I think I quit my job today. It feels like it, as I had an uncharacteristic loss of temper and snapped.
Things haven't been good at work for a while. The work itself was bearable, but there was a break between me and my boss. We have a complicated relationship, to say the least, and while it has been mostly good and positive, there was something that happened about four months ago that has made the past few months like living in a bad marriage.
I had something of an emotional breakdown. A delayed reaction to everything, sure. A serious bout of depression that manifested itself on just wanting to be quiet and alone and cut off. To make a long story short, I took some time off, but didn't do it right. I haven't officially taken vacation time in years and I felt entitled to it, but I should have handled it better. I own that and take full responsibility for it.
The day I came back, my boss decided to have a sit down with me and list off every issue he has had with me over the years. I need to be clear here - he mentioned being perturbed by an incident four years ago, when we were at dinner with a client who handed me the wine list. My boss thought I should have yielded the wine list to him. I had no way of knowing this at the time, as my familiarity with WA wines is part of how my firm gets clients, and my boss never said a word (then or the next day). However, he thought it prudent to bring up this and related incidents at a point when I was, I hate to say it, fragile.
It took every fiber of my being not to react to all this. I am not a reactor, generally. I soak it in, noodle it, and give a measured response. At that particular moment, however, I was kind of devastated. I never ask for help or admit that I am struggling, but I had, and this? This was how I was greeted upon my return? This is what you throw at someone when they are down and trying to get back up?
I didn't blink. I listened to every word without reacting or commenting or rebutting. Just listened. At the end, I told him it was valuable information and, true to form, proposed a few 'going forward' points to avoid this type of build up. I told him that I was a very direct person who believed that conflicts should be addressed at the time, not years later, and that I was not impervious to criticism. I encouraged him to tell me directly when he had an issue with me, as hearing it four years later sort of negated its import and relevance. I am solution-oriented, not conflict oriented, and put a tourniquet on what was clearly a gaping wound.
I lost respect for him. Entirely. Just like in a marriage, when you utter the word "divorce," you start to see everything differently. All of his quirks suddenly became blatant signs of terrible management. I hadn't realized how passive aggressive he was until then, and then I saw it. We are a small office - eight attorneys total, all but two associates. I have, by far, the strongest personality of all of them, which isn't necessarily a good thing, but a fact. I am the only associate in the office who "eats what she kills" (works for clients I brought in), and while that is usually a good thing, he somehow made that a bad thing.
I know enough about the world of blogging to not divulge details, but suffice to say, he very oddly played associates against one another. In our small office, there is almost no interaction between colleagues. It is bizarre and, as I now realize, calculated. My boss wants to be the superstar, with his underlings seen but not heard. He hasn't written a brief in all of the years I have been there, yet slaps his name on anything he edits, which, by the way, is a tiresome task - he doesn't use a computer and makes all edits via pencil. Once I enter those edits, I print out the brief again and the process repeats itself. Clients pay upwards of $700/hour for this, since I am sitting at my computer, waiting for his edits, and that time is "billable," and he is a name partner doing these "edits." So we're clear, they are all stylistic, not legal. That is horse shit. Utter horse shit.
I love the law, and sometimes the practice of it, but this is why we all burn out. I don't think I want to do it anymore, at least, not like this. There is a reason I fantasize about becoming a nurse. Go to work, do a good days' work, come home and not think about it. Work to live, not the other way around.
I am going to find a way to do just that.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Once Upon A Time
You ever just get really mad at yourself for wasting time?
I have wasted over four years. I imagine that, should I be blessed with old age, I will look back on years 33-37 as utterly, fucking wasted. Standing still, reacting, not acting, with no clear vision on who I want to be. In the grand scheme of things, four years is a blip. Right now, it is pissing me off.
I am mad, and I rarely feel mad. I am mad only at myself, but the rage is palpable and in the back of my throat. Mad is a funny word to type - it looks like a typo, at least through my prism. It is unfamiliar and bothersome.
I cannot believe who I have become in the aftermath of the divorce. I am ashamed of this person. And yet, channeling what little self esteem I have, I know what I want and where I want to be. Goddamn if it isn't a shit-ton of work. It is overwhelming, yet doable. And I can do it.
I have wasted over four years. I imagine that, should I be blessed with old age, I will look back on years 33-37 as utterly, fucking wasted. Standing still, reacting, not acting, with no clear vision on who I want to be. In the grand scheme of things, four years is a blip. Right now, it is pissing me off.
I am mad, and I rarely feel mad. I am mad only at myself, but the rage is palpable and in the back of my throat. Mad is a funny word to type - it looks like a typo, at least through my prism. It is unfamiliar and bothersome.
I cannot believe who I have become in the aftermath of the divorce. I am ashamed of this person. And yet, channeling what little self esteem I have, I know what I want and where I want to be. Goddamn if it isn't a shit-ton of work. It is overwhelming, yet doable. And I can do it.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Rerun, I think.
This is probably my last, but I suddenly wanted and need this to be put down into words.
This was December of 1988. I had conned my way into graduating high school a year early and I was finally, after years of reading Sweet Valley High books, an American college student. I was at one of the country's largest public universities and finally, fucking finally, a small fish in a huge pond. Exactly what my large personality wanted. To just be ordinary.
I knew no one at UT before I enrolled there. I have plenty of stories about me and the sororities, but the short version is that I found myself in one, despite all odds. In addition to all of the things young women learn when they find themselves autonomous at college, I was a girl who didn't know jack shit about being an American, much less a Texan. Texas was probably the worst place for someone like me to integrate into US life. I thought I had the foundation to be an American girl. I was wrong. I still am.
So after I conned my way into a great sorority, I was set up regularly with blind dates and had a variety of social setting to meet guys. I was even set up with a guy I had dated in Saudi (long story for another time). I was trying so hard to fake my way into portraying that I got this whole "normal American girl" thing" that I never realized how far behind the curve I was.
So Russ. Here it goes. I met Russ at a sorority-frat party and we hit it the fuck off. We laughed and joked and flirted all all was right in the world. He kind of hinted that he wanted me to come back to his room that night, but I played it safe, cool and casual and prayed he would call me the next day. He did. The next morning. He invited me to his dorm's formal the next night. I went out shopping that morning for a dress to wear, which was form fitting and daring.
I went to that formal, which was in San Antonio. I held his hand as we walked down the Riverwalk, drunk as hell but always genuinely interested in his story. We rode back to Austin with me on his lap, kissing and loving on him. I was definitely into him, and acted on it. Anyone who was watching could see that. When we got back to Austin and the bus dropped me off, he got off the bus and kissed me for a solid hour before he walked the six blocks to his dorm.
He called me the next day, again, early morning, and said that while he had had a date for his frat formal that night, he had just canceled it because he wanted me to be his date. I was flattered, honored and terrified, and not even a little bit sorry for the girl who just got dumped so that I could take her place. I borrowed a dress, that, with the benefit of a couple decades of reflection, was probably the perfect ensemble. I wish I had a picture, but it was emerald green, buttoned up the front, had a collar, and by today's standards, probably evoked a polygamist's dress.
We went to the frat formal, hugging, cooing and loving on each others. I mentioned casually that I was looking forward to watching certain Christmas cartoons, and he laughed, saying that they had all aired. Luckily, he had recorded them, and did I want to go back to his room to watch them? Hell, yes.
The rest has been told here, and I suspect most of this backstory was, too. I had an unpleasant first time, to say the least, but oddly, I wouldn't change a thing. It has been an interesting road to get to where I am now, and at least from the sexual point of view, I am cool like Fonzie. It has taken a while, but that experience no longer defines me sexually.
What brought this all on? I checked into Facebook for the first time in months and saw a friend request. Yes, it was him. Unreal.
This was December of 1988. I had conned my way into graduating high school a year early and I was finally, after years of reading Sweet Valley High books, an American college student. I was at one of the country's largest public universities and finally, fucking finally, a small fish in a huge pond. Exactly what my large personality wanted. To just be ordinary.
I knew no one at UT before I enrolled there. I have plenty of stories about me and the sororities, but the short version is that I found myself in one, despite all odds. In addition to all of the things young women learn when they find themselves autonomous at college, I was a girl who didn't know jack shit about being an American, much less a Texan. Texas was probably the worst place for someone like me to integrate into US life. I thought I had the foundation to be an American girl. I was wrong. I still am.
So after I conned my way into a great sorority, I was set up regularly with blind dates and had a variety of social setting to meet guys. I was even set up with a guy I had dated in Saudi (long story for another time). I was trying so hard to fake my way into portraying that I got this whole "normal American girl" thing" that I never realized how far behind the curve I was.
So Russ. Here it goes. I met Russ at a sorority-frat party and we hit it the fuck off. We laughed and joked and flirted all all was right in the world. He kind of hinted that he wanted me to come back to his room that night, but I played it safe, cool and casual and prayed he would call me the next day. He did. The next morning. He invited me to his dorm's formal the next night. I went out shopping that morning for a dress to wear, which was form fitting and daring.
I went to that formal, which was in San Antonio. I held his hand as we walked down the Riverwalk, drunk as hell but always genuinely interested in his story. We rode back to Austin with me on his lap, kissing and loving on him. I was definitely into him, and acted on it. Anyone who was watching could see that. When we got back to Austin and the bus dropped me off, he got off the bus and kissed me for a solid hour before he walked the six blocks to his dorm.
He called me the next day, again, early morning, and said that while he had had a date for his frat formal that night, he had just canceled it because he wanted me to be his date. I was flattered, honored and terrified, and not even a little bit sorry for the girl who just got dumped so that I could take her place. I borrowed a dress, that, with the benefit of a couple decades of reflection, was probably the perfect ensemble. I wish I had a picture, but it was emerald green, buttoned up the front, had a collar, and by today's standards, probably evoked a polygamist's dress.
We went to the frat formal, hugging, cooing and loving on each others. I mentioned casually that I was looking forward to watching certain Christmas cartoons, and he laughed, saying that they had all aired. Luckily, he had recorded them, and did I want to go back to his room to watch them? Hell, yes.
The rest has been told here, and I suspect most of this backstory was, too. I had an unpleasant first time, to say the least, but oddly, I wouldn't change a thing. It has been an interesting road to get to where I am now, and at least from the sexual point of view, I am cool like Fonzie. It has taken a while, but that experience no longer defines me sexually.
What brought this all on? I checked into Facebook for the first time in months and saw a friend request. Yes, it was him. Unreal.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Blog dump.
I don't know what, if anything, I am going to do with these ramblings. I will probably nuke it out of orbit, although Google never forgets, but sometimes, I just need to write. And my penmanship sucks.
I was on the phone today with an old friend of ours. He was a groomsman at our wedding, I remember talking him off the ledge when his then-girlfriend got knocked up and he wasn't that into her. This was 15 years ago, and that girlfriend is now his wife, and the unplanned baby has a younger brother. He is part of my history, and also a client.
We were on the phone for an hour as I gathered information and I was all business. Just the facts, asking questions, swearing and joking along the way. All was good until the end of the conversation, when he asked me "K, are you and B on civil terms?"
I retreated to familiar territory and assured him that B and I could never really be on acrimonious terms. I loved B too long and too much to wage a war, or otherwise become his enemy. And as I said these words to him, the unthinkable happened: my voice cracked. I think it was only apparent to me, and I was highly aware of it, but I was mortified. I am still getting choked up over B? What the motherfucking hell is this shit? And letting my voice crack while talking to a client, even if that client knows the history of me and B? Jesus, how fucking pathetic.
And it got worse. Said FOB told me that he no longer knew B and what he knew, he didn't like. I confess that I almost went into defending mode out of reflex, as I have never spoken ill of B to any of our mutual friends. I didn't today, either. At least, nothing I haven't said directly to B. Most of what I say is how the man I knew, loved and admired no longer exists. And it truly breaks my heart that he didn't just break my heart. He broke the hearts of a lot of his friends, who also no longer admire him. And I can't explain why this reduced me to tears today, but it did.
I was also reminded of an incident early on in the separation. I was walking my (then) new dog around the lake, and stopped in at his place of work (which is often the space of social gatherings). I didn't know there was an event going on, and although B warmly welcomed me in, I quickly realized I didn't belong there. I was sweaty and gross (I had done three miles before I arrived), I hadn't planned on being seen anywhere, and I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared. Long story short, I ended up bursting into tears while petting my dog. I was talking to an amazing artist and friend who didn't quite know what to do, but God love her, she just kept talking and saying "K, you will be okay."
I was so mortified, and yet I couldn't stop crying. I was literally sobbing in the middle of a crowded room, except I was hunched over, petting my dog, and wondering how the fuck I was going to get out of there. Mercifully, my friend J appeared, assessed the situation, and realized I needed to get out of there. She devised an exit strategy, and for that, I will always be grateful. It was the very first time in my life that I had no control over my emotions and it was so humiliating.
Today, on the phone with K, I had the exact same feeling when my voice started to crack. I don't want B back and haven't for years. But I think I may need to get some professional help to get these uncontrollable emotions in check, if only to control a cracking voice. Three fucking years? I should be over it.
I was on the phone today with an old friend of ours. He was a groomsman at our wedding, I remember talking him off the ledge when his then-girlfriend got knocked up and he wasn't that into her. This was 15 years ago, and that girlfriend is now his wife, and the unplanned baby has a younger brother. He is part of my history, and also a client.
We were on the phone for an hour as I gathered information and I was all business. Just the facts, asking questions, swearing and joking along the way. All was good until the end of the conversation, when he asked me "K, are you and B on civil terms?"
I retreated to familiar territory and assured him that B and I could never really be on acrimonious terms. I loved B too long and too much to wage a war, or otherwise become his enemy. And as I said these words to him, the unthinkable happened: my voice cracked. I think it was only apparent to me, and I was highly aware of it, but I was mortified. I am still getting choked up over B? What the motherfucking hell is this shit? And letting my voice crack while talking to a client, even if that client knows the history of me and B? Jesus, how fucking pathetic.
And it got worse. Said FOB told me that he no longer knew B and what he knew, he didn't like. I confess that I almost went into defending mode out of reflex, as I have never spoken ill of B to any of our mutual friends. I didn't today, either. At least, nothing I haven't said directly to B. Most of what I say is how the man I knew, loved and admired no longer exists. And it truly breaks my heart that he didn't just break my heart. He broke the hearts of a lot of his friends, who also no longer admire him. And I can't explain why this reduced me to tears today, but it did.
I was also reminded of an incident early on in the separation. I was walking my (then) new dog around the lake, and stopped in at his place of work (which is often the space of social gatherings). I didn't know there was an event going on, and although B warmly welcomed me in, I quickly realized I didn't belong there. I was sweaty and gross (I had done three miles before I arrived), I hadn't planned on being seen anywhere, and I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared. Long story short, I ended up bursting into tears while petting my dog. I was talking to an amazing artist and friend who didn't quite know what to do, but God love her, she just kept talking and saying "K, you will be okay."
I was so mortified, and yet I couldn't stop crying. I was literally sobbing in the middle of a crowded room, except I was hunched over, petting my dog, and wondering how the fuck I was going to get out of there. Mercifully, my friend J appeared, assessed the situation, and realized I needed to get out of there. She devised an exit strategy, and for that, I will always be grateful. It was the very first time in my life that I had no control over my emotions and it was so humiliating.
Today, on the phone with K, I had the exact same feeling when my voice started to crack. I don't want B back and haven't for years. But I think I may need to get some professional help to get these uncontrollable emotions in check, if only to control a cracking voice. Three fucking years? I should be over it.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Tentative Return
Well, wow. Almost a month. It has been too long and yet not nearly long enough.
I am embarking on an unplugging project. I don't really know exactly where I want to go, which almost always means I will meander for a while before I figure out the destination, but it means less time online.
I am unhappy. Plain and simple. Unhappy with a lot of things and I have done next to nothing to improve my situation. I have been standing still for over three years, trying to maintain some semblance of balance while events in my life completely upended. I thought I was being wise and cautious and measured, but in truth, I have just avoided any responsibility and culpability. It was easy to write about it, but far more difficult to actually do something about it. I have reacted, not acted, and I have become a person I barely recognize.
Usually, grand plans accompany these moments of quasi-epiphany. Make lists, resolutions, changes - all of which have the lasting power of a yo-yo diet. Hasn't worked out that well for me, despite having an inordinate amount of luck where many things are concerned. But today, something in me snapped. Or maybe just creaked. I reached a point of thorough disgust with myself, but perhaps most encouraging, hitting some kind of wall that makes me change course. I so fucking need this momentum to get to where I really want to be. A great best friend. A treasured sister/daughter/aunt/cousin. A cherished partner/lover/girlfriend. I am so far from that at the moment, and while normally that makes me want to check the fuck out, right now, that just makes me WANT to get up in the morning and do better.
I have always had a safety net, particularly with B, but also with family and friends who could forgive me any of my many transgressions. I think this particular tumble down the rabbit hole was occasioned by the realization that I no longer have the emotional safety net I always thought I had. This is not a failure of anyone in my life. This is my failure to nurture the relationships that matter most.
Tomorrow is my 37th birthday and I am in a terrible mood. Mad at myself for not being where I want to be and angry at how far I have to go to get there. How did I do this to myself? Why the fuck did I do this to myself?
And I am irrationally angry. Not a single family member or friend tried to arrange a get-together. I know I will get a dozen phone calls and emails tomorrow, wishing me a happy birthday, but it says something about me that no one in my immediate surroundings wanted to spend some time with me. I know that part of it is because I just haven't been a good friend/sister/niece/cousin in the recent past and have set new standards for being a recluse. And still. I am angry that the only person who asked me to have dinner with them tomorrow was my ex-husband.
As I am trying not to date him any longer -- and really, what would be more ironic than dating my ex-husband on the sly from his girlfriend -- I have scheduled a date with myself. Walk the lake with Darby, hit the gym (oh, and I re-sprained my ankle worse than last year and it still hurts, three weeks after the Superbowl Sunday injury), hit a couple of movies, and have dinner by myself at a restaurant I have been wanting to try. I am going to spend it alone, and that both hurts and comforts me. I am at least familiar with how I have let myself down.
I am embarking on an unplugging project. I don't really know exactly where I want to go, which almost always means I will meander for a while before I figure out the destination, but it means less time online.
I am unhappy. Plain and simple. Unhappy with a lot of things and I have done next to nothing to improve my situation. I have been standing still for over three years, trying to maintain some semblance of balance while events in my life completely upended. I thought I was being wise and cautious and measured, but in truth, I have just avoided any responsibility and culpability. It was easy to write about it, but far more difficult to actually do something about it. I have reacted, not acted, and I have become a person I barely recognize.
Usually, grand plans accompany these moments of quasi-epiphany. Make lists, resolutions, changes - all of which have the lasting power of a yo-yo diet. Hasn't worked out that well for me, despite having an inordinate amount of luck where many things are concerned. But today, something in me snapped. Or maybe just creaked. I reached a point of thorough disgust with myself, but perhaps most encouraging, hitting some kind of wall that makes me change course. I so fucking need this momentum to get to where I really want to be. A great best friend. A treasured sister/daughter/aunt/cousin. A cherished partner/lover/girlfriend. I am so far from that at the moment, and while normally that makes me want to check the fuck out, right now, that just makes me WANT to get up in the morning and do better.
I have always had a safety net, particularly with B, but also with family and friends who could forgive me any of my many transgressions. I think this particular tumble down the rabbit hole was occasioned by the realization that I no longer have the emotional safety net I always thought I had. This is not a failure of anyone in my life. This is my failure to nurture the relationships that matter most.
Tomorrow is my 37th birthday and I am in a terrible mood. Mad at myself for not being where I want to be and angry at how far I have to go to get there. How did I do this to myself? Why the fuck did I do this to myself?
And I am irrationally angry. Not a single family member or friend tried to arrange a get-together. I know I will get a dozen phone calls and emails tomorrow, wishing me a happy birthday, but it says something about me that no one in my immediate surroundings wanted to spend some time with me. I know that part of it is because I just haven't been a good friend/sister/niece/cousin in the recent past and have set new standards for being a recluse. And still. I am angry that the only person who asked me to have dinner with them tomorrow was my ex-husband.
As I am trying not to date him any longer -- and really, what would be more ironic than dating my ex-husband on the sly from his girlfriend -- I have scheduled a date with myself. Walk the lake with Darby, hit the gym (oh, and I re-sprained my ankle worse than last year and it still hurts, three weeks after the Superbowl Sunday injury), hit a couple of movies, and have dinner by myself at a restaurant I have been wanting to try. I am going to spend it alone, and that both hurts and comforts me. I am at least familiar with how I have let myself down.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Upside of Reruns
The Return of Writer Guy!
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the call. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me]? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzzkill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from wanting to pursue in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his arm around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the call. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me]? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzzkill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from wanting to pursue in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his arm around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
The Upside of Reruns
The Return of Writer Guy!
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked;
{]]'[p;/l
\'[[]
out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the page. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me}? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzz kill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from interesting in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his other around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked;
{]]'[p;/l
\'[[]
out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the page. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me}? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzz kill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from interesting in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his other around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Things I Know To Be True
5 things I believe:
1. Scientology is freaking weird.
2. Tom Cruise is delusional beyond any imagination.
3. Britney Spears won't make it through the year.
4. American Idol is utterly unwatchable. With perhaps this one exception:
5. I need a three day weekend.
5 things I don't believe:
1. Katie Holmes ran the NYC marathon.
2. I need the new Mac laptop.
3. Project Runway is as engaging as it has been in season's past.
4. Getting a cat for a companion to my dog is a good idea.
5. I will cross off all of my to-do items this week.
I had a maddening day, even though parts of it were reassuring and positive. Am still kind of sorting through it, but suffice to say, my boss senses my apathy and is making an emotional play to keep me around. It was sort of what I needed, and yet the very last thing I wanted. Fuck, let this week be over and give me three days to recharge.
1. Scientology is freaking weird.
2. Tom Cruise is delusional beyond any imagination.
3. Britney Spears won't make it through the year.
4. American Idol is utterly unwatchable. With perhaps this one exception:
5. I need a three day weekend.
5 things I don't believe:
1. Katie Holmes ran the NYC marathon.
2. I need the new Mac laptop.
3. Project Runway is as engaging as it has been in season's past.
4. Getting a cat for a companion to my dog is a good idea.
5. I will cross off all of my to-do items this week.
I had a maddening day, even though parts of it were reassuring and positive. Am still kind of sorting through it, but suffice to say, my boss senses my apathy and is making an emotional play to keep me around. It was sort of what I needed, and yet the very last thing I wanted. Fuck, let this week be over and give me three days to recharge.
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