you’re perfect…

Ever since me and Chuck split I’ve been jokingly telling every guy that has asked me out that I’m not dating until January but that I’ll add them to the list.

Yes, the list.  The list of men that have asked me out.  Please don’t misunderstand, this isn’t my ego talking.  This is me trying to casually avoid rejecting them.  The men aren’t my type, I’m not even interested in them.  I just really suck at being confrontational when it comes to hurting them.  I don’t want to reject a nice guy that I’d like to be friends with but have no attraction to.

Recently a man I knew back in high school contacted me on facebook.  When I knew him he was a wonderful, sweet, funny, sarcastic jerk that was cute and dating my sister’s friend.  He was two years older and he was so so so kind to me.  He always paid attention to me and I’m not going to pretend, I had a crush on him.

So when he contacted me it was nice.  We’ve been talking and we’ve been flirting.  And he said to me in email the other day “you’re perfect and you live so far away!”.

And I tell him of course I’m perfect.  I live so far away.

Then I get to thinking about this statement.  I’m perfect.  Ohh I’ve heard this so many times before.  I’m perfect for him.  Hell I’ve heard I’m perfect for her. 

Yes, I’m perfect…I’m a perfect little dream you have when you think of that ideal woman.  The one you’ve fantasized about.  The one that has fun and loves to cook and is interested in the things you talk about and loves kids and is easy to be with.

And reality is I’m all of those things and I’m so so so much more.  SO not perfect.  In fact all of those things you see are exactly why I’m not perfect.   Because that’s what I let you see.  And that’s what you want to see.  And I’m the girl that’s just like the one in your dreams but in your reality I’m the girl that doesn’t care enough, that cares too much about her friends, that has cats, that drinks too much, that can’t fully commit, that is completely and totally overbearing, that is obsessive, that you would not in a million years ever truly dream to be the girl you wanted forever.

 

So you want a dream, a fantasy.  You don’t want me.  And really, if you think so…then get in line and I’ll add your name to the list.

enter the protector…

On my first day of kindergarten I was walking home with my big sister and the neighbor’s grandson began to pick on her.  About halfway between school and home, almost directly across the street from his grandmother’s house, and right in front of our church I’d had enough.  Although the details are fuzzy I somehow gave him a bloody nose and sent him running home, crying.  I also arrived home crying yet my tears were for a very different reason.  I was absolute distraught over the fact that I’d gotten the neighbor kid’s blood all over my brand new windbreaker and I was completely beside myself with grief.  That was in 1980, I was 5, my sister and the neighbor kid were 7.

That was the first memory I have of defending my sister.  Of protecting her.  Of doing what she could not.  It would not be the last.  In 4th or 5th grade a different neighbor boy – a very intimidating bully was picking on her incessently on the playground at lunch and I’d absolutely had enough.  Out of nowhere I did only what I could – I bit him directly in the stomach (that was the highest I could reach on him).  I’d bitten him so hard it not only broke skin, it bled.  And I went to the principal’s office.

This trend continued throughout our grammar school years.   Holly somehow getting into a pickle and me making sure she got out unscathed.  Then somehow in the last 10 years she was the one that became calm, reasonable, respectable, a wife, and a mother.  She’d become a woman that I was entirely attempting to emulate in so so many ways. 

This morning I received a phone call from that sister asking me if I would look up a person on Facebook.  Sure, why though?  Because she had confirmed evidence that her husband was having an affair with her.

Oh holy crap.  Seriously?  The man that I have been comparing men to?  The man that I have only many occassions thought was the perfect man.  The man that secretly I’d hoped to find for myself one day.

Cheated. On My Sister.

And then it occured to me WHO he’d cheated with.  This person, girl, I knew.  I knew her because the first Christmas I’d gone home after my parents divorce was final I’d walked from my mom’s house to the bar that my dad was working as a bartender at to spend the evening with him and she was there.  Happily, annoyingly hitting on my father.  In front of me.

And then I met the girl that I would come to know as my dad’s first booty call gal.

A girl, who had graduated from the same high school as me, a year after me was sleeping with my father.  And she absolutely didn’t give two shits about the fact that his y0ungest daughter was right there in front of her.  She was completely and totally comfortable with practically throwing herself at him.  This tramp  had absolutely no respect for me, our family, or his privacy. 

I’d only very very slightly snapped that night.  My father knew what was happening and he had succesfully dampened my rage. 

Until now.

Now the little trollup has moved on from my father to my brother-in-law.  And now there is absolutely nothing that can tame my fury.  The little bitch is going down and I am the person that’s going to do it.

She doesn’t have any idea what she’s getting for Christmas this year.

No one messes with my sister.

No one.

and the definition is…

I have what claims to be a 33 year old man sleeping in my bed right now. 

Go ahead and read that first sentence again, it’s OK. 

Yep.  Really.  And I’m on the computer.  Why you ask?  Well first, he’s passed out cold.  Second, I don’t dare go to sleep with him in my apartment.  Third, I don’t think I could if I tried.

I knew it when County said it seven hours ago.  She said to her boyfriend “Oh no, she’s going home with someone tonight.  Every time we go out she ends up goinng home with someone.”  And that is where I jokingly (yet honestly) corrected her and said “No, sometimes I just do it in the back (and in unison we said) of a limo!”

As history goes for some reason whenever County and I actually DO end up connecting and going out together it seems that I have a track record of finding myself a companion for a moment, the evening, or even once three months (pyscho).  So it was only kind of a joke when she exclaimed those words to her boyfriend earlier in the night.

I’d thought (read calculated) I’d taken all the precautions.  I’d shaved my legs and underarms.  I’d purposfully not cleaned my apartment.  I’d worn the “good” bra but paired it with the very conservative t-shirt screen printed with dragonflies and meadow grass.  I’d worn good make-up but hadn’t showered specifically prior to going out (of course I showered this morning when I did the shaving).  My hair was a refresh from 6am.  I’d worn my navy blue Chucks for Christ’s sake.

I was definitely presentable, that’s a given, but I wasn’t by any standard a hottie and that was intentional.  I could’ve pulled out the ho-shirts, the heels, the tight jeans that make my ass look great but also require me to either stand or possess amazing posture while sitting AND sucking in my belly.  I’d put on earrings and perfume but neglected to wear a necklace or take off my ultra business appropriate plain-jane business watch.

My plan was simple.  I was going out with County and her boyfriend to places that weren’t considered our norm.  Out of the box you’d say.  My intent was genuine, to get my feet wet out there in the big bad world of co-ed interactions and relationships.  With no expectations whatsoever in taking a man home with me (dirty apartment).  At best guesss I’d possibly go home with him (shaved legs).

Yet here I sit on my couch as a stranger is slumbering in my bed.  Naked.  Did I mention that earlier? No?  Well he is.  Naked.   In all his hard-bodied, perfect complexion, best chest I have ever seen AND touched in person in my entire life naked.

In my bed.

And I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.  If he is honest and his story is true (which I totally don’t believe by the way), he’s a 33 yr old trucker from TN that comes to my area about once every week or so.

Bullshit.

Yes he was exactly what I’d been scanningn for.  Yes he perfectly met all expectations.  Yes it was worth it (as of this writing that is).  And no, I have no idea what to do with him now.

I swear to you there is NO WAY this man is 33 years old.

 

OMG no way.  God doesn’t build 33 yr olds like this.  I swear to you he doesn’t.

sign of the times…

I feel like such a dork to even be posting this at ALL…but.

 

(btw, everything after but is bull shit)

Tonight I finally removed Chuck from my facebook and blocked him from twitter.  I also removed all of his family from facebook.

Tomorrow I write the email to notify my family and friends to please remove Chuck from their respective accounts unless they have formed some sort of relationship with him that does not center around me.

And it was not that long ago when breaking up with a guy was as simple as just telling him you didn’t think it was going to work out.

the words are missing…

I haven’t posted in a good long while.  I haven’t written in my “real” journal in almost as long.  My reason for my silence?  I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know what I feel.

I’m angry at Chuck.   This much I know only recently.  I have just begun to realize the why I am angry.  Today as my best friend asked me how I was doing about the who breakup because I hadn’t mentioned it (read checked in or vented about it lately) I suddenly started typing that I was angry at him.  That after long thought and my inability to keep my mouth shut about things I suddenly became aware that Chuck had essentially based our entire relationship on a lie.

The lie was this – I had explicitly expressed to him that I was best friends with a man I had also had an intimate relationship with in the past.  I would not change this nor would I accept a partner who had any kind of issue with it.  I actually said to him (as I’d said to dates before) my best guy friend is also a guy that I had a relationship with in the past.  We broke up amicably and we make much better friends than anything else.  I also work with him.  If you have a problem with this then we cannot continue. 

Period.

Chuck said he didn’t have a problem with it.

Until a few months ago when he said he did.   He said that I was still hung up on him and that I needed to deal with that or I would never have another successful relationship again.  Chuck said that I was still in love with him.

While I do love Cliff with all my heart I am not nor will I ever be in love with him in the way that Chuck thinks I am.  I am not physically attracted to Cliff.  I am not romantically involved with Cliff.  I am not in any way hoping that one day Cliff and I will realize that we have always been meant for each other, that we have always been made for each other.

No.

I know this because my heart doesn’t break when he meets a girl or expresses his interest in someone else.  My fantasies do not include him.  My hopes, dreams, make-believe instances do not have him cast as my partner.

My confidence that he was brought into my life as a person that will be a friend a close close friend that truly knows me cares about me and will protect me is true.

I can be my truest honest self with him.  The one that isn’t politically correct, the one that isn’t nice, the one that isn’t attractive (and I don’t mean physically).  The one that had cried to him about my lost love, about my failure, about my true and raw and honest and embarassing and nerdy and shallow and snobby and sensitive and scared and worried and insecure and angry and impatient and smart and thoughtful and considerate and funny and every single emotion insight thought impression that I have had since I’ve met him along with the recollection of those I’ve had prior to him. 

He has truly put his time in.  He has proven his alliance and dedication and commitment.  He will not abandon me.  If he got jealous he would immediately tell me.  If he felt I was in trouble or harms way he would tell me.  He will not let me get away with my bullshit.  He doesn’t hold unrealistic expectations of me nor does he ask of me what he knows I cannot give.

He gets his share of passes based on the moments he’s been there when no one else has.   He gets a certain amount of concessions because he is him. 

And that is love.  But it is not a romantic love. 

And I can completely understand Chuck’s envy.  His feeling of falling short.  Unfortunately Chuck couldn’t understand that comparing himself to Cliff was akin to him comparing himself to my own father.  An unrealistic hero, a super human that no mere mortal could ever measure up to.

So I am angry at Chuck.  For misleading me that he was strong enough, secure enough, stable enough to trust me when I expressed my love for him.  To believe me when I explained that Cliff wasn’t the one I wanted and he would never be the one I wanted. 

That emotion aside I feel nothing else for Chuck.  And that reminds me of the musical “A Chorus Line” and a song by the character “Moralis”.  When she sings her heart out of the acting school and the teacher that told her to be a table an ice cream cone to express what it felt to improve sledding and feel the cold, feel the snow.  And she sang “I feel nothing”.  And she left that class and six months later she heard that her old teacher had died.  And she sang softly “so I dug right down to the bottom of my soul and cried ’cause I felt nothing”.

 

And that’s where I’m at.  And I can’t stop the soundtrack of that in my head and I can’t get past the lack of existance of feeling for the man that less than one year ago I had fully given my heart and future to.  The man I had claimed as my permanent mate.  The man that I would forever be with mentally, physically, emotionally.  The man I had chosen and had chosen me.

I feel nothing.

honest…

I must give a nod to modern technology sine I’m writing this from my blackberry sitting at the pub.

See I’d told myself I wouldn’t drink at home and save for a few rocky first weeks there I’ve been pretty good at keeping that promise.

So instead I’m here bacause I can’t bare to be there.

Tonight I was supposed to go back to “the house” and collect some of my things I’d left there that go into storage (seasonal items) and I was fully prepared to go finally. I’ve had half ass iintentions for 3 wks now. I texted Chuck to give him the heads up expecting he was at work. He wasn’t.

Completely out of character for me, I started crying as I drove south towards him and the house we shared. Desperately I phoned my best friend, I phoned Sarah, and finally I phoned Cliff and got thankfully he answered. I quickly covered the original reason for my call – confirmation he’d come to dinner with me next week. Then I attempted to casually ask him. Hey so I don’t have to go to Chucks if I don’t want to because (and my voce cracked as I choked back more tears) I don’t think I can handle it. And he said the exactly what I needed to hear. He said of course not. I’ll go with you if you want me to. And suddenly I breathed like I’d been holding my breath for an eternity. Confirmation. He gave me the permission I couldn’t give myself. Thank God for Cliff.

I don’t want to talk about the shock of the tears in the first place. The crappy realization that now I’m at the crying sober stage and the holy shit I had no concious idea I was actually avoiding see him fucking smack in the face.

I laughed as I thought – OK so I’m in a transitional stage.

I swear to you I didn’t think he had made this great of an impression on me. I mean yeah, I loved him, yeah I thought he was the one, and yes I still think he was the one God put here for me. And yes I do believe that if it can’t work with him it won’t work with any. He was my chance.

But I swear I never thought he made this great of an impression on me.

what a mess…

I have been anxiously awaiting this.  I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when.  Tonight, it came.  I am torn at the result.

Forgive me, I’m a bit tipsy (read drunk) annd it’s 2 am on Wednesday…you’d think I’d have planned more appropriately for my breakdown but emotions aren’t on a schedule.

I was hit on tonight at the pub.  Hard.  By 2 men and a woman.  Oh yes.  And the end result?  Me laying onb the floor in my apartment analyzing my relationship with Chuck to Cliff.

Yep.  Cliff.  The full blown tears streaming down my cheeks admitting for the first time out loud that I knew in the very beginning Chuck and I didn’t fit and yet i kept on.

Oh yeah I’m at that spot in the break up.  The spot where you finally come to realization that you were faking it for months.   For almost it’s entirerty.

And at this point there is little more you can do than face it and mourn for it’s failure.

And tonight I cried.

did I just get…? did he?

Chuck was always very aware of when I was chatted up at the bar.  Chuck was also very good at making me aware of when he was chatted up at the bar. 

For me I was in an exclusive relationship and it didn’t even occur to me that a man would be hitting on me.  Nor did I really care if he was.  I wasn’t interested.  Chuck, on the other hand was always very very quick to identify it, express his anxiety of it, and make it clear that “before me, he’d have knock that guy out for hittin on his girl”.  Oh how very testosteroney.  Yuck.

I’d get defensive and claim that I was clueless (which I was) and he’d say he agreed and that it wasn’t me it was the man.  I’d heard this so many times and even when there wasn’t a man to target he’d target the entire sex.  When a man talks to a girl it’s because they wanted to get her into bed.  In Chuck’s mind no man would talk to a woman unless he was attracted to her.  Ah ha, except when he talked to a woman of course.  Then it was because he was just being conversational, or and this is the kicker, because he was being hit on.  So I’d heard this again and again almost since the beginning of our relationship and all the way to the end of it.

And now I’m damaged…not permenantly thank you, but for a little while at least.  Now when a man talks to me I question if he’s doing so in hopes he’ll score a date or if he’s just a chatty person and we happened to strike up a good conversation.  I hate that.  I like talking to people – all people.  I like talking to strangers and having fun sometimes insightful conversations with someone that I may or may not see again. 

I’m not interested in being interested in men right now.  I’m not on the dating circuit.  I am not on the hunt, nor am I wanting to be hunted.  A nice compliment, great.  But beyond that I am very hesitant to even consider dating right now.

So last night when Al happened to overhear something I’d said to another person commented to me about my astrological sign (yes it was really THAT weak) I didn’t even consider that he was maybe hitting on me.  Then before I knew it he’d been standing next to me resting on the chair to my left and I’d been half turned in my seat to face him.  Finally I suggested he sit down and although he mentioned numerous times that he really ought to be getting to bed for his early day, he never got up to leave.  And then when our knees touched as we were both facing each other and the chairs happened to be placed closely together I had a fleeting zing that you get when that kind of thing happens, but I quickly pushed that out of my head. 

And then it was bar close.  Then it was post bar close and I finally glanced around and realized those chosen few that are excluded from the “if you don’t work here or sleep with someone that does, get the hell out” order that was given a good 15 or so minutes early…those people were gone except for Al and I.  And I said we’d better get going.  And then he got up from his chair.

I told him it was nice talking with him, I gave him a hug.  He reciprocated on both items.  I then announced I needed to use the restroom and as the bartender went to unlock the door for our (his) exit I went to the bathroom.  I came out fully expecting that he’d be gone, yet he was standing at the door.

Odd.  Was he waiting?  Did the bartender just decide she’d let us both out at the same time?  I don’t know.  Regardless, by the time I got to the door it was open and being held open for me by Al. 

After very brief small talk of vehicles and why I park so very far away (I gotta get my exercise somehow) I again quickly made my exit – nice meeting you, quick hug and me quickly turning and walking to my car.  Without glancing back.

And as I drove home I truly can’t know if he was hitting on me. 

As a rundown, on more than one occassion in our conversation I was very clear in saying “I think we would make really great FRIENDS”, and that purely based on his astrological sign (capricorn) I wouldn’t date him.  And our conversation included detailed items from our previous relationships (his ex-wife is also a leo, and Chuck is also a capricorn).  It was light and fun and funny and non-invasive.  He didn’t ask for my number.  I didn’t ask for his.  I didn’t even mention anything about seeing him again even though the pub is his local as well.

As I said before I’m not interested in being interested in anyone.  OK so then why do I care if he was hitting on me?  I don’t want to give him the wrong impression for one, and really…because if he was then that’s also pretty cool too.

and I really like her…

Just the other night I was getting ready to go to bed, just like normal.  I turned off the television, turned off the lights, grabbed my phone, put my water cup by the sink, just like normal.  I glanced around and took a cleansing releasing breath, just like normal.  Then I smiled and my stomach did a giddy excited somersault, and that wasn’t normal.

For no known reason I was suddenly optimistic, content, confident, and calm.  It was at that moment when it occurred to me that I’d made the right decision, I’d chosen correctly.  Finally I was sure that where I was was exactly where I was supposed to be. 

It was a welcome feeling and not a moment too soon.  From the moment after Chuck and I had decided to live apart I’d been on a virtual see-saw in my head.  One moment I knew I was doing the right thing, the next I was completely doubting the decision and hoping I wouldn’t lose him.  Then almost immediately something would happen and I would take a sigh of relief trusting in my decision.  And so it went almost daily for 5 weeks until the other night.

It dawned on me that I hadn’t felt this good in a very long time.   And then a brief wave of sadness washed over me for the realization that I’d been forcing myself to be happy and optimistic when I wasn’t and worse, I couldn’t remember how long I’d been pretending (or in denial).  And then the sadness passed.

Next came both surpise on curiosity.  Until that moment I’d only privately acknowledged I wasn’t entirely happy or satisfied with myself.  I hadn’t realized the extent of it.  And now that I was out of it I could examine it or not.  Either way I would learn from it.

The popular quote by George Santayana – “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

I’ve already said I’ve been in this spot before.  Obviously I didn’t learn from it.  I will this time. 

I just don’t get why I am so strong in my ways – my “things that make me happy”, my hobbies, interests, movie genres, music, style.  When I’m single I exude a confidence and a security in my own self.  Then I meet a man and I slowly start changing.  Along the way the little voice inside me gets shushed with the explanation of me compromising and coupling.  And then the little voice just stops all together.

And then I’m here.  Suddenly and slowly all at the same time I’m getting back to me again.  Finding myself again.  And again wondering why I stopped being her in the first place.

deja vu all over again…

It’s been about a month and a half since I moved out and Chuck and I decided to try living apart but still being exclusive and a couple.  What I’d thought would be a mature, smart decision.  Giving us each our space yet still acknowledging we wanted to be together.  Giving us the chance to work on ourselves.  Yeah yeah…blah blah blah. 

It’s been a little over a week now since that decision was proven to be a mistake.  I knew better too.  I really did.  I do.  I have had enough life experience to listen to my intuition.  I have good intuition, I trust my intuition.  I’ve also learned that when I get to the point in a relationship to fear and feel I’m over it and him, I’m right. 

Somehow this time I decided to try another approach.  I didn’t want him and I to end.  I had high hopes that this would be OK.  We’d somehow manage to succeed.  Crap.  That little voice inside me was right again.

Rather than drag out the gory details and relive the experience that in hindsight was probably embarassing since it ocurred in a bar.  A loud screaming fight.  In a bar.  Ugh.  He ended up walking out and walking home.  We then proceeded to continue the screaming match via cell phone for another 45 minutes.

A few nuggets from our conversation – “if you only knew how much I love you” and  “you rejected me and chose television” or “I’m sorry I can’t be a scrawny programmer like Cliff, I’m sorry I can’t be a geek like him”.   Yep, he said all that.  And he meant all of it. 

I told him I have never loved someone as much as I loved him.  I told him that I loved him to my capacity.  I told him that he didn’t believe me.  I told him I did know how much he loved me. 

He told me I couldn’t know, I didn’t know how much he loved me because if I did…and he trailed off.  How does a person even end that sentence?  I don’t even know.

I wasn’t hurt by what he said, I was angry that I’d thought he’d put this jealousy behind him.  I realized then he never would.  I realized that my high hopes were dashed.  I realized that I knew all along it wouldn’t work.  That I was just finalizing the end, tying up the loose ends so I couldn’t say I didn’t try.

Yet, ya know, he did.  He told me that I didn’t and couldn’t care about us because the first fight we had I took off.  I bailed.  I said (OK screamed) “the FIRST fight?!?!?!  We fought all the time!”  He claimed those were “arguments”.  Um, huh?

In the next day or so I received a text from him saying he shouldn’t have drank that much when he was so emotional.  He didn’t apologize.  A couple days later he emailed asking if I was seeing anyone and did I feel like he and I had a chance?  Did I want to try again, or should he just move on?

I thought for a long time on how I wanted to word my reply.  He deserved the real answer and I couldn’t sugar coat this.  I couldn’t let him down easy and hope he’d just go away.

I told him that he was a jealous person and that was OK.  I told him that I am never going to change my relationship with Cliff and he will never be comfortable with it and that’s just how it was.  I told him that regardless of my love for Chuck it would never be enough in his eyes.  The love he wanted was not the love I could offer. 

I’d said before to him and I said it again – we are two puzzle pieces that just about fit so perfectly, except for that teeny little gap in just one corner.  No matter how closely we fit it will always feel off.

And I said that no, I didn’t think so. 

Since then he has been distant.  Almost intentionally cold and stunted in our email and text message conversations.  So much so I feel like he’s trying to hurt my feelings by giving me just what I asked for.  Like he’s thinking – be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.  And he’s hoping I’ll regret it.

A month and a half ago if we’d ended it completely, if we hadn’t given this distant thing a try I might have had thoughts of regret and I may have been uncertain I made the right decision.

Today, I’m certain I’ve made the right decision.  It just took me a little longer to get there.