Getting Single...

Apologies and Advice Giving...

2009-11-09T22:23:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the impromptu hiatus on the story line; I've had a few issues with blogger and with time management lately but promise to return to my regularly scheduled blogging soon.

In the meantime, discuss this dating drama from a reader who sent me an email asking for advice:

I've been dating this girl for a few weeks. We've gone out a couple of times, all planned and initiated by me. She's younger than me (she's 25, I'm 32) but she's quite successful for her age. I'm definitely attracted to her (she's got a smokin' hot bod) but she did something last night that has completely turned me off and I'm not sure I want to see her again.

She sent a video message to my phone of her dog humping her roommates leg. She and her roommate were in her roommate's bed together and this dog humping the leg thing appears to be a regular occurrence, because you can hear them in the background talking about how "this was a good hump, this time" and how it "wasn't as wet as last time".

Last time? Really? Is this what constitutes a good time now? As I said, I'm completely turned off by her crass sense of humor. We are supposed to go out this weekend and I was planning on sealing the deal with her Saturday night. So do you think it's still okay to have sex with her and then break up afterwards?

My advice was simple: Don't sleep with her, no matter how smokin' hot she is, because if you have sex and dump her she'll think he used her for sex, not drawing the connection that it was over in his mind the minute the dog humping video showed up on his iPhone.

My advice for everyone is know your audience before letting your freak flag fly...

Readers, I'm curious about your thoughts on the matter. Would you dump someone for being crass? Is he being too uptight?

11/2/2009

2009-10-31T13:46:00.000-07:00

Halloween: The one night of the year it's perfectly acceptable to wear lingerie to a bar.

Joe and I never really did Halloween. The one time we dressed up for a house party we went as the scene from "Something About Mary" that resulted in Mary's hair looking like this:

Joe slopped some goop on his ear like Ben Stiller, I wrapped a stuffed dog in gauze that Joe carried around all night and I went as the fabulous Ms. Mary. That was about as risque as I ever got.

But the first Halloween I went out with the girlz was an entirely different story. We were sluttin' it up and loving it. Ginger went as Mrs. K-Fed; Red was a vampire vixen; Ruby a naughty school girl; Roxy was a she-devil and I was a sex-pot paratrooper complete with the shortest black mini-skirt that ever was made, combat boots, fishnets, beret, aviator glasses and a jump vest, which left nothing to the imagination as the only thing under it was my black lace balconette push-up bra. My girls were pushed up and spilling out.

All of the girlz' girls were pushed up and spilling out and we looked fabulous.

Wanting to be well rested for the night's tricks and treats at Gypsy, I didn't need much of an excuse for a lazy Saturday at home. It was raining cats and dogs and the entire city was swarming with overly ecstatic Red Sox fans who had poured into the city to watch the Sox World Series victory parade. Not exactly my idea of fun, especially since I could just as easily watch from a drier vantage point because every news outlet in the city was broadcasting the whole thing.

I decided to make the most use of my time by multitasking parade watching with paying bills online and catching up on my email. Sorting through what seemed like 100's of unopened and unanswered emails (most of it crap - it's amazing how you can get off mailing lists that clog your snail mail, only to have it replaced with virtual junk mail), I came across a lonely little message from match.com

Seems they noticed I'd been away for awhile; tried to entice me back to the site, you know, to see who was new in the neighborhood.

Eh, what the hell, I thought. Why not, I've got nothing better to do.

And just like that, I was back to Match to man-surf. I skimmed through a handful of new profiles, checked out my latest winks and deleted most of them. I was still a bit leery of the guys on match after what happened with Nate (of course I checked out his profile to see if he was 'active' again; he was not...) but some of the guys looked nice. Their profiles were decent. I could myself maybe going out with a few of them, if I wanted to put in the effort.

Are you serious? Are we really doing this again? The Banshee asked.

Oh shut up. I'm just looking...

And just as I was about to turn on auto-pilot and wink back at the select few that I hadn't deleted, The Banshee bitch-slapped me upside the head.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

What?! I snapped back. I... I'm just seeing what happens!

I'm not having any part of this. You wink at those doofuses and you're on your own.

Are you threatening me? I asked, never one to back down from a challenge.

No, I'm not threatening. I'm just tellin' it like it is, She stated, never one to mince her words.

That's fine, I said, clicking "wink" as I did. I think I can handle this without you. I winked back at 3 more guys and before I knew it, up popped (I totally typed pooped first, heh) a chat window with the first guy's face in it.

"Thanks for the wink," he wrote. And with that, The Banshee packed her bags and left for her cave in Guam, leaving me to fend for myself and make one big fucking mistake after another.

Girls Chase Boys

2009-10-29T16:56:00.000-07:00

So things with Brandon were over before they ever really began. Some people like to knit, or read, or play golf in their spare time. I, apparently, liked to chase boys.

I always liked to chase boys. At 2, I told my mother one of the contractors helping lay the foundation for the house my dad was building was cute. This gave my mother great concern because it was far too soon for her toddler to be taking an interest in guys and the guy in question was not attractive (he was a stocky, pot-bellied man with a giant handlebar mustache.) She even took his picture to ~~torture~~ remind me of my poor taste in men.

In fact, I lost my front tooth chasing boys in the 4th grade. Though the exact circumstances of the incident remain disputed, the fact of the matter was that just as I had my hands around this boy, he turned, tripped me and I ate asphalt. All recall was laying there in excruciating pain and hearing the playground aid instructing the kids who had gathered around to help look for the tooth. I knew it wasn't gonna be pretty and to this day I still have nightmares of my teeth falling out.

But the time I remember most was when I was in the first grade. I got into a fight with annoying, two-faced know-it-all snot faced Kristy Cartright about chasing boys. Not any boy in particular. No no, she and I weren't fighting over a boy, we were fighting over the idea of chasing boys and who was actually qualified to be partaking in such an act.

Apparently, since I was a "country girl" I was "unfit" to participate in the daily recess activity of chasing boys on the playground. Her declaration that I was a "country girl" confused the hell out of me. I didn't live in the country. I lived less than a mile down the road from the middle of town, which just happened to be in a not so residential area. We had 4 acres and a little patch of woods. The same woods in fact, that abutted the trailer park Kristy Cartright lived in, meaning she actually lived farther away from "town" than I did.

Now let me be clear here. I grew up in the midwest. My uncle and grandfather were farmers. I knew what being a "country kid" was all about and I was in no way shape or form a country girl. We had 2 dogs and off white carpeting. Country girls do not live in houses with off-white carpeting.

Not being the quit-witted sharp-tongued dame that I am today, I didn't have a come-back to her inane comment. So she and I stood there, arm locked and kicking each other in the shins arguing back and forth:

No, I'm not! [kick]

Yes, you are! [kick kick]

I am NOT! [kick kick kick]

YES! YOU! ARE! [KICK]

Articulate for 6 year olds...

When my mother picked me up from school that day, she could tell something was on my mind. After she heard what transpired, she had the following advice:

Next time that obnoxious brat smarts off and says something stupid like that again, you just tell her you'd rather be a country girl than live in a tin can...

My mother never was one to take shit from people and sure as hell didn't want raise me to be one who did. So long as I wasn't the antagonist, my parents encouraged me to stand up for myself and not be somebody's verbal or physical punching bag. Now if I was the one to come out swinging first, that was a whole other story and my folks would gladly support the corporal punishment of the wooden paddle that generally followed fights on the playground in my school.

But this thing with Kristy Cartright... she declared war and I was armed and ready for her the next day.

So fast forward to recess the next day and replay the start of the fight.

You can't play! [kick]

Yes I can! [kick]

I told you you're unfit! country girls can't chase boys [kick]

I'D RATHER BE A COUNTRY GIRL THAN LIVE IN A TIN CAN!

And before I could get in my swift kick to her shins, she started bawling and ran off to the playground attendant to tattle on me. Kristy Cartright comes over dragging Ms. Baker by the hand.

Christine! Ms. Baker shouted, grabbing my arm. Did you tell Kristy she lives in a tin can?

Yes, but she said...

I don't care what she said, you apologize to her right now!

But she said I'm unfit...

I don't wanna hear your excuse! Now tell her you're sorry! Ms. Baker insisted, refusing to even hear my side of the story. Realizing I wasn't going to win this battle, I caved and apologized.

Kristy Cartright stopped sniveling, smirked, and stuck her tongue out at me, knowing she'd won.

Once again, I consulted my mother about what happened.

Did you make her cry?

Yeah...

Did you cry?

No...

You know why?

Why?

Because you know you're not unfit to chase boys and she knows she lives in a tin can. Truth hurts.

And she was right. The truth does hurt. And I tried hard to remember that when it came time to end things with the Tourist Guy...

10/26/2009

2009-10-24T15:32:00.000-07:00

"You did what?!" Mandy exclaimed, upon hearing of my weekend shenanigans with Brandon.

So did Ginger, Spencer, Sarah and everybody else I shared my stupidity with. I confessed for a multitude of reasons; the number one stemmed from the hope that someone - anyone - would've agreed that my plan was a good one and that they, too, if faced with a similar predicament would act in the same way I had. Of course, I've already told you how they reacted.

My other reason was rather self-deprecating. It was hoped that by admitting how much of a fool I made of myself, it would further prevent me from doing it again, because after my initial failure in leaving the cookies at Brandon's door, and ultimately giving them to Bart instead, I went home and began plotting how I would be able to "bump into" Brandon at some near point in the future.

You can't be surprised I hadn't learned my lesson, are you?

And this brings me to my third reason for telling everyone I knew. Though you may not have been shocked that I was still hinging my bets on meeting Brandon, The Banshee was. She and I had quite the bitter exchange and she could not for the life of her understand or support my continued pursuit. So, she and I reached a compromise: If I could find one - just one - friend who supported any of this, she'd shut up and back off and let me go about my foolish business.

The Banshee hoped to mock and humiliate me, and I hoped to find the voice of reason, since I considered hers to be anything but.

You see, however, from the responses already reported, my wish did not come true. Being a woman of my word, I gave up the nonsense and did my best to forget about Brandon. Which actually proved to be an easy thing to do for about 3 days until I ran into him in the laundry room.

"Hey there!" he said as he walked in with an over flowing basket of dirty clothes. "I see you made it home okay."

I smiled. "Yes, thank you. I'm really sorry about how I acted that night, I feel really silly."

"Seriously, you shouldn't be. I tell my girlfriend all the time to keep her eyes open when she walks home at night by herself."

Girlfriend? My heart sank at the idea. It also sang praises of hallelujah that Brandon was not home to witness the cookie incident and seemed to be none the wiser about it.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend," I commented, realizing as The Banshee kicked me in the mental shin that that sounded like the most stupid statement ever. How would I know he had a girlfriend? I didn't even know his last name, well, not officially, anyway. The Banshee was quick to also mention that the only reason I knew where he lived was not due to any amount of informational sharing that had happened between he and I up to this point, but rather because I was the psycho stalker neighbor girl.

Awesome.

"Yeah, she moved here last spring for work. She's the reason I moved to Boston to begin with.

It just took me awhile to be able to find a job here, too," he said, shoving clothes into the washer next to mine. I saw several pairs of pink and black lace underwear intermingled with his tighty-whities.

Well it looks like "the girlfriend" is a serious one if he not only moved here for her, but is also washing her unmentionables, The Banshee pointed out. And for the record, you cannot date a man who wears tighty-whities, even if he does turn out to be the last single man on the planet. Comprende?

So fine. He had a girlfriend. And had bad taste in men's underwear. Both things I was relieved to have discovered sooner rather than later.

test

2009-10-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

In case you hadn't noticed, once I get myself on a path to something, it's hard to reroute myself, especially if there's mystery or intrigue or adventure or stupidity involved. I became a certified~~crazy person~~ member of Scooby Doo's gang during the Brandon debacle and The Banshee, despite her denial of involvement in the whole thing, was the one driving the Mystery Machine to the scene of the crime.

There's only one way to solve this, you know, she antagonized.

Oh yeah, how's that?

Just start knocking on everyone's doors until Brandon answers, she suggested sarcastically.

I ignored her, but realized she had a good idea. Sort of.

I boxed up some cookies (my excuse and cover) and headed down to the first floor. If the name on the call box hadn't been changed, if maybe he was pointing the unit number (maybe he didn't know his name wasn't on it?) maybe his name was on the door.

Once again, making sure the coast was clear, I snuck down to the first floor and casually started walking the hall. I took the back stair case down so I would end up starting at the end of the hall and work my way towards Bart's apartment and the elevators.

I made my way all the way down the hall and not a single unit listed someone with a first initial of B. Until I got to the second to last unit. The unit next to Bart's. This was it. This was Brandon's apartment. It had to be.

What if it's not? The Banshee asked. Then what are you going to do? You just gonna knock on the door and hope he answers?

Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do.

Except I didn't. I just stood there. Staring at his door like an idiot. I was chickening out. I quietly leaned my ear against his door to hear if he was in there, but it was silent, a sign I took to mean he wasn't home.

Perfect. He probably came home 10 minutes ago and found you lurking outside his door and turned and ran the other way, psycho, The Banshee said making fun of me.

Just as I raised my hand to knock on his door, Bart's door opened and Bart came out. I nearly pissed my pants and screamed, he scared the hell outta me. He saw me jump and gave me a smirk.

"You lookin for Brandon?" he asked, almost teasing.

"Oh, um," I laughed nervously. I noticed Bart look at the container of cookies in my hand. "What? Who?"

"Brandon?" he repeated, nodding towards the apartment door I had just been lingering in front of.

"Oh, no," I said. "I um... was... just... making cookies!" I exclaimed, "And I... made too many! And thought that maybe, um... thought I'd bring some down to share with you since you did such a great job snaking out my drain the other day," I said, handing the cookies to him.

"The drain? That was over a month ago. At least," he replied taking the cookies suspiciously.

"Well, better late than never, right?" I said, backing away towards the lobby and elevator. "I gotta go, I left my oven on," I smiled. "Cookies," I said, turning to walk away.

"Brandon's outta town this weekend. Left yesterday. If I see him, I'll let him know you stopped by," Bart said.

Shit. He knew. I just laughed and kept pounding on the elevator "door open" button, hoping it would open immediately. Which of course, you know never works.

Once inside the elevator, I let out a deep sigh of relief. I could feel my face was totally flushed and my heart was pounding.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are such an idiot...

I couldn't have agreed with her more.

Maybe I'm Crazy...

2009-10-17T14:24:00.000-07:00

Happy now? The Banshee asked, knowing how stupid I felt that moment. I was back in the safety of my kitchen, shoving a chocolate chip cookie in my mouth, trying to figure out where I went wrong.

There's 3 possibilities here. He either 1) gave you a false name, because he thinks you're crazy; 2) walked towards the first floor apartments to make you think he lived on the first floor, because he thinks you're crazy or 3) he doesn't really live here, and he's crazy.

None of those are really options, I argued; Annoyed; Confused. Whatever. You were right. The cookies were a dumb idea anyway.

Can I get a signed statement of you admitting that? The Banshee sassed.

Shut up, I replied, shoving another cookie in my mouth.

I flopped down on my couch, thumbing through Glamour. It didn't make sense. Yeah, okay, I probably seemed a little crazy. But not that crazy. No so crazy that he'd feel the need to make up some bullshit story just to not see me again.

Oh right. Not that you've never done anything like that before [cough cough Chandler] The Banshee chimed in.

You seriously need to shut the hell up, I told her. I was gonna get to the bottom of this one way or another, because it was gonna drive me crazy if I didn't. And then it hit me.

Of course his name wasn't on the call box list. He'd just moved here. Maybe it wasn't updated yet? I mean, it took months for them to update the listing after Joe moved out. That had to be it!

Then what was he pointing to on the call box if his name wasn't there? The Banshee asked, and it was a good question, and I had no answer.

Operation Welcome Wagon

2009-10-17T12:07:00.000-07:00

2 hours later, the cookies were done, and The Banshee was no more on board with Operation Welcome Wagon than she was before I started.

Pishaw, I argued. You're being silly. This is just one person doing something nice for another. It's meaningless!

If it's so meaningless, why have you been standing in front of you closet for the last 20 minutes trying to figure out what to wear? What's wrong with the Eeyore sweatpants and grey T-shirt you've got on now? The Banshee questioned.

Ha. Ha ha. What kind of statement would I be making if I showed up at his door unannounced looking like this?

What kind of statement are you going to be making showing up at his door unannounced, period? Who's the stalker now, freak?

Crap. She kinda had a point. It wasn't like Brandon had told me which apartment was his. In fact, I only assumed he lived on the first floor because he walked towards the first floor hall after my elevator came that night. What if he really lived on the top floor and just didn't want to get in the elevator with me because he thought I was insane and took the stairs instead?

Exactly... The Banshee remarked.

Shit. The only way to find out was to check out the call-box listings. That's organized by last name. Brandon did not tell me his last name. He could be Brandon anybody.

How're you gonna solve this one, smartypants? The Banshee questioned, mocking me and my attempts to do something nice for someone.

I'll figure it out, I said, determined not to let her win.

I finished getting ready and in attempt to seem inconspicuous, "remembered" I left one of my favorite CDs in my car. Recalling the general area Brandon pointed to when showing me his name on the call box that night, and as I walked (slowly) out the vestibule, I strained my eyes to scan the list of last names to find one that had the initial "B" following after it.

As luck would have it, there were 3.

I ran to my car, grabbed the CD and as I came back into the vestibule, I "fumbled" with my keys, much like that night I met Brandon, dropping them just below the call box name list. Reaching for my keys, I slowly stood, my eyes fixed on the name list, trying to figure out which, if any of those last names that had a "B" initial following, belonged to the particular "B" I was seeking out.

The first "B" on the list lived on the top floor.

See? He totally tried to avoid you that night. Cookies? BAD IDEA! The Banshee chirped, once again making her opinion on the matter known.

The second "B" lived on the 3rd floor, and the final "B"? BINGO - it had a glorious numero uno after it. That's right, somebody with the first initial "B" lived on the first floor.

My heart skipped a beat. I hurriedly unlocked the door before anyone could see me lingering longer than necessary and the went to check my mail in an attempt to stall for more time. I wanted to make sure nobody would be coming or going as I slinked over to the apartment my "B" lived in.

When I was sure the coast was clear, I made my way around the corner to the hall leading to the first floor apartments. Holding my breath, I counted off the units until I came to the one that my "B" supposedly lived.

I stopped in front of the door, crestfallen. There, beneath the unit number was a sign that read: BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT

IDIOT! I thought to myself. Of course it's the super's unit. I'd lived in that building for nearly 6 years and knew full well the super's name was Bart and that he lived on the first floor.

You are so dumb. The Banshee could be so kind.

Before anyone could see me standing there, outside Bart's apartment, I turned and ran up the stairs up to my apartment...

2009-10-17T11:10:00.000-07:00

The Sunday following the "night owl incident" found me with an entire day, all to myself. No errands to run, no coffee dates with the girlz, no dates, period. When I was single, my schedule was something to be reckoned with. There wasn't many an invitation that I'd turn down. Add to that my work schedule, my volunteer schedule and dating, I didn't have alot of time for "me" time. I found the only way to make sure I had time to do all the things I had to do, wanted to do and needed to do (like work in the downtime), I literally had to pencil into my calendar a day all to myself.

And I loved it.

Even now, though my life and schedule has changed, I still need my 'me' time and the only way I can get it in without feeling guilty (because you know, I have 2 hours, I should be "productive" or do something "important") is to put it in the schedule.

So that Sunday, was my "me" day, filled with at home spa treatments (manicure, pedicure, facial), catching up on the girlie mags (glamour, instyle, fitness, real simple (shut up)), and trying out new recipes.

One of my most favorite things to do is cook and bake and usually my me days involved some time spent in the kitchen. With no particular recipe in mind or craving to direct my culinary appetite, I stood staring at the food in my pantry waiting for inspiration to take hold.

Then it hit me. Cookies! I should bake cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.

Yes, cookies. Perfect. What are you going to do with 3 dozen chocolate chip cookies? The Banshee questioned, knowing my favorite recipe made way more tasty treats than one single girl could eat.

I could share them, I replied, knowing my only option was to bring them to work. Unless...

I could take some to Brandon!

Brandon? As in the guy you met on the bus? The axe murderer?

He's not an axe murderer. And that wasn't all just me, missy, I reminded The Banshee. Besides. He's new in town. It could be a welcome to the building surprise!

Oh, so now you're the welcome wagon? This is a bad idea, The Banshee stated firmly.

It would be a nice gesture, I mean, I did practically accuse him of stalking me and call him a liar about living in the building, I said, trying to justify and build support for this ridiculously bad idea of mine.

I knew The Banshee was probably right. What's the phrase? Don't shit where you eat? Ah yes, that's it. I was on the verge of doing just that...

2009-10-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

The Night Owl was crowded, but I managed to get a seat up front near the driver and the door. I found that generally speaking, this was the least rowdy part of the bus. Being one with little tolerance for ass-clowns (especially drunk ass-clowns) I preferred the less rowdy part else be tempted to act like an ass-clown myself and spout off to some asshole acting like an asshole to shut the fuck up.

I was good like that.

So there I am, tipsy, but far from drunk, minding my own business in the front of the bus when suddenly, from the back, arose quite the commotion. Because the bus was loud to begin with, it was hard to hear exactly what was going on, other than 2 groups of guys were standing up (one in the very back and one more towards the middle) screaming at one another.

At first, I thought it was innocent school rivalry bullshit, the new school year had recently began after all, and after a few minutes, it became apparent that this was not a school rivalry and was far from innocent.

There was swearing. Insults. General put-downs and bullshit that gets spouted off between groups of drunkards. And this is where it got ugly. The guys from the back of the bus came up to the guys in the middle and I was convinced there was going to be punches thrown.

Only the guys from the back were laughing. Pointing and laughing, mostly unphased by the shit the guys from the middle were slinging. This only served to infuriate the guys from the middle as it was clear they were extremely worked up about something and were trying really hard to pick a fight with these guys from the back, who much to the guys in middle's dismay, weren't really buying what they were selling. They had their fun 'playing along' and somewhere around Kenmore square, got off, leaving the guys from the middle still mouthing off at them through the (closed) windows.

The guys turned around - they'd been facing the back of the bus nearly the entire time - and this was the first time I got a look at the guys from the middle. Turns out, they were the same group of Euroboys from Mantra that had been hitting on me and the girlz hours earlier.

BMWs my ass! The Banshee laughed. Those douche bags don't even have cab fare, let alone cars!

It was rather amusing, actually. That is until they turned their attention to some girls sitting more towards the front of the bus. After all the hootin' and hollerin' action from the back of the bus, they were feeling rather manly and decided it was time to pick up some hot pieces of ass, or at the very least try.

Now, what these dimwits didn't seem to realize (or care if they did) was that the two women they were hitting on were with their boyfriends. At first the girls were polite, and there was no need for the guys to get involved. But after the Euroboys repeatedly refused to take no for an answer, another brawl started to break out.

The boyfriends, who weren't drunk at all, stood up to confront the group and tell them to back off. This of course, just led the group of 5 Euroboys to start talking (yelling) about wanting to fight. It seemed pretty clear to me at this point that the Euroboys were just looking to start shit and they didn't care with whom.

The boyfriends stood their ground, things escalated, people started to yell at the bus driver to pull over (who for the record did not once stop the bus or say a damn thing about what was going on) and one of the Euroboys starts pushing one of the boyfriends, who tells him to knock it off.

It's very obvious to anyone witnessing this display that the Euroboys are trashed and the boyfriends aren't looking to get dragged into the slammer because these assclowns wanna rumble. So the boyfriends try to play it cool, but Pushy McEurotrash keeps antagonizing this guy and just as he pulls back to throw a punch into the Boyfriend's face, this guy, this innocent bystander comes outta nowhere, comes up behind Pushy and puts him in this crazy headlock that forces the kid to his knees on the bus.

"You will stop this," the bystander says.

Pushy McPunchy tries to squirm away, get his arms up and swing at the bystander, but the way he has him gripped, there is nothing Pushy can do. He's completely helpless. As are his friends, who are now all standing there, mouths agape, wondering what the fuck to do now, seeing as now the entire bus seems to be rallying around the bystander ready to take on these Euroboys if they need to.

The bus pulls into the next stop and the bystander forces Pushy out the door, his friends quickly following after him. Of course, the Euroboys had lots to say (all talk, no action) and as soon as the doors close, the bus erupted into applause.

The boyfriend thanked the bystander, who was quite humble and seemed a bit embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

Knowing Ginger would still be up, I called to tell her what happened. "It's crazy! This guy like came outta nowhere and I'm tellin' you he's like 6 feet tall and100 pounds; Lanky and totally dorky. I'm totally impressed, he's like some kind of hero!"

"Like Spiderman?" Ginger said sarcastically.

"Oh my god, TOTALLY like Spiderman. Can you imagine? Maybe he's Boston's own public transportation Spiderman!"

"You're crazy. I'm going to bed," Ginger said, not amused, mostly because I was wrong about her still being up.

Everyone on the bus was talking about what happened, and when we got to Harvard Ave, Spiderman and his friend departed, the boyfriends (and their girlfriends) once again thanking him.

And that's when I noticed this guy looking in my direction. A very cute guy. I remember seeing him during all the commotion standing ready to be of assistance if Spiderman needed. He had returned to the back of the bus and we were now engaged in a flirty game of peek-a-boo: I looked at him, he'd return my glance, and I'd quickly turn away. He'd look at me, catch me looking, and then I'd be the one to quickly turn away.

This went on until we reached my stop. I exited the front door and as I looked to cross the street, I saw that the guy from the bus had also gotten off. This elicited a few moments of panic as I slipped into worse case scenario mode and The Banshee prepared me for fight or flight.

He and I were the only two to get off at my stop, and all I could think was holy shit, he's a crazy stalker. He's gonna rape me behind the building and chop me up into little pieces and I'm gonna end up in some landfill. Awesome.

I hurriedly tried to dig my keys outta my purse without letting on to the cute stranger/stalker/murderer that I knew his plan, because if I let on that I was on to him, there was no telling what he'd do.

I quickened my pace and hurry into the vestibule and noticed that the guy is walking towards me, towards my building and is only about 10 feet from the front door. I fumble my keys and drop them on the floor and just as I bend down to pick them up, I see this pair of man's shoes, attached to a pair of man's legs, standing in the vestibule with me.

I stand up so fast all the blood rushes to my head and I laugh nervously. It's the guy from the bus.

"Hi!" I say, determined not to open the door. I remember there's a security camera in the vestibule and I nervously look towards it.

"Hi," the cute stranger/stalker/murderer says. He can tell I'm freaking out. "I'm Brandon."

"Uh huh," I say, still smiling at him, keys in my hand, not moving to open the door at all.

Great. Death by Brandon. Kind of catchy. I wonder if Boston's detectives are good lip readers and will be able to decipher my killer's name from the security tape, The Banshee comments. She's always so melodramatic...

"I live here," he says returning my smile, trying to calm me down.

Yeah RIGHT you live here! I'm gonna open a case of whoop ass on you if you even think of trying to touch me you pervert! The Banshee reams in my head.

"See? he says, pointing to the names directory under the call box. He pulls out his own set of keys and motions for me to allow him to open the door as proof.

Sure enough, they work and I feel like the biggest asshat that ever lived. I laughed (loudly) at my stupidity.

"I'm sorry, I've just never seen you before and well, it's late, and..." I stuttered, grateful that Brandon interrupted me before I could embarrass myself further.

"Don't even worry about it. I completely understand. You never know who you can trust out there. Pretty crazy what happened on the bus tonight. Does that kinda thing happen a lot?"

"Which part? the loud drunkenness, the brawls or the unsuspecting stranger breaking up the fight? 'Cause yeah. Happens all the time," I said with a smirk. "I take it you're new to the area then?" I asked, noting a slight accent that was not native to Boston.

"Yeah, I moved here about a month ago from Virginia."

"Well, welcome," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Christine."

"Nice to meet you," Brandon said, shaking my hand.

We both kind of stood there, looking at each other, as I waited for the elevator to come. He lived on the first floor and so bid me a good night. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to figure out ways I could 'nonchalantly' bump into Brandon again...

2009-10-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

By the time I got to the 3rd guy on my list, I had learned my lesson. None of this "let's just meet for a drink..." or "let's be friends". I wasn't interested and that was end of the story. I sent him a quick email, thanked him for his interest, but made it very clear I wasn't interested.

He wrote back to say he appreciated my honesty, I was the first woman to take the time to let him know that and said it was better than hanging on wondering "what if".

I was immensely relieved by his response.

With no boys in sight and no plans to look for one, I instead made plans to meet up with the girlz for a much needed night out. The following Friday we set out for Mantra with no other goal than to catch up and have a good time. It had been weeks since we all were able to go out together and I was looking forward to some quality time with my friends.

I'll spare you most of the details about Mantra, mostly because it was not one of my favorite places to go in Boston. By day, it's a French-Indian fusion restaurant and by night, it's a Euro-club favorite, both of which are far over-priced for what you get. Nonetheless, I wasn't the one picking our spot out for the night, and was along for the ride.

So on to Mantra. We arrived early to avoid paying the ridiculous cover charge - for what it costs to get in, you can by a cocktail and if I have a choice as to what I'd rather spend my money on, booze will always win over cover - I don't care how unfashionable it is to be there early.

But I digress.

The downside to being in a restaurant/bar/club early, is that you're there with all the other ~~losers~~ frugal folks and as such, are an easy target. With little place to hide and few crowds to blend in or mingle with, if you ~~get stuck~~ luck out talking to somebody you don't wanna be talking to, you're kinda screwed.

This is exactly what happened to me and the girlz that night - we got screwed. And not in the way we were usually accustomed (ha ha ha). In a way, we were an easy target for the group of underage Euroboys. There were 5 of us, and 5 of them - evenly matched so as to spread out the torture. These boys, and they were boys, looked like they were fresh outta highschool - no way they were of age, but given money talks and international IDs reign supreme in Boston's nightlife scene, they were large and in charge, or at least pretending to be for the night.

These guys were relentless. Despite our numerous "relocations" throughout the bar, trips to the bathroom and outright rudeness and ignoring them, there was no getting rid of them. They were like flies in our honey. I refused to accept drinks from them, not wanting to encourage them, give them the wrong idea or in anyway be obligated to spend time with them.

But it mattered not - they had latched on like ticks and wouldn't let go. After about 2 hours in Mantra, they decided to check out Aria, another club around the corner. They tried to convince us we should come, offering to give us a ride in their BMWs (yes plural. The way they talked, you could easily envision the scene from Swingers where the guys all went to the same party, each in their own car. These guys made it sound like they each had their very own BMW... important to note this detail for later...)

Again, I digress.

Once we were rid of the boys, we could finally could have some fun. We danced, danced, danced, and danced some more. 2 a.m. came quickly and Sam wanted to head over to Chau Chow City for some late night eats. Since I was such a cheapskate and didn't want to pay the $30 it would cost to take a cab back to my apartment in Brighton (assuming I'd even be able to catch one, given all the bars had just closed), I passed to catch the Night Owl home, instead.

And ladies and gentleman, if you ever had the pleasure of taking the Night Owl when the MBTA provided this service, you will know and appreciate the insanity that was riding the Night Owl... For those of you who were ~~smarter~~ less fortunate and never had the chance, let me briefly explain what a ride home was like.

See, in Boston, the world class city that it is, shuts its public transportation system down just before 1am on weekends. Bars and nightlife of course, shut down sometime after 2am. Club and Bar-goers out number cabs 5-1 and so good luck catching one between 2 and 3 am.

For a few years, Boston's MBTA provided a late night bus service from 1-2:30 am or so along the city's most traveled transportation routes. Living along the B-line, (where approximately 8 million college students and people between the ages of 21-24 reside), it was safe to say my route was popular, which made for a cheap and convenient way home for me on the weekends.

However...

Seeing as how the route provided service home for about 7.5 million of those people, most of which were usually drunkity drunk drunk, the ride home was far from pleasant. And so it was, on one of these less than pleasant rides home that I had the pleasure to meet "Spiderman" and a guy named Brandon...

2009-10-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

Once inside the ladies room and making sure I was alone, I called Ginger.

"How's prom?" she asked sarcastically instead of saying hello.

"You were right, okay? I am so not here as his friend. I just spent the most awkward 30 minutes making small talk with a pair of couples who are very clearly rooting for Chandler and I to make the plunge into their side of the pasture," I said hurriedly.

"What? What are you talking about, pastures?"

"His friends think we're dating, okay? I need you to call me back in 15 minutes and tell me something bad has happened."

"Are you seriously doing this?" Ginger asked skeptically.

"Yes, I'm seriously doing this. There is no way that after tonight I'm going to be able to let this guy down easy if things continue on this way. He's too nice, his friends are too nice and if I don't get the heck outta here soon, I'm gonna be too nice, too."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but fine. I'll call you back in 15."

Before I left the ladies room, I set my phone to vibrate and returned, my purse now clutched in my hand, waiting for Ginger's call.

30 minutes later, me, Chandler and the 2 happy couples are seated at a table in the corner of the room, listening to the MC talk about what a great year it's going to be and blah blah blah blah blahbiddy blah.

Finally, my purse vibrates in my lap and I casually pick up the phone, pretending to not already know who it was calling. I whispered, "Hello?"

"Something bad has happened," Ginger said, totally taking the que from Sex and the City I was hoping she'd pick up on.

I said nothing in return and quietly slipped out the side door, around the corner and into the stairwell.

"It's about time! you were supposed to call me 15 minutes ago!"

"Oh, you're being ridiculous. If you want to leave that badly, just leave! I'm meeting PF Mike at City Bar at 10 if you wanna meet us there," Ginger suggested, giving me a destination to work towards.

"I can't just leave. Not yet. Call me back in an hour, okay?"

"I am not calling you again. This is stupid. Just tell him you had a nice time, and leave. No one said you had to stay there all night. Just go!" Ginger insisted.

"Look, it will be awkward if I just leave which is why I needed you to be my excuse," I argued.

"Okay, fine. I'm your excuse, but I'm not calling you back."

"Fine," I said and quickly hung up.

"Everything okay?" Chandler whispered in my ear when I sat back down.

"Sort of. That was Ginger. She sounds like she's been drinking since we dropped her off. She called to tell me she was meeting up with PF Mike."

"PF Mike?" Chandler asked, confused. "

"Yeah, PF stands for platonic friend. Like us, you know?"

"Ah. So, am I PF Chandler?"

I smiled. "I prefer Chandler, but if you want the distinction of PF before your name, I can arrange for that."

Luckily, Chandler took that explanation quite well. "Nah, Chandler's fine with me. So is she going to be okay?"

"I guess that depends on how you define okay," I said, trying to make it clear that Ginger was not "out of the woods" just yet.

After that, Chandler continued to drink, getting a little bit tipsy, and let his hair down a bit on the dance floor. At this point, I was feeling a little bit bad because I knew my frankness about platonic friendship, despite our mutual designation of "just friends", hurt his feelings and he was trying not to let it show. The 6 of us were having a good time, being silly, doing the YMCA. But then the DJ mixed things up a bit and through out a slow song, which caused Chandler to grab my hand and pull me close. He wrapped his arm around the small of my back, and our bodies were sandwiched together. After a few minutes of being smooshed together like that, I could feel Chandler getting a hard-on as we swayed back and forth to the music.

The harder he got, the more uncomfortable I got and was feeling desperate to get out of there. I looked at my watch. It had been more than hour since I last spoke with Ginger and knew my witching hour was getting close. I had to get out of there, STAT.

As soon as the song was over, the DJ switched it up to something more lively and I jumped on the chance to peel Chandler off of me.

"I am really warm. Would you mind grabbing me a glass of water while I go to the ladies room?" I asked, hoping to draw attention away from the awkward moment that had passed between us.

Chandler, slightly flushed, happily agreed.

I slipped into the ladies room and called Ginger.

"Where are you?"

"City Bar, where are you?"

"The ladies room, but I'll be there in 15 minutes, don't go anywhere."

I freshened up and when I returned to the ballroom, I found Chandler waiting for me near our table.

I smiled as I took the glass of water from his hands. "Thank you, I needed this." I took a big drink and said, "Ginger left me a voicemail. She's really upset. She was crying and apologized for interrupting my night out. She wants me to come over later. I think she just doesn't want to be alone."

"That's understandable. Look, it sounds like your friend really needs you. You should go. There's only another hour left here anyway."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like I'm abandoning you," I said, lying through my teeth, feeling like a total shit for weaseling my way out of this date like this.

"No, don't ridiculous. I had a great time, it was fun to hang out with you again," he said handing me my claim tag for my shawl in the coat room.

"Thank you, I had a great time, too. Are you going to be able to get home okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm actually crashing here at the hotel anyway, so I'll catch the T back home tomorrow."

I smiled, relieved, realizing the bullet I dodged. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and like Cinderella running from the ball at midnight, I practically sprinted down the stairs and out the front door.

It felt good to be outside in the cool air. As I made my way down Boylston towards City Bar, I felt conflicted. I felt like an ass for ditching Chandler, lying and making up some ridiculous stupid story about why I had to leave. But at the same time, felt so relieved knowing things could've been a hell of a lot more awkward had I stayed.

So...

I'm not the only one who's lied and made up shit to get out of a date before. What's the worst (or best!) excuses you've given to get out of an awkward situation?

2009-10-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

Now, I know what you're thinking. Well, you're probably thinking a lot of things, but you're probably like, wow, this chicks a total bitch. Or, wow, this is a lot of work to go through to let a guy down.

Both sentiments are obvious and expected. Because it was kind of bitchy, what I ended up doing, and it was a rather elaborate plot to get out of this situation. But at the time, this all made perfect sense. I didn't see another way off the path I was heading down that didn't result in me regretting my decision even more or worse, leading Chandler on.

Either way, it wasn't going to end well but I was hoping to have things end less bad.

Once Chandler and I got inside the hotel, he took our coats to the coat check and came back carrying a wrist corsage.

Are you fucking kidding me? The Banshee nearly flipped out. This is NOT prom! You do NOT give corsages, for fuck sake!

"I picked this up for you," Chandler said, slipping the 3 red-rose corsage onto my wrist. "Some of the other guys were getting these for their dates, too."

"Oh, thank you," I said, trying to sound appreciative. And not like I was 17 again...

"Shall we go inside?" he asked, motioning towards the ballroom where the party was just getting started.

"Absolutely," I said. Chandler offered me his arm, and led me inside towards a group of people standing near the bar. I gathered these were his friends. I gathered even more quickly, that I was a person they had heard about (a lot about) from their reaction to our introductions.

"So NICE to finally meet you!" one girl exclaimed, nearly hugging me. "Chandler has told us so much about you!"

"Oh, um, all good I hope!" I said, surprised by her reaction. I looked to Chandler who blushed slightly.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I'll just have a diet coke, thanks," I answered. He left me standing there with four of his friends - 2 guys and 2 girls - and it became quite apparent that these were 2 couples. 2 couples who were hoping that Chandler + Me = a third couple.

The two guys followed Chandler's lead and left me with the other 2 girls, who wanted more details about me and how Chandler and I met. Unsure how much he already told them, I didn't want to say too much and so tried to say as little as possible about "me and Chandler" and made small talk about me, instead.

I noticed the 2 guys pat Chandler on the back in a congratulatory manner, seeming to imply, good job buddy, on landing the lady.

I could only imagine what he'd told them.

I tried my best to turn the subject off of me, to find out how these women met their boyfriends, were they in law school, too, where they were from, yadda yadda yadda. I managed to divulge very little about me and Chandler or the nature of our so-called relationship.

Finally, the boys return, drinks in hand and I excuse myself to find the buffet. Chandler comes with me, leaving the 2 couples to discuss their third couple in the making.

"So, your friends are nice," I say nonchalantly. "Sounds like they've been together for some time."

"Yeah, Mike and Sophie met in college and Theresa and Bill met this summer at orientation. They're great people."

"They seem like it," I said, grabbing for a stuffed mushroom.

"They really like you," Chandler said, reaching for a bacon-wrapped scallop. He was reaching for more than hors devours.

"That's good. I know how hard it can be to mix groups of friends," I said, trying to emphasize and remind him that I was not his date but rather his friend.

Chandler chuckled nervously.

We made our way back to his friends and after 30 minutes of socializing and making small talk, I excused myself to go to the ladies room to kick of phase 2.

2009-10-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

Unsure how I was going to get out of the mess I had gotten myself into without fucking over Chandler or fucking up my karma, I devised a plan. A wild scheme if you will that if all went well, I wouldn't hurt Chandler's feelings and I'd manage to come out looking like nothing more than a good friend.

The day of the formal, I called Ginger. "I need you to come over tonight."

"I thought you were going to prom tonight?"

"I am. But I need you to come over before hand for my plan to work," I said, not wanting to give too much detail, else risk her not playing a long.

"What plan, what are you talking about?"

"Just come over, I'll tell you about it when you get here."

2 hours later, Ginger came over and the wheels were set in motion. Since I had a car (and Chandler didn't) I offered to drive downtown. Because I'm one of the world's worst liars, I needed a valid excuse as to why I couldn't drink that night (and therefore not get drunk and risk letting myself get caught up in a situation I didn't want to be in, i.e. naked in Chandler's bed or hotel room...) and being the designated driver was just the reason I needed.

Chandler didn't seem to mind and was waiting in front of his building when I pulled up. He seemed surprised to see Ginger sitting in the back seat, and gave me an odd look when he got inside.

"This is my friend Ginger," I said, introducing the two of them. "I'm giving her a ride home, I hope that's okay."

"Of course, not a problem. Nice to meet you," Chandler said, extending his hand into the backseat. "So what are you doing tonight? Anything fun?"

"If you call getting shit-faced alone with a bottle of tequila, then yes." Unlike me, Ginger is a fantastic liar.

Chandler gave me a very confused look and I leaned over and whispered, "She got dumped by this guy she was seeing. She's very upset. I'm really worried about her, actually."

"What? pshaw, I'll be fine. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about," Ginger said, trying to make light of the "situation".

When I dropped her off in front of her building, I feigned a concerned, motherly attitude. "Hunny, call me if you need anything. Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Ginger shot me a smirk and went inside.

"Wow, she's really upset, huh?" Chandler asked, sounding as concerned as I was pretending to be.

"Yeah. She really liked this guy. He told her she wasn't marriage material and he's looking for the one." I was totally bullshitting and hoping Chandler was buying it hook, line and sinker.

"That sucks. She seems like a really nice girl. I'm sure she'll meet somebody else," Chandler said, trying to be optimistic.

"Yeah, well, she's had a run of bad luck with guys lately, so I'm really worried this one may have put her over the edge. She really wants to get married and just can't seem to find the right guy."

We were still parked in front of Ginger's building, and as I counted on, having gotten to know him the way I did, Chandler made a very sweet suggestion. "You know, if you need to be there for her tonight, I totally understand."

Bingo.

"Don't be ridiculous. She'll be fine. She's a big girl. She'll be alright tomorrow," I said, dismissing his offer - for the moment. My plan was working and it was only a matter of time before phase 2 was put into motion...

2009-10-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

"Why do you need a dress again?" Spencer asked while we were browsing the sales racks at Filene's Basement.

"Because she's going to prom," Ginger teased.

"It's not prom," I corrected, "it's a fall formal."

"Oh whatever same difference," Ginger argued, pulling the most awful blue sequined dress from the rack and holding it in front of me.

"First of all, there's a reason that thing's on sale, it's hideous. And second of all, prom is in the spring." I was running out of come-backs to refute Ginger's position that I was going to prom and as such, Chandler and I were going to do it.

"I think it's cute," Spencer said. "He sounds like a really nice guy."

"See, that's the problem. He is a nice guy. I don't want a nice guy. Okay, that's not what I mean. Yes, I want a nice guy, but I want one who, to quote my friend Mandy, makes my socks go up and down," I said, hanging the ugly blue dress back up on the rack.

"He's gonna make your panties go down, that's for sure," Ginger teased, yet again.

"Enough. Chandler and I are just friends and there will be NO sleeping together period. Besides, he knows that we're just friends and that's the only reason I'm going."

"You can't tell me that he has no other friends in law school that he could've took with him," Ginger countered.

Shit. She had a point. "I don't know. All I know is that I agreed to go, and so now I have to go."

"No you don't. If you don't want to go, just tell him you can't go. At least if you tell him now, he's still go time to find another date," Spencer suggested.

"That's rude. I said I'd go, so I'm going," I said stubbornly. "I'm not gonna fuck up my karma any worse; I'm trying to repair my dating karma, remember, not ruin it further."

"I'm telling you, the only reason he asked you to go is because he likes you and is hoping to show you a good time to get himself out of the friend category and into your pants," Ginger said knowingly, and walked away, leaving me to ponder that little tidbit of third-party insight.

I tried to dismiss her notions, but as the date neared, I started to dread my decision. Chandler was obviously very excited - more excited than one should be about going to a dance with a friend. He was far too anxious for me to meet his friends, and casually mentioned that some of them were getting rooms at the hotel for the after party, in case I was interested, he said.

I started to suspect that Ginger was right; Chandler was hoping to make a transition from being my friend to being my boyfriend. I may have told him that I just wasn't that interested, but my agreeing to go with him to this formal seemed to have indicated that I was maybe a teeny tiny wee bit interested - I basically said to him in no specific terms, that he's still got a chance...

2009-10-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

Chandler, the second guy on my list of "guys to get rid of." He was a first year law student, very smart, good sense of humor, baby-faced and cute as a button. And he was very nice. I'll probably get a load of shit for even saying this, but Chandler was just too nice. And that was about it - there was zero chemistry on my end - nice just wasn't enough, even with his adorable cherub cheeks.

Hoping to avoid another awkward in person cross-examination this time by a lawyer in training, I opted to just have it all out via IM during one of our chats and get it over with.

Me: Chandler, I don't know how to say this, so I'm just gonna come out and get it over with.

Chandler: You're just not that into me?

Me: You've read that book, too, huh? Well, I wasn't going to put it that way exactly, but yeah, I guess you could say that.

Chandler: That's okay, I figured as much when I didn't hear back from you for a few weeks. Can we still be friends? I just moved here and don't know many people.

Me: yeah, we can be friends...

And since we were going to be friends, we decided we should meet up for a drink (since that was what friends do) - it turned out we lived a few blocks from one another. We met up on a Wednesday night at Tonic to watch the Sox. We had a good time and thankfully, there was no chemistry between us. We really were just two people - two friends - watching the game.

It had been a long time since I had a guy in my life that was really nothing more than my friend. I know, most people argue that guys and girls cannot be just friends; That the only reason a guy would agree to be friends with a girl, especially one he had romantic hopes for, is because it's like saying there's still a chance. A chance to be the shoulder to lean on, an ear to bend, a confidant with the inside scoop as to the workings of a male brain when things go south with the other dudes in her life. A chance to swoop in at just the right moment, and steal her heart away.

At the time, I would've argued adamantly that that was all bullshit. Men and women absolutely can be friends with no strings or intentions whatsoever. That is of course, until Chandler asked me to his law school formal a few weeks later.

You know, just as friends...

And of course, like an idiot, I agreed to go.

2009-10-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's hard to take no for answer; Kevin was good case in point. I don't think his insistence that he and I should go out had much do to with me per say, as much as it had to do with desperation with to find a girlfriend. Or just a woman to go out with for that matter.

It's no secret dating is hard. It's hard to meet someone you connect with, that meets your qualifications (because lets remember, dating is not an equal opportunity sport here, you're allowed to be choosy), and it's infinitely more difficult when you've got a tragic flaw working against you.

For Kevin, it was his height and the poor guy clearly had a hard time finding a woman who'd give him the time of day, given his vertically challenged stature. He had to work that much harder; his smarmy charm, his well-displayed intelligence, his fashionable good-looks (he wasn't a troll), his high-powered job and outgoing over-bearing personality, were all the ways he over-compensated for being under-sized. He knew that to get a woman to go out with him, it would take some work, and his over-selling of himself, his need to convince me to go out with him, was just part of his dating strategy. I was nothing more than another woman he was interested in, and had to work to get a date with.

For me, my tragic flaw was that I was divorced. It may not seem like that big of a deal (and I'd argue that it's not) but there were plenty of guys out there who were skeptical of my status as a divorce' in her mid-twenties. They wondered if I was one of those girls who raced down the aisle and was looking for my next run. Wondered what was 'wrong' with me that I'd be divorced so soon after getting married. Questioned why it was I got married in the first place. And I over-compensated to cover-up my flaw by pretending to be the fun, fearless female; calm cool and confident; Sassy, strong and sexy. Hoped the act distracted them from the fact that hey, this chicks been around block already - she's damaged.

I guess we all have our issues...

My other issue was that I had another guy who I promised Karma I'd stop carrying on with over email. And that was how I ended up watching the Sox game the following Wednesday night with Chandler...

2009-09-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

The next night I met Kevin at 6:30 at the Oak Room. I was sure to wear my tallest pair of heels to emphasize the height issue he'd apparently overlooked when comparing our profiles. I gave him props for standing a whopping 5'2 and still pursuing a girl who's ideal date was half a foot taller than him.

One quick drink and I'm outta there, I promised the Banshee. She was not amused. Not even a little bit. Not even when Kevin stood to greet me, and had to strain to reach my cheek for a brief introductory peck. Which, since this came up, am I the only one who feels a kiss on the cheek in a first time greeting is a bit strained (yes, I know, this coming from the girl who slept with at least half her first dates...) that just me? Anyway, I digress.

But speaking of strained, the conversation between Kevin and I was incredibly strained. It was obvious that even though I had tried to let him down and he insisted we still go out anyway, he had his feathers rumpled, his panties in a bunch and it was almost as if he was trying to be rude intentionally because I had hurt his feelings.

He immediately started interrogating me about why it was I didn't feel he and I were compatible.

"Kevin, I already told you why," I said exasperated. It was bad enough rejecting someone via email and chat, but in person? After you've already rejected them through other media is painful. Oh.so.painful. I sucked it up as partial punishment from Karma.

"Well, I know what you told me, but I want to know the real reasons," he insisted.

"Look. I don't date republicans. Period. That in and of itself should be enough reason."

"That's the most ridiculous reason I've ever heard. That's not a real reason. That's a cop-out."

"No, it's not. I'm liberal, both politically and socially. Our fundamental belief systems couldn't be more different," I tried to explain.

"I know plenty of couples who have split ballots come election day, it's not a deal breaker," he argued. "Just because you vote one way doesn't mean you can't get along."

"It is for me. I don't agree with your beliefs. You are a republican not because you buy into the candidate, you buy into the mentality, and Kevin, I'm sorry, but I don't want to spend my life debating with someone about stuff like climate change, gay marriage, immigration and the war."

"But that's what keeps the spark alive!"

"No, it's what puts the fire out. Look, you're a perfectly nice guy. But you are not the guy for me. Trust me on this one. The guy I want to be with will share in my same values. And I just don't see that happening between us."

It was true; I believed this, but I was trying to milk this excuse for all it was worth, because honestly, the even bigger issue for me was his height. He could've been as liberal as they come but at 5'2? It wasn't gonna happen, and I wanted to try like hell to avoid pinpointing any physical attributes as a reason because I'm sure the guy had heard it all before.

"I still think you're making this out to be a bigger deal than it really is," Kevin said. "besides, I like feisty women. It's sexy."

Rejecting him was turning out to be harder than I expected. I'd never encountered a guy who so adamantly rejected being rejected. Seeing my drink was almost finished, I wanted to finish what I came to do and be done with it.

"Look, Kevin, I'm sorry. But you and I are just too different. I don't see this working out, okay?"

He shook his head as he took a drink of his gin and tonic. "We're not that different. We're both goal oriented, hard working and true to our convictions," he insisted.

"Okay, kids. You want kids! I don't! I hate kids!"

He laughed. "No you don't. No woman hates kids. Your biological clock hasn't gone off yet. Just wait, you'll see. You're gonna be a great mom."

This guy was unbelievable. "Actually, no. You know what?" I finished my drink, stood up, and grabbed my bag. "Kevin, thank you for the drink. It was nice to meet you and I wish you all the best in finding your match."

He stood up, surprised that I was leaving just like that. "What, you're leaving? At least let me give you a ride home," he said, hurriedly throwing some cash on the table.

"Thank you, but no. I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather not." I extended my hand for a polite handshake good night, and left.

Kevin emailed me twice more to try and convince me that we were a good match. I'm happy to say that I did not respond and was pretty sure Karma understood why.

2009-09-29T06:00:00.000-07:00

So Nate was a douche bag. But the whole situation taught me a few things. First off, I was going to try to be a better dater myself. I was determined to be upfront with a guy no matter what. If I wasn't interested? No problem, I'd just politely let him know. And if I was interested? Well, I'd let him know that, too. I decided no more games, no more bullshit. I was done playing and being played.

Which is how I got roped into having a drink with Kevin after work about a week or so after I sent Nate that lovely email.

Kevin was one of 3 guys that I had been actively chatting with on match when things got going with Nate. And since I was convinced I'd soon be off the dating market, I never bothered to get back to any of those other guys.

Now, I know. You're like, so? It'd been weeks, they probably moved on, why drag more skeletons outta the closet? Perfectly good question. And had I not sworn to turn over a new dating leaf, I probably would've just let sleeping dogs lie, but I felt bad. I felt bad because I had in no certain terms, basically agreed to meet up with these guys at some point, and didn't feel right just falling off the face of the earth like that. Because that sucks.

I expected to simply write them back, explain to them that I was going off the market for awhile, taking a break and that I wasn't really interested in dating anyone at the moment. Which was absolutely the truth. What was truthier, was that I wasn't really interested in dating them in particular and hadn't had the balls to tell them that and had been sort of stringing them along.

Which also sucks.

And so this brings me now to Kevin.

Kevin missed the mark in almost every way in terms of what I was looking for in a person. The only reason I had continued talking with him as long as I did was that we got involved in a somewhat deep political discussion via email and I rather enjoyed ~~making fun of him~~ his point of view.

He and I were on polar opposite sides of the spectrum politically. He was a tried and true Bush supporter, I loved Gore and was still rooting for Kerry. He wanted a family. HUGE family. I didn't want kids, period. And aside from the glaring personality issues that we faced, physically, he was short. Like, really short. Like 4 inches shorter than me, and given my love at the time of 3 inch heels, that was a deal breaker right there.

So even though there was no chance in hell I would ever be interested in him, I gave him a chance anyway and it was time to finally cut the chord, once and for all, as gingerly as I possibly could.

Since we had not exchanged phone numbers (I had finally learned that lesson), my only way to reach him was through email on match. Feeling good about my decision, that I was really doing the right thing (it was like I was washing my karma clean), I sent him a polite, yet firm email.

To which he almost immediately responded to with an "are you kidding?" Seeing he was online, I opened a chat window (I know... stupid...) because I didn't want there to be hard feelings.

Me: Hey, I'm sorry, I'm just not interested in dating anyone right now. I only wrote to tell you because I didn't want to be one of those people who totally leave someone hanging like that.

Kevin: I think you're making a huge mistake.

Me: Why is that?

Kevin: Because you and I had great chemistry. Don't throw the baby out with the bath water just because you got jilted by some guy. I'm not like other guys.

Me: That's probably true, but I'm not interested.

Kevin: Give me one good reason you won't go out with me.

Me: I'll give you 3. 1) you're a republican. 2) you want kids and 3) I am NOT INTERESTED.

Kevin: I find that hard to believe that you would take the time to write me, just to say you're not interested. Have a drink with me. Tomorrow night at the Oak Room.

Me: what part of no do you not understand?

Kevin: I understand no when I believe there's a valid reason. I'm not taking no for an answer until we at least meet for a drink.

Me: Fine. 1 drink.

And that's how, despite being done with dating, I was going out on yet another date, with a guy I didn't want to date, who I tried to let down easy, but some how got wrangled into going out with anyway.

I clearly was not so good at this part yet.

2009-09-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

Karma.
I decided that all this drama with Nate was Karma's fault. Damn, now there's a real bitch for you. Karma was coming back to bite me in the ass for all the bitchy things I did and hearts I broke (need I remind you of Peter? Steve? Jonah? Who knows who else...) in my path of destruction that I called dating.

Were there a slew of hearts out there agonizing over me the way I was agonizing over Nate? I was sitting there dying inside and Karma was there to take pictures and put 'em up on facebook as the poster child for dating roadkill... I kept hoping Ashton Kutcher'd show up and be all like "got you bitch, you been punk'd!"

The Banshee pointed out I needed closure if I was going to get over Nate. But how do you get closure when the guy won't take your calls?

"Email" The Banshee said. If nothing else, I could get it off my chest, all the things I was thinking, even if it was likely the email would eventually end up in the inbox of his next date/lover/victim

So, I wrote him an email. anyway. This email:

Dear Nate,
How are you? I hope that you are doing well. After not hearing from you for some time, I have come to one of the following 3 conclusions for your lack of communications.
1) there has been a family tragedy. I truly hope this is not the case, but if it is, I send my deepest sympathy.
2) you were involved in a terrible table saw accident during one of your home renovation projects that cut off both your hands making it impossible for you to call, text or email, in which case I also send my regards and wish you a speedy recovery.
3) you just aren't that in to me, which given the way things were going between us, I find this excuse highly suspect, especially since you seemed to have much interest getting into me several times over the last few weeks.
But since you are obviously a spineless asswipe who doesn't have the decency and respect for a woman to at the very least tell her you didn't think things were going where you hoped, I guess I'll never know what happened. It's too bad you don't have the balls to actually tell me that, as opposed to ignoring me and hoping I'll go away.
I liked you, Nate. I did, I really did. But I hate that for whatever reason, you decided I wasn't good enough for you; that I let you make me feel like that was true. What I hate more however is that I deemed you worthy of me. All the while I was thinking you were too good to be true, I was missing the fact that I was too good for you. You don't deserve me, and you sure as shit don't deserve me wasting anymore of the pretty on you.
So fuck you, Nate. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
PS - I gave Karma your address and she's coming for you.

After I hit send, I broke down and made a thousand apologies to the universe for whoever it was I may have hurt. I apologized to myself for breaking my own heart with my own foolishness for thinking Nate was anything special. Because he wasn't. He was a jerk with no courage to face a woman. I couldn't make him love me or even like me for that matter. I couldn't make him take my calls or answer my text messages or emails.

But I could my heart back, at least what was left of it and make a vein attempt to piece it back together. I promised my heart that I would shield and protect it from the pain that seems to come with me giving it away so easily. I promised my heart it would never hurt like that again. I promised to keep my heart close to me and promised to love me first.

I also decided that I was done with dating for awhile...

2009-09-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

Despite the Banshee's reassurances, I kept beating myself up wondering what happened, playing out far too many what if scenarios that yet again, were not conducive to healthy thinking. I was engrossed in negative thinking - kept saying to myself and telling others that this was my fault - Nate was too good to be true. Too good for me.

Everyone said I was being defeatist, but it didn't matter. I knew there was no way in hell I could be so lucky as to find love that easily. Stupidly, like I fell for Nate, I fell for this ridiculous idea that it was fate! My FATE to be with NATE! That we were meant to be together or at the very least meet. If ever there was anything I'd done in that last year and half it was to think about what it was I wanted from a guy, a relationship and by some miracle I seemed to have found that in Nate.

Of course he was too good to be true. We clicked. I could to talk to him and was more excited about that than anything and the fact that we had such chemistry was like the cherry on top of the sundae.

It just hurt to not know what happened. I was perplexed. I didn't understand no matter how many times The Banshee explained it to me (or my mother, for that matter.) I was broken hearted and felt defeated. I put myself out there, climbed WAY out on a limb and as I worried would happen, fell and hit the ground with a heavy splat.

I kept wondering if GWG was right - did Nate stop calling because I slept with him too soon? did he think less of me? What did I do? As much as my friends kept reassuring me it wasn't anything I did, I could not wrap my brain around how things could end this way so fast unless there was something I did.

I wondered if maybe he met someone else (or already had someone else, as my mother kept insisting were the case.) If that were true, I'd hope he'd have the decency to tell me - I was a big girl and could handle that - THAT made sense. That was a reason. I was confused and angry and frustrated because this guy, this asshole made me not want to even look at other guys - I was ready to be done with dating because in my heart I thought he was the one. He made me believe that love was possible again and then the fuckwad gives me the cold shoulder.

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Hard to do when he wouldn't take my calls. Thought about a text message but that just seemed so on par with a post-it note. I didn't want to end up being some other crazy chick he shared stories about.

His loss, I tried to convince myself. Ater all, I was an amazing woman and he was damn lucky to have been on the receiving end of my emotions. I cared about him. And what, he's suddenly just not that into me? What the fuck does that even mean? You don't talk about the future and make plans with someone if you're just not that interested.

These are all things I wanted to say to him. But knew that if he called, what I'd really say is "Hi. How are you?" Because I was weak. smitten. I wanted to believe that this was all a misunderstanding and that he was better than the rest of the jerks out there I'd met while dating.

But apparently, I was wrong. I was a fool and idiot for falling for him. I was a fool for thinking my heart was ready to be in love again. To be put back out there on the market like that. I wasn't ready - not to just be taken for granted again. Just when I was softening up, willing to let someone else in, Nate made me hard again. He made me bitter and all I wanted to say was Fuck You.

Fuck me for giving him that power. Fuck it all.

2009-09-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

I spent the next week agonizing over what the hell happened. Wondering what the hell happened to Nate. What the hell I did wrong. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever that things were going so well and then for him to suddenly fall of the face of the earth like that.

At least this was what I kept telling myself. Trying to convince myself that my statement of missing him was not what scared him away. Not wanting to believe that maybe my mom was right. Maybe he was married and I was just a fool.

On my way to the grocery store one night, my mind was playing out all sorts of scenarios and replaying our conversations when I suddenly remembered the online chat he and I had the day we first 'met'. He was telling me about an email he received from another woman, actually one of many emails from her. Nate said this woman, a woman he never met, kept emailing him through match, wondering 'what happened', saying she thought they had such a great connection.

Nate even sent me the email to read myself because he found it strange, considering he and the woman were strangers. He said to me in the chat "I've never met this woman before. I have no idea what she's talking about! There are some crazy women out there!"

The epiphany I had while roaming the aisles of Whole Foods was that this situation with this mysterious woman sounded vaguely reminiscent of my own experience with Nate. I began to wonder if it wasn't the woman, but rather Nate that was crazy. Maybe he suffered short term memory loss? Amnesia?

That was the excuse I grabbed onto, at least for that day, as I tried to make myself feel better about why I hadn't heard from him. It wasn't me. It was him.

Despite my best efforts and thoughts on the matter, I realized that for all the hype and excitement and this ridiculous idea that we were meant for each other, we weren't meant to be after all. And that made me sad.

The worst part was that almost overnight, Nate became the measuring stick against which all future guys would be measured. He was everything I thought I wanted and then some. To me, he was the perfect guy (aside from that whole minor detail of not calling me ever again - but whatever...)

I thought he was special. Different. But the reality was that he was just a liar and told me things I wanted to hear. Despite seeming so utterly different from all the other guys he wasn't. I couldn't believe things had turned out this way. It wasn't fair.

Oh shut up, LIFE isn't fair, The Banshee said, tired of listening to me whine about Nate. Get over it. So he wasn't into you. So what?

SO WHAT? GWG piped in, so he wasn't in to her? He was completely into her until she went and ruined things by admitting her feelings for him. Things headed south the minute she invited him upstairs into his bed and spread her legs...

Tired of listening to GWG, The Banshee jumped off her high horse, grabbed her baseball bat on the way down and went after GWG swinging. It only took one swift konk on the noggin and she was out. The Banshee hogtied her, boxed her back up and sent her to the South Pole for the coming winter.

There. That should keep her busy for a while. Look. So it didn't work out. It's not the end of the world. You had fun with Nate, right? All is not lost. You learned something really important out of this, you realize.

What, not to sleep with guys on a first date who are probably married and keep my mouth shut?

No, dumbass. You learned 2 things. One - you're ready for a relationship and you know what you want from that relationship.

Yeah, that's helpful; I can know what I want, but lotta good that will do me when I tell the guy what I want, because I'll just scare him away.

Hunny, look. The right guy won't scare off that easy. If he's the one, you telling him so won't make him run anywhere but in your direction. Trust me.

How the hell she got so smart, I have no idea. But if you gotta have a noisy sub-conscious, a girl couldn't ask for a better one than The Banshee no matter how bitchy she could be.

2009-09-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday came and went. Wednesday, too. By Thursday afternoon, I still hadn't heard from Nate. I caved and texted on my lunch hour, feeling like I had nothing to lose at this point. I'd dropped $100 on concert tickets that I wasn't likely going to, seeing as how it was the next day and I'd heard nothing from my date in almost 5 days.

Part of me kept holding out hope that he'd call. That he'd text any minute, tell me he's been busy and would call me later that night. Or better, want to know what time to meet me for our date. But that text or call never came and Thursday night found me depressed and wondering what the fuck.

I called home to talk to my dad. Of course my mom answered, and reminded me of her skepticism. "I just know he's married. I know it!" she insisted. I insisted she knew nothing.

Dad of course was more encouraging. "I say you just go to the concert without him. Screw him. Don't let some asshole ruin your good time," he advised.

"I don't really wanna go by myself, dad," I said, adding that it would just make me feel like an even bigger loser than I already felt like.

"Why don't you go with one of your girlfriends?" he suggested. Not a bad idea, but I'd already asked and no one was interested.

I contemplated putting an ad up on Craigslist but thought better of it. If I wasn't going with Nate, I didn't want to go at all. Despite both GWG and the Banshee advising against it, I called him. Of course, I got his voicemail.

Hi Nate, it's Christine. I haven't heard from you all week, I guess you're busy or something. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I got our tickets for the concert tomorrow night. We've got great seats, should be a lot of fun. I'm really looking forward to it. Give me a call, or drop me an email or text or something, let me know what time you wanna meet. We can meet at my place or if it's easier, just meet downtown, whatever, just let me know. Hope you're having a good week, see you tomorrow!

I didn't want to sound bitter or come across as desperate, despite feeling both of those things. I told myself if he called and finalized our plans, I'd let this go. Stop being so needy. So pathetic.

By Friday night, I still hadn't heard from him and resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to. Ever.

My dad called me that night to check in on me, to try and convince me one last time to go to the concert.

"Nah, I'm okay. I'm just gonna stay home tonight. I've ordered some Chinese and gonna get in my comfy clothes and watch some Sex and the City and go to bed early. I'm going shopping with Val tomorrow," I told him.

I stayed up till after midnight not so much watching TV, as much as staring at it. The girlz texted me all night to check in, to try and convince me to come out with them, but I was numb. My heart was officially broken.

2009-09-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday evening. The long anticipated second date with Nate finally arrived and I was feeling rather foolish for acting so stupid earlier in the week (especially since I had logged into match, something I hadn't done since meeting Nate and saw that his profile was no longer active - a sign if ever there was one that he was off the market). I was relieved Nate was none the wiser to the craziness in my head (or my cyberstalking...)

GWG blamed the sex for my bahavior. The Banshee blamed GWG for jumping the gun to begin with. I just blamed myself for being an insecure dumb girl. I was determined to not let the "what ifs" take over and sabotage my night because I clearly had nothing to worry about. The Banshee was standing ready with a baseball bat to beat me and any stray thoughts senseless if things got carried away.

Luckily, there was no need. Nate and I had a great time and I made like a jellyfish all night goin' with the flow. We made dinner, made out, and made plans for the next weekend to see a band we liked play downtown. We cuddled on the couch watching reruns of SNL and ended it with a steamy romp in the sack.

I fell asleep on is chest and felt such a sense of contentment and laughed at how ridiculous I'd been earlier in the week. I had nothing to worry about except worry itself. The next morning we laid around in bed for hours, trading stories about our childhood. I offered to make us brunch, but Nate declined.

"Not today sweetness," he said kissing my forehead as he picked up his pants from the floor. "I promised my folks I'd swing by for lunch and help with some yard work. If I don't leave now, I'll never make it. And trust me, you don't wanna keep my mom waiting," he said flashing me a smile that warmed me all over.

"I'll remember that for the future," I said, crawling out of bed and wrapping my robe around me to walk him to the door. We stood there doing the whole long goodbye thing. Standing there, all I wanted to do was tell him I would miss him. I wanted to say something to let him know how happy and excited I was about "us".

Just say you'll miss him, The Banshee insisted. Just tell him you can't wait to see him again.

Don't you dare let on how you're feeling, you'll freak him out! GWG argued. You have to play hard to get!

But I didn't want to be hard to get. I wanted to be gotten. I wanted Nate to have me, and thought he should know that. Even though it was early, we'd both been caught up in our feelings, he even said as much on our first date, that he felt like we've known each other forever. Despite what may have been better judgment, I just put it out there.

"I wish you didn't have to go," I said, nuzzling into his neck, inhaling his scent deeply, to hold onto it long after he left.

He pulled away abruptly. "Don't be like that," he said, somewhat sternly.

"What," I cooed, "I'm just gonna miss you. I have to wait a whole week to see you again!"

"Not even a week," he said, taking his jacket from behind the door. "You'll survive."

I was a bit surprised by his tone, but realized I might've sounded a bit too needy. In an attempt to recover, I pulled myself together, dropped the lovesick girl bit and told him he was right and I'd see him next Friday. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and left.

I couldn't help but feel like something changed the moment I admitted that I was going to miss him. It almost felt like he pulled back - and not just physically, which he did. He pulled emotionally away. Disconnected. Retreated a bit to put some distance between us. I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I somehow managed to fuck something up. That I should've listened to GWG and said nothing. It was a feeling that I couldn't shake all day, but decided I was being ridiculous and vowed not to get carried away, less take a beating from the Banshee. I heard nothing from him that night.

On my lunch break the next day I picked up the concert tickets at the box office. I was anxious to tell Nate about the great seats we had, but resisted the temptation to text him first. He always texted me on his lunch hour and I decided I'd wait and text him back after I heard from him.

Only he didn't text me that afternoon.

He didn't call me that night.

I told you you shouldn't have slept with him! GWG chastised. You never should've told him you were going to miss him!

You shouldn't have been so quick to throw yourself into a "relationship". The Banshee countered. Not to get all George Michael on you hunny but you gave him your heart and well, you know the rest of the line...

Either way, it was clear I messed something up. In an effort to stop wondering what if, I decided to ignore both bitches in my head and texted him before I went to bed. I heard nothing back. I was devestated, but oddly, not completely surprised - I had already played the scenario out in my head and almost saw it coming. I tried to sleep that night, but instead, I lay in bed, my head on the pillow his head rested on not even 48 hours prior. I could still smell him. I could feel my heart crack.

The most frustrating thing was that I just wanted to talk to him. Wanted to hear his voice. Something to be reassured that everything was fine between us. I wanted to fall asleep on his chest. Thoughts of the previous few weeks consumed me as I lay there. I couldn't stop thinking about him and felt overwhelmed and confused. I felt like I was stuck in a swirling whirlpool with no way out.

The last thought I had that night was how did I manage to fuck this up already?

2009-09-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

Nate and I exchanged text messages over the next few days, and didn't really talk again till Thursday.

This of course was just enough time for me to fully dig myself deep into a pit of overthinking that I had desperately tried to avoid. I had jumped to the (obvious) conclusion that since it had been several days since we had spoken that he wasn't as interested in me as I was him.

And this of course was just enough to time to go through the mental wringer with the Banshee and GWG over the whole issue, which in reality wasn't a real issue, rather one of my own making.

Good lord, men have a way of making women crazy in the beginning. I had no idea what I was doing with regard to this "relationship" if it even was a relationship. I had no idea. I had no idea what we were doing, if we were a "we" but I sure as hell knew what I was doing, and that was pretty much freaking out because I was all but convinced that I was falling in love with Nate.

Yup.

How's that for crazy?

It was crazy.

I was crazy. I had gone from girlie giddy to all out psycho in my head over this guy, fretting about whether or not he felt the same way, wondering when I would get to talk to him again because there was no way I was calling or texting him first. I didn't want to seem pushy or needy, even though it was all I wanted to do was talk to him. Tuesday night, the night we were supposed to go out had he been in the city, he texted to tell me he was going to bed early, he was tired.

In an attempt to distract myself and ignore my disappointment, I called my mother and told her all about Nate.

"Sounds suspicious if you ask me," she said when it was all said and done.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I just think the whole story about this guys seems fishy." No matter how much I pressed, she wouldn't elaborate beyond that.

I didn't know why she felt that way, or what about Nate and all that was going on made her not like the sound of what was going. If anything, I assumed she'd have been pleased that I finally met a guy I actually liked and could see myself being involved with. That I wanted to be involved with. Her skepticism did nothing for my state of mind.

I knew I was being ridiculous - afterall when Nate and I actually talked on Monday, we made plans for the upcoming Saturday night- we were going to make some elaborate meal that neither of us had ever made before - and talked about other plans: a concert coming to town that we both wanted to go to; apple picking in the fall; ice skating at the common when the snow fell.

We were talking about things well into the future and as much as this should've satiated my questioning mind about his intentions with me, I couldn't help but fret and beat myself up over it for not being able to just accept that yes, duh, he likes me, else why would he be sitting here making plans with me well into the future. The Banshee wanted to bitch-slap me for being so annoying.

Still. I couldn't help but feel like I was sliding down this slippery slope that if I didn't plant my footholds carefully, I was going to be sent careening down into the ravine below to a painful and bloody demise.

As much as I wanted to take things slow, GWG had jumped behind the wheel and had put the pedal all the way to the floor - I had more than jumped in head first, I took a swan dive and was gaining speed, fast.

I had confessed the depth of my feelings for Nate to Lola that Thursday night when she came over for dinner. Lola was good about listening without judgment, though I could tell she had a bit of skeptisism in her like my mother. I suspected her reservations stemmed more from my insanity than anything Nate did or didn't do at this point and was really more curious as to this boy was that had clearly stolen my heart and any ounce of sense I once had.

After dinner as I walked her to her car, Nate called. Knowing how anxious I was to hear from him, she insisted I take the call. After a few minutes, I was about to hang up so as not to be rude to Lola. But before I could do that, she said, "I'd like to talk to this Nate fellow."

Nate heard and laughed. "Okay, I'll talk to her!" He was being a good sport.

"Hello, Nate. So tell me. What are your intentions with our Christine?"

I was mortified. She had asked the question I myself had been dying to know the answer to. Before he could respond, she assured him he need not answer the question, she was only kidding.

"No, I'll answer," I heard him say. I heard because my ear was plastered next to Lola's. "I like Christine, a lot. I can see myself spending a lot of time with her. She makes me laugh and we have a good time together. What more could I ask for?"

So there it was. He liked me. He wanted to spend more time with me. I felt a sense of relief wash over me in knowing that I while I may have already jumped in, Nate was at least at the ledge, testing the waters.

2009-09-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Nate left at noon. We made breakfast together and things between us weren't awkward - they were just as they were the night before. Though I promised myself I wouldn't sleep with him that night - I didn't want this to be just a one night stand, I was okay with where the night took us. Mostly because nothing about the night before felt like a one night stand.

It felt like the way the start to a relationship should feel. It felt normal. It felt comfortable.

What felt strange was him leaving. For the first time since Joe, I had a guy in my apartment and I didn't feel like I was doing something wrong. It felt right having Nate there and it had everything to do with the way things felt between us. It felt like we were supposed to be together and that all the waiting for him on match was supposed to happen because if we'd come together at any other point, the timing wouldn't have been right.

I needed to get guys like the Bartender out of my system. I needed to figure out what I wanted before I could go searching for it. GWG was as pleased as punch with herself, though The Banshee remained slightly guarded. She was afterall still jaded and who could blame her. I didn't.

I tried to balance GWG's giddiness with The Banshee's warnings because I was afraid of jumping in too soon; of having my heart broken... again. My heart at that point had finally mended but I was concerned with how much heart break I could really take and still come out in the end ready for more.

I was proceeding with caution, elated to know that I was at last finally ready to proceed.

We spent the morning making plans of things 'we' should do. He kissed me goodbye and told me he'd call the next day to finalize plans for later in the week.

Sunday night, just like the one before, he called me around 7 and we talked for hours. We made plans to see each other on Tuesday, as he was supposed to be working on a project in the city all the next week.

Monday morning he texted to tell me he wasn't going to be in the city that week after all and asked me out for Saturday night. Monday night we talked again on the phone for hours and he quickly was becoming the first person I wanted to talk to at the end of the day. I couldn't wait to hear from him. I couldn't believe how fast and how hard I was falling for a guy I had spent all of 18 hours with, and nearly as much talking to on the phone.

It seemed impossible to have such strong feelings in such a short span of time. What I felt was more than a crush and it was hard for me to fight with the way my heart felt. But I was scared. Insecure. Unsure of myself, terrified that I was going to do something to freak him out or scare him away. I knew better that to let on how I was feeling for him, especially so early on. I knew I had to tread the fine line of being interested but not overly interested too soon.

Mostly I was afraid that what if he didn't really feel the same way. Here I was ready to jump in head first (already had, really) but what if he wasn't? What if he was interested, but not that interested?

I knew I had to get my my worries and what-if scenarios under control before I sabotaged myself or worse, things with Nate.