Wavering

"Are you okay?"

Clearly I was not. My body was shaking and my mind couldn't stop racing. Every time I've slept with someone in the past year, it's always been on a casual level. I didn't want that anymore. Not with Adam. I wanted a boyfriend. A chance at love.

"I'm fine." I think my voice even shook as I said it.

Adam leaned down on top of me, putting all his weight on me. That's the thing I miss the most when I'm lonely-- the weight of someone on top of me. He ran his fingers through my hair and gave me very slow, very soft kisses; he was trying to calm me down.

I've been thinking about sex a lot lately. I wanted to wait with Adam. I needed to take things slowly, for my own sanity if nothing else. I didn't know how to tell him this and I didn't know how he would take it. Somehow I knew that it wouldn't be a problem, he didn't even stick his tongue in my mouth until our fourth date and when I insisted that all clothes stay on a couple of nights ago, he gave the best possible response:

"You have to look it at like a Prisoner of War camp: they're obligated to try to escape. I'm obligated to try to do more with you, but I'll respect whatever you decide."

Originally I wanted to tell him I needed a relationship of some sorts before giving that part of myself to him. It would hurt my feelings to know he could sleep with me and then shop around on-line the next morning.

Then I rationalized it with even if I did get some sort of commitment out of him, it still wouldn't keep him around. He could end things at any moment, regardless if I was the only one or not. By sleeping with him, I would be taking a risk no matter the situation.

I had questions I wanted to ask, but I can't. It's too early. I would look wounded or damaged. By admitting I'm insecure to him, I probably would have to provide some examples. I'm not good with sharing my secrets or opening up.

I lifted up and rolled Adam on his back. I picked up his hands and pinned them above his head. I needed control. I needed to take the focus off of me. Perhaps if I turn the attention on him, I can buy myself a little more time to think about things.

No, I would not be sharing any secrets tonight.

Meanwhile...

Things are going well on the Adam front. He's begun calling just to say hi. We've begun talking about meeting the friends.

I don't know whether to write a letter congratulating subliminal messaging or arguing that boys really can take hints:




At Surin's he hands me my watch back.

"You know," he says, "I saw it on my nightstand and thought, 'How did that get here?' not 'Whose is it?'"

We've never talked about dating other people. I think it's too early for that sort of thing-- I've only been seeing him for two weeks. But even though there is no official arrangement, I don't want him to date elsewhere.

"So are you normally used to making lists to track down lost items?" I pried.

He laughed and imitated calling me. "Hello? Sarah? Are you missing anything? No, I can't tell you what it is..." he joked.

I made a sour face. He dropped my hand from the table and ran his hand down my head, from my temple down my neck.

Now what the hell does that all mean?

WTF

My favorite married friend struck again.

She called up to say she found the perfect guy for me. No prison time (that she knows of) and he's hot. She gave him my public blog address and he's very interested. She keeps saying over and over how hot he is, hotter than the others she tried to set me up with.

"I'll think about it; send me a picture," I told her.

I watched in horror as this slowly uploaded on my screen:


Did he just send me a picture of his tattoo? And it says, "Redneck?" He has that permanently inked on his body? He's the hottest looking one?

Okay, I have to find a nice way to tell her to stop trying. Seriously. Now.

Like soldiers...

Now is the time that everything is new.

Me: "You have soft hair."
Him: "You have a nice ass."

And exciting.

"You hate ketchup? Me too!"

And erotic.

"I love your whimper."

"I have a whimper? You have a grunt. It's deep and it's gutteral and it's hot."

"Mmm."

"Like that!"

Now is the time I go in to work sleepy-eyed and there is already a note waiting for me in my inbox about how much fun last night was. Do I respond? Maybe in a few hours. I like this one.

Now is the time when reminiscing about singing themes songs to cartoons while lying in his bed makes me giggle.

Now is the time when my friends are getting a little pissed at me because they're telling me their problems and I can't wipe my stupid slap-happy grin off my face.

Now is my favorite part of any relationship. You're still on good manners. You're still trying to impress each other: wardrobes and stories are both carefully chosen. Discoveries about the other person are exciting. You give and take compliments nonstop. You still have your secrets.

Now is the time when he mentions the coming months and I'm included makes me happy, but nervous. Talk like that confuses me because I want to believe him. He's never given me a reason not to, but I've trusted boys with my heart before and have been deadly wrong.

Now is the time I wish I could shut my brain off. Now is the time I need to forget my past and my hurts. Now is the time I should just simply ENJOY. Either it will happen or it won't. It's terrifying, but true. All I can do is trust MYSELF and be true to myself.

Now is the time I wish could never fade.

Confessions

"Oh, and congratulations on your parking pass win!" I laid my head down on the table in shame with my blonde hair covering my face. Adam just laughed harder. It was the end of my second beer and I tend to get a little confessional when I drink.

"Please stop apologizing!" he said. "It's no big deal."

"I feel dirty!" I spoke from underneath my hair, still refusing to look at the man I had Googled.

Adam leaned forward, "You know I get certain security clearances with my job. I could do a full background check on you in minutes. I clearly have the upperhand in this situation, so please don't worry about it."

I lift my head off the table, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Um, define background check."

"Why?" Adam smiles slyly.

"Do you get to see things like mug shots?"

"No."

"Okay well there's a story I might have to tell you."

I feel dirty

I am now confident enough to say that Adam really does like me and not in a I'm-going-to-destroy-your-soul kind of way. He sent me a short note at 4 PM yesterday afternoon, but when I tried to reply, my boss started acting like a total queen so I was on good behavior for the rest of the work day.

I turned my computer on when I got home from work to respond, but I got distracted with walking The Femme Fatale, then I wanted a bath, and then dinner. By 7:30 I finally turned my monitor on. There was another note from him in my inbox.

I think something can be said about not being readily available.

N flitted into my cubicle this morning. "So? Give me an update!" she whispered. I told her about the 2 e-mails.

"What's his last name?"

I told her.

"Come here."

I ran after her into her cubicle, losing a shoe in the process. I watched with one bare foot as she opened a personal web page she made with links to the public court records of the surrounding counties. We spent the next hour searching for poor Adam in the civil and criminal public records. He came up clean, but she couldn't access the county that all three of us live in.

We then Googled him.

He is no stranger to the internet. Google produced pages and pages of information on him from the past 16 years. We know his hobbies that he was into during college. We found pictures and message boards that he posts on. We know that he likes nice cars and we know that he owns a mandolin.

I feel dirty.

I learned a lot about him this morning. I am dealing with a nerd. Good lord, all those message boards! I don't mind because he's socially adept and I have my own nerd-like tendencies (see: blog). But now I know all this information that he never told me. This information would have been important if it was a newspaper article about him getting arrested for kiddie porn per se, but it wasn't. And now I know all sorts of stuff that he hasn't told me.

I then went back to my desk and Googled myself to see how I would look from his perspective. The only thing that came up was the newspaper I wrote for in college. And he already knows about that.

Is it wrong to Google someone? Have you ever given in to the urge?

Gestures

Adam called at 7:28 PM. "Already?!" I gasped.

He laughed. He called me when he left his condo and I told him to call me when he gets to my building and I would meet him out front. He called at 7:24 PM. Apparently the mile and a half between our buildings is not very far.

I ran in the bathroom and gulped some mouth wash and ran out the door while still swishing the liquid in my mouth. I stepped outside, made sure he wasn't within view, and spit into the bushes before running out the gate.

Adam saw me and started to get out of the car, but then stopped after I blew by him and hopped in. "Hey there," he smiled. He leaned towards me, but stopped himself. As we pulled out into traffic, he reached over and tickled my back. I was glad to see he was nervous.

At the concert, I wanted to make a move-- a small gesture to let him know I liked him. I'd been thinking back to the other two dates and how I was rather uptight around him. Except for the single kiss at the end of the last date, I hadn't even reciprocated any of the small gestures he made. I just didn't believe he liked me.

So as we walked into the Roxy I looped my arm around his. Adam sighed with relief and immediately covered my hand with his. I guess I've been too hard on him.

For the record, I hate that couple at the rock concert. Everyone is headbanging and giving the bird to the stage, and there is that one couple in the back holding each other and swaying like they're dancing to All For One at the prom. I HATE them.

I'm embarrassed to say that was totally me last night.

Candlebox is singing, boys around us are head banging, and Adam is standing behind me with his arms wrapped around me and his head leaning into mine. Periodically he'd lean in and kiss my forehead, cheeck, ear, or neck. It was attention I haven't received in quite a while.

I thought about Nick. He behaved like that in December and I thought he wanted to be with me, only to find out that he just wanted to be friends and "enjoy the time we spend together." I didn't understand how someone could act that way towards a person he just wanted to be friends with. I remember feeling humiliated and used. I've just been treated so badly by so many people, it just works better that I anticipate the worst so I won't feel duped when I get dumped.

So Adam is just being the greatest and my mind is racing with, What if he just wants to be friends. What if he's just enjoying the time we spend together to the fullest and not worrying about the emotional ramifications? Touching and kissing confuses me. That's such a weird statement, because it shouldn't be confusing. It should be a clear demonstration of feelings. But that's not the case anymore. And I'm too high strung and nervous to simply enjoy it. I can't kiss without feeling and frankly I wouldn't want it any other way.

Adam was perfect. Any time I said something cute or witty, he'd kiss me. It felt like being rewarded for being so clever. He didn't grab my butt or graze my breast or check out other girls in front of me from what I could tell. He opened my car door. He took me to get something to eat after the show and when I became tired, he took me home.

We were parked in front of my gate.

"Call me?" I asked quietly.

"Absolutely."

Peaks and Valleys

I walked in my door Sunday night soaking wet. I just had to wear this inappropriately short white skirt for my date with Adam and because of the storms, everything was wet including my inappropriately short white skirt with a fresh chicken wing stain.

I emptied the contents of my purse and laid my leather wallet out to dry. I removed the soggy concert tickets I won and pressed them in a book. Then I walked into the bathroom.

And nearly screamed.

My blow-dried straight, perfectly styled hair did not react well to the humidity. Halos of cow licks highlighted my face and took on a general poofy nature with its own peaks and horns.

Adam didn't kiss me, he kissed frizz with a body attached to it.

My face was barely better. If we would have stayed out any longer, I would have been suffering from raccoon eyes. This was about as Bridget Jones as one gets.

"Oh God," I moaned.

I described the event to a coworker. "Well he's seen you on a good hair day and on a bad hair day!" she laughed.

"Seriously, N, why does he like me?"

"Now why do you say that?"

"Because I'm pretty, but I'm not sexy. I'm what boys call "cute." I'm funny and lively, but there are girls out there that are much more charming than me. He's just so hot and smart. I know my age works for me but..."

"Listen," she said, having none of my pity party. "What you don't understand is that you have this energy. When you smile, your whole body lights up. You're silly and it's completely contagious."

"That's how I won the concert tickets."

"Exactly."

"And what the Buckhead ladies don't have on you is your intelligence. He's in law school and he wants someone whom he can have a conversation with."

"I did have two debates with him last night."

"See?"

"I guess."

"God you have self-esteem issues."

"I just like to think of it as being humble."

Last night Adam e-mailed me while he was in class. That must mean he was thinking about me. Every e-mail I get from him, I always scan through it first, checking to see the line where he says he's canceling or can't see me anymore. It's a little paranoid, but when you're used to something for so long, it's hard to let it go.

Winners

"Older men know how to treat a lady," my boss tells me after I fill her in on the date. Yes, yes they do, and I can't tell you what a difference it makes.

I don't ask for much, really, I don't. I'm laid back and don't require much. But I do ask that the guy makes an effort. I want him to plan the date, open the doors, and pay the tab. Maybe even compliment me, but even that is not expected.

We met at the park with our dogs-- The General and The Femme Fatale. Unfortunately it began thundering and lightning so we all climbed into my SUV, praying the dogs could share the backseat, and we drove by his place to drop off The General and mine to drop off The Femme Fatale. We made it back to the park and sat under tents for the free concert.

"I really want the chicken wings, but they aren't very lady-like to eat," I said while browsing the menu.

"You should get them. I'll just consider any mess on your face as war paint," he responded.

A DJ for the radio station hosting the event got up on stage and began handing out the free stuff. Because of the storms, hardly anyone was there. My shrill call I use to win "loudest person in the bar" contest made me the big winner of the night. Apparently Candlebox is back together and I won 2 tickets to see them this week.

"Funny," Adam says. "The last time I was at the Roxy was to see Candlebox."

"Well would you want to go with me?"

"Sure, I'll go."

"See? Aren't you glad I'm the big winner of the night?"

"I'm the bigger winner."

"Why? Because you didn't have to do anything, but still get to go to the show?"

"No, because I'm going with you."

And our third date is planned. Sigh.

As the show progressed, our chairs became closer together and casual touching increased on both our parts. When he got up to go to the bathroom, he tickled my back as he walked by. Sigh.

It's the little things that mean the most to me.

After the show we walked back to my car and I drove him home. It wasn't raining anymore, but there was no reason to make him walk. I pulled up in front of his building. He made no effort to leave. I put the car in park. He looked at me.

"Well The General is sad he missed you, but I had a good time."

"I know! I'm sad too!" Then I realized what he said. "Er, I mean I had a good time, but I was really looking forward to rolling around on the ground with The General."

Still no movement from him. Oh, does he want a kiss? Shouldn't he be moving in or something? Screw it. I leaned in and turned my head and his lips met mine perfectly. No lip/chin action.

I realize now that I actually have no idea what to do from this point. You mean you just don't get drunk and make out and worry about things later?

And I'm going to be needing to find a fault in him soon, because he's getting to be a little too good to be true.

A New Look for the New Me

As I've discussed recently, I know I'm no longer the person I once was. It's been a year since I've started this endeavor and things have only gotten better. I feel like I needed a new expression for this as well. As of right now, I'm not going to copy over my old template, so the archives will remain the same. The old template was much darker, which expressed the mood I was in; I don't feel the need to erase this.

Adam has proved every bit as wonderful as you think he is. He doesn't call, but he sends me an e-mail every day asking how my day is going. He's not the first older guy I've dated, Christopher was 8 years older than me, but he's the only one who's treated me like a decent human being in recent years. If this is something that can only be found in older guys, then that's my new thing.

Adam asked me out for Sunday night and I said I couldn't because I already had plans with E-- yoga practice. I'm incredibly proud of myself for doing this; the old me would have blown off E to see Adam. I feel good for sticking to my original plans. E's happy about it too. She still hasn't heard from that police officer and would have been pissed if I blew her off for the evil gender. It all worked out though, Adam suggested maybe we could do something afterwards.

Tonight I have a date with some leftover tuna salad and my Blockbuster on-line membership. Maybe I'll do some laundry. Completely happy, I cannot think of a better way to spend this Friday night.

Meet Adam

For the first time in a very long time, I was excited about someone. He is the first guy in while that I haven't described as "Well, he's not ugly." Adam is legitimately of the good looking bunch. A nice smile and curly hair, his photo made all my girlfriends "ooh" with delight.

Secondly, Adam is sincere. He doesn't play games. Whereas I waited 24 hours before responding, he always responded to me within a couple of hours. And if he wasn't near a computer, he would type out an e-mail through his phone and send it that way.

We bonded immediately. We live 2 miles from each other and attend the same activities and events. It's amazing that we haven't run into each other before. "We probably have," Adam once wrote.

Within a week of e-mailing I was referring to him around the office as my future husband. I said it purely in a joking fashion. The others had unfavorable nicknames like What's-his-face, so I had to let it be known that I liked this guy.

I still had one major reservation about him, he's 36, 11 years my senior. Er, and he has a kid. And divorced.

I knew all this going into my date last night.

Dinner was not without its awkward pauses. I didn't feel that thing, that "where have you been all my life?" He stared into my eyes, a move that always intimidates me, causing me to look sideways and play with my napkin. When I spoke using hand gestures, he would break eye contact to watch my hands. It made me feel silly. The only other time I ever noticed someone watching my hands was during an unfortunate incident involving the police.

I knew the date was going well when he paid the check (I barely had to fake reach before he shot me down-- major bonus points) and made no effort to end the date. Another hour passed by and we talked about families. A second hour after dinner was over passed and we talked about other plans we have to do together.

"I knew we had a connection just by your e-mails. I've never felt that way with anyone else," he said.

"I know. But I had to wait and see you to make sure you didn't Photoshop out your third eye," I gestured wildly with my hands and he watched.

"But I haven't taken off my shirt yet," he smiled.

I laughed. "So would you want to do this again?"

"What?"

"This. Us." Years of training keeps me from even saying the d-word.

"Absolutely."

The restaurant closed down and we walked into the rainy night. He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek and said he would call me soon. This morning he sent an e-mail saying he had a great time.

I had a good time too, but I no longer feel the need to call him my future husband. Even though we have so much in common, we are both coming from some very different places. I can't help but to approach this cynically.

Always let them know where you're going

I had a date last night that I was excited about. Doesn't mean a girl can't be safe!

Naked Love

Nick and I had a good time. I did learn this trip that he and I could never be together. Not that I was secretly hoping for it, but when you're in bed and you wake and find him on the other side, you do begin to wonder.

During those night hours, when he would find me on my side of the bed and he would roll and wrap his arms around me, I felt nothing. I didn't sigh, I didn't sleep better, I didn't even think I wish I had this all the time. I don't know if I felt this way because it was Nick, or if I generally don't need a man.

Snuggling used to be one of my favorite things. I loved being the big spoon and wrapping myself around a man's back. I loved smooshing my face into his skin until I can barely breathe. I loved knocking his legs apart so I can squeeze one of mine in between so my knees don't touch. For the first time ever, I didn't feel that.

I'm okay with not feeling that.

During a conversation we had Saturday night, Nick explained his Buddhist beliefs. He said he didn't believe in attachment to anything because everything is fleeting. If you attach yourself to anything, you're setting yourself up for pain.

I thought I was cynical.

"But don't you want love? Soul baring love?" I asked.

"Yes, but you have to understand that everything changes. Tomorrow you will not be the person you are today. You have to love in the moment, not the future or the past."

I looked down at my beer: it was beginning to get warm. I guess I do want love, soul baring love. I want attachment and someone who will miss me when I'm not around. Nick was good enough for this weekend, but he's not good enough for life.

Funny, I always thought he was the better one of the two.

Conor

Nick and I are sitting on one of Conor's roommate's beds. It's 4:30 AM and we're back at school visiting old friends. The party had broken up by now, but Conor is hanging out with us because his girlfriend locked him out of his room.

I yawn, "Sleep with us, Conor. You can sleep in the middle. You know you want to sleep with Nick after all these years. It'll be like a burrito."

Conor clicks on a zombie website. "No that's ok."

"Well what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." He gets up and stretches and then leans over Nick, "She's really good, you know. Especially when she plays with your balls."

I had been on the receiving end of sex jokes all night. Nick and I hadn't even kissed, but everyone knew what was going to happen. Conor's graphic description mortified me and I grab a pillow and beat him with it. "We're not friends anymore!" I scream. I chase after him and beat him with the pillow until he runs out of the room.

I'm going to have sex Jack!

Nick is currently en route to my apartment. I don't think I've ever had a boy drive through 3 states just to see me before-- that's a nice feeling.

I realized that all my closest girlfriends are virgins, and it makes it hard to talk about sex with them. They are still under the belief that if you really care about someone, the sex will be amazing.

Heh, heh.

I liked the fact that Nick and I were old friends from school. I liked saying that we were college buddies; it felt good that I had a platonic friend that I've kept over the years. In my circle of friends from college, I've pretty much hooked up with 90% of them. Conor and his three roommates, it took me seven years, but they all could compare notes if they wanted to. Oh god, boys don't do that, do they? I've never compared notes when Conor slept with my friends.

And after that last time I saw Nick, he makes one more.

***I'm feeling pretty slutty right now, so I want to stress that we've worked our way through each other over seven years. A lot can happen in seven years; that's close to a decade! Ok so our group is pretty incestuous, but feelings were never hurt. We didn't all cheat on each other and there would be an appropriate lapse of time between relationships to make this look less like an HBO special***

So tonight I'm going to be in room with most of my sexual history. My sexual history is going to drink together, talk together, and take pictures with each other. My history will sing and get drunk and good times will be had by all. But that's a little weird, right?

If I could do it all over again, I probably wouldn't have slept with Nick. I feel like I tainted the friendship with the naked factor. My virgin friends say that I could try to get back to where we were before by not sleeping with him this weekend. However, I feel it's too late. You can't erase the memory. You can't erase what happened.

The way I look at it, I can sleep with Nick again. It would be advantageous to do so because I can get laid without upping my sexual partner count. There won't have to be any weird morning afters and no discussions about where this is going.

I'm going to have sex Jack!

Reliving the Past

Last night I tried digging through my archives for a good post to explain where I've come from since the breakup. I couldn't read the posts; they were too painful. I couldn't read how desperate and heartbroken I was. Going back though them, it seemed like a different person wrote those entries. It wasn't even my writing style.

Something has happened to me since Mark. I've never had a panic attack in my life until we broke up. Now at the sign of male adversity, my body becomes violently ill. Twice within the past week I've had a near panic attack and found myself hovering over the toilet at work. I don't know if this is my body in self-preservation mode in order to protect my heart or what. It concerns me though.

Through my craptastic health plan, I do get three free phone consultations with the crazy doctor. I'm seriously thinking about using one of them and seeing what the crazy doctor thinks about this. He'll probably want to put me into therapy for the next 10 years. I have mother issues, trust issues, and fear of abandonment issues, but I didn't think I was worse off than anybody else.

I did do one thing before I went to bed last night though. I logged onto the website and blocked his profile. If he ever does try to contact me, I'll never know it. Something had to be done. I found myself covering my eyes when scrolling through the page he was on so I wouldn't even see him.

They always come back. Every single boyfriend I've had has tried to get back together with me. I've heard it all. Fortunately for me, they never try to come back until I can't stand the sight of them.

Rage

I logged on to my dating site today to read an e-mail-- Tuna was thanking me for the evening. I clicked on the option where you can see who looked at your profile.

And I almost threw up.

And by "almost," I mean "ran into the bathroom and dry heaved a few times."

Mark, aka Doucheface, aka the reason I started this blog, was at the top of the list. I felt incredibly vulnerable to know that he knew I was single. At the click of a button, he got an abbreviated update on my life. He knows what city I live in, what I do for a living, and where I hang out. I loved the fact that after that second pathetic phone call, he never heard from me again and had no idea where I was or what I was doing. I was happy with the idea that he was completely in the dark. Now he knows.

Granted, I've done great things in the past year. I've moved and got a great job. I had a relationship. These are things that make me look good and I should be proud of them-- and I am-- but it's not a secret to him anymore.

Upon seeing his photo with his "I'm borderline mentally retarded" smile, I got very angry. I wanted to reach through the computer screen and punch him in the face. Maybe choke him a bit. I don't know why the thought of him makes me hella angry, but it does. Several months ago I thought I saw him driving, it was the same year and color as his car. My first instinct was to drive right into him. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that it wasn't him and that I probably shouldn't plow into a stranger. I couldn't promise you that if I ever saw him again, I wouldn't cause him physical harm. He makes me so. Very. Angry.

On the plus side, I know that things didn't work out with Fattyfat McFatfat, aka his ex he left me for. Cheated on me with. He's still living at home with his parents. That makes me giggle. And he says in his profile he's six feet tall, which is a total lie.

So comparing and contrasting the two profiles, I definitely come out better. But I don't care, I'm too busy mentally punching him in the face. Maybe even choking him a bit.

He shall now be called Tuna

I had another mediocre date last night. I knew things weren't going to amount to anything after this phone conversation:

Guy: So what are you cooking for dinner?
Sarah: (sheepishly) Hamburger Helper...
Guy: Well, Tuna Helper says hello!
Sarah: Oh, is that what you're having?
Guy: No.
Sarah: Oh, so it was a joke?
Guy: Yeah.
Sarah: ...

I think I've hit a slump. Before dates I used to take an hour to get ready. I'd wash my hair, wear perfume, primp, etc. Last night I put on t-shirt and jeans, didn't even wash my face, and pulled my hair back in a pony tail. The excitement is gone.

I used to be optimistic and hope for the best. On date nights I used to be a little more spirited. Last night, with less than a half hour to get ready, I was sitting on my couch in my underwear, dumping the Pringles can in my mouth. (I could not have been bothered to actually reach my hand in the can. It seemed like too much effort at the time.)

I used to like dating and now it's one disappointment after another. I want to like someone. I want that spring in my step when I walk out the door. I want butterflies and nervousness. I want to "accidentally" brush my hand on his thigh.

I want no more Tuna Helper jokes.

Countdown to Breakdown

What's-his-face and I were sitting in a Japanese restaurant.

"Sushi makes me happy," I giggled. I couldn't stop smiling at the menu in front of me. "I was at a sushi bar in Peachtree City and this Japanese guy sits next me. He was actually Japanese-- his wife in kids still live in Japan and he works here and sends them money. He told me that hibachi is a purely American thing. They don't have hibachi in Japan. The idea of that really upset me, I love hibachi too!" I babbled.

The bill came. The waitress set it directly in front of what's-his-face and walked away. He pulled it to him and opened it up. Don't do it, I told myself, but I went for the fake reach again. Very slowly.

"Split it down the middle," he told the waitress. Dammit!

"Let's go to my friend's house," he said.

"Huh?"

"He has a pool table and more people might be coming over. Do you mind?"

"Uh, no. That's fine."

"Okay so I'll drive you back to your car and you can follow me there."

Sexy.

We were walking back through a gravel lot to his car. I was walking slowly, heels make gravel difficult to maneuver through. He actually sped up to get around some people walking in front of us. By the time I made it to his car, he was sitting behind the wheel waiting for me. I opened my own car door and got in.

This might be the difference between Yankees and Southerners. I am used to having car doors opened for me. I am used to not having to go dutch. I'm not used to following my date around in my own car. How am I supposed to feel romantically towards someone that's treating me like a friend?

As I'm following what's-his-face to his friend's house, I felt the urge to turn left and go home. I don't know anything about this guy. He doesn't call me, except to make plans. And the one chance I'm getting to find out who he is, is being spent at his friend's house.

I'm not a shy person by any standards, but the three of them were talking about things and people I have no idea about. I did pick up on the fact that what's-his-face, his friend, and his friend's wife are all unemployed and all they do is hang out with each other all day every day. And they all own homes.

This is beyond me. I work full-time and have an apartment I can barely afford and none of them work and own houses. How is that couple still married, sitting around the house together all the time? She was saying how she just ordered a semi-truck double stacked with furniture. What? I still buy second hand furniture!

"So where did you go for dinner?" the wife asks.

"Sushi. I thought of you while we were there," what's-his-face responds. "You know, they don't have hibachi in Japan. It's a purely American thing."

I eyed him incredulously, he didn't give me any credit for knowing that. All of a sudden I got dizzy and had to find a place to sit down. I couldn't see straight and it felt like there were a pile of bricks on my chest. That's what my ex used to do, take credit for my ideas and my knowledge to make himself look smarter. Screw how I looked, he just took and took and sucked me dry. My mind flashed through the whole ugly unfolding of my relationship with the ex and I couldn't breathe.

Why does what's-his-face need to look smarter? He's a lawyer. Why couldn't he just say, "Sarah told me that?" I felt plagiarized.

This is new. I never knew I had this issue. I thought I had grown so much, but I was sitting on a toilet with my head between my knees. "I'm damaged," I whispered into my hands. I haven't even been with my ex for five years and I'm on the verge of having a panic attack. "I'm damaged," I said again, louder, to acknowledge it. I blew my nose and wiped my sweaty palms on my knees.

I thought I was doing so well, but apparently I am not.

A Big Resounding F to the U

My married friend, who only has the best of intentions, called me while I was at work Friday to scold me for not updating my another one of my blogs of all things. She has two kids and spends all day on MySpace. She doesn't understand things like I can't answer 20 e-mails a day, IMing is a work no-no, and I probably shouldn't be gabbing on my cell phone. I called her back after work, when I was barefoot in my SUV and maneuvering through traffic.

"I thought about you this morning," she says. "I was driving to work with my husband-- we carpool you know-- and I said we're in our thirties, our kids will be in elementary school. When Sarah's in her thirties, she'll just be beginning to have kids. It'll be harder on her body and the chances of her having a girl will be astronomical. It'll also be more likely she'll have twins."

My mouth opened and closed a few times, words never appearing. I felt like I was slapped in the face. I felt like I was at Bridget Jones's dinner party with the smug marrieds. "Yes we're single because we have scales under our clothes." Inwardly I knew she was jealous and was justifying having children at such a young age to herself, but I've never had being single thrown in my face before. I thought I still had a few years left before that started to happen.

I called E, who would understand perfectly how I felt. "Did you tell her that you're more financially stable having kids in your thirties?" she snapped. My married friend had just admitted that day that he mother gives her money when she needs it.

"Or that couples who wait until after 25 to marry have like an 80% chance that the marriage will work out?" I responded. We've both done our reading. The married friend just finished telling me a story about almost filing for divorce before they decided to squeeze out the extra kid.

"Who's to say I even want kids?" I continued. "Maybe I want an enormous alcohol budget."

"Or travel money instead of college tuition."

"Damn right!"

Then I went on to tell E how much I've grown. I've lived on my own since I was 18, and have been financially independent since I was 22, but moving to a new city and starting over made me stronger than I ever realized I could be. I couldn't believe how much I have changed since April.

E agreed and said the married one will never be this strong because she's never lived on her own and will never have the lives we lead.

I've been operating under the impression that I'm a strong independent girl for the past few months now. My MO has completely turned a 180. I'm picky when it comes to dates. It's been about whether I like the guy, not how he feels about me. Screw whether he likes me or not. It's what I feel that counts.

This was factor one in Saturday night's meltdown.

And now for "I So Called That"

I originally said so here.

I have decided after my last cocktail that I'm never going to marry. I'm not going to have any kids either. I don't want love; it creates dependency. I want a glorious alcohol and travel budget with all the money I'm going to save. I'm perfectly happy with my books, movies, dog, and friends. The only thing that makes me unhappy is men. So I'm just going to remove that from the equation.

Baby-steps

I have a date with what's-his-face tonight. That's been his name since the last date attempt. Some people have endearing nicknames for their dates: baby, honey, sugar, and pumpkin; I have what's-his-face.

He called last Thursday, asking me out for last Friday night. I was three pints deep when he called. I laughed at him, "It's Thursday, what makes you think I don't have plans for Friday night by now?!"

He told me to call him later on for the following week.

How do you type angry faces? >:O

Because I didn't have anything to lose with this guy, or more likely a direct result of 3 pints of beer, I was honest with him.

"I'm not comfortable being in charge of the phone calling. If you would like to call me, that's fine."

"Okay."

Um, it was that simple?

So slowly he's getting the cues. He called Wednesday for Friday night. He had an actual plan of sorts, "Dinner and something afterwards," which beats the hell out of "I haven't given it any thought."

When I asked what time, he gave a concrete answer: "7:00 or 7:30." He even called to confirm last night.

So tonight at 7:00 or 7:30 I am having dinner and something afterwards with what's-his-face.

Baby-steps, right?

Girl, you'll be a woman

I gave Mel a call last night. At 25, she's dating someone for the first time and I wanted to check up on her to see how she's doing. Besides, she's waited long enough-- it's her time to gloat.

"How are you and new guy?"

"We're good. We've gone out twice and both times he's spent the night. He left this morning and sent me a text message this afternoon."

"Aww, that's sweet of him."

"Only..."

"Only what?"

"When he left this morning he made no mention of us hanging out again."

"But he sent you a text message this afternoon. What did it say?"

"He just asked how my afternoon was going."

"You're being completely ridiculous. I've dated guys that didn't call me back for three days because they were 'too busy' and you're working yourself up over someone who took the time to text you!"

"Yeah, I know, but he made no mention of us going out again. The weekend is approaching and I want to call him to see if we're going out--"

"No! Don't you dare do that!"

"Why won't he call?!" she whined. I'm sensing a theme here.

"YOU SAW HIM THIS MORNING! I assure you, he likes you!"

"But what if he doesn't call?! And Friday passes by and Saturday night passes by and I don't see him..."

"Girl, you are now a woman."

"What?"

"Congratulations, you're a woman now. Welcome to the life of sending ESP messages through your phone, trying telepathically to get him to call you..."

Mel said quietly, "You do that too?"

"Don't worry, by Sunday night you'll either be at the bottom of a gallon of ice cream, or completely tanked by yourself in your house. Either way by Sunday night you'll be in no condition for anyone to see you."

"OMIGOD. WHAT IF HE DOESN'T CALL ALL WEEKEND!??!"

"Like I said, congrats, you're dating now. It blows."

Oh, and he called before we got off the phone to tell her he would be out of town this weekend, but he wants to see her as soon as he gets back. So apparently she lucked out by getting the best first boyfriend ever. So it looks like I'll be the only one tanked on Sunday nights.

Mmm. Maybe E too, still no call from the police officer.

Happiness is

E is an emotional wreck right now. She went out with the police officer and he missed the time he said he'd call her by three days. She's really upset because she really liked him.

"Why did he say he would call me at a specific time if he had no intention of calling?" she sniffed. "If he just would have said, 'Nice to meet you,' I wouldn't be upset at all. He led me on!"

E and the police officer e-mailed continually for a week. They sent 40-something e-mails between them. This is not including the hours they spent on the phone.

If it was me, and I would never say this to her, I would have waited 24 hours before responding to his e-mails. It would give me a chance to compose my response without the giddiness of the new relationship prospect. Besides, you never know if someone Photoshops out his third eye in his photos. You don't want to waste a significant amount of time on a guy with a third eye; you always have to keep things in perspective. But then again, I'm a huge cynic.

Under my system, it would have amounted to about four e-mails. Nothing to cry over if she never heard from him again.

She's crying into the phone. "I just want you to be happy," I said. "Too bad he's a cop, we can't really eff with him without getting into trouble with the law."

"I just want you to be happy too," she said.

"Here's the thing: I am happy. I love my life. I don't need a boyfriend; I just want one."

"But how come you never get upset over guys?"

"Honestly? I'm used to disappointment. I've reached the point where I come to expect it. Most of the time I view them as adversaries more than as people I would want to give my heart to."

I was silent for a minute. I thought about what Vince mentioned on more than one occasion: I seemed wounded. I imagined a bird with a broken wing trying to fly. She's flapping her wings, but she never makes it off the pavement.

"That's not good," E said.

Which is worse: to give your heart away flippantly and have to deal with heartache from careless people, or to be so guarded it's hard to give people a chance?

*Thinks back to the extrovert from Friday* I don't care what you say, guys should never use "big," "giant," or "huge" when talking about a girl he's trying to impress. Not in any context-- you can't even say she has a huge personality.

Dare: Another point of view

Go read. Now.

Full Disclosures

I was browsing through profiles on-line yesterday and I found this:

I've never before seen an ad in which someone advertises he doesn't hit women. He doesn't "fight" with you in public. Does that mean he'll shake the shit out of you when you're alone?

This sort of disclosure makes me think about the theory that whatever a person puts in his or her profile, you can assume the opposite is true.

Example: My life is drama-free.

Really means: I have a lawyer, an arrest record, and am in contact with my exes.

So from this guy's ad, I can assume he'd like to be the type of guy who doesn't beat on women, but that's not always the case.

And what's with the plea to not beat on him? What has happened to this guy that makes him feel the need to ask this in an on-line profile?