I got it. That's enough for me.

Resurrection?

2008-09-24T22:59:00.002-04:00

I'm thinking about starting up the blog again. It's been over a year. A lot has transpired. Adventures need to be updated. Privacy has its perks for sure, but I miss this space, I miss this confessional.

Is anybody still reading? Would anybody attend my comeback tour? So much to say and no idea where to begin, so I figure I'd dip a toe in.

Anyone still out there?

tempus fugit

2007-07-20T22:08:00.000-04:00

There are several reasons why keeping up this blog has been such a struggle. One major factor is my new job. I was able to do most of my blogging at my last job, but that's not really possible now. The bigger, shinier paycheck means more responsibilities and way less downtime. Plus, my computer screen faces a high traffic area and it wouldn't be good for one of my bosses to see me lingering on a site that prominently displays "cock" in its title.

The other main reason for my absence is J.

In some ways, I feel like I've been absent from more than this blog, but the real world, too. I have told J more than once that I feel like I'm on vacation when I'm with him. We have this ability to create our own microcosmos when we're together: it's me, it's J, and the rest of existence is banished to the periphery. Whether on a beach or dancefloor, in a grocery store or casino, life plays out for us like a movie and we walk among its scenery.

I've been so busy being happy that I have hardly noticed the time go by, except in weekly increments. Or in weekends, which J and I spend almost exclusively together (he is napping right now), which pass shockingly quickly, crammed with social and familial obligations, but also hours that belong only to us.

It's been a dramatic change, going from the life I had before J to the life I have now. My days are different because of the shift in employment and my nights are different because I am no longer single. It's been tough staying in touch with friends. Polly said I fell off the radar a bit when I was in my last relationship. I know I've done that to an extent again, but I've been making a concerted effort not to drift away from the people who are my second family: Willow and Polly and (former) Coworker Chris and Podcast Penny and all the others. Not to mention my alone time; there's less of that, too.

Not that I'm complaining. Merely adjusting. I love inhabiting the world that J and I created for ourselves. I don't want anything to mar this world, which is why part of me is at a loss as to what to write about. I could write about how J has only ever dated thin girls and how I worry that if I don't keep off the fifty (yes, fifty) pounds I have lost in the last seven months, he'll leave me (though he is beyond supportive of my fitness goals). I could write about our magical (to the point of spooky) telepathic connection, about the way we fit the way I have never fit with anybody before. I could write about how nerve-wracking it was meeting each others' families. I could write about the positive-adjective-defying sex. I could write about how I feel like I've waited my whole life for him, and it was worth the wait. How he constantly makes me laugh, impresses me with his resourcefulness, and takes my breath away with his knockout combination of generosity, sensitivity, and raw masculinity. I could write about how I've reached a point where not having him in my life would be inconceivably tragic.

There are endless lists of things we have done (cooked together, taken walks in Central Park, gone away for the weekend) and things we haven't done (had our first fight, said the L word, anal). Part of me wants to chronicle every special minute of it. Another part of me wants to fully immerse myself in this wonderous time of my life, this falling in glorious love, and forego the need to capture it in words.

Time: it moves at light speeds, but I can't help the foolish notion that J and I have so much of it. Yet it still slips away, another hour, another day, another week. I blinked and found a month had passed that J and I were together. One of the happiest months of my life.

quick note

2007-07-04T12:41:00.000-04:00

I'm still around. It's hard to balance a new relationship and new job with being social, to say nothing of keeping up a blog. I've spent the last few days playing nurse to J, who has had a severe case of bronchitis. We're about to leave for a barbecue, but I'll update properly soon, I promise.

discovery

2007-06-20T08:15:00.000-04:00

I made a deal with the universe: if I got the job this new job, I would stop seeing BT.

I tried to be casual girl, spur-of-the-moment girl, no-strings-attached girl, but that's not really me, not as far as relationships go. I knew that ultimately it wasn't good for me. I drank more around BT, my sleep schedule got thrown off, and I spent the beginning of every week dusting off emotional cobwebs, trying not to be attached, trying to distance myself. Even when I went out without him, I had my phone at the ready, waiting for his text messages, not being fully in the moment. Part of me hoped he'd come around and start asking me out on real dates, even while a bigger part of me understood that we would not be compatible in a relationship.

I was concerned that I had the wrong kind of energy around me, a careless and possibly destructive energy that could interfere with these bright new beginnings. It was time to be honest with myself and stop sectioning off my heart, stop forcing myself to stop feeling and reassess my attitude towards intimacy.

Anyway, I got the job, and I knew I had to make good on my end of the deal. This was a couple of weeks ago. I decided to wipe the slate clean: no more online dating, no more crushes on bartenders, no more drunken hook-ups. BT went out of town for a few days, which made letting him go in my head easier. Here I was with this great life as well as this new body and now new job. There wasn't any room to think about dating, to obsess about relationships. Why focus on the one aspect of my life that was lacking when I had so much else going for me?

I made peace with the fact that there were no romantic prospects on the horizon and probably wouldn't be for some time.

Then I went to that club the weekend before last, where J, a friend of a friend, started chatting with me. J and I talked for hours and hours. There was an instant rapport. We had our first date a week ago. We had our second date on Friday, and it was easily the best date of my life. We had our third date on Monday and I'm seeing him again later today. We talk on the phone every day, we exchange countless emails and texts, and have become pretty much inseparable since we met.

J and I have a connection that is so special, so electric, it is downright telepathic. I can't describe it any other way but to call it magic. I feel like I have fairy dust sprinkled over my life.

I've been struggling with what to write about J. Words can't do him justice and I'm still figuring it out what to chronicle and what to keep private, what to keep ours.

As much as I have resisted and fought and raged against the idea, it all comes back to that Buddhist koan: to find something stop looking for it.

I stopped looking, put blinders on even, and one night I glanced up and found the man of my dreams sitting next to me.

Magic.

approaching

2007-06-12T09:17:00.000-04:00

When I go walking in the park, I wear dark clothes, headphones, and big, dark sunglasses. I am not there to be social, I am there to work out. I don't talk to anyone and, with the rare exception of someone asking for directions, nobody talks to me.

On Saturday, I was doing the last mile of my second lap when I noticed somebody jogging next to me. Jogging very close to me, slowly, to keep the same pace as my speed walking. I looked over at him, annoyed. Usually, people in the park follow etiquette and pass each other or allow for a certain amount of personal space. Then, clocking his interested look, I realized why he was jogging so close to me.

I stopped walking, letting him run a few paces. He stopped too, then turned around and walked back toward me.

This is when I noticed that even though it was Saturday afternoon, and even though we were on the "safer" side of the park, the stretch of track where we stood was in the shade and completely empty of people. That's when I got scared. I realized that even if I sprinted, the closest person was easily a hundred or more feet ahead of me. If he had some kind of weapon on him, I could be in trouble.

I was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

Just before he reached me I said, with great hostility, "Can you please leave me alone?"

He paused, then walked out of the park. I finished my workout, a little shaky, hating the guy for making me feel unsafe in a place I frequent, in broad daylight.

----------

That night, I went to a concert with my friend Music Mandy. The two of us got to the venue early and chose a spot where nobody was standing, to crowd watch and wait for the first opening act.

A few minutes later, I sensed a guy standing right next to me, I mean right next to me, when there was plenty of open space around us. I groaned inwardly, because the guy was hovering, and I knew he was going to try to talk to one of us soon. I faced away from him, chatting with Mandy, but a little while later I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around, bracing myself. Standing next to me (too close!) was an older man with a dark pony tail.

"Can I take you out sometime?"

"Um, sorry, but I'm kind of seeing someone." I smiled awkwardly and turned back to Mandy.

*tap* *tap* *tap*

I turned back to him.

"What's your name?"

"Dolly."

"Well, can I get a number for your so that we could talk some time?"

"No, I'm sorry." I gave Mandy a Look and murmured, "Let's take a walk."

That's twice in one day. I'm sympathetic to the fact that it takes a lot of guts to make that approach, that it's not easy to put your ego on the line. However, there's a difference between casually expressing interest and making a woman feel deeply uncomfortable (or worse, actually afraid for her safety) with one's interest. Respecting personal space is key, as is noticing a woman's body language. If I'm wearing dark glasses and not looking in the guy's direction, or if I keep turning away to talk to my friend, it should be pretty obvious that I'm not interested.

After these two unpleasant incidents, I felt more guarded than usual, though I did end up enjoying the darkly experimental, noisy concert.

I ended up at a club with friends after the show, where some drinking, dancing, and socializing raised my spirits.

A group of us took over a stretch of banquettes and later in the night, this guy came over. He looked like he was trying to sit on on one of the unstable end tables, before changing his mind and sitting next to me.

"That's much better," he said.

"Yeah, I don't know why you'd sit there when there's miles of couches in here."

"Well, I wanted to sit near my friends."

"Oh, you know these people?" That's when I really looked at him, noticed he was actually pretty attractive.

"Yeah. What, you think I came over just to hit on you?" He raised his eyebrows, smiled.

I laughed. "Well it's been a strange day for it..."

a new dawn, a new day, a new life

2007-06-06T09:30:00.000-04:00

I shouldn't have pinned so much on this one thing. I know that, but I couldn't help it. When I had my first interview, weeks ago, the second the company was mentioned, I felt a jolt of electricity and knew I belonged there. Then I had a second interview, then a third. There were skill tests, references checked, a background check, and a drug screen. You'd think I was going to work for the CIA, not a media company. The whole process, start to finish, took nearly a month.

I got the job.

I'm happy to still be working in media, but even happier to be working in a broader spectrum. New projects, more opportunities to grow, and a company that is just plain cool.

This is such a major breakthrough for me. I have been in serious crisis mode with regards to my career for some time now. One of the two big goals I set for myself this year was to figure things out vocationally (the other is fitness-oriented). My current job is fine, but became a dead end--not to mention the money's pretty lousy. I was at a loss, but started actively looking, anyway. I figured if I didn't find my dream job, I should at least find something higher paying, and chip away at my debt. I'm not one for setting major life goals, but I did it this year.

That's why this feels like such an accomplishment. The new gig has tons of potential and is a good boost money-wise, too. That's all I need to be happy: potential. Hope. I know it's going to be lots of hard work, but the future looks brighter for the first time in over a year.

I gave my notice and everyone at work is really happy for me. I've been receiving congratulations from all around. My friends know what a big deal this is for me, how long I've been searching, waiting, and I'm grateful that they're sharing in my happiness.

Just now, I was saying to Podcast Penny how much I wish somebody told me in October, when I got passed over for an opportunity within my current company, than in eight months time I'd get an awesome new job. Of course, now I kinda wish somebody would tell me how awesome my love life is going to be X months from now, but I have too much else going on to dwell on that. Apart from the new job, I've been riding a recent wave of inspiration and working on art projects, which is one reason I've been writing less. I've also been less of a slacker about nurturing friendships, so things are hopping socially, too.

I feel like I'm entering an exciting new phase of my life. The tears, the frustration, the reluctant patience, all of it has finally given way to something good. The air around me feels full of possibility and I love it. Sometimes I wish things could stay like this indefinitely: on the cusp, at the threshold, brimming with anticipation. Of course that's not possible.

Time to move forward.

suspended animation

2007-05-31T09:29:00.000-04:00

Is it possible to die of suspense? I wonder. Right now, I am waiting on news that will change the course of my fate. For the last few weeks, I've been in a state of agitation, my patience being stretched to its limit, my stress regulators doing what they can to keep me in check.

"Don't forget to breathe," BT keeps telling me. He's been one of my few sanity anchors recently.

I wish I could feel the same easy, relaxed sense of well being that I feel with him all the time, but the real world encroaches. Responsibilities, pressure, decisions, tedium, obligations. So much patience and resilience required. Why was I in such a hurry to grow up and be an adult?

And now, all I can do is try to show some grace under pressure. All I can do is wait. I'm poised at a very dangerous angle, at the precipice of elation or devastation. I shouldn't let it affect me so much, should keep my wits about it, etc. Go ahead, tell me not to care so much. It won't do any good. This is going to have a great impact on me one way or the other, and I can't pretend it won't. I was never any good at playing it cool.

Soon, soon...

Protected

2007-05-26T18:32:00.001-04:00

I stand in front of you
I take the force of the blow
Protection
-Massive Attack

Last night was different. Happier, giddier. Both of us have made progress with our personal situations, which made for a lighter, cheerier atmosphere.

When we stood to leave, the bartender, a Greek woman equal parts sassy and sweet, hugged me goodbye like an old friend.

"Take good care of her," she said to him.

"I always take care of her," he replied.

"He's a good guy," she told me.

I nodded. "I know."

I don't know what to call it, but I'm finally starting to understand that maybe it doesn't need a name. I can't explain it to my friends, who worry I'll get hurt because it's not a traditional relationship, more of a once-in-a-while thing. He's not my boyfriend and yet I've been seeing him longer than some of my exes. Every time I see him, it's with the understanding that it might be the last time. There has been a lot of passion, but conflict, too. I'm drawn to him in a way I haven't been drawn to anyone in a long time.

I pinned down what was bothering me about the situation last week. It's not that I need for us to be exclusive; I like having the option of seeing other people (though I equally dislike the thought of him doing so, because I'm jealous like that; oh well). It's not that I need to be labeled his girlfriend. Last night, he introduced me to everyone as his friend, but then openly kissed me and wrapped his arms around me. The label didn't matter, because I felt genuine warmth and affection from him.

No, what troubled me was the time in-between, the days during the week when I don't see him, when there's barely any contact, when I have to fend for myself. I have plenty to keep me busy, but it was more a matter that I never felt like I could call him after a tough day to talk, that I could view him as a source of support the way I do my other friends. That's what it was: I didn't get a sense that he was my friend.

Last night, I told him that. I said I was aware of the risks of developing a closer personal relationship, that treating him more as a confidante could lead to sticky territory of more attachment and a need for commitment. Which isn't what I was asking for.

He saw the difference.

"You can always call me if you had tough day and need to talk. I would be there for you the way I'd be there for any other of my friends. And if anyone was every giving you a hard time, I'd sort them out. I'll be your bodyguard." He got a fierce look in his eyes, a spark of anger at the idea of somebody messing with me.

"I guess I never felt that from you before."

"I consider you my friend. I have from the very beginning."

He said he didn't think of me as a casual fling or fuck buddy (how I hate that term), that he thinks about being with me during the times we're apart.

He mentioned a personal story I shared a couple of weeks ago, of something awful that happened to me as a little girl.

"When you told me that, even though you said you couldn't remember it happening, I felt so sad for you I wanted to cry. And I couldn't stop that from happening to you, but I feel so protective of you now."

He sees a part of me not many others see. In many ways, I'm still naive, still blind to the evils of the world, and oblivious to life outside my small sphere of consciousness. For the most part, I have led a relatively sheltered life. He sees this innocence, and wants to shield me from harm.

I feel his protection.

This is one reason why I love being with him, why the times we are together are worth all the uncertainty that follows. I feel so safe with him that everything else falls away. I can let go of my fear and be my real self. And despite our strange and uneven communication in between, when we get together there's a sense of relief and inevitability, a sense of belonging, even if it's just for the night. There is always at least one moment during the night that feels perfect. It might be a minute in my room, listening to music in utter stillness. It might be in a taxi, crossing the bridge and putting my head on his shoulder. It might be in a crowded bar, smiling at each other through the hazy din of layered conversations and alcohol. It might be when he wipes away my tears, pulls me in close, and kisses me. It could happen at any time.

I pay a price for these perfect moments. I want more of them and yet I have to understand that their beauty comes from the wild and unstable circumstances surrounding them. It's the power, brightness, and instability of a lightning bolt. It's breathtaking and treacherous, impossible to predict.

When that lighting does strike, time freezes and everything is in its right place. In those seconds or minutes or even hours, in his arms, I am completely, irrefutably, safe. Protected.

"Giving Up"

2007-05-21T14:19:00.000-04:00

Excerpt from a chat with Miss Curious, last week:

Miss C: why can't he just be in love with you already?!?!?!
Dolly: i know, right?
you know when he's goign to fall in love with me?
Miss C: I know when
Dolly: after i get totally heartbroken and decide conclusively i want nothing to do with him and
MOVE ON
that's when
Miss C: yup
precisely
Dolly: there is no solution
Miss C: so are we in hell?
where nothing goes our way?!?! hahaha!
two ships passing in the night
Dolly: the solution is to give up
but i mean "give up"
Miss C: possible?
Dolly: fully accept the fact that we're going to be alone
necessary
Miss C: if we're supposedly here to propagate, and I've overcome the desire to have my own children (would adopt children who've been left)... then how is it I cannot rid myself of the need for a partner? Because propagation should be the only need for one... successful hunter/gatherer propagation
so there's a chance that we could "give up"
Dolly: what about companionship? sex? love?
should all of those come from different sources?
Miss C: yes, they should
companionship, sex, love
all byproducts of our primal instinct to reproduce
Dolly: but how do we splinter ourselves like that?
Miss C: that's what we must discover
there must be a way
Dolly: distracting ourselves with tons of hobbies and other social activity?
alcohol?
Miss C: yeah, drugs and alcohol
hahaha
Dolly: becoming buddhist
Miss C: smoking weed and live music make me complete!
Dolly: that's what people keep suggesting to me
buddhism, not weed
Miss C: buddhism is actually pretty fucking great... but I'm personally too neurotic to "be at peace without knowing the answers"
I actually try to apply many buddhist philosophies to my life, but it's tough to achieve
how's it going for you?
Dolly: it's the wanting that's the sticky point for me
i can't imagine passion without desire
and i can't imagine life without passion
i don't want some kind of neutral life. i'll take the roller coaster any day
Miss C: I'm not sure what my answer is to that question anymore
I can completely see why you'd want it that way
Dolly: sometimes it doesn't feel like i have a choice
Miss C: you're absolutely right... it's more in theory ;-)

Scents and Sensibility

2007-05-17T14:24:00.000-04:00

This morning, the smell hit me right away. A cotton ball damp with a new brand of toner, a fragrance so familiar, I was no longer in my apartment. But where was I?

It took me a minute to place the familiar scent. The lime top note hit me, and then I remembered. Going back several years, he mentioned the name of the scent, an obscure one. I made a special trip to a shop on Madison Avenue to buy it for him. This was during the long distance correspondence, before we met, before we kissed, before we moved in together.

"This is what he smells like," I held the bottle in my hand, pausing before I brought it up to my nose.

I know about pheromones, I know about the scientific theories that propose love boils down to smell. I know about the sweaty t-shirt experiment, where women were more likely to be attracted to the men whose odors they responded to best during a blind smell test. What I don't know is how deodorants, scented lotions, colognes, and perfumes mask or enhance a person's natural odor in a subconscious way. I know I'm sensitive to a person's smell, and highly sensitive to men's colognes (there are some brands that I find highly erotic and others which utterly repulse me), but I'm curious about how much we affect courtship and mating by changing the way we smell.

I was nervous that day, standing in a shop full of glass bottles, about to spray one, the one, about to inhale his scent. If I didn't have a positive reaction, I knew it would never work between us. Yet when I craned my neck to catch a whiff of the citrus mist that I sprayed, I was pleasantly surprised, even a little excited. I was also relieved. Of course, things ended up not working out between us anyway, but it was because of irreconcilable, not olfactory reasons.

Friday night, outside Bar K, a delayed hug hello. My nose against his black t-shirt, inhaling.

"You smell good," I said. "You always smell good."

I asked him to name the colognes he wears, one of which is my favorite male brand, and I wonder how much stock to put in such things. Is it really all about smell? Is that what we mean when we talk about that elusive x factor known as chemistry? If he wore the same cologne as my father, would I no longer be attracted to him? (I could never date a man who smelled like my Dad.) The first night we met, he told me I smelled good; if I wore a different perfume that night, would he not have been attracted to me? Not as much?

For the most part, I prefer it when men wear cologne, though it can be tricky to select the right scent. I made the mistake of choosing incorrectly at least one time that I know about: on a first date, I once wore the same perfume that my date's ex-girlfriend used to wear. We hit it off, but I knew there would be no second date; there wasn't. How much of that had to do with that perfume and the memory trigger is something I will never know.

I'm endlessly fascinated by the smell-memory connection. When I was reminded of my ex's scent this morning, I was so disturbed and overwhelmed, I had to spray myself with perfume to cover it up. I also had to think twice and choose a perfume that wouldn't bring back other memories. I sprayed a bit too generously in my haste, and can still smell it on me. This spicy scent does conjure a vague nostalgia, but I've worn it sporadically over the last five years, so it isn't tied to a specific part of my life the way other scents are.

Friday night, during that hug, I recalled the necklace he left on my nightstand, the way the leather cord absorbed his scent, made him vivid in his absence.

In a blind test, would I select his sweaty t-shirt over all others?

During

2007-05-15T09:25:00.000-04:00

One of my fitness instructors asked me to bring in a Before picture of myself. I looked through photos of a party Polly had in December, photos that showed the damage that all my depressive eating had done, photos that appalled me at the time. It was me and it wasn't. A rounder face, a larger body, a person who wasn't very happy.

Today I am about 40 pounds lighter than I was in that photo. I lost the depression weight, and then lost more. I weigh less now than I did in college. It's possible I'd be able to fit into my high school prom dress.

I'm not an After yet. I've had people say I look great as is and don't need to lose any more weight. I've had people say 10-15 more pounds will do it. I have my own number in my head and I'm fairly certain I'll be able to reach and maintain it in a healthy way.

Being heavy in today's society, especially in New York (one of the "glamour" cities) was not fun. It was akin to being a second class citizen, or even being invisible. There are only so many times you can be told what a pretty face you have. And even though I was still able to attract men, I knew my weight was a liability, a detriment to my "replication value."

It wasn't just being less attractive (by modern standards) externally. I felt terrible on the inside. I had less confidence, less energy, and a part of me believed I didn't deserve... well, anything good. I'm sure last autumn's break-up, my grandmother's death, and a few other things had a lot to do with it, too, but this was one thing I could actually fix. And I don't mean it in the way of women who develop eating disorders because it's one thing in their lives they can control. For me, it was one thing in my life I could improve.

So I changed my diet, brought my exercise routine up a notch, and started becoming more aware of what was going into my body, whether it was food, nicotine, or alcohol. I said no to birthday cake, dinners out, and happy hours if I felt I had overindulged too much that week. I planned girls nights out, dates, and other social activities around my workout schedule. I balanced this with treats when I knew I needed them, whether it was a day to be lazy on the couch or Thai take out. I rewarded myself with an exotic vacation, but chose one that involved a lot of physical activity.

Generally, I don't believe myself to be all that disciplined. Sloth is one of my favorite deadly sins, after Lust and Gluttony (though less of the latter these days). So it's a little shocking to step on the scale week after week and see the numbers go down. It's more than a little shocking to look in the mirror and see a different person's reflection.

I used to say that I would never date a man who would only want me at a lower weight (and I still think "for fatter or thinner" should be added to traditional wedding vows). Dating these last few months has been strange, because part of me wonders if any of these men would have liked me 40 pounds ago. But then I remember something: I didn't like me 40 pounds ago, either. I mean, yes, I'm still the same person I was then, but in other ways--apart from physical--I'm not. I enjoy challenging myself more now. I have much more confidence and better self-esteem. I now believe I deserve those good things, not in an entitled way, but in an I-work-hard-and-will-reap-my-rewards-kind of way.

"Beauty is a currency," I told a man this weekend. He didn't disagree.

By the standards of society, I have raised my value over these last four-and-a-half months. People look at me and treat me differently. It's daunting to be more visible, but also empowering.

I'm not writing all this to brag. I'm actually pretty hard on myself about not achieving enough, not working hard enough, and generally having little to show for my life. This is more a reminder that I did accomplish something this year: I transformed myself into a person I like. It's a process, and I'm still getting there, but it's nice to step back and recognize that I've actually made some progress.

swing low

2007-05-09T09:05:00.000-04:00

I have to keep telling myself it's not me, it's the drugs. It started yesterday afternoon, about 24 hours after I took the first dose of Plan B. First I thought it was general cranikiness, but then it became some kind of bleak emotional quicksand. I felt myself sinking. I wanted to exercise when I got home, get the endorphins working for me, but my body felt leaden, sluggish.

I went to bed early, slept through the night, woke up before my alarm. I should be refreshed, and physically I'm okay. Mentally, not so much. Basically, I can't allow myself to think about anything too much, or else I get overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness, failure, and despair. I'm trying to remind myself that it's the crazy dose of hormones coursing through my body, but it's no good. Right now, it's easier to believe that I've done nothing, and am worth nothing, and things will never, ever fall into place for me.

Good times.

the mornings after

2007-05-08T09:34:00.000-04:00

I have used emergency contraception three times in my life:

1. College.
One night my boyfriend and I got carried away and had sex without a condom. The next day, I went to a local clinic and got the morning after pill, which back then was a series of four or eight birth control pills (nowadays, it's a high dosage of two pills). Apart from the fear of pregnancy, I was concerned about the possible side effects of the medication, having previously had a very negative experience with the birth control pill.

The side effects hit me hard. The nausea wasn't so bad, but the exhaustion and depression were far from pleasant. It was like being hit with some kind of severe emotional flu for a few days. I don't remember much about it apart from a dark haze. The worst part was, my boyfriend wasn't around to take care of me. I remember talking to him on the phone, telling him I didn't feel well, maybe even crying, but he never offered to come over to check in on me. Maybe he thought it was something I needed to go through on my own; I don't know. My brain was too clouded over at the time to think he may have been behaving in an insensitive way. I don't think he ever gave me a real reason. We stayed together after that, for another couple of months. I ended up trying out a different birth control pill while dating him, and this one didn't affect me as badly, but I still couldn't get over the psychological implications of messing with my body's hormonal balance and kept worrying I would slip into another depression. After that one mishap, we always stuck to condoms.

2. Six years ago.
I was living with a man, involved in what what was one of my healthiest relationships to date. One night, the condom broke. We worked near each other, so my boyfriend accompanied me to the clinic on my lunch break. There was a longer wait to be seen than I expected, so he had to return to the office after an hour. I stayed behind, sensing the minutes ticking by, anxiously remembering that the first dose needs to be taken as quickly as possible after the "incident." In my nervousness, I neglected to call work to inform them that I'd be delayed.

I returned to the office four hours four later. My manager was livid and took me into the kitchen to chew me out. I remember his face was tomato-red, but before he could say anything I burst into tears. I had no choice but to tell him the truth. As soon as I mentioned the words "emergency birth control" his anger gave way to awkward embarrassment. The delicate nature of what I shared paired with my tears made for a lenient and sympathetic manager. I wiped my tears, returned to my desk, and finished out the day.

This time, I can't remember feeling any of the medication's side effects. It turned out that having the condom break and getting the morning after pill wasn't as nerve-wracking as having to tell my manager about it so that he wouldn't yell at me.

3. Yesterday.
I wasn't even going to take it. Yes, certain risky sexual behavior transpired, but it wasn't something that could be classified as a mishap. More of a caught-up-in-the-moment kind of thing. My gut told me I'd be okay, but my gut isn't fail-safe. If another clinic visit was required, I would have scrapped the idea, but now they sell the stuff over the counter (at the pharmacy's discretion, so not all will carry it). Apparently, if you're over 18, and have ID and fifty bucks, you can get Plan B.

I was surprised to learn how pricey it was. Then again, an abortion is even more expensive, to say nothing of the costs (financial and beyond) of raising an actual kid. I decided it was worth it for extra peace of mind, so I took my passport and stopped by my local pharmacy on my way to the movies. The man and woman behind the counter were friendly and polite, though they did look at me with a slight air of concern and sympathy. The pharmacist, while checking my passport, said I look much younger than in the photo. I appreciated his kindness.

I took the first pill just before entering the subway, set an alarm on my cell phone to wake me up for the second dose, and went on my merry way.

Once again, I braced myself for side effects, but I feel okay so far. A little tired and a little anxious, but I don't know if that's from the pills or from a restless night of sleep paired with work stress.

I don't plan on making a habit of needing it, but am extremely grateful that I've always had access to emergency contraception. Though I want to have a family some day, getting pregnant right now is a frightening prospect (I mean, the week I spent taking care of my parent's dog seemed like a huge responsibility). Having taken Plan B, I'm immensely relieved that I've lowered my odds of conceiving (though the next few weeks will be a bit tense until I am completely sure I'm not pregnant).

As much as I've been craving adventure, and as much fun as that preceding night was, I know playing fast and loose with my fertility should not be the way I seek it out. I've been lucky that no previous incidents have resulted in STDs or pregnancy. For the record, I'll be more careful in the future.

Blind Items: Dumb Blondes...and Brunettes...and Redheads

2007-05-03T09:18:00.000-04:00

There has been an epidemic of bad romantic decision-making among the women I know, the likes of which I have never seen. Is there something in the mascara?

Let's examine the evidence, shall we? Names and identifying details withheld to protect the foolish (myself included):

Exhibit A: She's still getting over the break-up of a long-term relationship, but can't help from chronically text messaging a former one-night-stand-turned-fling who has done nothing but play head games with her, who is beneath her to begin with.

Exhibit B: She dragged things out with her sociopathic boyfriend for way too long, finally broke things off, and soon after ended up drunkenly making out with a guy in a serious relationship.

Exhibit C: She spent the night talking about what a wonderful, sweet, caring boyfriend she has, and a couple of days later made out with a guy who has been flaky and sketchy with her, and has psychological problems, as well as some kind of sexual dysfunction.

Exhibit D: She has been flirting online with a man in a foreign country who is in a serious (live-in) relationship. They've done nothing more than chat, and neither want to cross any boundaries, but conversation topics have included masturbation and pornography.

Exhibit E: She has such a rigid ideal of what her "type" is, she closes herself off from any potential suitors and has been on exactly one date in the last year, preferring instead to concoct theories about relationships and love that are grounded very little in personal experience. She's about to move to another country where her chances of meeting a potential suitor are even lower.

Exhibit F: She was told from the beginning that he was never faithful to a woman, but got physically and then emotionally involved. Soon after, he slept with someone else, came clean about it, and ended up hurting her despite the warning.

Exhibit G: She spent one night crying over her ex, the next night "getting over" him, the next night telling him how evil he is, and the night after that inviting him over.

What is wrong with all of us? How can a group of such smart, attractive women make such colossally stupid choices? I think sometimes it's because we want a little mischief or adventure, we want to cut lose and stop being sensible all the time (or, in the case of inaction, want to protect ourselves from deep emotional harm). Sometimes alcohol plays a big part in the bad behavior. In many of the above cases, we all got ample warning about what a Bad Idea it would be to get entangled, but went ahead anyway. Maybe we thought we'd be able to keep our hearts out of it. Maybe we didn't do much thinking at all and let our instincts and impulses carry us instead.

Part of me wants to get all self-righteous about it, give lectures about being more self-aware, having more self-respect, etc. But I don't think that's the problem. We're talking about a pretty bright bunch of ladies here. I think it's more that we need to get a little crazy sometimes. Or even a lot. So let's ride out this wave of madness and see where it leads us...

[ETA: In keeping with the gossip rag style of this post, I'm a little disappointed with myself that I wasn't able to work in the word "canoodling" in any of the blind items. Next time.]

the good, the bad, the unexpected

2007-04-30T11:44:00.000-04:00

On paper, last week was not a good week. At least, not when compared to the week before.

The week before was full of potential. The romantic situation was convoluted-but-promising and I had an amazing job interview. An interview where I saw a future for myself, with a company I admired and was excited at the prospect of joining. Just like that, out of nowhere, in the space of a few days, life appeared to be in an upswing.

Then last week happened. The email from BT happened. Then I got a call from the company, telling me how much they loved me, what a great impression I made... but how they decided they need someone with more relevant industry experience after all. Just like that, everything seemed to go to shit.

In the past, I would have let the disappointments really get to me. Granted, I did spend a little time moping, but I decided to shift my perspective. The fact that my love and work life took these unexpected turns taught me to expect unpredictability and weather the (positive and negative) surprises with as much grace as possible.

A few weeks ago, I saw The Last Kiss, a movie in which Zack Braff has a fabulous career, a gorgeous girlfriend pregnant with his child, and a group of awesome friends, but because he is about to turn 30 and thinks his life has no more surprises in store for him, he has a big ol' existential crisis and acts like a dumbass for 90 cinematic minutes. For the most part, I enjoyed the film (I'm partial to the angst of my peers). I found it comforting that a character that had a great life mapped out for him would envy the thing that my life is currently rife with: unpredictability. It made me realize how much freedom I have, and how open I am to the unexpected. I am not tied to my job, I have no kids or other family to support, and my lease expires this summer. I have some responsibilities, but in many ways, I am a free agent. That's pretty great.

If I learned anything from the movie, it's that people will always find reasons to have a crisis, reasons to be dissatisfied with what they've been dealt. I'm trying not to do that. Yes, I do feel anxious at the lack of stability in my life, but I also know I'm taking active measures to improve my situation, while remembering that the "right" job or man will not make me happy. All I can do is find that happiness in ways that are within my reach. I'm learning to focus less on having a perfect life and more on enjoying perfect moments.

A short list of perfect moments this weekend: seeing the magnolia trees in bloom in the park, eating sushi while watching DVDs on my couch, having a drunk bartender shamelessly flirt with me (no, not Ben or BT), laughing with Polly, and most of all this:

5:00am Saturday, smoking outside, tipsy, not realizing the drop in temperature until back inside.

"Why are your fingers cold?"

"Because I was outside smoking."

"How many did you have?"

"Three. In a row."

Suddenly, my cold hands were enveloped in warm ones, the chill rubbed out of them, the fingers kissed.

I looked up and smiled.

"Thank you."

better off... just not right now

2007-04-28T19:07:00.000-04:00

I miss him.

it's over...again

2007-04-25T09:27:00.000-04:00

Email from BT, two days ago:

You are going to get hurt. I don't know how many times I can tell you this. I don't want to be selfish, but I enjoy spending time with you. So I guess I will do so and eventually you will get hurt. Sound good?

Well...I guess that's that.

it's simple, except when it isn't

2007-04-23T11:07:00.000-04:00

I wanted to go on dates. The kind where you pick a nice place to meet ahead of time, get a little dressed up, bring your A game. The kind where there is food or drink or some sort of mildly engaging activity involved, like a movie or a museum.

I wanted to go on dates with BT. However, after the email I received from him earlier in the week, I got it into my head that he was taking a step back, about to do the fade. There were further text messages, but nothing about wanting to see me again. I felt neglected and was scared that I was starting to like him too much. After witnessing Polly's recent ordeal, where she was the one who cared more, where she spent months being uncertain and insecure, I was worried about having an emotional imbalance. I needed to stay level-headed, so I went into self-preservation mode.

My self-preservation mode involved a brief return to the world of online dating. I figured that meeting new people would help put things in perspective and keep me from getting too attached to BT. I also figured that there was a good chance BT was seeing other people, remembering everything I heard about how easy it is for bartenders to get play. Of course, the smart thing to do would have been to have a conversation about that beforehand. But the idea of BT fooling around with other women was so disturbing to me, I decided to be a coward and do my own thing until he and I established whether or not we a real couple. I figured until then, we were on a break. Then BT made a an offhand comment about possibly moving across the country and that put even more fear into my heart.

So I went on a couple of dates. They were like 85% of all the online dates I've been on: pleasant but uneventful. No spark, no chemistry. No BT. I tried to be open, tried to give these guys a chance, but when they would leave the table, I would check my phone for texts from BT. Not fair to the dates, not fair to BT.

Saturday night, we both got drunk separately and met up at my place at 5:00am. We had a date for the following day and I know we were continuing a pattern of behavior that is maybe not the wisest early on, but I cannot convey how good it was to see him walk through my door. I was tipsy and giggly and so, so happy. This is what I was waiting for. I could go on a million dates, but it wouldn't do any good, because it was too late, I was hooked on BT.

"What are we doing?" BT asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"Me neither."

We looked at each other and I realized that the previous times we were together, I shied away from prolonged eye contact. This time, I really looked at him and I know why I had avoided it. When I gazed into his eyes, it was like moving at warp speed, the walls and floor and bed melting away.

"Tell me you're not getting emotionally attached," he said.

I looked at him, saying nothing.

"You are," he confirmed.

Shit. BT was right.

"I am," I admitted. "But you are, too."

"I am."

It seems like it should be so simple from here. Two people like each other, have a physical and emotional connection and decide to be in a relationship. Except that last bit was a stumbling block. It's too convoluted and personal for me to go into, but suffice it to say that a relationship was deemed Not a Good Idea by both parties.

"What if we kept it open, saw other people?" I suggested.

"I think you are already too attached to do that."

I came clean, told him about the two dates. I was floored at how upset BT was about it. He hadn't been seeing other people, he had been thinking about me, about us. He thought I'd be loyal while we were figuring things out.

Oh my god. I had no idea. I wasn't even sure he liked me that much. I thought he was too caught up in his other problems to give me much thought. If we had Saturday's conversation a week earlier, I never, ever would have gone on those dates. The fact that I left BT feeling so betrayed horrified me. And it made me realize just how much I care about him, even though I had just hurt him.

More conversation, no sleep until 7:30am. Kinda throws off Sunday's plans. No resolution on where we stand.

Yesterday afternoon, after BT left, I was still confused, but oddly hopeful. In my previous post, I mentioned that when two people get together, the beginning needs to be fun. When I'm with BT, it isn't fun, it's exhilarating. Through the chaos and uncertainty, there is the kind of passion that I live for.

Then there's last night. Last night was madness. BT came over, drunk. His knuckles were swollen, because he had punched out a troublemaker at the bar. I had eaten a spicy Indian meal for dinner and felt like I ingested a gallon of acid. We played Scrabble for ten minutes, then started fooling around, then started fighting about my stupid two dates. He said I ruined the trust between us, that he didn't see us going the distance.

I felt sick. I went to the bathroom and threw up. Went back to my room and cried, thinking this was it, I'd never see him again. BT held me and stroked my hair and I didn't want it to be over.

More fighting, more crying, more holding each other. Then I went to the bathroom and threw up again (yay, food poisoning).

BT asked me to call in sick, so that we could spend the day together. I wanted to, but logistics and circumstances at work made it impossible, even though I felt nauseaus again and didn't know if I'd be up all night vomiting. I was really sick and he was really drunk; hardly a dynamic duo.

He left, and I went into the bathroom and puked the last of the Indian food, got really scared at how much was coming up, thought I'd start vomiting blood. I shivered and crawled into bed, finally fell asleep.

Went to work this morning, happy to be keeping food down, uncertain about everything else. When BT left last night, it might have been for good. I said that if he was so sure he was going to break my heart, that this couldn't work between us, we might as well put a stop to things now instead of getting more deeply involved.

I sent BT an email this morning, trying to put all my thoughts in order, apologizing again for damaging the trust between us. Ultimately, after everything that has happened, despite trying to keep my emotions in check, I want BT. Nobody else. It's that complicated and it's that simple.

coming out

2007-04-20T10:28:00.000-04:00

I asked BT if he found the blog (via text; it's always texts). He said no, that he gave up looking.

I could have left it there, taken it on faith that he didn't and wouldn't discover it.

"They always find the blog," Polly said.

It's true. As soon as they know you have a blog, unless you are super-stealthy, it's bound to be found. And I'm not stealth girl. Magazine Mitch once said that I'm so mysterious, that I have so many secrets. While hearing that makes me feel like some kind of sexy spy movie villain, it also makes me think of being somewhat duplicitous. Some people know about Dolly, some people know Real Me, but there are only a handful of people who know both. Anybody I'm going to date even semi-seriously should know both.

Even though BT and I are technically not in a relationship, I was glad to know he was that curious about me, and the blog, even if it was to see what I wrote about him. Considering all the hurdles we have between us, I didn't want the blog to be another potential issue, so I gave him the link. After all, I was already writing posts with a view that he would eventually read them. Might as well make it sooner than later. And if there has been an overriding theme to our interractions (besides alcohol), it's been honesty. Which has also been a theme in keeping this blog.

BT didn't go into the archives, and said I was "comprehensive" in my chronicle. He called my writing "great", which is always nice for the ego (I also believe you should not date anyone whose creative talent you don't believe in). He also sent me an email explaining his current situation in a bit more detail. Look at that, two people communicating, sharing and getting to know each other a bit better.

There have been a lot more text messages this week. We're supposed to see each other over the weekend. A proper date, perhaps?

I'm staying rational about the whole thing. Keeping my options open, paying attention to how I feel.

I've dated issue guys, and I am no longer under the illusion that I can offer some kind of cure to their problems. The last time I succumbed to the bird-with-broken-wing syndrome, I got involved with a chronically depressed man who not only brought me down with him, but shattered my self-esteem in the process. I know, I know, he didn't do it to me, I allowed it to be done to myself. Even so, the relationship mutated into something morbid and emotionally abusive, to a point where I didn't believe I deserved any better. That was a couple of years ago, and since then I have developed a hell of a lot more self-respect and inner strength. Today, I like who I am, and I know I deserve to be treated well.

Luckily, BT is also aware of my awesomeness, and made it clear he doesn't want to hurt me. Good, and ditto. It's kind of a quandry, because while we are working through our personal shit, I know there's still a connection. A chemistry that I don't want to ignore. At the same time, there's a lot I don't know about him and his daily life, and I need to be so very careful with these feelings of mine.

All I know is, we're at the beginning and the beginning needs to be fun. Both people need to feel good together. I promised myself I'd keep a level head about this and I am sticking to that promise. No angst, no tears, just a lot of awareness and maybe a little bit of caution. How very sensible of me.

tick tock, tick tock

2007-04-17T12:40:00.000-04:00

Any minute now, BT will stumble upon this blog, into the private stories of the last sixteen months of my life. I shouldn't feel so much dread, but I do. I take pride in my writing, but I also know there's a good chance he might read the blog and decide he doesn't want to see me anymore. Maybe not because of what I wrote about other people, but what I wrote about him.

I stand by my words; I still think BT and I are both a bit lost and frustrated in our lives, and a relationship might put more strain on the existing situations. At the same time, I know that I haven't met a man with this much boyfriend potential in over a year. I know there's a chemistry, a something between us.

I also know that we need to go on some real dates to see what this something is. Dates that don't involve alcohol and nudity. Are we destined to have nothing more than a fling? I don't know. Could I handle a purely physical relationship? I thought I could, but I usually end up getting emotionally attached (damn oxytocin!) and I can see myself heading down that path with BT.

For the most part, I took a break from dating this year, and it has served me well. It's been great to be self-sufficient and put my attention into the non-romantic aspects of my life. However, I was saying to Polly this morning, say I accomplish the two goals I set out for myself this year, I get myself in proper shape and find a new job. Then what? A boyfriend will magically appear because I'm officially "ready"? It doesn't work that way.

It's safe not to get attached to anyone, and the last couple of weeks have shown me the ups and downs that can occur. I get nervous when I don't hear from him, I feel all smiley when I know I'm going to see him, and I've had periodic moments of anxiety in between when trying to figure out What it All Means.

I wish I could be the cool girl, the takes-things-as-they-come girl, instead of the confused girl.

All around me, I see failed relationships. My heart goes out to Polly, who I have been trying to comfort over her recent breakup. My parents did not set a good template of a happy and successful relationship for me (though I love them dearly and don't want to place any blame on them). Yes, I know of a few happy couples, but they seem more the exception than the rule. I have tried everything I can think of and have even tried not trying, but my love life often seems in a state of disarray. Pacing and patience are two of my problems, I know that much.

Being a romantic in New York City (or probably anywhere, for that matter) is murder. I don't believe in god, but I believe in true love, and keeping that faith can be unbelievably hard sometimes. I know I can do it again, open up and be vulnerable, make another person's happiness a priority, foster intimacy and friendship, listen, comfort, support, all of that relationship good stuff. I know reciprocity is key. I have the How down, it's just a matter of the When and the Who.

Maybe what I'm scared of is wanting all that stuff again, knowing that I have to give my heart to balance the scales. It's such a risk, such a leap of faith. How do people do it? How did I?

The BT Update: What I Know...and What I Don't

2007-04-15T19:20:00.000-04:00

I know...

...I didn't expect to hear from BT after Wednesday's "break-up," but when I received text messages from him the following day, they made me smile.

...We still like each other (he calls me 'dollface' and I call him 'sweetie').

...As busy as I was with other things, I found myself missing him.

...We are both trying to put our lives in order, obstacles and uncertainties abound, and the timing for a relationship may not be right for either of us.

...BT is a good man.

...Regardless of anyone who tried to flirt with me at Cozy Bar last night, I was really happy to be in BT's arms at the end of the night.

...BT is going to find this blog very, very soon (there was a little slip-up), which makes me unsure of how much to write just yet.

...I need to stay level-headed, not get overtaken with the pheromones.

...I want to see him again.

I don't know...

...How I feel about all of this.

last call

2007-04-12T10:11:00.000-04:00

Goodness gracious, where do I even begin?

I guess I'll go back to Tuesday, when BT came over for a movie night. Shortly after he arrived, he got a text from his sister, who just arrived in New York (she lives across the country). He completely forgot that she would be passing through and said he might have to leave to meet her, since she was only going to be in town briefly.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"I'm not even kidding you," he showed me the text message.

Not an auspicious beginning.

BT called his sister, said he had dinner plans, but would see her later. I was already on edge, because now I felt like the date had some kind of expiration timer on it. Still, I decided to be flexible and not make an issue of it.

Things got better. We chatted a bit as we picked out a movie and I was happy to see that our physical chemistry was still strong. After fooling around a bit, we ordered food and watched the movie.

As soon as the credits started to roll, BT stood up, apologized, and said he had to go. The date clocked in at a mere three hours, and felt very abrupt.

"Maybe I can see you on Thursday," he said, as he was leaving.

"I might be having drinks with a friend," I answered.

"Ooh, so popular."

"We'll figure something out."

After he left, I felt... I don't know how I felt. Confused? Uneasy? Dissatisfied? A little empty? The date with BT felt like the kind of date you'd have in the middle of a relationship, when both people are a little out of it, but spend a few low key hours in each others' company. The night felt like we had bypassed all of the fun early relationship buzz and went straight for the comfort. I would have liked things to be a bit more affectionate, and also wasn't sure that we were connecting on a conversational level as much as I'd want to be with someone I was dating. At the same time, everyone is allowed an off night, so I was willing to see how the next date went before deciding anything.

The positive thing about having the date end so early was that I was able to wake up at 6:00am the following morning and make it to an early exercise class with my favorite instructor. Getting the endorphins flowing helped set my mind straight.

I realized a few things. A relationship means setting aside a certain amount of time for the other person, and I felt anxious about committing so much of my schedule. I'm scared of a relationship interfering with certain routines I have set for myself. I had already missed one workout due to sleep deprivation on Monday, and was expecting the same to happen yesterday. As much as I am a night person and love staying up late, I still have a day job and BT's schedule would have really messed with my circadian rhythms. The thought of dating a guy who works nights was becoming more surreal to me, anyway; it's like being involved with someone who lives in a different time zone. BT would rarely be able to go to sleep and wake up at the same time as me; it would always feel like he was just passing through.

Then there was the matter of his job. The fact that he is paid to flirt is not the issue with me, but more the fact that he is also a writer and is also dissatisfied with his job, and on the verge of burnout. It's one thing for one person in the relationship to be at a loss career-wise, or to have lofty, creative, and possibly unattainable career goals. For both people to be in a similar situation is asking for trouble. I know I definitely want to have a family someday and I want to be with a man with career stability. I'm not talking loads of money, but I am talking security. A month or so before BF David and I broke up, I remember thinking that his love of theater and desire to return to acting did not add up to the kind of stability I wanted in a potential mate. But since I had developed all these feelings for him, I felt like I had to accept it and make the best of it, even though it was a source of anxiety. With BT, it's still early days, and those emotional attachments haven't formed yet. Which means I can still be sensible and rationally consider whether this is a man I could build a future with.

I spent much of yesterday mulling all of this over, I decided I didn't want to wait until I heard from him or saw him next. I needed to say something. I should have picked up the phone right away, but I was at work, so I texted him instead. I wrote:

Last night was weird. Can we go on some regular dates and get to know each other better?

He replied: Sure. What was weird?

I replied that I just wanted to make sure we got to know and like each other as people, and he replied that we did rush into things and should slow it down.

I ended up stepping outside and calling him anyway, to clarify. He said that he broke up with somebody at the beginning of the year, and ended something recently, and that maybe he should spend some time on his own.

"See, I want to know about those relationships and why they didn't work out. And I've spent the last few months purposefully single because I was working on other things, and I want you to know about that, too. There's a lot for us to talk about."

"We'll talk. We'll still date, I'm not cutting you off, we should just take things slower."

"See, I think we are so similar in a lot of ways, and maybe not all of them so great. Because I also have a tendency to be compulsive and rush into things, so it was easy to get carried away."

I know why I let myself get carried away. Since the beginning of the year, I have regimented my life in many ways. I am strict about what I eat, I am strict about how often I exercise, and even my social calendar, while flexible, gets filled in an orderly way. I may come across as a party girl from all the boozy weekends I write about, but I keep track of every single drink I have and do intense 90-minute cardio workouts Saturdays and Sundays, to balance out the weekend's indulgences. I have also been scouring job sites regularly, and doing research on various career options, spending countless hours mulling over what my skills might be suited for. Even my vacation, which was lovely and beyond wonderful, had an itinerary with every day mapped out.

Even though I'm the one who drew them, it seemed like everything in my life had to adhere to certain rules and borders, despite the freedom I had within the lines. When BT came along, he broke the rules by being so direct and off-beat, he went beyond those borders. His unpretentiousness was so refreshing, it made me less reserved, too. If he could tell me openly that he had a crush on me, I felt free enough to tell him I had been thinking about him all day. No games, no bullshit: this is how it's supposed to be.

That's why, when he asked to be my boyfriend, I agreed. Yes, the sensible thing would have been to wait a few dates, have some heart-to-hearts, make sure we were truly compatible. However, I spent the last several months being so sensible and disciplined in these other areas of my life, I just wanted to go off the map for a little while. It was like a mini-emotional road trip.

And now? I'm back to the regimentation, but I love it. I'm thirty pounds lighter, my body is the strongest it has ever been, which has in turn helped me become more resilient on a mental and emotional level. I have also developed a confidence and autonomy that I never had before. I'm still fine-tuning it, but I love the life I have created for myself. The idea of letting someone into that life is overwhelming to me. Not inconceivable, but something I know should not be a priority right now.

I wasn't looking, and they always say it happens when you aren't looking, so I thought BT was this wonderful, not-sought-after surprise.

Well, I am still not looking, so lord knows what's in store next....

strange times

2007-04-11T15:59:00.000-04:00

Okay, so this must be a record, but I seem to have gone from single to in a relationship and back to single in the span of three days. I'm totally okay with it, too.

"I'm not sure I should be dating anyone right now," BT said, just a few minutes ago.

Thing is, I think I feel the same way. I'll write more, but right now I'm just making sense of all of it in my head.

Well then. So much for being spontaneous.

the date before the date

2007-04-09T10:55:00.000-04:00

BT sent me a text last night, asking me what I was up to and inviting me out for dinner. He was in my neighborhood and wanted to see me. I already ate, but wanted to see him, too, so I agreed to meet him for a drink. I showered and made myself cute at lightning speed.

Is this a bad idea? I wondered. Tuesday wasn't all that far away, and I had a long day at work waiting for me the next day, so I couldn't make it a late night (hell, I never make it a late night on Sunday, unless it's a three day weekend). At the same time, I loved the idea of being so spontaneous. I also loved how direct he was about wanting to hang out with me.

Plus, I saw him on Saturday night, too. He sent me a text, letting me know he was working if I wanted to stop by. I ended up staying until the bar closed, chatting with his friends and other customers when he was busy working. It was relaxed and we didn't have much physical contact, but I still felt a connection and discovered more things we had in common.

Back to last night. I sat at the bar with him and ordered a glass of wine. He was very affectionate and laid back, joking with the bartender one minute and telling me I smelled good the next. I was nervous, but the I'm-out-with-a-guy-I-like-and-want-to-kiss kind of nervous.

When we took a break to smoke a cigarette, BT asked why I didn't have a boyfriend.

"I don't know. I had one last year and it was nice. But then I focused on other things. I'm not one of those women that always needs to have a man in my life. And I didn't meet anyone who was a contender."

"Am I a contender?"

I smiled. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I think you are."

"I think I am, too. Do you want a boyfriend?"

"I'm open to the idea."

"You're open to the idea..." he echoed, nodding.

There was some kissing. BT is tall and strapping and when he hugged me, I didn't feel the cold.

Later on (and I hadn't even finished my first glass of wine, still stone cold sober), we went outside again.

"So you're 'open to the idea' of a boyfriend," he continued.

"I am."

"I think I should be your boyfriend. I think you're awesome, and I'm pretty awesome, too."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

I tried to reason that it was fast, we hardly knew each other, etc.

"I know enough," he said.

The crazy thing is, I knew it the first time I met BT. There was something very... inevitable about the whole thing. He's a straight shooter and made me feel comfortable being my complete and utter real self around him. I wasn't looking for a relationship, but all of this felt right, serendipitous, something I needed to follow.

"Okay," I nodded.

"Yes?"

"Yes. So what does this mean? We don't see other people?"

"No."

"Do we change our status on MySpace?" I asked.

"Of course."

I am still pretty shell-shocked over the whole thing. I did not expect to end up with boyfriend before the end of the weekend, especially not before our first date. It's rather unconventional, but I like it. And I like him. A lot.

Life is nothing if not surprising and I've just been given one hell of a happy surprise...

no subtext, just text

2007-04-07T11:49:00.000-04:00

Met up with Podcast Penny and Coworker Chris last night. After a few drinks, Penny and I decided to head over to my neighborhood to check out a bar that isn't Cozy (dare I say I'm becoming a teeny bit tired of that place?).

We ended up at Book Bar, which is a couple of blocks away from Random Bar. I knew there was absolutely no way we could go to BT's place of work, but I felt a strong impulse to send him a text message. We exchanged a few texts earlier that day, so I didn't think it was totally off-base.

I know that perhaps it wasn't the best idea (I wasn't even drunk, just vaguely tipsy), but I decided that I didn't want to play the game of pretending not to be interested. I wanted to be the real me, and the real me really wanted to text him at that moment.

This is what I wrote:
At Book Bar. Would have stopped by Random Bar, but don't want to risk a restraining order before our first date. Guess I'll have to wait 'til Tuesday.

Bold move and could have Seriously Messed Things Up. Instead, we had the following text exchange over the course of the next twenty minutes:

BT: I actually called out sick. I'm home.

Me: Feel better. I'm still sniffly, but in denial.

BT: I miss you though.

[He does? I felt my stomach go all fluttery.]

Me: I miss you, too.

BT: I've got a crush on you.

[My jaw literally dropped open when I read that. Penny smiled, excited for me.]

Me: I.m blushing. And smiling.

BT: I still haven't figured out what we're doing.

Me: No pressure. I just want to hang out with you.

BT: Goodie. Me too.

Me: Get better.

BT: Thanks baby.

I put my phone away, beaming.

"This is so strange, Penny. It's all very BF/GF and we haven't even had our first date."

"It's been like that pretty much from the start," Penny knowingly replied.

"It has. That's so weird," I shook my head, puzzled.

This is where I try to keep a level head and not get my hopes up. The beginning needs to be about having fun, keeping things light, feeling good. There's plenty of time for things to get deep and complicated and emotionally tumultuous.

Right now, I feel good. Not thrilled that Tuesday is three whole fucking days away (four, if you count today), but I love having something like this to look forward to.

the sweetest sound in the world...

2007-04-04T21:08:00.000-04:00

...is the sound of the phone ringing. Well, it is when the person calling is the guy.

Barman BT just called. He's been sick, too. He's also had to work during his illness. With a 103 degree fever.

"Wow, it sounds like you've been sicker than me," I said.

"I probably was sicker."

"So you win this round, but I'll win the next one."

"I don't know, I think you gave me something," he joked.

"Well, that handshake of mine is pretty lethal."

He laughed.

"So I was calling to see when you're free to hang out. What's your schedule like?" he asked.

I told him I'm a 9-to-5'er.

"That's going to make it pretty tough to hang out with me. I work nights."

"Not every night, right?"

We narrowed it down to tomorrow or Tuesday.

"How about I give you a call tomorrow, just to make sure I'm feeling better," BT suggested.

"Better yet, why don't we say Tuesday and give our immune systems a rest?"

"Okay. So I'll see you on Tuesday, though I don't know what we're gonna do."

"Well, you have all weekend to come up with something good," I replied.

"Oh, that's right, I get to do all the work because I'm the guy."

"Yep. And as the girl, all I have to do is show up and look pretty."

"I'll see you on Tuesday."

I hung up and ran out of my room, squealing with glee. Roommate Rachel shook her head in amusement (or was it exasperation?) and said,

"I told you he'd call. I knew he would."

I kind of knew he would, too, just didn't think it would take this long. I didn't even consider that he might be sick, too. I just overreacted and figured he changed his mind or had a harem keeping him busy or something. So yes, I feel kind of silly. But extremely relieved. And all kinds of "YAY!"

I can feel my health improving by the minute.

I have a date with BT on Tuesday!

How YOU doin?

2007-04-04T14:52:00.004-04:00

No, I haven't been possessed by the spirit of Joey Tribiani. The above is, word for word, the text message I received from BT early last night.

How am I "doin"? In a word, "crappy", but much of that is due to being sick and having no energy for fun things (or really, much of anything). Somehow, I dragged myself to work yesterday, and even made it to a job interview in the afternoon. Sadly, I'm pretty sure I don't want the job, another bummer.

I called Magazine Mitch yesterday and left him a message postponing our...hanging out (won't be presumptuous enough to think of it as a date). Came home and got that text from BT. I honestly didn't know how to respond. I called Podcast Penny, who made me realize that I didn't want BT and I to get caught up in a long text discussion. I sucked it up and called him. Got his voicemail. Left a message, mustering as much casual charm as I could, joked about being hopped up on cold medication.

He didn't call back, but I was busy jobhunting and passed out so early anyway, so it doesn't matter. Much. Plus, I'm trying to focus more on looking for a new job these days, less on looking for a new man (that will happen in its own time).

Today hasn't been so great, either. After making conclusively sure that I would not be sick on the subway, I crawled into the office again, where I have been steadily assaulted with tasks and have cried at my desk not once, but twice (let's remember that being sick makes me even more of an emotional wuss than I normally am).

The positive thing about illness is that it makes it easy to not care about boys who don't call. The negative thing about illness (other than feeling like poo on a cracker) is that it can trigger self-pity mode. I have to keep reminding myself that my body will regain its strength, this achiness and congestion will go away, and I will return to my former exuberant self. It just sucks to be me right this second.

So yeah, if you ask how I'm "doin" I'd have to say I've been better. And I'm a bit disgruntled with boys.

a watched phone doesn't ring

2007-04-02T22:14:00.000-04:00

I was sure Barman BT would call by now. I thought if he was direct enough to send me a text, message asking me out within hours of meeting me (to which I replied the next morning, affirmitavely), he'd call by the end of the weekend to plan the date. At the very least, he should have called by tonight.

This is what I hate about dating more than anything else: the waiting for a guy to call. I've said this before and I'll say it again. I can survive catastrophes on all different levels, but make me wait a little too long for a guy I like to call and it's only a matter of time before I'm ready to be fitted for a straitjacket.

I pick my battles. The cute sculptor I met on Saturday at Cozy Bar after yelling at him for sending text messages in the ladies room and holding up the line, but who took a fancy to me anyway, asked me out and got my number? I don't expect to hear from him, and I am okay with that. In fact, I am pretty much that way with any man I meet in a bar; I know it's not an atmosphere that caters to fostering serious relationships.

With BT, I thought it was different. I thought he was a contender. After talking to Podcast Penny about me, he said,

"Did you just make a love connection? I think you just made a love connection." (In reference to him and me; this was shortly after referring to me as his future wife.)

Maybe I'm a sucker, maybe he talks about women like this all the time. After the emotional hallucination that was Barman Ben, I clearly need to refine my instincts a bit. Nevertheless, I did sense a connection with BT and, to my utter dismay, found myself urging my phone to ring from Sunday afternoon onwards. I glared at it, I checked to make I had reception and the battery was charged, I read and reread BT's text, which sure made it seem like he was interested in me.

"Ring, damn you! Ring!" That's right, I yelled at my cell phone. Not my proudest moment.

Roommate Rachel, bless her innocent soul, thinks he is waiting to call because he's thinking of ideas for our first date. Somehow I had doubt there is a hot air balloon ride and picnic lunch in my near future. BT did mention that his lease is up soon, so he might be caught up in apartment hunting stress, but still. I can't make excuses for guy. He seemed so keen, I didn't think I'd have to wait this long.

Then, tonight, the phone rang. A number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dolly D?" Male voice, British accent.

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"You don't remember me, Dolly D?" His repeated use of my full name cracked me up.

Magazine Mitch.

Now this was a surprise.

"I haven't seen you around Cozy Bar," I said. "I thought I'd run into you by now."

"I was there last Friday," Mitch replied.

"See, I asked Ben if he'd seen you recently and he said, 'Not for a while. But he did come to my show.' I had to remind him that we saw his show together. He can be such a jerk."

"Well, I saw him last week, but don't worry, I didn't spill the beans."

I laughed. "Oh, I'm over him now, anyway. So there's nothing to spill."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's a cool guy, but let's call it temporary insanity."

Mitch said he wanted to hear all about my trip, but when I started to talk about it, he interrupted:

"No, no, I want you to tell me properly. In person."

He mentioned his own recent vacation and an amazing mushroom trip he had.

"It does sound like we have a lot to catch up on," I said.

He suggested meeting up for drinks this week and promised he wouldn't keep me out too late on a school night. He also said he's been doing various searches online to find my blog, but still hasn't been able to locate it (uh-oh, only a matter of time now).

I told him I'd call him tomorrow.

I don't want to have a rotation, I don't want to have a bunch of guys on the go simultaneously. I can't do flings without getting emotionally involved, it's no good.

I want BT to call. I got the feeling he could sweep me off my feet. Now, I have the feeling I won't be returning to Random Bar any time soon.

Magazine Mitch's reappearance is an unexpected twist. I do have a great time with him and I did promise to keep myself open to new experiences, so I might as well see where that will lead.

closer to home

2007-03-31T15:17:00.000-04:00

Went out with Podcast Penny last night. First visit to Cozy Bar in nearly three weeks and the bar was surprisingly subdued for a Friday.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want it to set you back," Penny said, as we were getting ready.

"Do you mean Ben? Oh God, that's not going to be an issue. I mean, I did think about him a little while I was away, but it was more a matter of coming to my senses. I don't know how I got so carried away."

"I was getting a little worried about you, but I didn't know what to say."

"Believe me, I wanted to change the record, too. I was tired of talking about him so much. It was like being cursed. I know I'm smart, but it's like I fell into some kind of trap. It feels so good to be over it."

Of course, I wouldn't know I was truly over it until I saw him again.

I admit, I was rather frosty to him. Greeted one of the regulars, but didn't really say hello to Ben, just waited until he was free to serve us and ordered a drink.

Podcast Penny and I started up a conversation with a very cool man who teaches swing dancing (let's call him Swinger Sam). A little later, his equally cool girlfriend showed up and we chatted with her as well. She's a milliner and was wearing one of her creations (naturally, I have to call her Hattie). I have seen Sam and Hattie at the bar before--they are very striking and stylish--so it was nice to discover how lovely they are to talk to.

It turns out they are friends of Ben's, and have known him for what must be close to a decade, or more. Sam mentioned that Ben used to be a club promoter for a place in the Village that shut down years ago. He named the club and my eyes lit up.

"I remember Village Club! I went there a couple of times. I loved that place!"

Sam smiled and called over, "Hey, Ben, Dolly remembers Village Club."

Ben turned around and gestured to Penny and me, "Those are cool chicks."

How nice of him to give us his seal of approval. We continued our conversation and Hattie told us this unusual story about a woman and her collection of feathers. Penny and I were riveted, and I said I should write a story about it. Ben was within earshot and came over.

"Dolly is a great writer," he said pointedly, stroking my bare arm. "I read one of her stories." He and Sam exchanged a look, which made me wonder if Ben told him about my story.

It's funny because a month ago that small gesture would have made my night. I would have thought about how he rubbed my arm just a little too long and wondered what it meant, if that meant he liked me. Now it no longer concerns me. It's just part of his routine. Penny said that at one point he was at a table behind me and had a girl sitting on his lap. Once upon a time, that would have devastated me, but when she told me that, I just shrugged.

Penny thinks Ben and I have turned a corner, but that things aren't over between us yet ("they've only just begun," she sang in a cheesy-on-purpose way). She said it was odd for him to qualify us like that to his friends. I couldn't care less. As far as I'm concerned, he's just the bartender.

I barely looked at or talked to Ben the rest of the time we were, there except to order drinks or water refills. He didn't even have the decency to ask about my trip, even though he heard me talk about it, which I found a little annoying. Then again, I wasn't being entirely friendly, either. Whatever. We didn't stay long, not more than a couple of hours, when I typically close out the bar on a weekend. Instead, we took the subway back to my neighborhood, to check out one of my locals.

It was a bit of a walk from the station, so I suggested we stop in a bar along the way. Random Bar was crowded with Bridge and Tunnel folk and the DJ was playing bad R&B, which has a way of making me instantly cranky.

"We should probably go after this drink," I said. Except that I was feeling a bit tipsy, and knew I would have to nurse my cocktail to make sure I didn't overdo it.

Penny and I made our way to the front of the bar, which was clearing out pretty quickly. Then the music suddenly improved (I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard a Depeche Mode song).

I looked at the two bartenders working, happy that they were friendly, regular guys and not all egotistical and Mr. Movie Star-ish.

One of them came over and started talking to Penny and me. He was tall and cute, down to earth, with a goofy streak. I don't remember the details of the conversation, but I do recall that we discovered we both used to listen to the same very specific genre of music and attended the same club back in the day. I named some super-obscure bands and he knew them all, which really sparked my interest in him.

"My iPod would make you cream your pants," he bragged.

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. "Let's see it."

He brought it over. "I'm BT," he introduced himself. I told him my name, shook his hand.

I looked through the artists he had in his MP3 player and was reasonably impressed.

Meanwhile, Barman BT was outside, having a cigarette and talking to Podcast Penny. He mentioned something about music and clubbing.

"That's not me, that's my friend in there," Penny said.

"Oh, you mean the girl I'm going to marry?"

Penny came back inside. "I love him," she said, and told me about their exchange.

I looked at BT down at the other end of the bar, surprised. Then I got a tiny nervous feeling and smiled. He came over to retrieve his iPod and we talked music for another minute.

"What does BT stand for, anyway?" I readied myself not to get a straight answer, used to Ben's way of talking around a question, revealing as little as possible.

BT brought over his passport, which threw me off. How direct and forthcoming of him.

"Can we stay for another round?" I asked Penny. The bar was lacking prospects as far as the male customers went, but now I was curious about Barman BT.

"Of course. He's great. And he likes you."

We ordered more drinks, which BT didn't charge us for.

He spent a lot of time taking care of other customers, but came over often for brief chats. I learned that he's also a writer and that we both lived in the same foreign country. There was definitely a playful, charged energy between us, but it was easy and natural. I looked at him and could imagine him being my boyfriend, just like that.

He brought over a slip of paper. "In case I get busy with work, here's my number."

I took out my little notepad, to write my contact info for him. I messed up my email address, so I had to turn to a new page. As I was jotting down my phone number, BT came over and mischievously swatted my right hand, sending a line of ink across the page.

"Oh, sorry, were you writing something?" he asked.

I looked up at him with mock outrage. Finally, the third time around, I was able to write out my name, number, and email with no mishaps. I tore out the sheet of paper and was folding it up as he returned to my end of the bar. He took it without saying a word.

Podcast Penny continued to rave about how much she adored BT (for me; she wasn't interested in him romantically) and how much she wanted to be friends with him.

Eventually, we had some unsavory guys start to chat us up and it was time to get going. Besides, I didn't want BT to get the wrong idea.

I called him over to say goodbye and he leaned across the bar to give me a kiss on the cheek.

"Let's hang out soon, okay?" he said.

"Definitely. Give me a call."

Penny continued to sing his praises on our way back to my place.

"He was pretty cool," I admitted. "And the perfect boy height, which I told him he was. Plus, we had this effortless rapport. We'll see if he calls."

"Oh, you're going to hear from him again."

"I just hope he doesn't do the three day waiting thing. I hate that."

"No way, that's not his style. You'll probably get a text message from him when he gets off work." Penny was adamant, despite my skepticism.

At 4:38am, I received the following text from BT:

I want to go out with you. Is that ok?

Wow.

back to life, back to reality

2007-03-30T10:21:00.000-04:00

That's right boys and girls. If I'm going to have the cheesy Soul II Soul song stuck in my head, the least I can do is get it stuck in yours, too.

This has been such an internally tumultuous week for me. I don't think I've ever had such a difficult time adjusting from a vacation before. It reminded me more of when I moved back to NYC after living abroad and had to cope with reverse culture shock.

I may be waving around my geek flag here, but I have been thinking about a storyline on this one TV show where the main character dies, but is missed so much by her loved ones that they cast a spell to bring her back. Her friends think they are rescuing her from a hell dimension, but when she returns to them, they learn that she was actually in heaven, and they brought her back into a dark, difficult and dangerous world, a kind of hell on earth. That's how I have spent much of the week feeling: like I was cast out of heaven, out of an idyllic place where I was happy and content. Now I'm stuck in a place that is noisy, crowded, and dirty, full of anger and anxiety. Not quite hell, but far from heaven.

I decided I needed to get out of here. Since I don't know what the hell to do career-wise, I might as well see more of the world, right? I found two options with potential: getting certified to teach English as a second language in Prague, or getting a year-long visa to work in New Zealand. I decided that if I don't have a major breakthrough by the end of the year, I'd start saving up, pack up, and leave the country for an extended--hopefully indefinite--amount of time.

Then something happened. Work became more tolerable and I found a couple of interesting new jobs to apply for. I discovered how much I enjoyed some of my routines, like the exercise class I take three times a week (which I genuinely missed while away) and making plans with my friends for the weekend to go to some of our favorite places (Bar K, Cozy Bar). Then the weather brightened up, and the spring air cheered me up despite myself. Yesterday, I walked downtown, passing the Empire State Building and the Flatiron Building, weaving around patches of tourists, trying to see the city through their cameras. I realized I love this damn place. I could no longer envision myself moving to New Zealand (I love sheep, but not that much). I don't know if it was the pretty day or what, but I relaxed and suddenly believed that everything would work out, would be okay.

Sometimes I'm not so great at this adulthood thing, the responsibilities and inevitable fact that life isn't always fun or fair. Last year, when I came back from my trip to Europe, I was in the beginning stages of a relationship, so I felt like I had something to come back to. This time around, returning to New York emphasized all the things lacking in my life and made me feel lonely. When I was away, I didn't feel lonely. I wouldn't have felt lonely even if that last night never happened, because I had such a wonderful time with the travel group.

New York can be maddening in its emphasis on materialism and ambition; it can turn a magnifying lens on all the holes in your life. I'm trying not to let that happen. Yes, it's beautiful out, a perfect backdrop to daydream, huddle over small tables in outdoor cafes, and fall in love. Seeing that I no longer have the warm and fuzzies for Barman Ben, and the guy I met on my trip is going to be far away for a long time, I'll make do with letting the city work its charms on me. There's a sense of possibility in the air, the promise of surprise around the corner. I'm keeping an open mind and an open heart. I'm ready for a homegrown adventure.

a happy place

2007-03-27T09:17:00.000-04:00

I'm nearly finished updating my paper journal with tales of the trip. I have written over 100 pages now. My digital camera broke the first day I was away, and while many of the people in the group I met took tons of photos, and while I bought a couple of disposable cameras, I was relieved not to be burdened with having to create a visual chronicle of my journey. I'm better with words anyway, and when I reread those pages I wrote in tents, cafes, airports, hotel rooms, I get an instant mental image, am immediately transported back.

When I took this vacation, I did so in the hopes that it would be some kind of spiritual journey, a vision quest even. I hoped to find some kind of clarity, some direction as to what my next step in life should be. Instead, I had the time of my life. I was always in the moment, absorbing all the new sights and experiences, bonding with my fellow travellers, laughing at anything and everything. I was too busy being happy to force some kind of meaning onto it.

It's tough to come back to New York, feeling so changed, but not sensing the change in my external environment. My craving for adventure hasn't abated, but certain responsibilities currently demand my attention (like trying not to panic about how financially tapped out I now am, knowing I need improve my monetary situation pronto). I'm also trying to hold on to that happiness I felt when I was away; many people have commented that I have a new glow. I certainly feel it; I hope this radiance isn't fleeting.

I've been trying to figure out exactly what kind of personal evolution I have undergone. There were aspects of the trip that were physically demanding, and having no travel companion certainly made the first day or two a bit challenging. But it's more than that. I was fully in the present tense, I was laid back and carefree, I was my best self.

Roommate Rachel pointed out that we are generally our best selves, and that even if we don't think so, our friends and loved ones tend to see the best in us. I guess it was different being around strangers, forging new connections, gradually revealing different layers of our personalities. It was like starting over.

Returning to New York has made me rather tempted to pack up and run away again to some far-flung corner of the world. But I already did that right after graduating college, and while I created a good life for myself, I had to return eventually. This city always pulls me back, in one way or another. Besides, if I look closely, I know I have a wonderful life here. I just need to find a way to channel all this wanderlust and energy more locally.

There's also this guy. I met him on the first day of my trip, but nothing happened between us until our last (I kind of promised that I would keep the details off the record; sorry). Not only does he live in a foreign country, but he's going to be travelling for the next couple of months, so chances are, I won't see him again. But to me, he represents the giddy delirium of those twelve days. Travel fling or no, I will always think fondly of him. That last day/night of the vacation was one of the best in my life. The group as a whole was so cheery and free-spirited, and then when I finally got together with the guy, it was like something out of a John Hughes movie. It's my happy place.

And now I'm here, in a different place, unable to go back, facing forward and trying not to put too much pressure on myself to figure it all out. The only consistency in life is that it continually changes, and even though the good things seem ever so fleeting, I feel very lucky to have felt so much joy, to still feel traces of it in me.

the return

2007-03-24T02:09:00.000-04:00

I have been in transit since 5:00am and got home less than an hour ago. Still wearing last night's make-up and still probably a bit hungover from last night's big farewell outing. It was quite a send-off. Haven't had more than an hour of sleep since Wednesday night. Couldn't sleep much on the plane because of crying children, but it gave me time to write nearly 30 pages in the paper journal I got specifically for this trip.

There were plenty of adventures, surprises, breathtaking natural and man-made sights, new friendships formed, endless laughter, and even kisses. It was probably the best vacation of my life.

Still processing everything and wondering how much to share. Might need to keep this one to myself.

My pillow beckons, but I wanted to drop by and say hello...

into the unknown

2007-03-11T13:26:00.000-04:00

I'm anxious about this trip. Part of my thinks I must have been insane to undertake such a journey. I'm not the "roughing it" type. I've never taken a vacation without a wheelie suitcase. I hardly know anything about the history or culture of country I'm visiting, and didn't even know what its currency was until a few days ago. I've never taken a journey that required me to bring toilet paper, and didn't own a pair of hiking boots until a few weeks ago.

By this time tomorrow, I will be flying into unfamiliar lands. I moved to a foreign country by myself, so I like to think I can handle this solo adventure, too. I don't know if this trip will change me, but I want to make me stronger, give me a new clarity. I'm hoping it will be a vision quest of sorts.

I'll be back in a couple of weeks. Don't miss me too much!

anger is an energy

2007-03-10T15:44:00.002-05:00

Between the ridiculously stressful week at work, the last dregs of this cough/cold (I am never smoking pot ever again), and the 10,000 things I have needed to plan for my trip before I leave on Monday, I have had little time to think about Ben. I was more focused on the dozens of tasks I needed to complete at the office before my two-week absence. I was more preoccupied with thinking about everything I needed to pack for my journey, while calming my fears of travelling alone to a new continent, to a country where I don't speak the language to go backpacking and camping for the first time in my life. In fact, I should be packing instead of writing this, but I need to vent.

I've had quite a lot going on. Yet there were still moments where my mind would circle back to Ben. On Wednesday morning, when Polly came into work, I went into her office and cried and cried. A little while later, I went down to Coworker Chris's office and lather-rinse-repeated. I cried bitter, humiliated tears at being rejected in such a cruel way. The morning's sadness faded away as the day went on, hardening into something sharper, brighter, colder: anger.

I have spent these last few days in a controlled rage. I don't care if he was upset about being back at the bar instead of waving his dick around onstage, or if he was coming down from a coke binge, or if he was just plain bored and cranky. The way he treated Roommate Rachel and me is inexcusable. He was disrespectful to both of us, invading her personal space with his questions and physical contact, and alternately being rude to and ignoring me.

In a way, he did me a favor. Whatever spell I was under, it's been lifted. Whatever fog I was lost in has cleared. Any affection I felt for Ben has been replaced with a black hatred.

I can't believe I got so carried away all these months. I can't believe I read so much into our minute interactions, believed there was something there. I can't believe I put him up on such a pedestal, gave him credit for being this great person even as I was receiving information to the contrary.

They say living well is the best revenge and I will have my vengeance. Starting tonight. I will not let Ben keep me from my favorite bar, but I will let him see what a great time I have there, with my friends and with other men. I will be impervious to his dark gazes and cloying caresses. I will not be one of the many who still become hypnotized by his dubious charm; instead I will exhibit nothing towards him but icy indifference.

I know being so angry isn't healthy, but it's providing a good catalyst for getting on with things, for shifting my focus away from the unworthy and insignificant. The rage will subside and I will bask in my new emotional freedom, breathing easy, no longer haunted by that handsome, smug son of a bitch.

What a perfect time to leave the country.

"My Post" by Roommate Rachel

2007-03-08T00:12:00.001-05:00

After reading my account of Tuesday night as well as the comments, Roommate Rachel had a lot to say. I suggested that rather than leave a comment, she write her own account of the evening. Here is her perspective on what happened:

Unlike my lovely flatmate, Dolly, I am not a person who shares their feelings in a public forum. Dolly is quite right about me, I am more than a little self conscious and don't feel comfortable with people I don't know.

But I simply couldn't not write about this incident, not only because I was an integral part of it, but also because it affected me so strongly. I actually couldn't sleep last night and was quite distracted at work because, and there is no other way to put this, Ben is a fucking asshole. (And I never swear). And indeed, the whole evening was a surreal nightmare.

The “attention” that Ben paid me, well, Dolly might call it "flirting" but I would probably use a term more akin to "hostile interrogation." It was so discomfiting that I felt nauseous in my stomach for a good part of the night. Ben, who doesn't know me, or know anything about me, told Dolly right in front of me that I was "going to meet a man who was going to sweep me off my feet and be the opposite of all my expectations, who was going to tear me down and build me back up." He also said something about how he"could see that I had some sex appeal" but that, while my parents may have been revolutionaries, I am basically snobby and spoiled. Yes, dear readers, all these insightful comments spewing from his mouth in a darkened bar. He even called my education “overly expensive!” And one more thing. Dolly is right. I don't feel comfortable being touched by random strangers (probably somewhat infantile, but there it is) and she said as much to Ben. So why did he keep touching me? I don't care if he was trying to make her jealous or whatever, it was so uncomfortable.

Oh, and while I’m venting, I might as well add that he said that I have "bird nest hair.” Okay, yes, I had had a VERY long day at work, didn't have time to go home and was perhaps somewhat dishevelled and had forgotten, having had very little sleep the night before, to put in any hair product, but still it was entirely uncalled for. Plus, it was just mean.

Now, I may be naïve and unlearned, but I cannot help but feel that fundamentally there is something very wrong here. Ben is a bartender. He is in the service industry and I was a customer. I don't care if other girls think his behavior is flirtatious, I just wanted to get drunk after a long, very stressful day at work. So to me his behavior was offensive. I didn’t find him attractive. I didn’t want him to hug me.

Also, and here I lay out the gravest charge against him, I could see how hurt Dolly was. Which made it even worse for me. I wish I were a different person, I wish I would have just told him off more emphatically than I tried to do. But Dolly is right. I am not good at relationships. And I am easily flustered. Ben called me a "child." And perhaps he is right.

But to see the pain in Dolly's face, not even to see it, to know it, it tore at my heart. I know that girls compete with each other for boys, but Dolly is my friend. She has pulled me through some hard times this autumn and gives me good advice. All of you readers know her as a witty, wise and honest writer. I know her as flesh and blood. As someone who made me soup. Who always invites me to her parties. Who drags me out when I am feeling antisocial. Who lends me her books and offers to help me apply the makeup I never end up applying. Who makes me laugh. Dolly is one of my dearest friends, and she always will be.

I could write more, but this much I think is enough for now. I cannot believe that Ben was sincere in his attentions for isn’t flirting supposed to be kind? I can only conclude that he wants to exact some sort of revenge on Dolly. Which is disgusting. And really there is nothing more to say.

low down

2007-03-07T09:05:00.000-05:00

It's an all-Tom-Waits-all-the-time kind of day. I just want to put my head down and weep. I came this close to losing it on the subway (my favorite) and it's going to be all I can do to keep it together at the office.

This is all so is pathetic. I know it is and I can't stand it. I wish it were otherwise.

I've been thinking a lot about the movie Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind. Thinking about how much I wish I could erase the memory of Barman Ben from my consciousness. Not his entire existence, just my emotions tied to him. Whatever it would take for Ben to no longer be my kryptonite.

Last night, Roommate Rachel and I went to Cozy Bar. It was a quiet night, so he came over to talk often. Except it wasn't to talk to me.

The first thing I noticed is that he complimented Rachel's shirt, several times. Then he kept coming over, asking her questions, paying lots of attention to her. He seemed indifferent to anything I had to say and utterly captivated by her.

Roommate Rachel is adorable, and has a sweetness and innocence that men find very appealing. She is also conservative as far as sex and relationships go, on the prudish side even, which is something we talked about last night. Ben was fascinated by it all. He hung on her every word, touched her arm repeatedly (even after she told him how much she didn't like being touched by strangers), and found a myriad of subtle ways to break my heart as the night wore on.

The ironic thing is, Rachel doesn't think he's at all good-looking, and was actually offended by his invasive comments, questions, and physical contact. But since she poses such a challenge, it probably makes her that much more appealing to him. I'm not as much of a challenge, which might make me less appealing.

"You play it very cool with him, though," Rachel observed later. "You talk to him the way you would a friend at the bar."

"Because I don't want to be one of those fawning girls. I see those girls at the bar, who turn their faces up at Ben, waiting to be showered with his attention, and I don't want to be like that. I'd rather be a little aloof."

"That's probably better."

The thing is, I am one of those girls, I just hide it. I do feel a warm glow when he looks at me or touches me. When we talk, though, he's sometimes a little bit of a jerk to me. For example, early in the night, he asked:

"Why do you think Brad Pitt would pose shirtless on the cover of a magazine after all these years?"

"I know why," I answered. "Because he needs to stay in the public eye, stay popular, to command a big salary for movies, which he then uses to fund his charity work. Angelina does it, too."

"I think you're full of shit," Ben answered. "How much money does that guy need?"

"A lot, because he is giving a big percentage of it away."

He shook his head dismissively.

Also, when Rachel and I mentioned to Ben that we both had problems we were dealing with, he was completely focused on hearing her situation (which has to do with her romantic repression) and had so much to say about it. When it was my turn to talk about my problems, I told him about trying to figure out what to do with my life and he said,

"But you're a writer."

"That's what everybody keeps telling me." I mentioned needing to think about switching gears career-wise, and taking a big trip next week with the hope that it would clear my head.

"We'll talk about this when you get back from your trip," Ben said.

End of conversation. Glad to hear my crisis can wait.

Rachel and I both ended up getting into conversations with other men in the bar, but Ben would still come over and chat with her. He and I talked a bit, too, but he didn't seem as engaged as he was with my roommate.

We did get to talking about film, and Ben mentioned an old Bertolucci film I absolutely had to see. I mentioned that I liked The Dreamers.

He smirked. "Oh please, I'm talking about old, classic Bertolucci. You saw The Dreamers and you think you know Bertolucci?"

I looked at him, semi-pissed, "I just mentioned one of his movies that I enjoyed, but thanks for judging my entire knowledge of a filmmaker on that single comment."

He smiled. "I'm just giving you a hard time."

He says that to me a lot.

We still had a few typical flirty moments. We made eye contact several times, smiled at each other. I wonder if we do better with non-verbal communication.

I started to get a bit serious and contemplative as the night wore on and felt Ben looking at me, though I wouldn't always meet his gaze. When I did look up once, he gave me a reassuring glance and said,

"It's going to be alright."

At another point, he looked at me and said, "You know I love you, right?"

Considering the fact that he said, "I love her" five minutes after meeting Roommate Rachel, I hardly put any stock into his words. I rolled my eyes and said, "Sure you do."

In fact, it made me somewhat angry that he would use the word love so flippantly, throwing it into his flirting vocabulary like it was nothing.

If he only knew. If he only knew that he is one of the causes of my not being alright. If he knew how much it hurt me to see him so enraptured with Rachel, he wouldn't have been so overt. I know he flirts with half the women there, but my roommate? Talk about too close to home.

Ben is bad for me and I need to give this up. I am also doing the opposite of what I need to be doing with him, going against the very wisdom I've been preaching to others. My interactions are about wanting something from him-- his affection, his approval, his advice--when they should be about what I can bring to the equation.

Roommate Rachel doesn't think Ben is interested in her and that he was just being curious, or just flirting with her the way he does any other woman at the bar. The best quote I've heard about Ben, from one of the male patrons, was, "Ben is great... though sometimes you have to wait 15 minutes for your beer while he's making one of the female customers feel good about herself." That's the thing, Ben is good at raising other peoples' social value.

But not mine, not after last night. I think I saw through the tricks and the fog a bit. I also have to face the cold reality that he is just not very curious about me, which means he is probably not interested. After seeing the contrast between the way he treated me and my roommate, it's undeniable.

And probably for the best, because my jealous streak speaks to the fact that I could never handle being with someone like Ben, anyway. I'm better off knowing that sooner than later, right?

Of course, that doesn't stop me from feeling completely and utterly heartbroken. All I want to do is go home and cry my foolish little heart out.

the highest high

2007-03-05T08:59:00.000-05:00

First of all, I should mention that I am paying for my indulgent weekend by dealing with a nasty cough/cold/achiness. I'm hoping the medicine does its job, but apologize in advance if I ramble or come off as a bit spacey.

Guess I should start with Friday. I knew it was going to be a great night. I didn't have any big expectations, I just felt that slight tingle under my skin, that electric anticipation that there was fun on the horizon.

Before meeting Willow for one of our regular Bar K outings, I stopped into a deli for a quick bite. Sitting at the next table was a man in his thirties, dressed in black, eating a sandwich. Another man came in who turned out to be his friend; the man in black said he was about to go to work and the friend mentioned he just moved to my neighborhood. I was in a talking-to-strangers kind of mood, so I mentioned to the friend how much I loved the neighborhood, how great it was, etc. We talked for a minute and the friend left. The man in black stayed to finish his meal.

"Excuse me," my gut told me to go ahead and ask him. "Are you a bartender?"

"I am."

Here we go. "I have a question. Is it common for bartenders to date customers?"

He nodded. "It happens a lot."

"Because there's this bartender I'm interested in and I'm wondering how can a bar patron go from being that to...something more?"

"Good question." He thought about it. "Well, you want to show your face regularly, get to know each other...have you tried staying until the bar closes?"

"I did that once, because I was talking to people, but I didn't want to linger. That could look bad."

"Good thinking. Do you think this bartender knows you're interested?"

"I think he has a pretty good idea."

"Well, then...I don't know what to tell you. It does happen a lot, though. Keep going, keep talking to him. Good luck."

"Thank you."

Something about that interaction felt like a good omen.

At Bar K, Willow and I talked to some of the regulars one of which, Ad Sales Andy, remembered that I wrote about dating online and had a knack for helping men be more successful with women. He and his friend asked for some of my basic thoughts and ideas. I said the two most important things I learned in the last year was to have a full, interesting life and go out with a view to having a great time, not to specifically meeting someone, and also that interactions with people in general (in a romantic context and otherwise) should ideally be about what you have to offer and raising the other person's social value, instead of taking or needing something from them.

Ad Sales Andy was hanging on my every word, but I think it was also because he fancied me.

During a cigarette break a little later, his friend offered me a drag off a joint, which I accepted. Then Andy kissed me. I was tipsy and wanted kisses, so I went along with it, even though I wasn't really interested in him (damn me and my alcohol-related kiss cravings!).

Back inside Bar K, I realized I was missing Cozy Bar and wanted to stop by there. Willow was tired and decided to give it a miss, so I went by myself, figuring I was bound to run into people I knew, or talk to new folks.

Once I arrived, I saw plenty of familiar faces, including Edward Furlong-y and my favorite regular of them all, Magazine Mitch. He introduced me to the two women he was with and said,

"We tried to see Ben's play tonight, but it was sold out. We did see him afterwards, though."

"You should have gotten advanced tickets, silly," I answered.

Before long, Mitch and I were in the bathroom, smoking and smooching.

"I'm really fucked off that I didn't get to see the play," he said.

"Well, tomorrow's the last show and it's probably sold out."

"No, the box office said there are twenty tickets left."

I felt a spark of hope in my chest. "Let's go order tickets. Right now."

For all the coercing Mitch had tried to do in the past to get me to come over, I was the one who insisted we go to his place then and there.

The two women he was with had left at that point (not sure if they saw us disappear to the bathroom together or what) and I told him we'd be quick and return to the bar shortly.

Mitch lives around the corner from Cozy Bar, in a third floor walk-up. It's quite possibly the nicest boy apartment I have ever seen. Beautifully decorated in deep reds and sage greens, overstuffed couches, velvet curtains, embroidered bedspread, cherry wood dining table, and tasteful accents throughout.

"It's not too metrosexual?" he asked.

"No! It's tidy and pretty, but still has a masculine and comfortable feel to it. You have a really lovely place."

He gave me the full tour, from his private office to the kitchen cabinets, one of which held nothing but various pill bottles, filled with holistic and illicit substances.

Mitch put on a David Bowie concert DVD and prepared a bowl. Normally, smoking pot after drinking makes me nauseous, but I had a few hits and felt perfectly mellow. I sank back into the marshmallow-like sofa cushions and watched Bowie do his thing.

"I am so fucked up," Mitch said.

"Yeah. Let's get those tickets."

We went into his office, I got the site up, Mitch read out his credit card info, and I printed the confirmation.

"We're really going aren't we?" I asked, not fully believing it.

"We're going."

"Thank you so much," I gave him a big hug.

Funny enough, Mitch didn't try anything when he had me in his apartment, and was a perfect gentleman. It couldn't have been the alcohol/drugs, because I'm pretty sure we made out more later that night. Actually the rest of the night is pretty much a blur, so I'll fast forward to the play.

"We probably won't get to talk to him much afterwards," Mitch warned. "He's Mr. Movie Star and I could barely get to him the other night, he had so many people surrounding him."

"Oh, that's fine. I figure it's going to be even more insane with it being the last performance. I just want to say hello and tell him he did a good job." I also wanted him seeing me look smokin' hot, and generally bask in Ben's dreaminess, but I left that part out.

The play was still entertaining the second time around, and even though Mitch knew to expect nudity, he was somewhat thrown by it.

"I can't believe I saw Ben's cock," he said in the bar afterwards, while we waited for the cast. "That's just too much," he shook his head. "Did you see how big his cock was?"

"Do we have to talk about this?" I looked around nervously, not wanting Ben to show up as we were discussing his anatomy.

"He's got a bigger cock than I do," Mitch continued.

We finally changed the subject. I kept looking around in a subtle way, but Mitch spotted him first.

"There's your guy."

As expected, he had plenty of well-wishers surrounding him, so we stayed where we were, figuring he'd make his way over to us. Eventually, he was a few feet away, the people in front of us cleared out, and we called him over.

"Did you get in this time?" Ben asked Mitch, who nodded.

"Hey, gorgeous," He started to give me a hug, then pulled away, doing a double take. I kept my hand on his back. He looked me up and down in a very surprised and appreciative way. "You look good." Ben gave me hug, then murmured in my ear, "You smell good, too."

Mitch and I told him he did a good job on the play.

Ben turned to me, "I know it's not as good as your stuff, and I'd rather do a drama with you, but it's still good for me to do these kinds of things." Mind you, the playwright in question is a published writer and respected in the theater world. As he talked, he continued to look me up and down.

"Doesn't she look good?" Ben asked Mitch, then looked at me again, not waiting for an answer, "Your hair, your..." He looked like he was ready to eat me up with a spoon.

Ben continued his rounds; after he left, I took a big sip of my drink to steady myself, unable to speak for a few seconds.

"I just need a moment," I said to Mitch, feeling all kinds of shaky and incoherent.

Mitch and I had a few more drinks, and kept talking and talking. He is actually great company and we had a lot of fun at the bar together. I did keep an eye on Ben, though (it looks like he spent a big portion of the night talking to some guy at the bar). At one point, he standing talking to a group of people and we were perfectly in each other's line of vision. I smiled at him and he mouthed something back to me, though I couldn't make out what it was.

A couple of hours later, Ben looked ready to leave. I stood, wanting to catch him on his way out. He came by again and held my hand as he talked to us.

"So are you going to go home and get laid?" Mitch asked.

I laughed.

"No, man, I'm gonna go home and jerk off," Ben replied.

The two of them talked about I don't know what, because I was too focused on Ben's hand in mine. Then it was time for him to go.

"When are you back?" I asked.

"Tuesday. I'll see you on Tuesday." He leaned in and gave me a peck on the lips.

After he left, I turned to Mitch. "Did you see that? He kissed me on the lips."

"Yeah, he kissed me on the lips, too. I think he's bisexual."

"Don't ruin my moment, Mitch."

"Let's get out of here and go to Cozy Bar."

We took a taxi over there. To my surprise, I found myself opening up to Mitch. I told him about my depression last year and other personal details. Mitch may be a bit messed up, but is very smart and easy to talk to.

"We have fun, don't we?" he asked.

"We do."

As the taxi was nearing the bar, we kissed, but this time it felt different. It was more of an "I like you" kind of kiss. Maybe it felt more emotional for me, because I had just shared some very private things with Mitch, or because we were starting to connect as people instead of tipsy bar patrons. Then again, we were hardly sober in the taxi, either.

Cozy Bar was fun as always, and despite feeling like crap on a cracker yesterday and today, it was worth the good times.

Much as I don't like to admit it, I think I'm starting to like Mitch a bit. It's a very bad idea for several reasons (beginning and ending with the fact that our hookups have all been alcohol-fueled). I don't think our personality types would work together, I think we both have lots of issues to work through, but there's something seemingly minor that bothers me above all else. He never makes sure I am safely in a taxi before walking home after the bar closes, he just leaves me outside in the middle of the night. It's small, but the kind of thing that makes me know deep down I couldn't be with him.

Also, I still can't get my mind off Ben. Tomorrow night, I'll get to mark his return to Cozy Bar. I don't have unrealistically high hopes, I have decided it will be enough if I just get to kiss Ben, just once (a real kiss, not a peck). At this point, thinking back to the way he looked at me on Saturday, the way he has looked at me before, too, I think maybe it's not such an impossible thing to hope for.

another teaser

2007-03-04T12:42:00.000-05:00

I would love to write a proper recap of my alcohol-, drug-, and kiss-filled weekend, but with meeting my parents shortly, there is simply no time.

I will mention, however, that last night I saw Ben's play again. This time, I actually got to talk to him afterwards, for the first time since January. Oh boy...

fitter, happier

2007-03-01T09:24:00.000-05:00

I recently read something written about me in another blog, to the extent that all these good things happen to me and I am blasé and unenthused about it all. My first instinct was to roll my eyes dismissively, because people have gotten the wrong idea about me before and besides, I get excited about little things all the time. I am all kinds of animated and passionate. Then I thought about it some more, because I would hate to come across as a jaded and aloof New Yorker--or worse, someone who is ungrateful for the positive facets of their life.

To clarify, I am really loving life these days. I love my routines and independence, and the balance I have between the regimented (diet, exercise, work) and the free-form (social activity, solo time). I recognize that I am enormously lucky to have a nice apartment with a lovely roommate, a job that doesn't make me want to slit my wrists every Monday morning, a loving family, more friends than I can do a decent job of keeping in touch with, good health (namely a sturdy liver), a strong line of credit, and a certain amount of intelligence and attractiveness (the exact quantity I leave to be determined by others).

The odd thing is, most of the above was true four months ago, too, yet there were days, weeks, when life was painful, dark, pointless.

I chronicled my autumn depression here to an extent, but I never wrote about how bad it got. It got pretty bad; I don't even want to go into detail, because it saddens and frightens me to remember it. Suffice it to say, there were moments where I conclusively knew I had never been more miserable in my life and didn't know how I'd make it from one day to the next. The scariest times weren't when it hurt, but when it didn't, when I felt a profound indifference to the world around me. It was the lowest I had ever been.

It's difficult to say how much of the depression was circumstantial and how much of it might have been chemical; I do know that when I started taking better care of my body, my mental state improved (thank you, endorphins!). My mood improved even more when I started writing creatively again, when I rediscovered the ability to be inspired. Some of it was merely a concerted effort to dig myself out of the hole, to like life more and like myself more.

What I'm getting at is that I am enormously relieved and grateful to be where I am today, to not feel like that anymore, to appreciate life again.

While the focus of this blog tends to be dating- and relationship-oriented, it has been a much smaller focus of my life for the last several months. To put it in perspective, if I did a pie chart of my thoughts, I'd say 5-10% would have to do with dating, crushes, etc. I wanted to mention that since there seems to be some misconception about how carried away I'm getting with my emotions. Quite the contrary.

I'm doing a lot of rebuilding these days, and I know this new happiness may be fragile and fleeting, so I am doing everything I can to protect and sustain it. Right now, that means keeping a bit of distance between me and other people. Eventually, it might mean allowing for more closeness and vulnerability. I don't see that happening for some time, though. Which doesn't speak to a lack of joy or passion on my part, but a sense of growing awareness and caution.

It's comforting to have this emotional scaffolding around me; I need it while I continue the repairs. I like to believe that when I'm stronger, better, I'll be capable of even greater love and happiness. It won't be long.

A Thing for Blondes (Saturday Night, Part Two)

2007-02-26T16:39:00.000-05:00

These days, it's not a normal weekend without a visit to Cozy Bar. Polly had other plans after the play, but Willow and I ended up there some time around midnight.

Every time I go there, I see more and more familiar faces. First, I ran into a friend of Sophie's, then a group of people who were also at Ben's play earlier that night, and then--of course--Magazine Mitch. He was chatting with a couple of women and I wasn't about to interrupt his game, so I waved and left him to it.

A minute later, he called over to me and made a motion like he was smoking a cigarette.

"You want to go for a smoke? Sure, let's go." I started to reach for my coat, but he pointed to the back.

"Let's go to our place." He led us to the ladies room.

"Even better."

In the bathroom, I fumbled for my lighter while he opened the window.

"So I was at Ben's play earlier. He gets naked in it. I nearly died."

"Oh yeah, we were supposed to see that together." He nodded, remembering.

"We were, but you never called."

"I know. And I have your number right next to my bed."

"Well, if you still want to go, I'll see it with you," I said, taking his flakiness in stride.

We smoked our cigarettes and before I knew it, we were making out again. There's something about being tipsy that makes me really crave kisses. It may have been a smooch of convenience for both of us, but it was fun, and what I needed in that moment.

"I think I still miss my ex," he sighed.

"So you keep saying. It's funny how we're both hung up on other people."

"Are you going to start going on about Bloody Ben again?"

"No. But you cannot ever, ever tell Ben that we kissed. This has to be our secret. If you ever tell him, I will cut you."

Mitch laughed. "Did you just say you'll cut me? Nobody's ever said that to me before."

I giggled and we kissed again.

"You're a great kisser."

"Thank you," I replied. "You're pretty good, too."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Just a minute!" I called out.

"They're going to either think we're in here doing coke, or I have you bent over the sink..." he got lost in thought a moment. "When are you and I going to get it on, Dolly? We bloody well should."

"I don't think that's going to happen."

"No, really, we should just pick a day and do it... Are you wearing a g-string?"

"Yes... Mitch, you need to stop grabbing my ass."

When we went back to the bar area, Mitch pointed to a gorgeous, Elle Macpherson-looking woman at a table chatting with some friends.

"Ben's in love with her, but she's married. He's got a thing for blondes."

"He does?" My eyes grew wide. "That's awesome!"

Mitch and I went our separate ways. Willow ended up leaving after about an hour, but I stayed and talked to anyone and everyone, including a recent Italian immigrant who works in a nearby restaurant, a couple who owns a shop down the street, and one of Polly's lawyer friends who I met last week. I also spent some time chatting with a young, adorable, but overly cocky Edward Furlong look-a-like, trying to give him pointers on how to be more successful with women (lesson one was to call them "women" instead of "bitches"... yes, it might have been a hopeless cause).

At one point, Furlong-ish was chatting up Elle-y right next to me at the bar. I don't remember what foolish things he said, but she and I rolled our eyes and smiled at each other. I leaned over and said,

"I'm trying to help him, but I don't think anything I'm saying is sinking in."

She turned to Furlong-ish and said, "You should listen to her."

Then the two of us started chatting. As is the case with nearly every female I bond with at the bar, it was a matter of minutes before I confessed my crush on Barman Ben.

Her eyes flashed with anger. "That guy is a player. He knows I'm married and tried to make out with me."

"He what? I think we should discuss this over a cigarette."

Elle-y, her married friend, and I went outside.

"She likes Ben," Elle-y told her friend, who shook her head.

"I know it's not a good idea," I sighed, "But I really can't help it."

"He's a player and he's probably bad in bed," Elle-y spat out.

How did she know?! "How do you know?"

"I can tell, just by looking at him, just by the way he carries himself. You know a guy like that is going to be bad in bed."

Elle-y's friend nodded in agreement.

I asked what happened the night he made a pass at her. Six months ago, she and a couple of friends closed out the bar and they (along with Ben) were all going to share a taxi. She and Ben happened to be in the back room of the bar and he kept trying to kiss her, which pissed her off.

As forgiving and open-minded as I am about some things, going after someone who's married is something I find utterly despicable. This woman really was beautiful, though, and part of me couldn't blame Ben (I'm as straight as the day is long, but another drink or two and I might have wanted to kiss her myself). Still, it was inappropriate of him, and doesn't bode well for his character considering he also hit on Mitch's girlfriend.

"I wish I could forget about him," I told the married friends. "I've tried dating, kissing, even sleeping with other guys, but nothing has worked. And I think I might even have a chance with him."

"You just need fuck him and get him out of your system," Elle-y said. "He's not even that cute."

"I think he's one of the best-looking men I've ever seen. And I don't want to fuck him, I just want to kiss him," I replied.

"I'll tell you what you should do. Wear lots of black eye make-up. He has a thing for Bridget Bardot. The night he was hitting on me, I came from a club, wearing tons of eyeliner, and he kept saying how I looked like Bridget Bardot. Trust me," she nodded knowingly.

Here I was, playing it demure and understated all this time. I'll say this much, though. On Saturday, I was showing cleavage for the first time in ages, and I loved how sexy and confident it made me feel. Yes, I did have to tell Furlong-y to stop staring down my dress and attempt some actual eye contact (that was... lesson four?), but after spending the last two months shedding close to 20 pounds (weight I had put on as a result of the depression), it felt great wearing something more body-conscious. If there's anyone who can rock the buxom, smokey-eyed blonde bombshell thing, it's me. I've played it too safe, too sweet, but no more. Ben won't know what hit him.

At this point, some might argue that I should come to my senses once and for all and give up on Ben. I told my mother about meeting Elle-y on Saturday, expecting her to tell me I can do better, etc.

"I think she's jealous," Mom replied.

"Of what? She's gorgeous and happily married. And Ben wanted her. She could've had him."

"I don't know, there's something about her anger. I think there is some jealousy there."

"Why? Because I'm available? Because her marital status prevented her from doing anything with him?"

"Maybe."

"Mom, I'm so surprised you're not trying to dissuade me from being with him. You're usually the first person to tell me, 'he's not for you.' This man made a pass on a married woman!"

She laughed. "So what? Does that mean he doesn't deserve a second chance? Does that mean he's not good enough for you?"

Why is my mother, the perennial voice of reason, rooting for me here? Aren't I sabotaging my emotional health and stability by falling for someone like Ben?

I considered what she said, mentioned Warren Beatty and what a playboy he was before Annette Benning.

"You see? She tamed him," Mom answered.

That she did. But how the hell did she do it?

Eye-opening (Saturday Night, Part One)

2007-02-25T13:43:00.000-05:00

I spent yesterday in a nervous haze, knowing it was a matter of hours before I'd see Ben in his play.

Polly, Willow, and I met in a bar across the street from the theater, where I sipped some wine and tried to calm down. I could barely speak, I was in such a strange, unbalanced state. Part of me hoped that the moment I saw Ben on stage, he'd become a real person again, not a star in one of my mental movies, and my feelings for him would dissipate. I hoped he wouldn't be as good-looking as I remembered, or as charismatic and intruiging.

We were in the fourth row. The lights dimmed, and there he was.

A while later, he was naked. On stage. Naked Barman Ben.

I thought I was going to have heart failure.

In my fantasies of Ben, things never go beyond kissing. That's about as much as I would ever hope for, as much as I could handle.

Seeing him naked, even in a theatrical context, sent me into system overload. I could barely pay attention to the dialogue, or anything else going on. I was also trying not to stare, on the off-chance that he saw me in the audience and caught me checking out his package. Ben's in good shape and has a decent body, but I was pleased to see that he wasn't super-buff. I need him to have imperfections and don't want him to be flawless.

There was something about seeing him without clothes that bothered me. It was the same feeling I get when I sleep with a guy too soon; a sense of regret, not at the act itself, but at the loss of mystery. I also felt very shy looking at his body, which isn't the way I would have been with any other male actor on that stage.

I don't know if Ben saw me. It's a pretty small theater, the audience was partially lit for some of the scenes, and I have bright blonde hair (the lead singer of Glam Band has told me several times that he can always spot me in the crowd when he's singing, and I don't even stand near the front at their concerts). I think I caught his eye once, but it's hard to tell, because he was in character.

Speaking of which, he is quite a good actor (great, as if I needed another reason to like him). Objectively speaking, he was easily the best part of the play, which was good overall, but a bit uneven and self-indulgent. Ben, however, gave his character layers, endearing nuances and, overall, it was still the Ben I know from Cozy Bar. If the play did anything, it reminded me why I found him so damn alluring in the first place.

After the show, I was a bit shell-shocked. I think we all were. The ticker-tape in my head repeated the same words over and over:

I just saw Barman Ben naked. Naked Barman Ben. Naked.

We waited outside the theater for a while, but fifteen minutes passed and that seemed like the cut-off mark before it would have been stalker-ish, so we left. I didn't mind not getting the chance to talk to him, because I was a bit stunned and speechless and might not have had much to say, anyway.

Besides, something even better happened later that night, at Cozy Bar. Something that not only revealed Ben as far from flawless (and not in a good way), but has also given me great ammo on how to attract him.

To be continued...

odds and ends

2007-02-21T15:01:00.000-05:00

* I've had another piece published on It's Just Coffee. It's a call for entries of sorts, for readers to submit stories of their best and worst dates. I share one of my own bad date stories to tempt others to do likewise. We're hoping to make this a regular feature, so please contribute your dating joys and horrors. The piece can be found here.

* Saturday is the big day. Willow, Polly, and I are going to see Barman Ben's play. It will mark four weeks since I have last seen him and I am terribly excited. Tomorrow I'm going shopping for something special (yet appropriately casual and decidedly not trying-too-hard) to wear. There's no guarantee I'll get to see him or talk to him after the show, but I will be looking better than my best.

* I'm going on vacation is less than three weeks, alone, to a country where I don't speak the language, where I will be exploring and hiking and undoubtedly having the time of my life. The change of scenery will do me good. I've never traveled on my own before (though I'll be with a small tour group) and am looking forward to the challenges and experiences that await. Leaving town usually gives me some perspective on my current situation in life and I'm hoping this trip will do the same.

* I ran into Neighbor Neil on Saturday, for the first time in nearly three (!) months. He was leaving his apartment and I was just coming into the building, home from a party, dressed to the nines, with perfect hair and femme fatale red lipstick. We made chit-chat for a few minutes, then I said I needed to get to bed and was the first to say good night. I have no feelings about him, and that one time we kissed feels ages ago, but it was nice to see him after all this time knowing I looked polished, dressed in shiny boots and a suede coat instead of sneakers and a sweatshirt (I always expected to bump into him coming back from a workout).

* The other night I had a dream that Ben and I were at a karaoke bar. There was only time for me to do one song, so I had to choose carefully. It was my one chance to impress him with my karaoke prowess, and I felt a lot was at stake. I decided that I would probably sing Concrete Blonde's "Joey", which has gotten a positive crowd response in the past. I was both anxious and thrilled that Ben would hear me sing, though I woke up before my turn at the mic. I've decided my crush on Ben is something that will go away in its own time and until then, I just have to learn to live with it-- like a limp, or walking pneumonia. In a pale attempt to comfort myself, I started reading Wuthering Heights. Hopefully a wistful, doomed love story will make me feel better about the one I'm living out. "At least I don't live in isolation in the Moors pining for my beloved", I can say to myself.

* My online personals subscription runs out next week and I'm not going to renew it. I've been too busy to check the site much, even to reply to others who have contacted me (well, except for that one James Spader look-a-like with great music taste, because... well, if you're going to resemble any male celebrity, a young James Spader is a hell of a good one). I guess this means I'm pretty much too busy to date. I like that. I should make an effort to keep it that way.

the regulars

2007-02-19T13:15:00.000-05:00

I don't know where to begin. There's a lot to update.

I guess I should start with Valentine's Day. Willow and I wanted a pretty low key night out. We weren't in a social mood, but ended up in a bar where she was accosted by an over-the-top Irish guy, who was flirting with every woman in sight. I turned to the guy sitting next to me, fairly attractive and there by himself, and said,

"Thank you for not being a loud, cheesy Irish guy."

The guy (I'll call him VDay Vlad) turned to me, we started talking about lord-knows-what (I was pretty tipsy at this point) and we hit it off. Willow went home pretty soon after, but VDay Vlad and I stayed out a few more hours, discussing music and movies (two of my favorite topics), among other things. He was very sweet, and kept buying me drinks and giving me cigarettes when we went outside to smoke. I thought we might end up kissing later, but I drank a bit too much and hopped in a cab before the walls started spinning.

Vlad made it clear he wanted to see me again, so we made tentative plans for Sunday.

Fast forward to last night. Vlad was nice enough to come into my neighborhood for an early dinner (I know I say it a lot, but I love local dates; maybe it's something about a home court advantage). An hour before the date, Polly sent me a text asking if I wanted to go out. I said maybe later, if the date didn't go well.

While Vlad and I had plenty to talk about on Wednesday, last night's conversation was strained. I'm a pretty talkative person, so I was definitely holding up my end, but Vlad was frustratingly reticent unless replying to a direct question (and even then, not the most dynamic talker). There were actual uncomfortable pauses in the conversation, something I cannot remember happening to me on a date in ages. At first, I went into Barbara Walters mode, and asked questions to get him to talk. After a while, I decided that I was making too much of an effort and focused more on my salmon than my date.

Maybe he was nervous, shy. Vlad is a few years younger than me, and though he struck me as being mature for his age, maybe he was still somewhat intimidated. I don't know. It was one of the most uncomfortable dates I have been on in recent memory.

In the middle of the meal, I went into the bathroom and called Polly, then left her an SOS text, telling her I most definitely wanted to go out later.

I returned to the table, praying that Polly would save me, and sipped my second drink. Even the alcohol didn't help the conversational flow. What happened between Wednesday and Sunday? Vlad went from being chatty and charming to unbearably subdued.

My phone beeped and one surreptitious bathroom call later, Polly and I had plans to meet at Bar Z at 9:30.

Vlad asked if I wanted to go somewhere after the meal, and I said I had promised to meet my friend and flaked on her the previous evening blah-blah-blah-please-get-me-out-of-here.

The check finally, mercifully came, and I offered to contribute, but he insisted on paying, which made me feel guilty.

"Would you like to do this again sometime?"

What can you possibly say to that, right after a man has bought you dinner?

"Sure... though this coming week is pretty busy for me." I stared at the table, hating myself a little.

"This week is busy for me, too. But maybe next weekend."

And then it was mercifully over.

I stopped at home to shake off the bad date energy. I knew the best part of the night was yet to come, because Polly and I always have a great time.

We had one drink at Bar Z, but I wasn't feeling the vibe there, so we went to Cozy Bar.

Despite Barman Ben's absence, I have been spending a lot of time at Cozy Bar, visiting the place at least once a week. It's officially my favorite bar in New York City, and I love being a regular there. Friday night, Coworker Chris and I met there, and I ran into my friend Sophie as well as Magazine Mitch, who I hadn't seen since I spent the night interrogating him about Ben. The other main bartender, Cocktail Carl, now recognizes me and also gives me free drinks. Friday, I was even bold enough to ask Carl if Ben was ever coming back ("I hope not!" he replied, then told me that yes, Ben will return).

The second Polly and I walked into Cozy Bar, our spirits lifted. This place felt like home.

Magazine Mitch was there again last night and we laughed when we spotted one another.

"We haven't seen each other in two whole days!" we said, hugging each other hello.

I introduced him to Polly and Mitch introduced me to his friend, Designer Dan. Dan was cute in the semi-nerdy way I like: glasses, blue eyes, big nose, a thin veneer of confidence covering up a core of awkwardness. This was somebody I thought I might be able to make out with.

Dan and I did well flirting. At one point, I had to ask if he was a pickup artist, because he put his fingers through my hair and said,

"Your hair is so perfect. Is it real?"

I laughed and called over to Polly a few feet away.

"This guy just negged me! Can you believe it?"

Ultimately, I determined that he wasn't studying seduction techniques. Or if he was, he wasn't using using the knowledge in any beneficial way. For example, a few minutes after being introduced to Polly and I, he said that he never talks to women as gorgeous as us and made a crack about having a threesome. We rolled our eyes.

"Real original, Dan," I said.

"Yeah, nobody's ever mentioned that to us before," Polly added.

When I was left to chat with Dan on my own, he made a few more "joking" remarks about going back to his apartment to have sex. He was uncouth, but still cute, and intelligent enough that it wasn't boring to talk to him. I wasn't interested in sleeping with him, but I've been in kiss withdrawal lately, so I saw the potential smooch opportunity.

Dan and I ended up talking about sex and threesomes. I said I wasn't interested in having one with two girls, but would consider one with two guys.

"You know, Mitch lives right upstairs," Dan said, an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, I know," I laughed dismissively.

"No, I'm serious. We could all go over to his place. Hey, Mitch," Dan waved him over. "What do you think of me, her, and you, at the same time."

Mitch looked amused. "I'd rather have her to myself, mate. I don't want to have to...for there to be any..."

"Crossing of swords?" I helpfully supplied.

"Yeah," Mitch nodded, "If you could figure out a way that the two of us don't have to touch..."

Dan looked like he was seriously contemplating a way to make it work. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't consider it for a second or two myself. I mean, I'm not like guys are when it comes to threesomes (most of them, anyway), who find it the biggest turn on in the world and absolutely must experience one before they die. Neverthless, given the right circumstances and the right two men... let's just say I wouldn't rule it out.

However, last night did not provide the right circumstances (I was too tipsy by then, not to mention sporting unshaven legs).

Designer Dan was somewhat touchy-feely with me and at one point, we came in close enough that I thought we were going to kiss, but for whatever reason we didn't. Then he went to go flirt with some of the other women in the bar, and by the time he returned, I lost all interest in him. He had a bit of a sleazy streak, which I might have mentioned as he was leaving (though in a cute, flirtatious way--I think).

I don't know what time Polly left, but I stayed behind to chat with Mitch.

Even though I don't consider him a dating prospect, Mitch is a blast to hang out with. He's funny, laid back, playful, and easy to talk to. And yes, pretty cute, especially when Barman Ben isn't around to cast a shadow over all other men with his motherfucking gorgeousness. Also, I am no longer fazed by British accents, but admit that Mitch's is nice on the ears.

"I was so drunk that first night we met. I hardly remember what I might have said to you," he said.

"You said you were still hung up on your last girlfriend."

"Blimey, I really was drunk. I don't know if that's true, though. I was with her for superficial reasons."

"You also tried to get me to come over and smoke pot with you. And it took you about two hours of endless questions about Ben before you realized I had a thing for him. It wasn't until I asked if he was a player that it dawned on you, and then you said you think I could 'get with him.'"

He laughed, remembering. "That's right. I still think you could get with him."

"Really?" I looked at him with all the hope in the world. "Will you go see his play with me?"

"Sure. But we need to find out the details."

"I know all the details," I rattled off the dates, times, and location.

"When do you want to go?"

"Thursday. But if we talk to him, can you please please please tell Ben it was all your idea?"

I know I was putting a lot of trust in Mitch, but--

I think he's a good guy.
I am absolutely dying to see Ben's play.
I was drunk.

I realized when I drink, I talk about the last two things in the world I should be talking about: my secret internet identity and being in love with Barman Ben. I don't think I mentioned this blog to Mitch, but it's pretty impossible for me to talk about Ben without getting all starry-eyed.

It was so great being able to talk to Mitch about Ben, because he's known the guy for a few years (also, I've been trying to discuss Ben as little as possible with my friends, because I can only imagine how tired they must be of hearing about him). Apparently, Ben made a pass at Mitch's last girlfriend ("It's not a big deal, I still think he's a great guy").

Somehow, and I'm betting the alcohol had something to do with it, Mitch and I flirted with each other.

"It's funny, considering we're both in love with other people," I said to him. "I mean, you're still hung up on your ex."

"And what about you?" he rolled his eyes, "Oh right, you're in love with the bloody bartender."

"Let's go outside for a cigarette."

"It's too cold out there. I have a better idea."

Mitch and I waited until Cocktail Carl wasn't looking, snuck into the ladies room, opened the window, and had a smoke. Just as we were finishing, somebody knocked on the door.

"Ha, they're going to think I was in here giving you a blowjob."

Back at the bar, and this is where things get a bit hazy. More flirting and laughing and drinking, and Mitch became more physically affectionate, putting his arm around me, running his fingers through my hair, etc. It was nice. At some point, while we were leaning in to each other laughing the laugh of drunk people, he gave me a peck on the lips. I smiled, turned away, and started chatting with some girl at the bar. Turns out, a friend of hers had a fling with Ben a year ago (I wonder if he was getting divorced at the time). She also mentioned that Ben passed out fliers for his play a couple of weeks ago. Perfect.

It was time for another smoke break, another furtive trip to the bathroom. We opened the window and shivered over our cigarettes.

"This is fun," we said and laughed again.

Mitch got a serious look on his face and came in for another kiss, a longer one. I went along with it. We made out for a minute or two, holding out our lit cigarettes.

I was happy to get kisses, but a nervous feeling told me it was time to go home.

"This is going to be our secret," I said.

I gave Mitch my contact info so that he could get in touch about seeing the play on Thursday. If he doesn't call, I might just go anyway.

I talked to Mom, admitting that no matter what I do to try to distract myself, I can't get my mind off Ben.

"That's because things are still unresolved for you with him. Things are still unfinished."

It looks like this story is going to need at least one more chapter...

[ETA: Not five minutes after posting this, I got copied on a mass email from Ben about the play. Quite the coincidence, no?]

in brief

2007-02-19T03:41:00.003-05:00

Tonight... (in no particular order) I had a date, got propositioned for a guy-girl-guy threesome with two attractive men, went drinking with Polly, found a way I might legitimately be able to go see Barman Ben's play, and got kisses.

But I'm way too drunk and tired to go into the details...

in dreams begin responsibilities

2007-02-16T11:46:00.000-05:00

I have been enjoying the company of a very special male this week. He's affectionate, attentive, playful, and a great cuddler. He shows boundless joy when he sees me and is despondent when we have to part ways. He has also been waking me up at ungodly hours and is responsible for my current weary, sleep-deprived state.

In other words, I'm dog-sitting. Luckily, I'm looking after one of the most lovable pooches on the planet. This is why I can forgive being woken up at 7:30am on a Saturday. It's why I have tolerated extra commutes to come home, walk the dog, and take the subway back out into the city for my evening plans. It's why I didn't even get too upset when I came home the other night and found the garbage can overturned, trash strewn on the kitchen floor, and a puddle of leftover Chinese food vomit in the living room.

I knew a dog was a lot of responsibility, but this is the first time I have taken care of one on my own. It has surprised me just how much of a dent it has made on my schedule and lifestyle. Saturday night, I walked him before and after (we're talking 3:00am) I went out, in the hopes that I would get to sleep in, and was still woken up early (though he was kind enough to wait until 9:00am). And there's nothing like navigating snowy/icy streets in the bitter cold, waiting for a dog to do its business.

At the same time, it has been such a pleasure having him around. I find myself not wanting to go out as much (though I've had to because of a number of social obligations) and feeling a bit guilty when I do. I have this crazy, protective love for the dog, because he is so dependant on me to take care of his basic needs and loves me back, unconditionally. It's also a bit intimidating.

This week made me realize just how much I enjoy my independence. Some day, I'd like to have the full package (husband, dog, child), but can't imagine it being any time soon.

I wonder if I'm developing some committment issues. The idea of being responsible for a living being is terribly daunting to me at the moment, especially in the romantic sense. I can't even deal with being instrumental in providing for a dog's happiness, to say nothing a human being's. Obviously, I should remove the word "date" from my vocabulary for the foreseeable future. Whenever I have started feeling a bit emotionally open in recent times, it has spooked me, made me want to go away. If that doesn't say "not ready" I don't know what does.

Still, I've crossed paths with a few interesting men recently and want to keep an open mind. I might even have a date this weekend.

Maybe it's easier to focus on a romantic illusion. Yes, Barman Ben. Yes, he is still haunting me. Not as much, but enough.

Ben still hasn't sent out the email about his play, but it's now running. I want to see it, but cannot just turn up, because I'm not supposed to know about it yet. Whenever I think about him, I feel something tightening within me, a ghost pain, a terrible sense of longing. How did a smart woman like me get hung up on somebody so perfectly wrong for me, so unattainable? I try distracting myself with a myriad of activities, but the only thing that helps, that makes me truly forget him, is flirting and going out with other men. It's like having some kind of emotional virus. I wish I could get Ben out of my system once and for all. I thought I did, but had a bit of a relapse in recent days.

I'm looking forward to this upcoming three-day weekend. I need to spend some time on my own, shake off some of this confusion, and (maybe most importantly) sleep. I've had a minor setback with some of my personal projects and need to get back on track. Right now being alone, being responsible for only myself, is the most appealing thing I can think of.

VD

2007-02-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

It starts with a rash. Bits of red everywhere: in drugstores, in storefronts, in coffee shops and restaurants. Here it comes again: the parade of roses, crimson hearts, cloying plush animals, glistening boxes of candy, and those damn chubby cupids pointing their arrows in every direction but yours. Pain and irritation are sure to follow. Once again corporate America has conspired to remind you that on this day in mid-February, you are alone.

What if you're (un?)fortunate enough not to be alone? Then this is the day you must assess your togetherness to just the right degree, via edibles and gifts (or even edible gifts, if that's your thing). Whether it's love, like, or lust, be sure to get it right, or you'll risk joining the ranks of those poor suckers who have to navigate the bloody rivers of Valentine's Day in a single-person kayak.

Oh, wait. I'm one of those poor suckers.

I was starting to brew up some really good Valentine's Day angst; part annoyance, part anger, part melancholy. I was getting some fierce emotional bile building. Then it went away.

The thing is, I don't feel like letting V-Day get me down this year. I don't want those pre-printed Hallmark sentiments or heart-shaped boxes to have any power over me. Yes, I do feel a sting every time I see a women with a bouquet of flowers (I don't know why it's always the flower thing that gets me). Yes, I'm irritated that my last three relationships ran their course during the non-Valentine's Day part of the year, which will make it the fifth year in a row that I'm single on this sadistic holiday.

So f-in' what?

One of my worst Valentine's Days went down when I had a boyfriend. One of my best was spent entirely on my own.

It's just another day.

I thought of taking a personal day, to avoid all the lovey-dovey propaganda and enjoy some me-time (no, not that kind of me-time). Instead, Willow and I are going to meet downtown and take advantage of the various V-Day drink specials on offer. Perhaps I'll send a smutty drunken text or two as well. That's it.

It's tempting to use this day as a point of contemplation, to take stock and assess one's personal State of the Romantic Nation. I advise against it. The best way to survive the potential pressures of V-Day is to remain indifferent to them. I refuse to let this day be an excuse to whine and mope about being single. At this moment in time, I'm actually quite happy being single. And if I start to feel otherwise at any point during tomorrow night's outing, there will be plenty of tequila readily available.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready for the big V tomorrow. Let Cupid and Co. do his worst.

It's official: I'm a writer

2007-02-12T09:12:00.000-05:00

Or, rather, a published writer.

I have a piece up on the It's Just Coffee website, a tongue-in-cheek online dating site with humorous and informative articles on dating, self-improvement, and relationships.

I'm pretty excited about this. Here's the link.

0 for 2

2007-02-10T17:08:00.000-05:00

Telecom Tom sent the following email yesterday:

Hey Dolly, I really enjoyed meeting you on Wednesday. I was not expecting to talk with you for 3 hours, and I know it could have easily been 4. Strangely, I don't think we had that spark, though.I don't know why, since you are smart, fun, and adorable. It's a mystery. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to drink and talk with me on a cold winter night, and have a great time in [country I'm visiting next month].
Tom

Which clearly means Tom was not looking for a female version of himself to go out with.

It's never fun to get emails like that, but truth be told, I was a bit underwhelmed myself. However, I would have considered a second date to see if any chemistry would develop, because sometimes these things don't happen right away. When I first met Ex David, I wasn't attracted to him initially, and had we chatted for a mere hour or two, would have remained uninterested. However, some time into the fourth or fifth hour of conversation, I realized a spark was building. That doesn't mean it would have gone the same way with Tom, though, and I respect his decision not to take things further.

My other date was fairly fun, but less-than-spectacular. He showed up twenty minutes late, with no apology or excuse, was in jeans and sneakers (I don't mind casual, but a little effort is nice), did not offer to buy me even one drink, and I did not find him at all physically attractive. The conversation was fine, but I didn't want to kiss him, or even befriend him, so it's not going to go anywhere.

I was saying the other day that online dating has never produced long-term positive results for me, so I don't know why I expect it might this time. Actually, I don't. I went back online to get my mind off of Barman Ben, and it worked. The problem is, once I begin the cycle of dating, I can't help but hope that it will lead somewhere. The false starts have a way of wearing away the optimism a bit. Only a little, though.

If this week has affirmed anything, it's that I am much happier when focusing on outings with friends or my own interests/projects. When I'm out with Willow or Polly or Podcast Penny or any of my other friends, I don't need to meet a guy in order for it to be a fun night; I inherently enjoy their company and the mini-adventures we have. Neither my heart nor my ego is at risk for being bruised (provided I avoid Cozy Bar). I would quite like things to stay that way, at least a little longer.

I'm not going to make a general statement, the way I have in the past, of whether I am taking a break from dating, or getting back out there, or whatever. I'm still cautious, but still optimistic. The magic will happen when it will, not when I want it to.

Luckily, there's a hell of a lot for me to be pleased with in the meantime. Now it's time for me to make myself look fabulous for my night out with Willow...

Would you date...yourself?

2007-02-08T09:35:00.000-05:00

Telecom Tom and I did not get into a heavy correspondence before meeting. A few lightly flirtatious emails, and Tom asked if I want to meet for a drink. Which is great, because I'm not crazy about doing the penpal thing only to meet up and discover there's no chemistry.

Tom lives a few subway stops away from me, and suggested meeting in my neighborhood. Considering the arctic temperatures, I chose a bar a block away from my apartment.

I had the perfect attitude going into this date: I had no expectations, but felt like my best, most outgoing self, and was ready to enjoy a drink or two with a new person. Since I didn't know much about Tom and didn't have a lot pinned on the situation, I was determined not to let the date drag out longer than necessary if we didn't have any connection.

Tom ran into some subway problems, but called to let me know (he ended up only being ten minutes late, but I put a lot of stock into small, thoughtful gestures like that). I got to the bar just after he did and was pleased to see he looked like his photos. Medium build, dark hair and eyes, a few inches taller than me (though I was in heels last night, so we were the same height), reasonably attractive.

The music playing in the bar was by one of my favorite bands, which I saw as a good sign and instantly put me in a good mood. I told him as much. We got a round of drinks (he paid), and launched into a pretty effortless conversation.

What I like about Telecom Tom is that he seems a pretty well-adjusted and happy guy, but hinted at a few unusual and less pleasant aspects of his life to balance out the cheer, so he wasn't all fluff and insufferable cheeriness. Our conversation stayed pretty light, but there were a few moments where it got a bit serious, and I got a sense that this is somebody I could maybe open up to once I got to know him better.

We discussed our careers and when I mentioned my passion for writing and interest in the ways the internet is changing communication, he suggested that I start a podcast. Oh boy. At least he didn't suggest that I start a blog, right? Tom himself is doing some very creative things with telecommunications and I was fascinated to hear some of the ideas he's developing.

As for sparkage, I'm not sure. We sat at the bar, not very close to each other, so there was a limited amount of physical contact we could have. However, we did mimic each other's body language quite a bit, and at one point Tom moved his chair so that he was sitting closer to me. We would also occasionally put our elbows on the bar and lean into each other a bit (the bar got pretty loud, so part of it might have been to hear each other better). Seemed like there was a bit of interest on his part, but hard to tell where it would go.

Tom and I have a fair amount in common: we both went to college in the same state, both lived abroad in the same country, both come from very quirky families.

We stayed for two hours and two drinks. As we were putting our coats on, I said,

"This was fun."

"Yes. I feel like you're a female version of me."

"Wow!" I smiled, not sure how to react.

I'm still not sure. What does that mean? That he thinks we're so similar we're better off pursuing a friendship? Or that we're so much alike it could be the beginning of something more? I don't think anybody has ever said that to me before. I guess I would need to have a better sense of what Tom thinks of himself.

It made me wonder whether I would date a male version of myself. On one hand, I know I'd be a fabulous kisser and have terrific music and movie taste. On the other hand, I can be a bit tightly wound and am not that great when it comes to managing stress, and I don't know if my male counterpart would be able to diffuse that. Oh, and let's not even get into my impatience and moodiness. I don't know, dating a male me could be spectacularly passionate and perfect, or disastrous, or maybe even dull.

In other words, I still have no idea what Tom meant by that comment (seriously, outside opinions are welcome). My first thought was: friends.

We got on the topic of karaoke, which he enjoys. As we left the bar, I mentioned that my friends and I are doing karaoke this weekend, that he is welcome to drop by if he wants (I thought this was a good way of showing him I'd be interested in seeing him again, but am happy to keep it casual for the time being).

He took a moment to consider it.

"I want to do karaoke with you, but I'd rather do karaoke one on one."

"Yeah, I'd be up for that," I replied

"It would have to be... next week."

"Sure. This week is pretty crazy as it is."

We nodded, smiled, said good-bye with a quick kiss on the lips. Too brief to tell its potential.

I think it went pretty well. It's going to take at least another date or two to see if there's something there, but I'd be interested in going out with Tom again. It was actually a pretty ideal way to get back into dating: a pleasant couple of hours spent with an interesting guy, resulting in the possibility of a second date. At the same time, the evening didn't leave me so swoony that I feel like I'll die if he doesn't call. I wonder if he will...

on the horizon

2007-02-07T10:52:00.000-05:00

Web Wesley asked if I was excited about my dates. I have one tonight and another tomorrow night. I'd like to go on a date with Wesley, but he is thousands of miles away, so that would tricky (and--oh, yeah--we're trying to work together, so perhaps not the best idea).

I wouldn't say "excited" is the word. A little nervous, yes. I have this nice equilibrium going, and I'm uneasy about having some guy disrupt it. That's why I am re-implementing the rotation (dating more than one guy), to make sure I don't get hung up on one person. Of course, when I did that last year I ended up frazzled, confused, and ultimately exhausted and depressed, but this time it will be different (and God laughs).

This time, I'm putting the emphasis on having fun going out and flirting, taking my time to get to know people, and not rushing to get emotionally attached. That's my big problem. I tend to like people too easily, and those positive emotions create a halo effect. I end up justifying flaws and incompatibilities, pushing my optimism to the limit by convincing myself that things will work out, as soon as we get past Problems A, B, and C. Sometimes it feels like I don't have a choice in the matter; it's as if the universe knocks me over the head and decrees that I will become enraptured with a man, regardless of his suitability for me. I fall in love easily and get disillusioned just as easily. It's a pattern I'm trying to break.

I don't often have a choice about what I feel for whom, but I do have a choice in how I act on those feelings. Over the weekend, at a gathering at Willow's place, Polly was praised my willpower at avoiding Cozy Bar and told her boyfriend about how Ben instantly liked me from the first night we met, how there was something between us, etc. (Why, Polly, why?). It started hurting all over again, as he returned to the forefront of my thoughts. The other night, I was a block away from the theater where his play is to be staged, and I wondered if he was rehearsing, or on his way to rehearsal, and prayed I wouldn't bump into him. At this point, I don't even want to go back to the bar, because I'm healing nicely and don't want all my progress undone. In this way, my actions are aiding my emotions (out of sight, out of mind, out of heart).

Then there's Wesley, who I don't know well, but gives every indication of being the real deal. He makes me laugh, he's a great flirt, and he gives me faith that the good ones are out there (even if they aren't in my time zone). Wesley is proof that the seduction community can be used for more than a get-laid-quick scheme, when I was starting to have some major misgivings about men (mis)using PUA materials.

This is my favorite part, the what happens right before. The anticipation. I have these two dates lined up for this week, a big vacation scheduled for next month, and several outings planned in between. I have all this to look forward to, and part of me wants to keep it that way: in the near future, where it's real-but-not-quite, where it can't possibly disappoint me, because it hasn't happened yet.

No, "excited" isn't the right word, but "nervous" isn't quite it, either.

Hesitant.

I'm hesitant.

Here goes...nothing? Something? We'll see.

protect me from what i want

2007-02-04T16:51:00.000-05:00

I'm a little sad today. A little lonely. Only a little, though. It's too cold to take my usual walk in the park, I've been sick the last couple of days, and I know I need to give my body a day to properly recover, but being cooped up has me restless. Haven't had any alcohol in a week, and the lack of Sunday hangover is nice, but illness always makes me a bit emotionally fragile.

So, where am I? Still trying to move forward. I did a little online investigating and found out the details of Barman Ben's play. It opens later this month and he's the lead (he would be). Ben hasn't sent out the email for it yet, but I probably shouldn't go, regardless. I don't want to see him and risk a relapse. Avoiding Cozy Bar this past week has been easy because of being sick, and hopefully it will get easier. Sophie was there the other night and said she didn't see him (rehearsal?). Every day, Ben exists less and less to me.

I've been emailing various bachelors from the online personals (doesn't that make them sound all classy-like?), and it's reassuring to discover it isn't a total desert out there. Since I don't feel invested and am not making a finding a relationship a top priority, and since I don't care whether or not I impress these guys, it's easier to be honest, irreverent, and have fun with it. I've been asked out on two impromptu dates this week, but had to turn them both down for various reasons. I spoke with one of the guys over the phone, long enough to know we don't sync up well enough to meet in person. The other one I'm in the midst of scheduling a date with for this week.

When I decide to get back out there, I don't like to waste any time.

Meanwhile, I have also been e-flirting with a man across the country, let's call him Web Wesley. I might be doing a bit of freelance writing for him, so we can't get too carried away with the flirtation, but we've had this strange instant rapport. I'm really enjoying our correspondence and I think we're kind of developing cyber-crushes on each other. The great thing is, Wesley knows all about the blog, and is familiar with the PUA world (we even agree on the instructors we favor versus ones we think are shady), but exhibits no symptoms of being a social robot. He's charming and genuine and reminds me of why I supported the seduction community in the first place. He is also inspiring me to do some serious thinking about where I want to go career-wise.

Wesley mentioned something recently that I've been thinking a lot about ever since. I never realized this before, but when I come across somebody I'm interested in, I get anxious, but not always in the same way (and not always in a good way). Sometimes it's the nervous butterflies, the elation, all those warm and fuzzy feelings that accompany a strong attraction. It's a happy anxiety. Other times, it'll be a similar lightheaded, elevator-dropping, tingly feeling, but warped somehow. A darker anxiety. With Ben, it was always the it'll-end-in-tears kind of anxiety, like it was too late to do anything because I was already pushed off the cliff, so I might as well enjoy the freefall and not worry about where I might land. I've had that feeling in relationships, too. I would go along, knowing I was emotionally invested but not being able to truly relax, truly be myself. Wesley mentioned that the darker anxiety stems from knowing deep down the other person is unavailable somehow. It's so true.

It can be difficult to distinguish between the two anxieties, because the heart wants what it wants. I've followed my share of unwise relationships to their untimely ends on the strength of that sentiment, ignoring my deepest instincts. Love can be a potent cocktail when mixed with delusion or false hope. At the same time, I've also had laughingly brief relationships, or ended things before they began because I did listen to those instincts.

In the end, I didn't refrain from asking out Barman Ben because I was shy or scared, or stubborn that he be the one to ask me out. It's because deep down I knew, despite any potential interest, he's not available. He's not for me. It turns out I was able to save myself from the freefall after all, and take a step back from that cliff.

Being in touch with other men this past week has reminded me how much better it is when there is an actual dialogue generated, when there's attraction that feels like it can lead somewhere. I just need to remember to distinguish between the positive and negative anxiety, pay attention to my instincts, and be a little more careful. The heart wants what it wants, but it doesn't always know what's good for it.

lessening

2007-01-31T11:38:00.000-05:00

In the dream, we were in some kind of storage room together. He pressed me up against a stack of boxes, I put my arms around him, our faces tilted toward each other, and we kissed.

"How far do you want to take this?" Ben asked, ready to remove clothing.

He meant physically; it would be nothing more than sex.

"This far," I said, disengaging, cold disappointment flooding me.

Nothing else happened. I woke up. Less starstruck, more skeptical.

One day at a time, I'm getting over him. Thinking about him less each day, and with less of a halo effect when I do think of him. If I can stay away from the bar for at least another week or two, I think I can be well on my way to being cured.

Something I keep forgetting is that just about every time I go to Cozy Bar, men flirt with me, show an interest. I'm attractive to other men and there are other attractive men out there I can be drawn to. Men capable of initiation, reciprocity, conveying actual emotion instead of hinting at it, all that good stuff. At least, I'm optimistic enough to believe they're out there.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about how this fixation with Ben mutated like this. I met him near the end of last year, when I was still battling my depression, right before my birthday, when I made a concerted effort to change my habits, my thinking, and rid myself of the gloom as much as possible. The big turnaround happened when I wrote the story, so it makes sense that I saw him as more than a muse, but as the source of this new vigor and passion for life. In all honesty, I think I just got swayed by his good looks and charm. He's the George Clooney of bartenders, and I should have known better than to actually care, but it happened.

I wonder if this was my way of secluding myself from an actual relationship in order to focus on the other parts of my life I've given priority to. If my romantic world is one of fantasy, then a real person can't interrupt my new routines and habits with their own. And I don't want my routines disrupted right now. At the moment, I get a certain amount of sleep each night, a certain amount of exercise each week, I'm vigilant about my diet, and selective about what I do with my free time. I'm on a very positive track here and cannot have anyone mess that up for me right now, least of all a bartender who knows how good-looking he is and the effect he has on women. I almost started thinking I wasn't beautiful enough for him, but stopped myself before I could follow that downward spiral. I'm not going to sabotage my new found poise and confidence on a man I pay to make me tipsy.

It's like having a fever; it makes you delirious and delusional. I think I'm slowly coming out of it; my temperature is coming down. Barman Ben is my kryptonite, so the only way to stay strong is to stay away from Cozy Bar, much as I love that place. I have to, because right now I am still intact, still happy, and my anxiety is fading. Going back would be subjecting myself to a potential ego-beating and heartache, and I'm not that masochistic. I don't want to get lost like that again.

I want to meet new people, flirt with new men, maybe even kiss one. It's on the horizon, I am pretty sure of it. Every day, it gets easier.

lovesick... but not for long

2007-01-30T11:08:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend, I met a girl waiting on line for the bathroom. She and I instantly bonded, so naturally, I told her about Barman Ben.

"Do you want to sleep with him, or do you want to be his girlfriend?" she asked.

"I just want to kiss him. Even once and it would be enough," I answered.

Her eyes widened, somewhere between awe and sympathy. "You love him a little bit, don't you?"

"I don't want to love him," I sighed.

I'm trying to get a grip. Yesterday, I signed up for a month's subscription to an online personals site, as a safety net. I'm still not actively looking, but going on a date or two might help put things in perspective. I'm busy with other projects, so I don't even have much time to devote to the site, but even registering felt like a step in the right direction.

There are moments when I get a bit overwhelmed. There's plenty to distract me, yet none of it is enough. I'm taking a big trip in March, to a foreign country, by myself, so I should focus on planning that forthcoming adventure. I wish the trip was tomorrow. I wish I could leave town for a few weeks, clear my head, get far away from Cozy Bar and Ben and these utterly irrational, overpowering feelings. I'll be able to avoid it tonight easily enough, and Friday I'm going to a party at Polly's place, but Saturday is the best night there (not crowded after 1:00am and Ben closes out the bar) and I don't know if I'll be able to stay away. Willow might have a small gathering at her apartment, which would be just the thing.

I need some kind of love intervention.

A person has only so much discipline. I've been focusing a lot of my energy on my new fitness regime and have been doing great. I've been doing a lot of thinking about my next career move. I've been putting a lot of effort into going to more events (readings, movies, concerts) and that's been fun, too. I was on this perfect streak of independence and self-improvement, content as could be, and was not expecting to be emotionally side-swiped like this.

I'm putting a plan into motion. I'm going to throw myself into my social activities, writing, etc. I'm not going to watch any more movies he's in. I am going to stay away from Cozy Bar, at least this weekend (if I don't see him, I think about him much less). I'm going to go on a date with someone else as soon as possible. There are already one or two potential prospects in the works (though ever since meeting Ben, I seem unnaturally drawn to tall handsome men in their early 40's).

It would, of course, be totally tacky to bring a date to Cozy Bar... right?

What I Did, What I Almost Did, What I Need to Do

2007-01-27T13:44:00.000-05:00

I was a mess of nerves all day yesterday. Couldn't eat, couldn't think straight, just felt a buzzing under my skin, a heady din in my brain. This intensity isn't justified, and almost bothers me, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I don't know why last night had to be pivotal, but it did. Luckily, I was meeting a group of female friends there, so I wouldn't be able to focus on Ben all that much.

When I got to the bar, it was more crowded than usual (though I'm starting to think a ton of people love this place as much as I do and "crowded" may be its natural state). No room to sit at the bar.

Willow and I squeezed in, waiting to be served. It was so busy, Ben didn't even see me for a couple of minutes. He finally looked over, gave me an I'll-be-right-with-you nod, then recognized me and waved. I waved back, feeling all "yay!" inside.

"I need to get an email address for you. I don't think it was on your story."

"No, it wasn't. I'll give you an email." Why did he need it?

He made our drinks and brought over a small notepad. "PLAY" was written across the top of the page, underlined. There were already a list of email addresses written out.

Oh. That's why.

I added my email, but didn't put my real name down (I have a cyber-moniker I use for online things, one other than Dolly). Gave him the pad along with a twenty.

Ben nodded, took the money, and gave me my change: a ten, a five, and five singles. I laughed.

Willow and I joined Sophie (my first mention of her, though for readers of Desperate Guy's blog, she is known as "Spinal Tap Girl" over there and she is lovely), who was sharing a large table in the front with a few friends.

This was good. Let Ben know I'm in the bar, but have better things to do than fawn over him.

I think it goes without saying that the circumstances for asking him out were beyond not right, were pretty much impossible. I was okay with that.

Next time I went up to the bar for a drink, Ben charged me (Polly pointed out he couldn't keep up the free drinks all night, which makes sense), and asked,

"Where did you go?"

"I'm sitting with some friends at a table."

"Did you write your email legibly?"

No, I wrote it backwards, with my toes, in pig latin, just to be difficult.

"I did."

"It's going to be a really fun show."

"It better be," I replied, "or I'm going to ask for my money back."

The guy next to me started cracking up.

"I want everyone to see it, it's going to be good. It's probably going to sell out."

"Well, you seem pretty confident about it." My tone of voice was slightly mocking.

There was no opportunity to talk to Ben, but something interesting happened at Cozy Bar. I found myself talking to everyone else. At the jukebox, outside during a smoke break, on my way to the bathroom, whoever was next to me at the bar. I wasn't doing it to show off for Ben, I was doing it because I was in a great mood and wanted to share it with others. I can't remember the last time I felt so confident and outgoing.

A little later in the night, I went up to the bar for a drink, and when Ben saw me, he said to two guys beside me,

"She's a really talented writer. She wrote this short story, it's very good." Ben turned to me,

"These guys work in publishing, you should talk to them, maybe they could help you."

I raised an eyebrow. "I work in publishing, too," I said in a not-impressed-at-all way.

Ben looked surprised. "I didn't know that about you."

"You don't know a lot about me."

I gave Ben a pointed smile and started talking to the two guys beside me. I didn't do it to make Ben jealous, I did it because my self-preservation instincts kicked in and I knew I had to stop pining at some point, and then and there seemed as good a time as any. Plus, one of the publishing guys was pretty attractive, and my age.

The three of us talked shop for a while. I didn't flirt, but I was exuberant and friendly. I asked the two of them to recommend some publications for my story.

Ben came over as I was putting together the list and I said,

"These guys are giving me suggestions on where to submit my story. I think I'm going to send it out. Just you wait, you're going to help me win the Pulitzer."

"I don't know about that," Ben answered, "It was good, but not that good."

"Hey, I do have another story in the works, so you never know. Baby steps."

I continued to chat with the publishing guys for a bit, then wanted to return to my friends. I couldn't, because the twenty I left for my last drink was still sitting there, so I asked Ben for a glass of water and my change. Once again, he brought me a ten, a five, and five ones. Hm, another free drink when I happened to be talking to other guys. Coincidence? (Actually, yeah, maybe it was.)

I wasn't really into either of the two guys and don't think they were interested in me, but it's nice to know people in the industry, so I gave them my email address. They stood to leave, and Ben held his hand out for them to shake.

"I'm here Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays."

(Whose benefit did he say that for, theirs or mine?)

He shook hands with one, then the other, then held it out for me to shake.

I shook his hand and said, "I'm actually not leaving. Still going to stick around for a bit."

Why did he do that? Not that I minded the physical contact.

Anyway, that pretty much summed up my interactions with Ben last night (apart from the "honey" thing, which I foolishly, drunkenly, made such a big deal out of).

Except that a little after 1:00am, when I must have been pretty tipsy, I made up my mind to ask him out. I'd go up there and say,

"So when are you and I going to get a cup of coffee and have a real conversation?"

Willow and Polly thought it was a cute and casual way to do it and encouraged me to go through with it. I just wanted the suspense over with, so I could get on with the rest of my life.

I didn't see Ben behind the bar, so I figured he was on a break, and went outside for a cigarette. I met a girl there and told her about Ben, the story, and how I was going to go back in there and ask him out. The girl was so excited for me.

"Good luck! Let me know how it goes!" she said when we came back inside.

"Thank you!" I turned to face my destiny... only my destiny still hadn't returned to the bar.

I waited until I realized that Ben was gone for the night. Saturdays must be his night for the later shift.

It was a sign. I knew what I had to do, in fact, I had already been doing it all night. Moving on. Getting on with things. Not acting like Ben was the center of my world.

It wasn't my intention to play it cool, but the crowded bar made it impossible to do otherwise. At the same time, it brought me to my senses a bit, made me realize that I can't do all the work. Ben has to meet me halfway. I made a big gesture, but now it's his turn. Except that I'm not going to be waiting for him to realize how special I am and act on it, I'm going to be out there living my life. I'm going to take off the blinders that made it tough to see other men and open my eyes, see what's around. Right now, the timing with Ben is off, but I have many other ways to pass the hours.

It will be at least a week before I go back to Cozy Bar, maybe more. I still can't eat, still feel that nervous hum that I know deep down stems from my feelings for him, but I also know this euphoria is something that does not have to be inextricably linked to Ben. Mom says I'm in love, but I don't want to believe that, not until I am sure Ben is deserving and can reciprocate. Not to be all Arrogant Girl, but I know I have so much to offer, and I deserve more than a one-sided romance. So I'm going to do the sensible thing, ride this happiness, and keep myself open to whatever may come my way.

Before I forget

2007-01-27T03:53:00.000-05:00

Personal footnote, feel free to disregard.

Last Saturday, I had this problem. After the night out at Cozy Bar, I had dreams about Barman Ben all night. The next day, when I woke up, there was one thing that confused me, that I couldn't recall whether it happened in one of my dreams or the previous night.

Such a little thing, but it happens in my story, at a pivotal point, which is why I thought it only occured subconsciously.

I couldn't remember if he called me "honey."

Trivial, I know, but it was bothering me. I decided it must have been part of my series of dreams, because Ben was friendly, but never that verbally affectionate.

Except tonight, I had to make a note, because it threw me.

Ben, in all his stoicism, called me "honey."

I wish it didn't mean so much to me.

symptomatic

2007-01-25T09:41:00.000-05:00

I've had trouble sleeping. I've had trouble eating. I've spent the week in haze. I've kept busy, let my mind focus on other things, but when it has free reign to wander, it always returns to the same thing--or rather the same person. Ben. It's criminal to think about him so much, but I'm powerless to do otherwise.

Tomorrow night, I'm meeting a group of female friends at Cozy Bar. If things are going to move forward between Barman Ben and me, I'm going to need some kind of indication then. If I have misinterpreted the gestures and nuances for something more than platonic interest, I'd rather know sooner than later. This infatuation I'm going through, it's like some kind of crazy illness, and it's fun and giddy and inspiring (I have another story idea percolating), but it isn't real. There's only so much I can live in my head.

The advice I've received has been conflicting. Some think that because of my intense nature, I might intimidate him a bit, and should therefore go ahead and ask him out. Some think I should make him jealous by talking to/flirting with other men (I don't think I like that idea). Some think I should play it cool, not do anything rash, and see how things play out.

I have a problem when it comes to being patient. I don't know that I can wait weeks or months, visiting Cozy Bar from time to time, and gradually building a rapport with Barman Ben until it develops into something or doesn't. At the same time, I run the risk of eradicating any potential anything by being too forward, too eager.

If I ask him out, it would be for coffee, to have a proper conversation outside of the bar. In his voicemail, he already hinted at a full schedule rehearsing for a play, that he's "not going to be around much," so he may plead busy to spare my feelings. But at least this way I would know for sure, not be left wondering, waiting.

Anyway, I hardly ever do this, but I am confused and ambivalent and nervous and distracted and not thinking straight. I don't want to buckle under the weight of this crush, so I would like to open the floor for outside opinions.

Yes, I am actually asking for advice.

What should I do when I see Barman Ben tomorrow night?

[ETA: I have to give credit to this post in Dan's blog for giving me a lot of hope. Thanks, Dan!]

we'll get to that

2007-01-22T00:26:00.000-05:00

"Did you get my message?" Barman Ben asked.

"I did."

I won't go into how Willow and I ended up at Cozy Bar Saturday night, but we did. We were in high spirits, pleasantly buzzed, and feeling especially charismatic and confident. It was the perfect time to stop by and pay Barman Ben a visit. Especially since I was no longer interested in him.

Ben reiterated what he said in the voicemail, but was even more complimentary in his praise. He enthused what a "terrific story" it was and what a special gift I had given him. He went on to say it reminded him of a short piece by Murakami, that both works had an undercurrent of eroticism and were rich in detail.

"Well, I figured you probably don't get a lot of people giving you things like stories... or maybe you do."

He paused, smirked a bit, and looked at me. "Nothing that's actually any good. Once I started reading your story, I couldn't put it down until I finished it."

"That's really nice to hear. I wrote it pretty quickly, in about a week."

He would interrupt his cocktail-making to lean in and say more.

"I could tell that. Not from the quality of piece itself, of course, but when you were in here before and I saw you writing, I knew you... had it."

"Actually, I hadn't written anything for over a year before that story." (Probably shouldn't have said that, but there had been lots of drinking and it took all of my effort just to stay outwardly composed and serene.)

"Well... you're not rusty. You're very talented. Is that number I called your home number?"

"It is." I wonder...

I thought that would be it, but he kept talking to me. We touched on the play he's in, various art house movie theaters, and I don't know what else. It was the most natural I have ever been with Ben, and the longest we've ever spoken. It definitely felt like we had some kind of rapport (though exactly what kind has yet to be determined).

Ben waved away my money when I tried to pay for my drink. Willow asked for a soda, and when she tried to pay, he gestured to me and asked,

"Are you with her?"

A nod.

"Then you don't pay, either."

I turned back to Willow and I realized that while I was able to be easygoing and witty with Ben, once I was in the company of my friend, my sentences kept trailing off and my mind wandered. Having him so close by was utterly distracting (in the most wonderful way). While I managed to be calm and collected on the surface, inside me was a chaotic mess of pounding heart and fluttery stomach.

Damn it.

Here's the thing about Cozy Bar. It attracts some pretty decent, friendly, grown-up people. Real prospects. But I can't look at anyone as long as Ben is behind that bar.

Ben would come by for snippets of talk from time to time.

"How long have you been in New York?" I asked.

"We'll get to that."

"What?" I gave him a puzzled look.

"We'll get to that. This is my time right now," he gave me a pointed look, "And I have questions for you, too. I'm going to get my chance to interview you."

"Well, you have my number," I said lightly, feeling like I was on a roller coaster that just took a major dip.

When he walked to the other end of the bar, I turned to Willow.

"Did you hear that?"

"I did," she nodded, eyebrows raised.

"That was a thing, right? That was some kind of moment just now, right?"

"I think so."

After a while, this British guy and I started chatting (we'll call him Magazine Mitch). He was cute and engaging, fun as hell to talk to, but I wasn't attracted. Turns out he has known Barman Ben for years, since he first started working at Cozy Bar. Not only that, he told me Ben's last name and a few other inside bits of info, like what kind of music he likes. Then Mitch would move on to flirting with me.

"You and I should hook up." (I didn't say he was subtle.)

"I'm actually not dating in 2007."

"I never said anything about dating."

I shook my head and laughed.

Later:

"You are pretty damn sexy. Do you know how sexy you are?"

"I have my good and bad days," I shrugged and launched into the evening's worst segue:

"What about Ben? He knows he's attractive, doesn't he." It wasn't a question.

Mitch nodded and we looked at Ben on the other side of the bar. "He does know... but he doesn't get carried away with it."

Willow went home at around 3:00. I stayed. Asked more questions.

Mitch told me that Ben has done a number of movies.

"Which ones?" I got my pen and paper handy.

He named one, and told me not to tell Ben, who overheard.

"Oh, don't tell her to see that movie, it's terrible." He turned to me, "Don't listen to him. I'll tell you a couple of better ones to see."

"Go ahead, you can write them down." I showed him the pen and paper.

"I'll tell you later."

Magazine Mitch wanted to smoke a cigarette and asked me to get him another pint while he was gone. He gave me a twenty and told me to get something for myself, too, if I wanted.

I ordered the drinks and held out the twenty.

"Who's money is that?"

"Mitch's. He asked me to get another round while he went outside."

"Okay," he took the bill from me, "his money I'll take."

Magazine Mitch ended up introducing me to a couple of the other regulars, who were a bit older and very sweet to me. At one point, I had all these men around me like a modern-day Scarlett O'Hara (it was awesome).

"She's a keeper," Ben said to them. This left me simultaneously elated and confused. I mean, great, now I know he holds me in high regard, but that kind of statement might be treading on I-love-her-like-a-sister territory (If I'm such a keeper, he should be doing the keeping).

Barman Ben announced last call and played the Rolling Stones. He was mostly his usual subdued self, but more upbeat than I've seen him. It was great to talk to him so easily and joke around a bit (at one point, I called him "The King of Dramatic Pauses" and he froze in place for fifteen seconds before replying, which cracked me up). I feel like I got to see more of Ben the person, and it only made me like him more.

Meanwhile, Magazine Mitch was tried to get me to come over and smoke weed with him and his friends.

"Are you drunk enough to make out yet?" he asked.

"No. Sorry."

"Well, I am."

"So tell me, is Barman Ben a player?"

He thought about it. "No. No, I wouldn't say he is," then the penny dropped and he gave a sly smile, "Oh... are you interested in Ben?" He looked from Ben to me. "Yeah, you could probably get with him."

"I didn't say I was interested, I was just asking." Thank goodness Ben was out of earshot.

While Mitch was busy talking to his friends, I leaned in and asked Ben,

"What's a nice way I can tell him that I'm not going to hook up with him?"

"Mitch is a good guy, don't worry about him. He won't give you any trouble."

"I mean, I did already tell him I'm taking 2007 off from dating, so I'm hoping that got the message across."

I think that might have made him smile (he doesn't do that much).

I know I'm recapping every little interaction and should just give the highlights, but I want to remember every detail, so please bear with me. This next part is important.

In my short story, when my main female character goes to the bar, the bartender always changes the music to Nina Simone for her, because she once told him how much she loves Simone's voice. It's one of the subtle ways he shows he cares about her before he's even fully aware of it himself.

Well, Barman Ben knows I love Favorite Singer. We talked about him before and his name came up again Saturday night, though I don't think I've ever heard a Favorite Singer song played at Cozy Bar.

For the last song, Ben specifically searched for and queued his iPod to a Favorite Singer song. It might have been a coincidence, but I think it was for me. Could have been a gesture, could have been a crumb. I'll take it.

There were a handful of people who lingered when the lights came on. Ben stood by the back tables and didn't seem to be in a hurry, so I went over and offered him the pen and paper. It was nice not to have the bar between us (Man alive, he is so tall! And so just-the-right-amount-of-good-looking).

"So are you going to give me that list of movies?"

"I'll call you and give you the list."

"Sure you will."

"I'm serious. I will call you."

I said good-night and he brought me in for a hug. Brief, but two-armed, full-bodied. Heaven.

I dreamed of him all night. Nothing racy, just of him and me in a bar. In one of the dreams, he called me "honey".

I looked him up on IMDB. Turns out he's been in several movies I have in my collection, including a couple of indies where he has played the male lead. I saw one of the films on the Sundance Channel, about a month before I met him (and watched it again today). No wonder there was something vaguely familiar about him. Happens to be a pretty good actor, too (let's not even get into all that).

I can't begin to guess what might come next. I dare not hope that he is interested in me romantically, though I could die a happy woman if I only got to kiss him, even once.

I know I should switch off my phone and stay away from Cozy Bar for a while, but that's not going to happen. I already have standing plans to go back with friends at the end of the week.

Try to resist it (I did), but you can't help who you are drawn to. It's a strange, helpless feeling, but also oddly euphoric. Dangerous, but that's life. I could avoid it, but I don't want to, because I love how alive I feel right now. All I can do is enjoy the high as long as it lasts.

In Rum Veritas

2007-01-21T04:34:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I thought he was out of my system, really I did.

I am such a liar.

Barman Ben. I thought I was over him, completely and utterly.

I'm not.

Still smitten. So very smitten. So very foolish of me, but I can't help it.

And I can't help but think he might like me a little bit, too.

I couldn't possibly be more doomed...

Bar Z

2007-01-18T10:46:00.000-05:00

"Do you think those two are straight?" I asked Willow.

"I don't know, I think they could be. They don't look like they're together that way."

Willow and I were in Bar Z, where she was flirting with one of the regulars who guest bartends on the weekends (let's call him Guest B). I was concerned my presence might verge into third wheel or cockblock territory, but Willow insisted I stay and hang out. After all, it was a three-day weekend for us, so drinking on a Sunday night felt a little more indulgent than usual.

"Guest B, how's your gaydar?" I asked.

"I have very good gaydar."

"Those two," I pointed to the end of the bar. One had strawberry blond hair and was drinking a martini; the other was wearing a striped shirt and drinking a beer. "What do you think?"

"I think they're straight. But I can find out for sure," he made a move like he was going to walk over there.

"Oh no you don't! I'll find out myself," I said, eyeing the stack of board games placed conveniently near the two attractive men whose sexual orientation we were trying to determine. "Let's play a board game."

"I'd be up for that," said Willow.

I went over and examined the boxes, chose VH1's I Love the 80s game.

"It can't just be the two of us; we need teams."

"We have to find a way to play this game," Willow was insistent, being a fan of both pop culture trivia and the decade in question.

"I think I'll be able to find us teams." I went back over to the other end of the bar and, nervous but bold as anything, asked the two guys if they'd be interested in playing the board game with us.

"Sure."

Introductions were made. Martini guy was Lawyer Luke and stripes and beer was Programmer Paul (friends, roommates, and very much straight). Neither was much of an expert on the 80s, so I decided to make the teams boy-girl. This meant I had to make a command decision about which guy I was more interested in. Programmer Paul and I seemed to have more of an instant flirtation happening, so I chose him for my teammate. Meanwhile, Willow left the game from time to time to smooch Guest B outside, which made me feel bad for Lawyer Luke.

The game was pretty close, but Paul and I pulled ahead. Guest B would come by once in a while to check our progress, put his paws on Willow, and show us just how much drunker than the rest of us he was.

Paul and I were up. Willow asked our question:

"Who posed as a high school student while writing the screenplay for Fast Times at Ridgemont High?"

Paul shook his head. "No idea."

I thought about it, "It's someone like John Hughes, but not John Hughes."

Willow shook her head.

"I feel like I know this one." I wracked the part of my brain that forgets birthdays to store trivia like this.

"You don't know. I'll give you... two hundred bucks if you get this right," Guest B chimed in.

"It's definitely not John Hughes, maybe Cameron Crowe."

Willow kept shaking her head.

"I know it's someone I'm familiar with. I'm going to guess Cameron Crow."

Willow smiled. "You're right. It's Cameron Crowe."

I high-fived Paul and turned to Guest B. "Looks like you owe me two hundred bucks."

Everyone agreed, and Willow showed him the card to verify I got the question right. He didn't say anything and went behind the bar for a bit.

We laughed it off and kept playing.

A few minutes later, Guest B returned and handed me a handful of twenties. I counted out a hundred dollars.

"This is what I could get."

I laughed in astonishment. "I think a hundred bucks is fair. Call it even." We shook hands.

The next round was on me.

Programmer Paul and I ended up winning the game. Willow and Guest B went off, and I left with the two guys, hoping they'd stick around long enough to make sure I got a taxi (it was around 3:30am at this point). Luke walked on ahead, but Paul stayed with me. The streets were totally empty and Paul recommended that I walk a few blocks over, where there were more cabs.

As we walked, we continued to chat, and put our arms around each others' waists. I was lightly buzzed, but far from drunk. A bit about Paul: he's my age, from the Midwest, hates sports (yay!) and gives good banter. Easygoing, friendly, flirty, but mildly so. Turns out he doesn't like the 80s much at all, so bonus points that he endured hours of the game (I suppose my sparkling company made it all worthwhile).

A few blocks later, still no taxis.

"Maybe I should call a car."

"You could do that. Or you could come over for a quick drink."

"Hmmm."

"I live just down the street."

How convenient that he led me in the direction of his apartment. He didn't press the issue, though. Left it up to me.

"One drink."

Luke was in his room when we got there, so we had the living room to ourselves.

I just need to pause the action to point out what a lovely apartment these guys had ("yes, we are straight," Paul confirmed, when I complimented their taste in decor).

"I feel like I'm in an actual grown-ups apartment. I'm so impressed," I said, as I glanced around: minimalist design, autumnal color scheme, soft lighting, and cleaner than my place is on its cleanest days.

Paul poured us some wine, and we settled on the plush (suede?) sofa. Between the delicious wine, the comfy seating, and Paul's laid back demeanor, I felt instantly at ease and happy that I came over.

He sat about a foot away from me and we talked. And talked. For hours. About our families, our experiences growing up, our thoughts on New York. He did not make a move and I knew I wouldn't mind it if things did not go beyond conversation, because I was enjoyed his company quite a bit.

Paul did sit a bit closer, though, and put an arm around me. He kissed me. Soft, then more intense. It was nice, then it was better than nice. We had the best kissing chemistry I've had since TV Tyler (and that was a year ago).

He invited me to stay over. I wasn't going to do it, hated the idea of doing the walk of shame in my miniskirt and boots, but it was nearly 6:00am and I was extremely sleepy. And I knew I didn't have to worry about Paul. I felt safe. He didn't run any stupid routines on me or act cocky or confident in a phony way; he was genuine, playful, nice--but in a good way, not a boring way.

I stayed for a bit, but left in the early afternoon. There was a point where I vaguely felt like I wanted to be in my own bed, but my need for escape wasn't as acute as it was on my birthday. This time, I was sober, very much aware of my decision, and very glad I stayed.

Naturally, considering the circumstances, I don't expect him to call. Still, it was a fun and surprising evening, and the perfect antidote for my recent dry spell.

Plus, I made $100! (um, I could see how that could be misconstrued...)

Epilogue: Barman Ben

2007-01-15T23:23:00.000-05:00

I did not get to sleep until 8:00am this morning (another story for another time) so I'm pretty much ready to crash. Forgive any potential incoherence in advance.

Willow and I were on the phone yesterday, when I saw another call coming through. It was a phone number I didn't recognize and my heart gave a little jump: Barman Ben. It had been nearly two weeks since I gave him the story. I had been too busy to give it much thought and didn't expect to hear from him.

"Willow, another call is coming through, but I'm not going to take it. I think it might be Barman Ben."

"Are you sure you don't want to take it?"

"Absolutely. I want to see if he leaves a message and what he has to say."

It was a while before my phone beeped again. I was going to finish talking to Willow before checking my messages, but curiosity got the best of me.

"Do you mind if I call you back?"

Not at all.

I checked my phone: three missed calls, all from the same number; one new message.

It was Barman Ben. He left a 1:52 minute message (long, right?). He did have a deep, rather sexy phone voice, but sounded utterly exausted. Without transcribing the whole thing, here's a general sketch:

"Hi, it's Barman Ben from Cozy Bar. I can't talk too long, my voice is pretty shot, and I start rehearsal tomorrow. But I did want to tell you that I thought your story was really, really good, and I think you are very talented. I would have called sooner, but I figured I'd see you in the bar, and then got busy with other things... But I did want to call because I read the story probably the day after you gave it to me, in one sitting, and remembering what I felt reading it, it was just so detailed, I didn't want to put it down. There's something really wonderful there. Maybe when I get out of this play and whatever else is going on... I want to make a short film and if you have the time, maybe I could grab one of your short stories, if you have one collecting dust. I'll let you know about this play when it goes up, if it looks like it's going to be any good. Anyway, I'll see you when I do. I'm not going to be around that much. I did want to thank you again for giving me the pages. It was such a nice gift, a rare gift, and you are super-talented, and I'm happy to have gotten to see a bit of your work. Have a good Sunday."

To save this message, press 9.

And that's it, just like that, the fantasy is over, my image of Barman Ben irreperably shattered.

It was dreadful to learn that Barman Ben is an... an... (even writing it saddens me, but I must)

AN ACTOR.

I need to pause just to shake my head. I had hoped Barman Ben wouldn't be such a stereotype, but alas.

At this point, I'd rather get romantically involved with a man in prison than an actor, so even if Barman Ben showed a keen interest in me, I'd never, ever go there. Besides, there were enough hints in the message to express how unavailable he is. Which is fine, because I am not available, either.

Still, it has to be said that the message is quite kind and complimentary. The fact that he read the story, saw "something really wonderful there", and called to tell me how "super-talented" I am, makes me feel good. And hey, he still inspired a hell of a good short story, so that's worth a lot.

Now to find my next muse...

say it ain't so

2007-01-14T20:20:00.001-05:00

I discovered something awful about Barman Ben.

It's terrible. Absolutely terrible. Oh, the horror just thinking of it. *shudder*

I have to get ready to meet Willow, so details will have to wait.

Suffice it to say, every last trace of my crush has now been eradicated. I am officially crush-free!

Phew.

autonomous

2007-01-13T12:44:00.000-05:00

Wow, where does the time go? This past week was so action-packed, I was too busy to blog (Too busy to blog! So unlike me!).

See, I've been putting my Dolly 2.0 plan into action, but I don't know that the details would be of interest to many people besides myself and my circle of friends. Feel free to skim.

Basically, there are three things I putting my energy into this year: developing my career, getting myself into really good shape, and exploring new personal interests. That's exactly what I have spent the last couple of weeks doing. I've been adusting to my new (rather strict) diet and exercise routine. I have received loads of new responsibilities at the office, so I've been getting used to the extra work, while exploring other job options in my spare time. I've been diversifying the way I spend my free time: this week alone I played Scrabble, went to see Janeane Garofolo do stand-up, and attended a Robert Altman double feature.

This does not leave a whole lot of time to see my friends, to say nothing of dating.

In fact, I do not have the time, desire, or level of masochism required to start dating again. I may just take the year off from dating altogether. Does that mean I will turn down every man who asks me out? Actually it does, unless I sense a real potential.

My mother tried to play matchmaker recently and put me in touch with this nice guy who came into her office, saw my photo, and was instantly smitten. This guy was sweet in his emails but--without sounding like a total snob here--I knew he wasn't dynamic or intelligent enough for me (half of his emails have been all in caps; who does that anymore??). He referred to himself as "an average guy". Is it too much to want somebody a little above average? When he asked me out, I told him I had a lot going on personally and professionally, and didn't think I was in the right headspace to date.

And it's true. I want to put my best self out there, but right now my energy is going into bettering myself, so I'm unavailable. I like it that way. It's nice taking responsibility for my happiness again (of course, that's usually when a guy comes along to try to mess it all up; I'm no stranger to life's irony).

I won't lie, I do miss sex. I really miss kissing. But if neither of those things happen within a greater emotional context, they are hollow and fleeting. Right now, I'm finding fulfillment from the other aspects of my life.

This isn't to say that I'm a total nun. I've corresponded a bit with a cutie in Italy and another in England. Last night I shared some charged flirtatious banter with an attractive guy who I'll probably run into at future events (actually, if he asked me out, I probably would say yes to him). As for Barman Ben, I have pretty much written him off (literally and figuratively).

See, if I put in all this time challenging myself and raising my level of awesomeness, I'm going to need someone who will rise to meet me. Until a real contender comes along, I'll continue the reinvention, the honing, the discovery and rediscovery of what I'm capable of, the having adventures big and small, the being happy again.

Yeah, I somehow turned this ship around. I'm happy again.

One Year Later

2007-01-04T09:45:00.000-05:00

I thought about doing some kind of retrospective post last week, but decided not to for a number of reasons. However, I do want to put down a few thoughts today, because my blog is now a year old. Woo, happy blog birthday to me!

Yes, exactly one year ago, I decided to begin an anonymous blog to have a place to freely discuss sex, dating, and relationships. I expected to jot down some thoughts and experiences and have maybe a dozen people read them. I didn't think I'd end up meeting pickup artists, dating two guys at the same time, crashing a wedding, doing drugs in the bathroom of a bar, writing two book proposals, taking the best vacation of my life, and falling into the worst depression of my life. As well as all the things that happened in between. Never in a million years did I think my blog would be quoted in newspapers, attract the attention of literary agents, television producers, and documentary filmmakers, not to mention get me invited to a seduction conference in Montreal! I never thought I'd have to create an email folder called "fan mail." I mean, wow. Looking back on it like that, it was easily the most eventful year of my life. I'm glad I chronicled so much of it on this site.

There's no telling what this year will bring, but I'm determined it will be good things. My job search is underway, my fitness regimen is in motion, and I have regained my passion and enthusiasm for life. More than that, I have regained my sense of romanticism. I don't want to view courtship as some kind of game or playing field. The less calculating and strategizing, the better.

I don't know how this blog is going to evolve going forward. I have honestly thought about taking it down (even though it would still exist in cached form somewhere, probably). I have some concerns about whether it might be a liability at some point in the future. Also, having recently rediscovered the pleasures of writing fiction, maybe that's where I should focus my attention. To be an effective diarist, you have to give a lot of yourself, and I don't know if I want to continue doing that. At the same time, this blog is a lifeline for me, a great catharsis at times, and I'm astounded at the varied responses it has garnered. So I'm not ready to shut down just yet. Nor am I going to take all the blood out of it by writing about less personal things. I guess I'm somewhat conflicted. And what better place to share that ambivalence than here?

I guess as much as I try to subvert it, what I really love is telling stories, whether they are fictional or autobiographical. That's something I want to continue doing, probably across various media.

Speaking of various media, one of Penny's listener's sent her an email commenting on her podcast with me and calling me a "playa". First of all: hahahahaha. That's just as silly as calling me a female pickup artist. Apart from a month or two last year, I'd never use either label. Don't I keep talking about how I'm into monogamy, love, romance, all that good stuff? I guess I can see how someone could read the blog and think I was somehow tainted, but I think everyone has had dabbled in debauchery, while very few people are actually honest about it (at least, in public). As I said in the podcast, anyone I'm going to be serious with is going to have to accept everything I've blogged about and not judge me for it. I also don't think I'd want to go out with someone who knew about the blog beforehand, because I'd want to share these things over time.

(I promise, I'm almost done with the navel-gazing here.)

What I'm trying to get at here is that I do worry about whether the blog could potentially sabotage a relationship (revealing too much too soon, that sort of thing) because I have done lots and lots of dating and I think I'm kind of over it. It's been tumultuous and fun, but I've always believed that when I meet the right person, I would pretty much know right away, not after five dates. And I wouldn't want that person to get the wrong impression of me based on what I wrote on the internet.

Okay, that's enough rambling. Enough recapping, enough introspection, enough thinking I have a solid grasp of this crazy little thing called love. At this point whatever happens next in my love life will be a complete and utter surprise.