-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 wonder how I got here. How things got to be so complicated and how I did nothing to prevent it or stop it. I think back to what life was like when things were simple. When everything made sense. When routines were just routines but a way of life. And I enjoyed it. When the world was brighter, or at least my world was.
Everything is dark and gray. The air seems colder than it’s ever been. It doesn’t feel there is any sunlight in the future, no warmth, nothing to look forward to. Walking with my head down seems like the right thing to do. To raise my chin would imply that I am ready and willing to accept whatever is ahead of me. That couldn’t be any further from the truth. In a perfect world I would retire to my mess of an apartment where I would live in pajamas and slippers day in and day out in complete solitude. But, as I have learned time and time again, this is not a perfect world. Far from it.
***************************
I remember hearing this horror story of a man who was depressed. He thought he had it all. His job was wonderful and paid well. He had a beautiful wife and two adoring children who were smart, beautiful, and well behaved. His home was clean and orderly and dinner was always on the table when he arrived home from work. His wife, his high school sweetheart, ironed his shirt every morning before work and readied his coffee and briefcase just before he left. His kids kissed him goodbye in the morning and kissed him goodnight before bed. They got straight A’s and respected their parents and did their homework. His family was close and loving, they were funny and intelligent. They were envied by most.
Until one day he came home to find his wife in bed with another man. His cousin. His best man at their wedding. The one who had comforted him when he lost his father to Cancer just two winters earlier. In a fit of rage, he screamed at his wife and demanded to know how long this had been going on. Much to his dismay he learned it had been going on for years. In fact, his youngest, a little girl, might not even be his. She was eleven by now. Devastated he ran out of the house, dropping his briefcase and coffee mug on the bedroom floor before leaving.
The wife picks up his briefcase and discovers a card and small box had fallen out of it. The card was addressed “The Greatest Love I Have Ever Known”. She knew she probably should not have opened it, but she did anyway. Inside that tiny box was her mother’s engagement ring. The one she had inherited when she graduated high school. Just weeks after her mother had passed away. It was beautiful, but it didn’t fit any of her fingers. It broke her heart knowing that she couldn’t wear it. She stared at it sadly in her jewelry box from time to time. When had he taken it? And how had she not even known?
He had it resized for her. To wear on her right hand. It was cleaned and sparkled brighter than she had ever seen it. As she put it on her finger, one single tear ran down her cheek. She paused before opening the card for fear of what wonderful things he might say to her in there.
“Nancy, after nearly twenty perfect years of marriage, I couldn’t love you any more than I do now. Because my heart might burst otherwise. You are everything to me, and I don’t know what I would do without you. Will you remarry me?”
He shot himself that night in his office. Alone. In the dark. And much to everyone’s amazement, there was no note. No e-mail left behind. No “sign” that he was hurting and no unusual behavior in the recent weeks. No clues. No nothing.
But Nancy knew. She knew that she had taken her children’s daddy away. That she had broken his heart more than he could bear. She had destroyed their beautiful family and shattered any chance of a normal life for her kids. She knew.
***************************
What stunned me the most was that this man could take his own life. He was so low that he truly felt that he couldn’t go on any longer. Life was no longer important. His children’s lives were no longer a concern. He thought only of himself and what he could and couldn’t handle. He didn’t think about whether or not his kids could handle it. And he never even gave them a choice.
But there are multiple things in this story that are horrifying and things that are not as bad as they seem on the surface.
He left his wife and young children to fend for themselves. He was selfish and didn’t worry about their safety. He left his wife feeling guilty for the rest of her life, thinking about how it was all her fault and her children would not have the wonderful lives they were meant to have had she not slept with his cousin.
But his children, should they learn from this, could go one of two ways. They could be weak; letting the past hold them back and frighten them about so many things in the future. Or they could be strong, learning early that life is not fair and ready to entertain whatever life’s tragedies will be thrown their way.
***************************
I have seen beautiful things. But I have seen horror. I have watched loved ones die slowly over the course of year while in pain. I have buried friends that were just too young to die. I have seen what being selfish can do to people, others, and themselves. I have witnessed deceit and injustice.
But now matter how bad things got for me, I was never selfish enough to take my own life. Giving up was just not an option. And it never will be. I will push on. Always. Getting stronger with each obstacle thrown in my path in hopes of tripping me, or slowing me down, or encouraging me to stop the journey all together.
Life continues.
Not forever.
And not for everyone.
Which is why I value every fucking second that I have.
Because I am lucky to each and every one of them.
Luckier than some.
No matter how hard it gets.
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 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.
Earlier today I wrote a post about what it would be like if you (a guy) dated me titled “Guide to Dating a Casual Gal Like Myself”. An anonymous reader replied this back to my message:
“Anon said,
Dating isn’t that hard. I find that people who “date” the most are just in love with dating and aren’t really into finding someone no matter how much they profess their desire to find someone. They are “professional” daters.
I’m curious as to whether you are sexually intimate with any of the guys you date. I find that professional daters are pretty immature when it comes to intimacy and date as means to avoid any meaningful physical, and corresponding emotional, intimacy.”
I started to reply to this message in a comment and realized that I had much more to say on the matter than I originally thought that I did. So here it goes, and I hope to not be misunderstood.
But I have to say that it saddens me that not only did you perceive me to be this way, but that I was not writing clearly enough, or perhaps not sharing all of the right information. Or that I am not writing exactly how I am feeling, or that I am not writing well at all. I’m not sure.
But I hope this helps:
Anon – I have to say that I was slightly offended by your comment. But only slightly. Because I know-I mean, I hope-you did not mean to directly offend me. I do completely understand what you are saying. There are so many people in this world who lead a life just like the one you described. I’m friends with some of those people. But I can assure that you that I am not one of those people.
While dating seems to be fun for the moment, I know that I will NOT turn into one of those serial daters. I have only been single since February, and this is my first time being single since October of 2003. My first date since my split with my ex was not until almost May. I have been on what some may call “many” dates I suppose. But everyone has their own interpretation of what “many” is. While the amount of dates may sound like a lot to some people, there have only been three worth mentioning/dating more than once. There were a couple of those “one-daters” that were not even worth mentioning/dating at all. None of those men were anything serious to me, and not because I subconsciously did not want them to be, but because there was nothing there. No connection. No spark. No attraction. No compatibility. Those things are important.
How am I to find the right one for me if I don’t go out and date people? For all I know Mr. Right could ask me out tomorrow. If I turn him down, taking your advice of trying not to become a serial dater, I could miss out on my true love.
And my sexual experiences are absolutely nobody’s business other than my own. However, I feel that I have nothing to hide. And will share some very personal information with you, with all of you.
I have not been with anyone, sexually, since my boyfriend and I split up. I’ve never been the type to be able to just sleep with someone. I have to have some kind of a connection with them, some kind of a commitment, a relationship of some sort. And it has to be meaningful.
So I hope this helps you better understand where I am coming from. And I hope that I can further explain myself in the way that I had always thought I was.
Am I religious? « Starting Today…
I was reading Starting Today’s blog this morning (as I do every morning) and noticed that she had a post about religion. Now, while I was taught that some things should never be discussed publicly (i.e. religion, politics, and baseball depending on the who you’re rooting for and who everyone else is rooting for) I don’t always think my parents had it right.
There is nothing wrong with a healthy debate.
First, some back story:
I was raised Catholic. My mother was religious. Made us all go to church every Sunday. My dad never went. It was always Mom, my brother, sister and I. We went to CCD classes once a week at night to “study” the bible and the history in Catholicism. We each made our first communion and my brother and sister had made their confirmations. I was just a child and always thought that being Catholic was the right thing to do. I never thought that people of different religions were wrong for NOT being Catholic. I just that since my mom had raised us to be that way, that’s the way it was meant to be.
We prayed every night before bed. We did not, however, say Grace before meals. (Go figure.) My mom was diagnosed with Cancer in 1990. She never lost faith. Not even when things got rough. She was severely sick and in and out of the hospital all of the time. When she was not around, my Aunt brought us all to church for her. My Grandmother (mom’s mom) was diagnosed with Cancer not even a year after my mom was. My mom’s parents lived with us. My dad (being as handy as he is) had turned our garage into a separate apartment for them adding a large master bedroom upstairs with two walk-in closets, their own bathroom, kitchen, and living room downstairs. They were a second set of parents for my brother, sister, and I.
When my grandmother started noticeably get sick I started to question things about my religion. “How do we know that the stories in the Bible are real? Couldn’t they just be made up and we would never know because the people who actually wrote them died a long time ago?”
“SINY! Go see Sister Agnes right away!” I was always being punished for asking questions. Here I was, being taught that “God” gave us all free will and imagination. And yet, a curious child was being punished, for what? Being curious.
My mom passed away in 1994. She still never lost faith. She still believed that “God” had bigger plans for her. And that this was how it was supposed to be. As much as it broke her heart to leave us, her children, she felt that “God” had a mission for her to help others. And that “God” didn’t think we needed her, but someone else did.
I felt like, if “God” needed her to help someone else… Couldn’t she live? And help them while I was at school? And then come home, have dinner with us as usual, help me with my homework, and then tuck me in? Did she need to die to help someone? Because I know it didn’t help me. Or anyone else in my family for that matter.
It was October 27th, 1994 when she passed. I was nine. My brother was sixteen and my sister fourteen. We didn’t take it lightly. (As you may have guessed.) My grandmother was getting worse and worse in the meantime. And as “Starting Today” mentioned, I felt the same way. There was no way that if “God” did exist, he wouldn’t make us lose her too. It was too soon. And we weren’t prepared. But “He” did. She passed away January 2nd, 1995. My grandfather (mom’s dad) was not sick. He died of a broken heart March 10th, 1995.
How could “God” be so cruel? It’s been almost thirteen years since they’ve been gone. And since I lost my best friend in a car accident. I didn’t think I would make another friend. We were thirteen. I thought I would never be as close with anyone ever again. That changed. I made another friend. We were sixteen. She was killed in a car accident. And still I made another friend. And I had a boyfriend too. My boyfriend drowned May of my senior year of high school. He was eighteen. And then my best friend died in a car accident, seventeen years old. The night before my high school graduation. He was on his way over to my house. He never made it. My dad, being in the fire department, responded to the call, and I was the first to find out.
That’s it. No more friends. No more boyfriends.
But that changed. Again. I started dating this guy I met at a Halloween party. He was killed in February of 2004.
I lost my other grandfather in December of 2005. Two friends to the Iraqi war in 2006. And another boy I dated in 2006 to a motorcycle accident.
And just this year alone, I lost three people I went to school with (two of which I was rather close) to drug overdoses.
Does it ever end? Can I ever believe that there is a “God” out there who “watches over us”? And “protects us”? Because where was “He” when those people needed protecting. Where was “He” when I needed protecting?
So the conclusion is that I am not religious. I was raised to be. Made my communion. I even made my confirmation after my mom had passed even though I didn’t believe in it. I did it for her, I know she would have wanted me to.
I am spiritual. There are too many religions in this world, and I cannot conform to just one. I believe certain things from one and certain things from things from others. But there are things that I don’t agree with as well. So I cannot categorize myself as a particular religion. At least not at this point in my life.
Who knows… One day I might be able to. As of right now, there are still many things I need to learn, many things I need to experience, and there will always be many things I question.
