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I hit my year anniversary in Austin last week. A year ago, I got into a ridiculously bad car accident on my first weekend here, which also happened to be my ex-bf’s birthday. This year, it was lingering in the back of my mind, but faded quickly as I laughed and screamed through the Coney Island Cyclone roller coaster. Last year, I was stressed and lonely and hysterical. This year, I spent a glorious beautiful weather weekend in NYC with old friends and the crush that seems to never fully go away.
Although I got late Friday night, I didn’t see him until Saturday evening due to busy schedules, the US Open and a checklist of people I needed to see. Up to that point, he had slipped from my mind as I busied myself preparing for Africa and he for a trip to Costa Rica. But when I walked off the subway and saw him grinning at me across the street, all doubts flew out of my head. Is it possible he got better looking since I last saw him?
He gave me options for our plans that night, one of them involving a long walk up a hill through the Cloisters. He being in the camp that I needed to train more for Kilimanjaro strongly hinted at that one so I sighed and agreed. The sun was setting over the Hudson, the weather was cool and there was green all around. It’s as someone directed the perfect scenery for a romantic walk.
We had dinner at a small Italian place by his apartment. Conversation was smooth and fast flowing, filled with laughter and teasing. He lamented over the true meaning of “adoration” and how sad he was it’s gotten lost through time due to the “cuteness” of the word “adore” and “adorable.” To truly have adoration for something is to love and respect and be passionate about it. His adoration is for tennis and Africa, where he did Peace Corp for years. Deep down, I hoped he would have adoration for me some day.
He’s not an emotional man; he’s passionate about a few things, but generally, a stoic person. On the rare chance he makes a comment about us or me, he’s sincere to the point I desperately wish for more moments. My friends find him overwhelming great, probably because he’s so opposite of my usual. As we’re riding the subway, Smallbone giggles and whispers, “He’s so dreamy, Jane! I’m in love with him for you.”
But all these happy good feelings are just that. I leave for Africa next week and I wonder if he’ll fade from my memories or if he’ll move on. There was no talk about the future. Maybe that’s what happens when you live in the moment. The DTR (Define the Relationship) was looming in my head, but I pushed it away. What’s the point? He’s there, I’m here and there’s nothing to debate. But when I fall asleep in his arms and he comments that we fit together very well, I find myself wondering about the future.
Reality bites.
The definition of strange:
Waking up with someone in the same bed and not because he happened to pass out next to you. It’s unfamiliar to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wake up back in them, even if there was moving around and separation in the night. It’s even more startling to be held for the sole sake of him wanting to be close to you and not because he’s thinking about how to get into your pants. And he’s not afraid to admit how much he enjoys it. He brings a present with him because his mother –like mine–taught him to never visit someone empty handed. It’s a book that I had been wanting for awhile; he remembers, orders it and wraps it in yellow tissue paper.
This is apparently how it’s supposed to be. The whole weekend completely threw me for a loop. It’s terrifying to have someone look at me the way he does. He seems me as a sensual and sexy when all I see is a clumsy awkward tomboy. In the places I see fat and wide hips, he sees beautiful curves and everything that makes a woman a woman. Where I see lopsided different sized breasts, he sees perfection.
While I’ve been on a carpe diem journey with guys in the last few years, he’s been reserved and conservative about his affection. He stood where I stood 3 years ago and it makes me dizzy to be standing in the place where most of the guys in my history were in my life. I teach and he learns and I watch as he lets go years of conflicts.
The time was filled with ups and down and lefts and rights, all shuffling around like a chaotic organized mess. In the quiet moments, I finally felt what a real relationship is like, something I haven’t experienced in seven years.
But the real world slips in on this early morning and we smile at each other under sleepy eyes as I drop him off at the airport. He returns to his NY world and I to mine. To my surprise, I don’t ask him what’s going to happen or the future or what this all was. I don’t even panic or worry. Apparently I’m growing, too. Instead, I leave the weekend just as it was: a great wonderful memory and time spent with a rare kind of guy. If he wants more, he’ll have to keep up his end and come after me.
Summer: “One day I woke up and I just knew.”
Tom: “Knew what?”
Summer: “What I was never sure of with you.”
The definition of strange:
Waking up with someone in the same bed and not because he happened to pass out next to you. It’s unfamiliar to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wake up back in them, even if there was moving around and separation in the night. It’s even more startling to be held for the sole sake of him wanting to be close to you and not because he’s thinking about how to get into your pants. And he’s not afraid to admit how much he enjoys it. He brings a present with him because his mother, like mine, taught him to never visit someone empty handed. It’s a book that I had been wanting for awhile; he remembers, orders it and wraps it in yellow tissue paper.
This is apparently how it’s supposed to be. The whole weekend completely threw me for a loop. It’s terrifying to have someone look at me the way he does. He seems me as sensual and sexy when all I see is a clumsy awkward tomboy. In the places I see fat and wide hips, he sees beautiful curves and everything that makes a woman a woman. Where I see lopsided different sized breasts, he sees perfection.
While I’ve been on a carpe diem journey with guys in the last few years, he’s been reserved and conservative about his affection. He stood where I stood 3 years ago and it makes me dizzy to be standing in the place where most of the guys in my history were in my life. I teach and he learns and I watch as he lets go years of conflicts.
The time was filled with ups and down and lefts and rights, all shuffling around like a chaotic organized mess. In the quiet moments, I finally felt what a real relationship is like, something I haven’t experienced in seven years.
But the real world slips in on this early morning and we smile at each other under sleepy eyes as I drop him off at the airport. He returns to his NY world and I to mine. To my surprise, I don’t ask him what’s going to happen or the future or what this all was. I don’t even panic or worry. Apparently I’m growing, too. Instead, I leave the weekend just as it was: a great wonderful memory and time spent with a rare kind of guy. If he wants more, he’ll have to keep up his end and come after me.
Summer: “One day I woke up and I just knew.”
Tom: “Knew what?”
Summer: “What I was never sure of with you.”
7 months into 2009, I would say I’ve kept to my resolutions fairly well +/- a few steps back and forth.
Except one.
I seem to have a weakness for making out and hooking out with drunk guys. Perhaps it’s because I’m sober and in control or maybe it’s because I just can’t seem to stop being a floozy with hot men.
After all, I’m young and single and when a very attractive man is flirting with you, it’s easy to throw caution to the wind. In the last year, I’ve walked the blurry line between just having fun and getting emotionally involved. Half my friends want me to date more and to just have fun; the other half warn me to be cautious because no matter how hard to be casual, I always get hurt.
After a weekend of drama and angst over July 4th, I firmly decided to stay away from men altogether. If I felt a tug of attraction, I would clamp it down. If I had the itching to email/text/facebook him, I would ignore.
Then I met hot guy. Let’s call him Mr. That Guy. Yes, he’s THAT guy. I was at a beautiful wedding this past weekend in the mountains of southern CA, meeting a lot of new people since I only knew the bride and her immediate family. It was one of those perfect weather weekends filled with endless fun, laugher, joking and everything summer should be.
I’ll spare the details of everything that led up to Mr. That Guy except to say, if I continue this process of “just having fun” (this does not mean sleeping around), I’m going to give myself a few days to gossip and giggle and obsess over it and then move on. I’ll never be at the point where I’ll feel nothing so I have to find that medium ground where I can do both.
So I’m going to squeal about Mr. That Guy for a second and then move on!
The moment I met him, I knew it would be trouble. Not only was he incredibly attractive, he was that guy that I get along with easily: lots of flirting, joking and teasing. He’s that guy who’s a ladies man, who loves women, the life of the party and the one with the stories. When we were introduced, everyone looked as if i I was supposed to have heard of him except until that moment, I never knew he existed. And off we went. I spent the weekend ribbing him for his womanizer ways and the rest of the cousins all laughed in agreement. He was almost surprised how well I could describe him without barely knowing anything.
In his defense, his cousin (the bride) swore that he really was a nice guy and a softie. I laughed and didn’t believe her, but in truth, watching him interact with his family did tug at my heartstrings. When his grandfather wandered in, he automatically went over to help and spoke rapid Spanish (he looks German so I was surprised) to greet him. He helped string the lights and lanterns, built the stage and centerpieces for the wedding and took turns twirling his little cousins on the dance floor. Family man? Check. Good looks? Check. Grad school? Check.
Good kisser? Check check check.
When standing on a balcony at 3am under a blanket of stars over looking a lake with a hot man, there is really only one option: seize the day and let him kiss you the way a girl’s supposed to be kissed. Maybe it’s because he’s older and more experienced, but whatever it is, he kissed me like he had all the time in the world, as if he was perfectly happy just holding me and kissing me slowly and softly. And yes, he was wasted and giggling but it was fun and a hilarious memory as people kept popping up out of the darkness and interrupting us.
So we didn’t talk the next morning as I rushed to pack and catch a ride (we were sharing a room with another girl; he slept on the floor, so nothing happened). We still haven’t spoken and despite the tiny hurt in my chest, I think I’m handling it okay. I’m never seeing him again, after all. Sigh. Okay, I lie. I need to stay away from hot guys.
The end. Next!
Well, Mel, you called it. Out of nowhere, Pen is back in my life. Although we’ve kept in touch on and off in the last year through emails and occasional Facebook conversations, I never thought much about it.
Then out of nowhere last week, we ended up talking for 4 hours until 2am on Facebook chat (for anyone who knows, this is dedication because it’s a crappy application and he’s an hour ahead of me in NY). A few more all-night chats the last few days and I think we’ve probably talked about everything most people avoid on the first date (sex, past relationships, religion, work…). Before all this, we had thrown around the idea of him visiting with Mr. Bruised Ego in the fall, but last night, out of nowhere:
“So, I have kind of a big question. How do you feel about a visitor in early August? I would love to spend time with you.”
I, of course, told him it was a great idea, but inside, I was panicking. Because, WHOA. This has never happened to me that a guy that I’m actually attracted to (more on this later) actually is interested and NOT because he’s trying to get in my pants. He’s probably the last existing old-fashioned single male out there with only old-fashioned dates, maybe a kiss at the door and sex only when it’s serious (ha, remember when I was like this a year ago?).
It feels foreign, strange, terrifying and exciting. My friends don’t seem to grasp why this is scary, but emotionally, how is it not? Every guy that I’ve ever been interested in or attracted to was either completely unavailable or running for the hills because they only wanted to get some. And now, there’s a guy who isn’t looking for that and is interested in me for solely me. Yes, it’s great, but it’s also making my chest freeze up and my heart panic.
Firstly, it feels like we’ve been online dating and we’re about to meet for the first time even though we’ve already met. Will be be awkward? What if it’s completely wrong in person? What if it’s just uncomfortable?
Secondly, I’m not sure the physical attraction is 100% there for me. This grows over time, of course, but as most girls know, once you realize there is none of that chemistry/attraction, it’s over and the guy is delegated to the friend zone no matter how much you like his personality. With Mr. Pilot and Mr. Co-worker, the physical attraction was so instant, but of course never made up for the lack of spine on their part. What if it doesn’t show up? Having been here before where the guy really likes me but I feel nothing because of the lack of attraction physically, I just end up feeling awkward.
Third, I’m not terrified of getting hurt at all (strangely) in this case, but more the fear of what this COULD mean. A guy who actually is upfront, doesn’t play games and compliments me sincerely? What am I supposed to do with that?!
So I guess I’m going to just breathe and roll with it and be myself with no expectations. Easier said than done…
I was chatting with an acquaintance recently about my consistent bad luck with men. As a “trained love expert” (he was trained by some famous teacher, Dr. Paul), he is confident about his abilities to diagnose people. I remain skeptical, of course.
N: You’re a romantic.
J: What? I thought I was a cynical realist.
N: Which means you’re a closeted idealist with scars on the surface (yes, he really said this).
J: Huh.
N: You told me before “chemistry” is confusing to you. It’s there and so you think you should grab onto it only to find it means nothing.
J: Mhmm
N: You see attraction as love.
J: Well, I wouldn’t say THAT. I haven’t been in love or loved in years and years. More like I see attraction as potential and possibility.
N: Right, so your problem is screening people.
And then he was adamant I read a book by Dr. Paul that would change my life because it changed his. Like some mysterious guide, he left the conversation with this, “Contact me again when you’ve read the book.”
Huh. I’ve definitely posted enough times on this blog about my confusion with chemistry and attraction. Is it an indicator of anything? In my experiences, it ends up getting me hurt because I thrive so much on it in the beginning. So yeah, maybe I am a closeted idealist (shhh), but where does that leave me?
I have a good friend named Jenny that I met at summer camp in 7th grade; we discovered we had the same birthday, both born out of this country, at the same hospital 9 minutes apart. Our little sisters even share the same name. While I grew up determined to be fiercely independent, lover of camping and backpacking and a tomboy, she moved to California and became the opposite.
She called me at the crack of dawn this morning and dropped the bomb that her boyfriend of 5-years just dumped her because he saw no future. “Why?! Why does it have to happen to me? [Well, Jenny, it really does happen to a lot of people. I want to be married with kids and I thought he was it.”
If someone that believes so much in love can’t get it right, what chances do I have when I’m not even looking? Should I read this book? He’s adamant that it will change everything for me.
It’s been a rough few weeks. Despite telling myself I’ve been through much much worse, I can’t seem to ease this heartache. Seeing him 5 days a week doesn’t help the situation whatsoever. Apparently heartache is a bitch, no matter how many times you’ve been through it. I’m also spending my first NYE away from New Orleans, which isn’t going to help the “healing time.”
I’ve gotten a lot of platitudes lately, “It’ll be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end!” or “He’s a jerk, anyways. What guy hurts 2 girls so easily?” or “You work together; it would have been a disaster.” I know. I know all of this, but it doesn’t seem to lighten the ache that is in my chest. The entire situation keeps nagging me because in a way, I believed so strongly in our chemistry and how much we had in common that it seems so WRONG that it just dies. How is it possible we go from having great conversations and and hooking up to … nothing and acting like strangers?
I guess it can be argued in the last year, I’ve had numerous run-ins with chemistry (physical and otherwise) and I’m more than sure I’ll have many more in the future. The question is, when do you stay and fight for it and when do you walk away?
It’s been awhile since I’ve felt so down about a guy. I mean, really down. Like truly bummed and sad.
Despite looking fabulous in my little green party dress for the office holiday shindig and hooking up with Mr. Co-Worker, I still got the short end of the stick. I’ll spare y’all the details of the drama with his crazy– like she’s off her rocker– date who is now threatening him (to make a long story short). Because at the deep down grittiness of it, we can only be friends. Whether or not there’s a work policy against it and I’m pretty sure there’s not, he just needs time and space to deal with Crazy Girl and working together doesn’t help the situation.
There were too many awkward elevator moments with co-workers asking him in the guy-talk way how things went with hot Crazy Girl (while I stood there) and I didn’t want to play games and give him the cold shoulder. So I took the initiative and sent him a funny witty email about avoiding future awkward moments in enclosed spaces and breaking all “hurt girl” rules and going for a drink after work.
And we did and we talked and I was honest. Very honest, even after finding out that Crazy Girl is, well, crazy. And he was honest. Obviously, I’m leaving out a LOT of the details, but it is what it is. “Don’t sh-t where you eat” and all that nonsense, so no matter how strong the chemistry is (I think he likes me? There was never confirmation), I’m now stuck with just occasionally glancing at him when I look up and the few lunch gatherings with others.
Ugh, this one hurts. Bad. I really like this one. We had so much in common, more than any guy I’ve met (we both want to quit our jobs and travel the world; get the same random injuries like pinched nerves and sliced fingertips and remain ridiculously close to our childhood friends). And of course, there will be others and all that talk, but for now, I just want to mope and be heartachey about this one.
This is making me not want a relationship even more. Too draining!
After 10 months of not a single bit of action, even kissing, the planets have aligned for a bizarre few weeks.
This is a long one, folks. My life is actually interesting this week.
Part of selling my soul to the corporate world means going on actual business trips, including training for new hires. So when I found out that the attractive funny co-worker was also in our small group heading to Santa Monica, I was excited to finally have a conversation with him. Since we don’t work together, we never had a conversation; I wasn’t sure if he even knew I existed!
Long story short, when we started talking, I found that we had a lot in common, both in world views, careers and endless wanderlust. During the cocktail hour the first night, we would catch the other’s eyes across the crowd and grin at the awkwardness of meeting new people. As time went by, he went from checking his email while kneeling at the foot of the bed to sitting on the bed to lying on the bed. I would even go as far to say that we had become friends (phone numbers exchanged the first day as we walked along the beach eating ice cream).
And in all cases of conferences, the last night is always the biggest party of it all. Good food, all alcohol paid for and a group of employees happy not to be at work. At 2am, as the group settled in a pool cabana at the hotel, we wandered to our own and proceeded to talk for hours until he had relatively sobered up and about to fall asleep.
Fall asleep? Yeah, right. After hours, he finally made a move (after massaging my calf when I pulled a muscle) and sleepily ducked his head and mumbled that wanted to kiss me. So yes, at 4am on a cool fall night, I found myself making out with a co-worker (witty banter included) in a heated cabana by the pool. Neither one of us could stay awake much longer and after an embarrassing walk pass the cleaning crew and back down to fix my non-working room card, we both crashed hard.
As of now, no bad awkwardness. We agreed to keep it quiet to avoid an HR nightmare or being the tail end of gossip. Not being able to sit on this big of a story, I had to tell my closest girlfriends at work – I have 100% trust in them – and their reaction seemed to validate everything. Since all of them have boyfriends, their main reply was, “I’m so jealous! He’s so cute. And funny. And awesome (insert increasing number of exclamation points).”
As for the semantics, as much as I like him and would love to see where it goes, we DO work together and that’s an iffy situation. At the same time, it’s rare to meet someone and have such a connection. Either way, if it took him forever to kiss me, I can’t imagine how long it’ll take to ask me out (trust me, I’ve given him numerous opportunities). As tempting as it is to make the first move, I’m tired of always being the first to connect after a hook-up and getting no response and feeling defeated. Since I see him every day, my anxiety level on the situation is surprisingly slow since there’s no constant voice in my head wondering, “When will I see him again? What if he never talks to me again?.” So I’m going to take a breather and sit on this one and just let it roll. See how much I’ve matured? 
On the other hand, there’s Mr. One Night Stand (ONS), who as of last night, became Mr. TNS.
In the aftermath of my first “one-night stand,” I was surprised to find myself handling it so well. Carefree, calm, nonchalant. It was a fun time with an attractive nice guy and for once, no emotional baggage from my side.
The thing about the aftermath of a one night stand is (having never been in this place before), I have no idea what to do. The obvious answer is “nothing.” After all, that IS the point of the ONE NIGHT part of it, but this is all new to me. I don’t plan for this to be my introduction to sleeping around or ever going down that slippery slope, but this week, I find myself grasping at mixed emotions.
There is absolute no regret, but I’ve never been great at just letting things be without analyzing it to death. And not that I’m analyzing that night, but rather what I do now. Do I say, “Life is short. Carpe diem! Reach out to him and stay in touch”? While not in Austin, he’s not far either, so I left a friendly message saying to call me up when he’s in town again and I would be down to visit them in the next few months (he left an invite on the table when we parted ways). No strings attached, no pressure, just friendly outreach.
Of course, there’s been on response, no reply, no indication anything ever happened. Which, in truth, is the way these things are supposed to work. I’m not looking for anything and he’s not either, I’m sure, but I’m not going to lie and say it’ll be nice to get to know each other as friends. I’ve done my part and can walk away saying “Hey, I tried.”
Now if I can get rid of these anxious feelings in my chest…
My 10 month dry spell ended last night. No feminine wiles needed. Just me (and some alcohol) and a Navy pilot* I only just met 5 hours before. I have never ever in my life thought I would have a one-night stand-like experience. No regrets.
Glad to know I still have SOME charm left. I was starting to worry!
*In my defense, it wasn’t a random stranger, but a friend of my best friend’s husband. He kindly drove them 3 hours to visit me and what do you know, chemistry and hotness are recipies for hook-ups.
