Men are people too

The other week I searched for a box in the back of my closet in my mother's house. I put it there when I moved in with Scott almost 2 years ago. It was my single's box, filled with old boyfriend mementos and some self-help books. With my cheek pressed against its cardboard side, I reached my arm in and fished out Seduction of the Stars, a go-to manual describing the nature of a relationship with someone based on his or her astrological sign. With a new man comes a new chapter.

I read the few pages about the Scorpio and frowned. I flipped to the beginning of the book and read my own chapter, the Taurus, and frowned even more. It's not the same as it used to be, reading the book. I just ended up feeling foolish as I tossed the book back into the box which also contained He's Just Not That Into You, Be Honest: You're Not That Into Him Either, The Rules, and Why Men Love Bitches.

I came to the realization that there is no book for this. I was violating all the rules in all the relationship books by simplying being myself and being honest. And I felt the rewards of it 10 times over.

I was honest when I asked Christopher his intentions fairly early on in spending time with him.

Because I took that step, Christopher was honest with me about his job. I, in turn, may have cleared up a confusing statement I made about being in the city (for work) that could easily be taken as having my own apartment. (He acted all horrified over the deceipt until I said, "Tell me about that job again," and he promptly dropped it.)

There was in incident in which he booted up the lap top and put it in my lap and his last web search came up for anti-depressants. He was embarassed and said he did the search for his father. I was honest and told him I was on them before and they were my breath of fresh air until I was laid off and couldn't afford them anymore. He responded by disappearing in his bedroom and coming out with a bottle in his hand.

Because of this honesty, I believe he introduced me to his brother.

When I brought up how I felt that his friends hate me (3 and a half years later, I'm still waiting for a return phone call) he asked that wasn't it more important how he felt about me than how they did? And then he promptly told me being friends with them was overrated anyway and he hardly sees them anymore.

A few weeks ago he sent me a text asking about my Facebook status that confessed I had both a good and bad weekend and he wanted to know if he was the bad part. I could have said anything other than the truth, but I sent back, "You were bright spot of my weekend."

He called me three times that night. He was open with me and made future plans with me. He told me he sleeps better when I'm around.

And finally last weekend I asked if he was an affectionate person.

"What do you mean by affectionate?" he asked. We were laying on top of his bed spooning. At that moment he was the big spoon and I thought it would be the best time to ask.

"Do you like to kiss and hold hands and that kind of thing." Because, sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't. The inconsistency of it was making me neurotic.

"Yeah," he chirped.

"You don't project that. Like at all," I flat-out told him.

He thought for a minute. "Defense mechanism," he said quietly.

I don't know who this person is, the person I'm playing. I've never been honest and confident and open to getting hurt. Everything I've been through tells me that I should be more afraid and more damaged than ever. However I feel like I've been through the worst of life and am out of the other side. No man can hurt me as much as Scott did. I will never feel like that again because I am making smarter decisions. So even if I get hurt by men in life, it won't compare to what I've already experienced and I know I will be just fine in the end. I am so sick of lies that I'm living my life as honestly as possible and I feel that I'm attracting the truth to me.

Being honest has helped me see that Christopher isn't the only person to change in the last few years. Through my openness I see how my actions directly affect the boys I date. I've previously viewed men as unfeeling adversaries from whom I had to protect myself. I've never felt that men had emotions that could rival mine. But I've learned that men are people too. Façade begets façade and truth begets truth.

Maybe Christopher didn't think he was so perfect years ago living in his fancy city-view apartment in his Calvin Klein jeans and Armani shoes. Maybe that was his façade to the world. At 24, I was too intimidated by the together-seeming 30-something professional, so I put on my brand names and we sat in front of that 12' x 12' window of the city, not saying much of anything except for Calvin Klein written across our asses. How silly it all seems now.

Sabotage

I mentioned earlier that I've had a few set backs with Christopher. The thing is he doesn't know about them; they were all self-inflicted freak-outs on my part.

M-Joy got a frantic e-mail from me earlier this month when I panicked because Chrtistopher was being KIND and HONEST and AFFECTIONATE. I apparently took this as a sign from the devil.

"Ok, I am having a really hard time wrapping my brain around this affection," I wrote. "What's with the sudden and dramatic change? Does a guy just make a decision like that and commit to it?

"And my problem for you is I apparently still haven't gotten over some of the disappointments I experienced with him last time 'cause I'm still bringing that stuff up and kind of retroactively scolding him. I am beginning to think that I don't know what a healthy relationship looks like even if it bit me in the face, and I don't think I know how to be in one."

M-Joy is one of the few people in my life who gives really solid advice that I should follow 100% of the time. We e-mailed back and forth, her calming me down with each e-mail until she wrote something that just clicked:

"You are so concerned with missing a warning sign that everything is a warning sign."

And that's why I threw a minor fit because he kissed me in a Blockbuster Video.

***

But slowly my issues surfaced yet again. I had somehow then decided that Christopher's attention towards me was self-serving and superficial.

On my way home from a date with myself late one Friday night, my phone lit up in the darkened car with a text from Christopher. He read my Facebook status about happy hour with friends and was checking up on my whereabouts. I responded (too quickly) and turned up the volume of the CD I was listening to as if the deafening music could drown out the thoughts in my head of why is he just contacting me now after a few days of silence. All I got out of it was an ear ache.

He invites me over for yet another Saw and I leave for his house immediately because it's almost midnight. I arrive in the city for the 3rd time that day after putting in a very full Friday of work and social activities. He showered. He shaved. He ran out and bought beer. My pink beer coozy I left at his apartment was frozen and waiting for me, but I wasn't impressed because Christopher had been inconsistent that week.

After the movie, Christopher felt like a bath. I chuckled to myself. I remember this. I knew what was coming from the same night over 3 years ago. He made a hot bubble bath. Lit candles. Turned off the lights and put in a Harry Connick, Jr. CD. I assumed the position, the same as last time, craddled between his legs Pretty Woman-style as he scooped water and poured it on me.

I was not impressed. I was too caught up in the inconsitency of his affection and whether or not he truly liked me. And I'm smart enough to know that if I have to ask myself that question then I already know the answer. I'm too busy seeing his game and writing off the night to even consider he's trying to be romantic.

"Forever, for Now" begins to play and Harry Connick, Jr. croons, "If nothing lasts forever/I guess I better/Take you forever/For now." I openly scoff.

"What?" he asks.

"That's such a guy thing to say," I sneer.

"What? Forever for now?"

"Yep."

The chorus repeats itself and I scoff again, so much so that Christopher skips the CD ahead to the next song.

And then he washes my hair. Okay, that move was a bit surprising. He leaned forward and kissed the nape of my neck. I was so panic-stricken in confusion that I didn't even respond. This was new and unexpected. I began considering the possibility that I may have been wrong. My mind is whirling as he tries again and I at least have the capacity to kiss him back and make out with him a little.

We end up in bed. Afterwards he says he's sore because it's been so long since he was with someone and he's out of shape. And then he wants to know why I'm not sore. When I stayed silent, trying to wrap my head around this whole night, he presses again implying that I'm not sore because I'm with other people. I kissed his shoulder and told him he would be the only reason that I would be sore and I wonder what kind of sick game is he playing. Does he care or is he just being the biggest asshole ever?

And that was the night the inconsitency stopped. It turned out I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. Christopher cared and I almost missed it because I was making up scenarios in my head. I wish I could have that night over again just so I could enjoy it this time.

It's made me question all of my judgments with Christopher. It's quite possible that all the doubt I had in my head regarding him was my own sabotage. He was different last time too, but I think I really was the cause of my own demise years ago.

Manic Monday

I'm over being scared (for the time being) about my move this week. The situation has officially been upgraded to exciting. I went couch shopping last weekend. Because I spent so much on my bedroom furntiture, I didn't want to spend more than $300 on a new couch. I ended up at Big Lots and found a brand-name couch that fit all my needs (can stretch out from head to toe and not touch either end, enveloping without looking 80's or overstuffed, acceptable neutral color) for $250 and was able to take it home same day, so I'm really excited about that. When I moved out of my last apartment, I threw out a lot of things in those horrible 3 hours. Replacing what really needed to be replaced is helping with the starting-over feeling and my apartment seems extra new with all my new stuff. I can't wait to see how it all comes together.

I was reading some blogs during my lunch hour and I was elated to see we have other bloggers moving this week and they are also viewing it as starting over, so not only am I really excited to see how my life is going to turn out, but I'm also equally as excited to see what happens to Gekko Girl and Nutty Cow.

Another thing I'm totally stoked about is that I decided to pay out the ass and hire movers. So no sweating for me on the first day of August. No shouting "Pivot!" with couches that won't fit in stairwells. Just a lot of pointing and directing for me, which I decided that I'm good at.

I've had a few setbacks in regards to Christopher, but these were all self-inflicted and corrected very quickly with the help of good friends M-Joy and MamaBear. I'm beginning to wonder how much of three years ago with Christopher was my fault because I did a lot of blaming on him. All of this deserves its own up-coming post, but I wanted to share that I'm borderline giddy today.

Watched and Weary

My mother went out of town this week for the sole purpose of having a private investigator put on my step-father to get photographic evidence of him cheating for leverage in the divorce. My newest designated job was to sit at home and call the PI whenever my step-father left the house.

The PI started calling me at work before I even left for the weekend Friday afternoon. "I'll be home at 6," I told them. "I'll let you know what's going on then."

I jogged in the (empty) house and snapped the leash on the Femme Fatale's collar. I had a busy night ahead of me: happy hour with the friends at 6:30, followed by an 8:00 movie. Right on time, my phone rang.

"I just got home from work and he's not here," I breathlessly told them.

"Yeah, we know. We saw you."

I stopped in my tracks. I knew my mother hired a PI and yet I still felt jolted and scared. I knew they would be watching various places. I just didn't know they would see me. I stammered, quickly trying to remember if I picked my nose or adjusted my underwear while running into the house and if this moment was forever caught on tape now. "You're saw me?" I screeched.

The female investigator of the team laughed. I felt somewhat comforted that the female member called me. If it was the male member, I don't know if I would have recovered quickly, if at all. It was scary knowing someone saw me and watched me without my consent. I mean, I knew, I just didn't put two and two together.

"Man, you're good." If I knew about the PI and still didn't notice them, then my step-father wouldn't have a clue.

The PI asked all the places he could be, because he was nowhere to be found. "I don't know what to tell you," I said. "He lies about everything so I don't know where his regular places are."

I was left with the instructions to call them when he returned home. Only when I got home at 10:30 p.m. from my movie, he still wasn't there. I called the PI.

"He's still not here. I didn't know if I should call you or not," I told them.

"Oh we know," the PI responded. "We're watching him right now. He's at the woman's house. He's been here since we last spoke. we have tape of him mowing her lawn, feeding her cats, and working on some project together in the kitchen. He's even went to Home Depot to get her a can of paint. They kissed as he walked out the door, but it was quick and daylight and we're not as bold during daylight. We have enough evidence to show intent on cheating even if we don't have any intimate moments."

"Will that be enough in court?" I asked.

"We believe so. Just don't tell your mother, we don't want to upset her yet."

Knowing the truth and seeing the truth are still two different things for me, because I was still shocked. Even though I saw the phone bill and the text messaging records, I was shocked.

I've had about all the drama I can take for one year. The worst part is it isn't even close to being over. My mother wasn't going to serve my stepfather with the divorce papers until I moved out, per my request. I asked her since I was moving out earlier than expected, was she going to have him served earlier. She said yes. It's hard pretending, she said.

Not only is it hard, but it's exhausting. The sight of my step-father disgusts me. I won't go near the living room or the couch he's always sitting on. The confidence I gained with the return of Christopher is slowly slipping away. It's harder to be happy these days; I have to actively pursue it. I'm sleeping more, yet still don't feel rested.

I'm weary.

Home to Me

Well I did it. I signed a lease this weekend on an apartment. It was the very first apartment I looked at weeks ago, and everything I viewed since then was just to comparison shop or to try to talk me out of it.

It's on the west side (the building states it's Upper West Side, but let's face it. This isn't New York). It's the largest apartment I've had in the city at over 800 square feet. It's also the nicest with a foyer, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, nice cabinetry, and spacious closets. The garden tub could easily fit two. Breakfast is also provided every Saturday morning for all the residents.

The building security is pretty tight. Not only is the parking garage gated and locked, but all the stairwells and elevators also require an access card. I guess it would be annoying for visitors to constantly have to be buzzed in, but with the crime of my last neighborhood (and the lack of visitors I'll likely have) this is a welcome change.

Before I looked for an apartment, I decided on a maximum rental payment that I would not go over. This rent is a dollar beneath my maximum. I tried to find an apartment that was cheaper, and I viewed some, but I didn't love them as much as I loved this one. And I justified it by telling myself after everything I've been through, I deserve an apartment that I love. I'm still not sure that this was the right decision. Although with this building I'm avoiding a gas bill and my good credit score was my deposit, so it's all relative I guess.

The only catch was to get the apartment I wanted for the price I wanted, I had to take the next available apartment instead of them holding it for me therefore losing profit. Instead of moving in a month, I move in two weeks. which in my head was a lot faster than I was prepared for.

After I left the leasing office, I drove straight to the furniture store and picked out a new bedroom set. My old hand-me-downs were in pretty bad shape so I sold them at a yard sale last month. I picked out a new bed, nightstand, and armoire with the intention of adding a dresser when I can afford it. I financed 40% of it for a year with no interest and I wrote a check for the rest.

I've never bought new furniture before. It felt weird to point at things lined up against a wall and have a middle-aged salesman running around to assist me. He measured things when I requested it and he worked it up with the dimensions of my new bedroom. I am not used to being catered to.

I'm also not used to spending that much money. With the rent and the new furniture, I hit the top of my financial security. I worry that I spent too much money. I haven't been in debt in for a while and I worry that the $1,200 I financed will break me. I'm worried that I'll run through my savings.

Even still, my new rent is still cheaper than the rent at the apartment I had with Scott (which I got stuck paying more often than not). And water and electricity for one will be less.

I guess I'm just scared. Of living by myself again. Of becoming lonely. I'm moving out to avoid living with the stress and repercussions of my mother's impending divorce and I'm afraid it won't make me happy. I ran around this weekend and made all of these decisions like it was my god-given right, and now I'm terrified of the consequences.

What if they weren't the right decisions?

Schadenfreude at its finest

When my dog The Femme Fatale doesn't want to acknowledge my existence, she turns her face away from me. It's like if I am not looking at you, you can't see me.

The other day she was parked under the table in the living room and let out one of those double-syllable burps. Ba-burp! It was as loud as a human's and I shrieked with laughter at her. On cue, The Femme Fatale turned her nose and watched the wall. She did not like me laughing at her.

***

Last night at Tuesday Night Knitting I informed everyone of my new work status. "So now I get health insurance and vacation time," I finished.

And then I saw it. The three girls' noses turned away from me. Two pointed away from the circle and one stared hard at the lime green work-in-progress in her hands. No one said a word.

It took me a minute to register that the other three girls had previously held marketing jobs like me, but they were still laid off. Tuesday Night Knitting has operated more like a Knit while you Network since its inception at the beginning of the year. The girls share information on who is hiring and in what capacity as well as preferred yarn fiber and the best way to cast on.

To make matters worse, two of the girls had interviews the previous week and neither were selected for the open positions. Their own depression rendered them unable to be happy for me in any capacity. It had taken on some perverse form of reverse-Schadenfreude.

Even Christopher gave me a cursory "That's great" when I told him. At least he made an unconvincing effort.

It's really deflated my joy in my accomplishment. Last night I opened USA Today and read that unemployment in my state reached a double-digit all-time high, the national debt topped 1 trillion dollars for the first time ever, and the 800-billion dollar stimulus package has had no effect other than stemming the bleeding. Even recent college graduates in China were pushing each other down to clean toilets.

I thought back to my immediate circle friends and counted. Seven of them have been laid off and have yet to find work. Three of those have been out of jobs for over a year. I am already thankful for the opportunity I've taken advantage of, but it's made me ashamed of my good news. No one wants to hear it. They would rather keep company with others' doom and gloom.

So I'm not telling anyone else about my job/apartment. And that makes me feel inferior.

News

Today I was offered a permanent position (and health insurance!) at the company I had been working under contract for. Which means this weekend I get to put a deposit down on a new apartment.

One reason I was so hesitant to leave Scott was knowing I would have to give up my apartment. The one I had been living in for years before I met him. (He would not have left if I asked him to, so really it was the only option to get away from him.) I loved that building. I always viewed that original move into the city into that apartment building as my independence, and to give it up was rather difficult for me. I felt like I had been hurt and abused to the point where I could no longer take care of myself and I required rescuing, although my mother always told me that was not the case.

I've decided not to go back to Midtown (the borough I originally moved to because Christopher lived there. It was the only one I knew and I was told it was trendy at the time.) It's time to close that chapter and move on. Besides, the neighborhood was scary after dark and I would be stuck in traffic for most of my commute. I've decided to move to Westside.

I don't know much about the west side other than it's closer to most of my hangouts and convenient to work. It's the same price as Midtown due to an up-and-coming buzz about it and has a lot of new growth. It still has about the same amount of violence, so a neighborhood comparison will be interesting. Westside's Kroger doesn't have a scary nickname to my knowledge like my Midtown one did. That's an immediate improvement.

So, I will again be establishing my independence. And this time my independence will be from my partner rather than from my parents. Scott's currently lurking in a treatment facility in Downtown, so I will also be further away from him. Christopher is across 16 lanes of interstate highway in Brookwood. It feels good that I don't know anyone in my neighborhood; it's just more evidence that I'm doing this move for me.

I have a hard time remembering that May, and subsequently my breakup and unemployment and moving home, was only 2-1/2 months ago. I've encountered a pretty quick turnaround time on all fronts. I'm proud of myself for trudging ahead with life despite so many obstacles and I believe that the reason I'm doing so well is because I never stopped moving forward.

In four short weeks I will be living on my own again, debating the necessity of cable TV and eating Chinese dumplings for dinner. I can't wait.