He and I (we will call him “B”) are somewhat dating now these days. And for the first time in a long time, I’m dating someone exclusively. It’s strange to be back in this place, somewhere I haven’t been a while, and have not even visited since I last left.
Sunday morning I am woken up by his alarm on his cell phone.
“Good morning. I know this is a bit earlier than we talked about, but I figured you didn’t want to miss a run with Doc before we head out. So I set the alarm a little earlier than planned.”
“Thanks.” I managed to whisper while yawning.
Yes, I let him stay the night. That’s the first time I’d let anyone I was interested in stay the night since the Ex moved out. It was nice waking up to his face. I’ll admit that.
We were dressed in less than five minutes and out the door. Doc, B, and I running through Central Park together. The sun was warm, and it didn’t rain like they had predicted. Vendors were selling potted plants and hibiscus trees at discounted prices, and lines were wrapped up and down the paths with last minute Mother’s Day shoppers.
We stopped to get smoothies on the way back to the apartment and discussed the train schedule and the day’s plans and events.
[Side note: I even let him shower and get dressed at my apartment after our run, rather than him going home and coming back. That was a little strange, but I liked it. A lot.]
An hour later, we were out the door again. Two subways and a train ride later and we were on the train platform in Trenton (New Jersey) waiting for our cab. We were going to his parents’ house for brunch where we would meet with his [twin] brother and his girlfriend and the four of us would enjoy a breakfast/lunch buffet accompanied by B’s parents and two grandmothers.
I had met B’s parents before, and B lives with his brother, so I have met him and his girlfriend before too. But I have never met his grandmothers and I have never met his parents while we were considered “dating”. It makes it so much easier meeting the family when you know there is nothing romantic going on between the two of us, now that we’re actually dating, and they know it, it changes everything. And maybe they didn’t think so, or they just didn’t acknowledge it, because everything felt exactly the same. Which was a wonderful relief.
At about 2:45, we were out the door again. One train, two subways, and another train later, and we were now standing at the train platform at Ronkonkoma (Long Island, New York) where we waited for another cab.
And now B was in the same situation as I was earlier in the day. He had met most of my family before, just not when we were dating. But again, no one acted any different. This, I’m sure, was a relief for him as well.
We went to the beach and then we went to the Shrine where I really opened up to him.
I told him why that place was so special to me, what it was like when my mom was sick, and how strange everything felt after she had passed. I told him how I can’t remember my grandparents’ funerals a few shorts months after my mom’s because I was practically a zombie by then. I even told him how I hate myself everyday because I can’t remember her. My own mother. The woman who gave birth to me.
He stayed silent, but supportive. He hugged me, and held my hand, and kissed my cheek.
The train ride home was quiet. I just wondered what he was thinking.
*********************************************************
“Can I stay the night? I love waking up to your face.”
And I let him.
Doc and I are laying in my bed watching Sex in the City reruns. And it makes me wonder, will I be Carrie Bradshaw forever?
Sure, we’re both single and living in New York. We go out for drinks with our friends after a long day in the office. We rely on our laptops, sitting at home, calling our names after we experience a night of bliss, a night of turmoil and everything in between. The keys long to be pressed by my fingers while I dictate every detail of my life’s events. Or sometimes the lack thereof.
The difference between Carrie and I? Well, for starters, I don’t march down Fashion Avenue wearing Manolo Blahniks and sip martinis and cosmopolitans with Manhattan socialites, corporate executives and a wealthy lawyer. I do, however, sip imported beers (at $8 a pop) at pubs with a documentary producer, an art gallery owner, a waitress, a struggling actor, a writer, a college professor, a New York City firefighter, and a few students. My hair does not look nearly as nice or tamed as hers when it decides to defy my many efforts to keep it from curling. I don’t work one day a week, in fact I work eight. I do not attend glamorous galas, parties, and balls. And I don’t sleep with every person that I date.
I am dating someone, yes. He is not the Mr. Perfect you have read about in previous posts. He is not that friend that I mentioned once or twice before. He is not the Ex.
He’s… someone semi-new.
He and I met last May at a bar. He’s a few years older than me, but still likes to have fun. He is mature and responsible but spontaneous and carefree at the same time (if that is possible).
But this post is not about him.
It’s about me. About my desire to be happy, but my inability to allow myself to do so. I refuse to open up to people. This is a flaw that I am aware of, am ashamed of, but still cannot seem to break this horrible habit of mine. What is it that I am afraid of? What is it that scares me so much that I will push people away from me? People that seem to care about me, and want to be there for me.
And most importantly, how do I make myself stop?
I cannot say whether or not he will be fed up with these habits of mine. But I can tell you that many have done that before. And have walked away, leaving me in the dust, without looking back because of this terrible thing that I do. And I never see it coming. Not until it’s too late. And all that’s left is sad little Dean and her self-broken heart.
Which brings me back to Carrie. Am I Carrie Bradshaw? As much as I wish I weren’t. As much as I don’t want to be. As much as I deny it… I think I know deep down it’s true. And I think my friends know it too. And perhaps they’re just too afraid to bring it to my attention, fearing that I don’t already know. Fearing that I might feel attacked, criticized, or ridiculed. Fearing I will only put my guard up higher and stronger.
I don’t want to be Carrie. I don’t want to be Samantha, Miranda, or even Charlotte. I want to be Dean. But I want to be the Dean that’s not afraid to be happy.
Using all the strength I have, I will open up to him. Right now.
[He] and I grew up together. Well, we didn’t really grow up together. [He] is two years older than me and we didn’t have any classes together in school. [He] lived a few short blocks away from my father’s house and played hockey with my older brother as kids. I always knew who [He] was, but never really talked to [Him]. Until last year….
We ran into each other at one of Long Island’s famous St. Patrick’s Day parades. It had been years since we had even seen each other. We enthusiastically said hello, hugged one another, and shared a green beer. In ten minutes we managed to catch up with each other on our living situations, work standings, and relationship status while our friends impatiently waited for us to rejoin them and the drinking festivities.
[He] was happy to hear that I was no longer with The Ex, explaining that rumors were floating around about The Ex and I and how he had been sleeping with my then best friend… in my apartment… in my bed. And I thought to myself, “Why didn’t any of these rumors happen to make it back to me? Because I sure wish they had.” We laughed at what a loser The Ex is, and [He] told me how much better I could do and more importantly, I SHOULD do. We got one more beer together and parted ways for the rest of the day.
A few days later, at my sister’s for our regular Monday Night Poker Tournament Jon pulled me aside. Forgetting that [He] and Jon work together, Jon told me how [He] had been talking about me all week. Something like this, “Did I tell you I ran into Dean this weekend?”, “Did I mention that I saw Dean?”, “You know Dean broke up with her boyfriend, right?”, “Do you happen to know if she’s dating anyone?”, “Are you and Dean still friends? Could you find out for me if she would like to go out to eat some time?” I was shocked to say the least. Jon confessed that he gave [Him] my number and said that I was expecting [His] call, when in reality I hadn’t known a thing about it.
After months of asking me out to eat, and me declining for various reasons (misc. dates made prior to his and my reconnection, Mr. Perfect, and some other scheduling conflicts) I agreed to hang out casually as just friends and get to know each other. We bar hopped with a circle of his friends. We went out for Happy Hour with a few of mine. We attended a local concert, the beach for a meteor shower, and a few dozen Blockbuster/6-Pack nights.
Ever since [He] and I started getting together (as STRICTLY friends) I have been developing a “thing” for [Him]. Though, I would never admit it, because of how many times I had turned down [His] request for a date.
Tuesday night [He] dropped by unannounced. Which is more than fine with me. (I’m pretty informal myself, and don’t usually have a problem with friends just dropping by to say hello.) [He] had perfect timing, I was just walking from the stove to the kitchen table with a plate full of dinner for myself when [He] knocked on the door.
“What? Did you smell the food?” I teased. [He] laughed and told me [He] was just dropping by to see if I wanted to get a bite to eat AS FRIENDS, grab a movie and have a few beers. Instead, [He] came in, made himself a plate, and we retired to my couch with a few beers for dessert.
A few hours later it was time for [Him] to leave just as my liquid courage was kicking in.
“Hey, I have this birthday party to go to on Saturday for an old friend from high school.”
“That sounds like fun. You should have a good time.”
“Yea. I’m excited to see her. But I know there’s going to be about 15-20 people there also from high school, that no only do I have no desire to see, but I don’t really want to talk to either.” [He] laughed. “So I was wondering… What are you doing on Saturday?”
“Hanging out with you, beautiful.”
I beamed!
“Really? You don’t mind going? You won’t know anyone there I don’t think, and it might be really boring, I mean you don’t have to go.” [He] leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“I would love to go. Honestly. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.” [He] winked just as [He] turned and stepped out the door.
…I can’t believe I did that.
And I can’t believe its tomorrow! I’m really excited.
-He lived too far away. And then he moved. And now he lives even further away.
-He is older than me. By ten years. Which doesn’t bother either of us, but I know it will bother my sometimes protective brother, father, brother-in-laws, cousins, uncles, and friends.
-He’s smart, funny, spontaneous, adventurous, caring, sensitive, artistic, creative, happy, trusting, trustworthy, honest, and engaging. Basically, going back to point #1. Too good to be true.
**************************
I thought I was going to be able to come up with more than this. And I cannot. Maybe there isn’t anymore? Maybe he’s not as unrealistic as I think he is. Maybe he’s just what I need, what we both need. And maybe I shouldn’t be scared to let people in anymore. Maybe I should let him be mine, and mine his. And maybe I should stop thinking of him as Mr. Unrealistic and starting thinking of him as Mr. Perfect. Because that’s really what he is when all is said and done.
Because he makes me smile.
And he cares about me.
We can talk about anything and everything.
For hours.
He holds me whenever he has the chance.
Calls me to say hello and that he was thinking of me.
Takes pictures of himself making funny faces and sends them to me.
Just to know that I smiled that day.
Tells me jokes just to hear me laugh.
Makes me buy a Christmas tree.
And helps me decorate it.
Loves to sit on my couch and drink hot chocolate with me.
He loves the sound of my fingers typing and the faces I make when working on my book.
Because he says he can really hear me think when I do that.
And to him, it’s beautiful.
Because he will not see his family, just to spend Christmas with me.
And I won’t let him.
(Even though I want to…)
Because family is important.
And because he tells me he’s going to marry me someday.
And that he’s never felt that way about anyone before.
And he’s already told everyone that.
Even though most of them have never met me.
He says they know he means it.
Because he does.
And even if he doesn’t mean it, it still makes me smile.
And that’s enough for me.
For now.
**************************
Mr. Perfect.
Perfect.
I attended a work Christmas party for Job #2 yesterday evening. It was nice, elegant, fancy even. Everything we as a company, are not. We had rented out a private room at a very nice Italian restaurant feasting on buffet plate after buffet place of the best stuffed shells I have ever had, we drank and we laughed, genuinely having a good time. We had been kicked out of the rented room at 8pm when the party should have ended at 7:00.
Agreeing that it was far too early and we were all much too sober to call it a night, we opted to head over to one of the local pubs for some more drinks and more laughs. Feeling out of place (and not like myself) we entered a small, casual Irish Pub. Me, wearing a backless black sweater, a gray pencil skirt, and black knee-high boots, and many of my coworkers dressed just as “classy” we instantly stood out in a crowd of men and women donning jeans, sweaters, and sneakers. I pretended not to notice how corporate and snobbish we must have appeared to everyone else. (Aside from the three men in suits near the entrance. Whom, I suspected were there on business, or had just finished a meeting of sorts.)
We stood around the bar sharing stories and holiday plans with families. The bartender seemed surprised when we all ordered beer, he even said to me “I almost expected all of the men to order dry martinis and the women, cosmopolitans.”
And I answered with a quick, “Yea, we’re not that type of crowd. We only dress like this when forced, such as the corporate costume party we just came from.”
“Costume party?” He says. I can tell he’s thinking that we’re a little behind for having a Halloween Party and wondering why we all decided to dress similarly. All twenty of us.
“It’s a costume party for us, since 95% of us had to go out and buy something to wear for the Christmas party being that none of really dress this way.” He nods finally understanding what I meant and happily hands me an ice cold Miller High Life in a bottle with a frozen glass, and I just shake my hand at the glass.
“No thanks. I prefer it out of the bottle.” He looked even more surprised.
Having been there for over an hour at this point (and had been drinking for at least five hours beforehand) we’re all getting a little buzzed. Just as I was about to turn to Vicki, a friend of mine, to tell her of the devastatingly handsome man in the suit near the door that I thought she should introduce herself to, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find that man I was just about to mention standing behind me with a glass in one hand and a full beer in the other.
“Dan.” He says as he hands me the MHL.
“Dean.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t have a name like Tiffany, Stacy, or Mandy. I don’t know why. I just knew it as soon as you walked in the door. Before I forget to mention, I prefer dogs over cats, I’m a baseball fan, I don’t normally dress this stuffy, I’m not married or taken in any way, and I like your ink.” As he points to the medium sized tattoo just between my shoulder blades.
“Good to know. Thanks for the beer by the way.”
“So, what do you do for a living, Dean?”
“Full time office manager and a part time inventory manager.” I hesitate. “And yourself?”
“I work in advertising.”
“Interesting.” At this point, I don’t really know where to take the conversation. So I take the moment of a silence as an opportunity to take a nice, large gulp of my beer and glance around at my friends that I came there with.
“You’re very tough to read, Dean.”
“Really? Why is that?” I ask thinking to myself that I’ve been told this quite often recently.
“I’m not the first person to tell you that, I’m sure. You seem very guarded. I would imagine that if you didn’t want to talk to me at all, you wouldn’t. Because you seem very straight forward. But you also don’t make many attempts to get to know people better, and don’t always like the feeling you get when others try to get to know you.”
“Let me guess, you took some psychology classes in college.”
“Wrong. I never went to college. Nor did I ever see a psychologist, which is what you were thinking next. I am also not related to one. But I like to think that I’m a pretty good judge of character and a master at reading people. But what drew me over to you, other than you’re being stunning, is the fact that I couldn’t sum you up into any words whereas I can usually do that about a person right away. Without even talking to them.”
“So you’re a master at assuming you know people?” It took all of my energy not to roll my eyes at him.
“Ah! As much as you would love to just write me off here and now, you know that you’re still intrigued. And no, I don’t assume. Faces tell everything. More specifically, the eyes. Your eyes on the other hand, are different.”
“You’re not always right; I can assure you of that. And what makes my eyes so different?”
“They are sad. They don’t appear sad, though. There’s a difference. Someone wouldn’t look at you and think that you’ve been crying or you just got some bad news. You have not always been treated the way you should have, you have not necessarily been abandoned, though you do feel that way sometimes. And you will never let go of your past. Intrigued?”
“Not yet.”
“I haven’t given you anything worth looking into yet?”
“Ehh. Not really.” I wasn’t completely lying, but I wasn’t completely telling the truth either.
“Well, I’m a single dad with a three year old son that lives with me full time. I left everyone and everything I know to make a better life for my son. He’s the most important thing in the world to me. I hate my job but it pays me well enough to give him the things that he needs in his life. I don’t generally trust people until I’ve gotten to know them really well. That can take years. I have never been in love, or married. And I want to get to know you better.”
I am usually so quick to dismiss people. And I don’t really know why. But I decided to give him a chance. We may not get married, we may not even date. But to enjoy someone else’s company and get to know people better without passing judgment is a very important part of life. And I think I owed it to Dan and to myself to just let the night play out and see where things went.
We talked about his son and why it is that I am single. I told him why I think I am, and then he gave me his own interpretation as to why I am. We discussed the annoyance of corporate holiday functions and he guessed what my childhood was like. He mentioned numerous times that he can tell I’m smart, though I didn’t say much, and wished to know why it is that I can be so closed sometimes. He wanted to know what he could do to open me up and pick my brain. But I didn’t offer much. Because I just don’t know how to.
We exchanged numbers after almost four hours of talking and telling jokes. And that was enough for me. Because I don’t have any expectations for the future, not in terms of relationships or relationship status.
(Side Note: Dan is very sweet, we have a lot in common, and we’re having drinks on Wednesday night. But as friends. Because neither of us need anything more than that right now.)
She frantically types on her laptop. Her fingers seem cartoon-like they’re moving so fast. Her face is serious, and her eyes never leave the computer screen. Handsome men walk past her, sometimes twice each in hopes of catching her eye. But her eyes never move. They hardly even blink. One man even gets brave enough to interrupt her.
“Excuse me? May I have the sugar?” He motions towards the community sugar pourer. He is hoping for more than just the sugar pourer. He yearns for the eye contact, a half smile/smirk even, and an introduction would be ideal.
“Yea, no problem.” She reaches behind her laptop, picks up the sugar pourer and hands it to the gentleman without once looking away from what she’s working on. In fact, she’s still typing just as fast, but with only one hand now.
He hesitates. “Thanks.” She doesn’t acknowledge his thanks or his presence. He looks crushed. And I wonder, why didn’t he ask for the sugar on my table? It’s not that I wanted him to, but I thought it was strange that she was clearly working hard on something and he had no problem interrupting her, and yet he didn’t even notice that I was in the room, and reading leisurely with an unused sugar pourer on my table as well.
Perhaps it is because I do not have long blonde hair as she did. Or that my eyes are not ice blue. Maybe I don’t appear as important as she does since I am not typing on a laptop on my coffee break as she appears to be doing. Maybe I don’t look single, though I am. Is it because I was not wearing any make-up? My suit was not as expensive as hers? Maybe it’s because my heels were only three and a half inches tall as opposed to her four inch heels.
King walks in and we share less than ten minutes of small talk before I ask him why he thinks that man didn’t ask me for the sugar. I love to know another person’s point of view and why it is that men do the things that they do. And King willingly shares his opinion.
“Dean, you have to understand that you’re not like most women.” He tells me something that I already know, so I just nod and await to hear more. “Men are very simple creatures.” I would love to agree whole-heartedly but something inside me tells me it’s not as simple as that, that there’s more to men than people, even other men, give them credit for. And still, he continues. “You are not what men would consider approachable.” I didn’t know how to take that. Was I being complimented or insulted?
“I don’t understand. I thought I was easier for men to approach because I am not like most women.”
“As much as men don’t want to admit it, they are instantly attracted to the women who appear to be high maintenance. But in the end there’s nothing there other than lust. You’re the kind of woman men can fall in love with. Because if men were given the opportunity to build their perfect woman, you would be it. You’re beautiful, and not the typical kind of beautiful. You’re the girl next door kind of beautiful but with the edge that men love. You have a fantastic sense of humor and a heart made of gold. You’re loyal, adventurous, and open-minded. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, incredibly talented and have so much potential.” He pauses, and I think it’s because he noticed that I blushed. “I just mean that you’re the kind of girl that men would love to bring home to Mom and marry, but someone to have fun with too. You’re the best friend and the lover, that’s rare. You look just as sexy in a short, little cocktail dress as you do in jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
“Well, there is one. Like I said, you don’t appear to be high maintenance. Your nails are nice, but one solid color and they’re your’s. You don’t have highlights in your hair and you have no make-up on. Now, you don’t need it, but it sends a different kind of message to men. She’s over there typing like a madman, and while I don’t know her, I am willing to bet my life on it, that she has nothing more important to say than you do. That she’s probably not even half as smart or funny as you are. That she’s not as interesting or caring as you. And quite honestly, Dean, you’re sitting in a coffee house alone drinking a black tea with nothing in it reading the New York Times in a pant suit. I must say, that is a beautiful set though. Ann Taylor?”
“Yes. On sale!”
“I love it. I always tell you that winter white is your color; you need more of it in your wardrobe. Anyway, see how she’s wearing a pink suit? Much more feminine. Not that anything about your suit is masculine, because there isn’t. And actually, though she’s wearing a skirt and you’re wearing pants, you look better in your suit than she does in hers. I can tell she got hers on sale too, and it’s not the right size or a flattering cut on her. But most men don’t look into the clothes as much as I do. Her make-up is way too heavy and her hair needs to be dyed again if she wants to keep it blonde. Dark roots aren’t ‘in’ anymore. Again, there are only about 2% of straight men who notice those things. Including myself.”
I know that if I let him, he could go on forever. Since I don’t really have anything important to share with him during this lunch, I will just let him continue enjoying my tea and taking it all in.
“I know that you love tea and are not a coffee drinker. You love the Times and hate the Post. You would NEVER dye your hair blonde and wouldn’t dream of ordering a drink that takes 20 minutes to say. And because you’re sitting alone in a pant suit, you scream ‘feminist’.”
I am not a feminist. And if I were, there would be nothing wrong with it except that the average New York male feels threatened by them. And for that, I am come across as unapproachable. Especially when in work clothes. In jeans, a tee shirt, and flip flops, it would be a different story.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover” people will tell you. And I will tell you “Don’t judge a person by their drink of choice, reading material, and hair color.”
I was on the subway. The dreaded F train. I don’t know what it is about the F train, I just never really want to take it. Nevertheless, I was on the F and sitting across from a couple. Now, I know it’s not polite to stare, so I didn’t, even though I love to people watch. I glanced in their direction for what felt like the shortest second known to mankind.
Later I found myself walking through Union Square alone. I was utilizing my photographic memory and recalling just how that couple looked during that moment in time on the F train.
He had thin brown hair that was well past his shoulders. It was straight but somehow messy at the same time. He wore jeans that were tight and ripped in the knees with black Converse sneakers that I haven’t seen on anyone in years. His tee shirt was old, faded, and had the Live logo in the middle. He looked like someone who would listen to Live. Without standing up, I could tell that he was most likely a foot or more taller than she.
Her hair was black. It was pulled back into a messy bun with a few strands sticking out here and there with large waves in them. I could tell that her hair was long, but not much longer than his. The only make-up she wore was on her eyes and it was very dark and very heavy. But still, her brown eyes looked big and wide and taking everything in. Her eyes were young. Not like his.
Her top was tight, but not very revealing. She wore a short, black and red skirt that showed her black lace stockings leading down to where her black platform boots started, just under the knee. Her legs were draped over his lap and she was childishly tapping her right foot while gabbing on and on about the most recent cartoons she had seen.
He appeared to be about 20-25 years older than her. You could see it in his pale skin and the way that he smiled. She talked and talked while he played with the hair on the back of her neck. She thought he was listening. I know he was undressing her with his mind. Once in a while he would interrupt her with a kiss. She never minded.
She was happy. You could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about the future. About tomorrow. About ten years from now. What THEY would be doing. And where THEY would be living. She adored him and admired him, and her soul was bare and visible in that naïve face. She would smile wide and stare at his face. She was wondering what her family would think of him. And how she couldn’t wait for her friends to meet him. Their relationship was still new, but she was so excited. She was so in love. She hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, but I knew she was in love.
He was looking at her lips. And at her neck. And at her exposed thighs. He never looked her in the eye. He grinned. It was different than a smile. His grin was mischievous and alarming. He didn’t care what she had to say, he wasn’t listening to her anyway. In fact, he wished she would stop talking and start kissing him.
But he was thinking about the future too. He was thinking about what would happen when the subway stopped and they got off. He wondered what color her underwear was. And he thought about what the rest of the night would be like. He never thought about the next day, or the next week, or the next year. Not as she has. Only his immediate future thoughts involved her.
And I felt apologetic for her. She was blind to it all.
“I am drawn to you.” He said. His face was serious. He meant what he said. He kissed me. And it was wonderful.
But I laughed. “Drawn to me?” I thought. The idea of ANYONE being drawn to me was just down-right ridiculous I thought. After I let out a small giggle, he looked at me. “What?” He said while looking into my eyes so deeply, I thought for sure he was looking at a roadmap of my brain and reading my thoughts.
“Nothing.” I whispered while leaning in to steal a kiss. He made that face. The one I love. He has this half-smile smirk thing that I melt just thinking about. It says that he’s thinking something, oh how I wish I knew what that something was. After seeing that face, I had to steal just one more kiss.
We took trains from different directions to meet each other half-way and get some drinks and just enjoy each other’s company for a few hours; Mr. Unrealistic and I. After three bars, a few drinks, and more laughs than I can count, we walked and sat in the park. He put his arm around me and we discussed art, religion, politics, family, and an abundance of funny, childhood stories.
We walked and talked and drank and laughed for over eight hours. And it was time to head home. I let him leave first, because I knew it would be easier walking away after saying goodbye than it would be to leave him behind.
We kissed one last time. “I really had a great time. Please tell me I’ll see you soon?” Our faces were close and we were holding hands at our sides. He rested his forehead against mine.
“Yes” I whispered with closed eyes.
I smiled the whole way home.
I found this list, “50 Things She Wants You To Know” at the Men’s Journal website. (Also, you can find there, “50 Things He Wants You To Know”) and I thought it was interesting. But I did not agree with all of it. But then again, I wouldn’t consider myself a typical woman.
Agree? Disagree? Let me know!
So here is the list: (With my own commentaries underneath showing my point of view on the matter)
1. Saying “I love you” immediately before, during, or following sex doesn’t count.
True story.
2. Real men drive stick shift.
I wouldn’t say “real men” but I would say it’s definitely extra bonus points in the “sexy department”.
3. I will leave if you lie.
True!
4. You are cute in raglan-sleeved T-shirts (two-toned baseball undershirts).
True.
5. I’m convinced I’m pregnant and obsess about it for a minimum of 24 to 48 hours before my period, even when I have no rational reason to think so.
False!
6. I love it when you hug me from behind and whisper in my ear.
True.
7. “Fine” is never an appropriate response when I ask you how I look.
I almost never ask how I look, so this one does not apply to me.
8. Most of the time when I fantasize, it’s about you.
True.
9. I’m terrified of becoming my mother, even though I admire her.
False. I would love to become my mother.
10. I get turned on simply seeing that I have an e-mail from you.
True.
11. I expect you to call me.
Only when you say you’re going to call.
12. Only rock stars are allowed to wear leather pants.
TRUE! haha
13. I’m scared of losing my independence.
So very true.
14. I’m more forgiving of you than I really should be.
I wouldn’t necessarily say this statement was true.
15. Oral sex is your get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card. Manolo Blahnik shoes also do the trick.
False. To both the oral sex and the shoes. I couldn’t care less about shoes. I’m more about my Target $9.99 flip flops than anything.
16. You did something bad. I seem cool with it. I’m not. (See directly above.)
False.
17. If I’m not having sex with you, I’m… a. …having a fat day. b. …not feeling “connected” to you. c. …blackmailing you to get something I want.
False to all three.
18. Shoes determine whether you’re fashionable or not.
False.
19. I own a Debbie Gibson CD, and I’m not afraid to use it.
FALSE!
20. When I compare my flabby tummy to a kangaroo pouch, say nothing.
I would only doing that kidding around, and I couldn’t care less if you agree or not. Actually, I would prefer it if you joked around about it with me.
21. A man I love plans the occasional fancy-schmancy dress-up date and impromptu weekend getaways, and he buys my favorite candy in advance when we’re just going to the movies.
False, true, false. Not a fan of fancy dinners, love weekend getaways, and I’m not big on candy.
22. You look hot in hooded clothing items.
T-R-U-E! Wear them often. Please.
23. You should never tell me what to do.
True. Suggestions are good. Advice is nice. Don’t TELL me what to do.
24. If I slept over, you owe me breakfast.
False.
25. My breasts love much licking and sucking.
False.
26. If you ask me out directly, I will say yes.
False. Not always. But I would love it more if you just came out with it.
27. I’m very impressed when you ask for my advice.
True.
28. I’m unimpressed with a man who doesn’t take the lead.
True.
29. When in doubt, go with the shirt that matches your eye color.
TRUE!
30. I want to be Madonna.
Oh God! FALSE!
31. Women get urinary-tract infections easily, so watch (and wash) your fingers.
True.
32. I’m in heaven when you hold my hand.
True.
33. You’re sexy when you’re shaving, fixing things, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, driving, eating a peach, holding a baby.
True. (Although, I don’t really know about the peach. Then again, I’ve never watched a guy eat a peach. So maybe there is some truth there. I will have to keep my eyes peeled for that one.)
34. I need to hear how you feel about me. Often. Tell me now.
False. Showing me means so much more than telling me.
35. Surprises, especially gifts for moi = more loving.
False. No gifts please. Surprises are good sometimes.
36. I want to be the best thing that ever happened to you–and for you to recognize this.
True.
37. If I’m not feeling loved, I will start looking….
False.
38. Discussion of ex-girlfriend’s and ex-boyfriend’s should be avoided at all times.
False. You can learn a lot about your significant other by knowing what kind of person they’ve dated before and how/why the relationship ended.
39. I like it when you tell me what you’re thinking, even if you don’t know yourself.
True.
40. Celebrating our anniversary, even if it’s only been a few months, earns major bonus points.
False. I couldn’t care less.
41. I love it when you’re sweaty.
TRUE! (And I would like to add a “YUM!” in there too please.)
42. It’s best to consult your gal pals for gift ideas.
False.
43. A lady should always be greeted with kisses.
True.
44. I like porn.
Some, I suppose. But for the most part? It’s cheesy.
45. I love holding your bum in the palms of my hands.
True.
46. Even nice girls like hushed dirty talk in public.
True.
47. It’s cheating as soon as you’re doing something with her that you wouldn’t want me to see, hear, read…
True.
48. For the record: I’d rather you break up with me than cheat.
TRUE!
49. I remember everything about our relationship.
False.
50. You should know all this and more with-out my telling you.
False. You’re not a mind reader, and I don’t expect you to be.
I know this. And I’m sorry!
Things have been… Well… Hectic to say the least.
Work is crazy right now. (Which is odd, because this is typically the slow time of year for us.) I got a second job. An overnight job. Restocking a retail store while they’re closed. Sounds lame, right? Well, it kind of is. And the money is shit. But you know what? It’s nice to have something to do in the middle of the night when I would normally being walking, reading, painting, writing, and driving myself mad by overthinking every single thing that happens on a day-to-day basis.
So I work Monday through Friday from 9:00am-5:00pm at my “full-time” job. And then I work 10:00pm-6:00am four nights a week at my “other job”. Interesting huh? And when I’m not working, or not working, I am babysitting my handsome nephew, or shopping with my sister for wedding gowns, brides’ maid dresses, invitations, flowers, favors, place card holders, centerpieces, bands (the musical kind, not the jewelery kind), and everything else you can imagine that a bride would need for her wedding. Which, by the way is New Year’s Eve. THIS New Year’s Eve. Talk about cutting it down to the wire.
Great Guy Friend confessed his love for me this week. Also, MySpace Man calls me almost everyday. Not to mention CC Guy is still waiting for me to “settle down” with him, and him alone.
And here’s where I’m at…
Great Guy Friend and I should just be friends. It’s safe.
MySpace Man is so intriguing and interesting and I want to know everything I can about him.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I do have a crush on CC Guy, but we would never work as a couple.
When did things get so complicated?
