Posts Tagged ‘personal’

distance makes the heart grow fonder?

August 11, 2010

I’m not sure how it happened, but I think I’m kinda, maybe, somewhat, perhaps, a little bit… on the verge of entering into a long distance relationship.  You guys remember how Nate came down to visit last month, right? 

Well, he’s been down THREE times since then.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but 300 miles each way is pretty far to drive three times for just a booty call.

I’ve been a little scared to write about it, out of a silly fear that I’d somehow jinx it… or he’d somehow find these posts, (both of which are highly unlikely) but every time he’s been here it has been nothing but great.  Now, it seems like we’re kind of at that stage where we aren’t together together, but we’re both not really trying to sleep with anyone else (at least, this is what I’ve inferred from our VERY indirect conversations).

So, the real question is: What the hell am I doing? 

Not only is he 300 miles away, but he’s also in the Air Force.  Which means, he spends a good amount of time over seas every month.  I’ve somehow managed to see him every couple of weeks so far (and I’ll see him again in 10 days), but I’m thinking there is some real potential for me to go for much longer stretches without him. 

The last week or so since I’ve seen him have been TORTURE.  Do I really have the capacity to handle something long distance? Do I have the self control?

And it’s not JUST the sex – all contact is pretty scarce while he is overseas.  All of a sudden I feel like a military wife, anxiously awaiting his email to come in from Spain so that I’ll know if he made it there safely.  I’m missing his abundant amount of texts to keep me company during the day.  I’m literally crossing off the days on my calendar until I get to see him again.

But I guess with all things there is a plus side.  He can’t get jealous when I want to hang out with my girlfriends on the weekend, he’s got his own life and will not be expecting to hang out with me every day.  And the freedom that comes with that, I have to admit, is really really nice.

So for now, I’m just seeing where things go and hoping for the best.  (He’s even mentioned taking me snowboarding in the winter.)

10 days and counting,

Q

Advertisements

giving up.

July 21, 2010

My mom and I really couldn’t be more different. 

She talks nonstop when I just want to listen.  She never fails to think the best of people when I choose to be a cynic and always question motives.  She’s an Indiana farm girl at heart and I crave the sights and sounds of the city.  So it should really come to no surprise that when it comes to certain aspects of life, I am bull-headed and stubborn as hell and Mom has no problem just giving up and walking away.

When I was young, I used to admire her ability to have no shame about admitting defeat.  To simply say “it just wasn’t for me” while throwing the towel in.  There have been so many times I’ve suffered too long through things – poor relationships or shitty jobs – just to avoid the stigma of being called a “quitter”.

But as the years progressed, and I watched her go through something like 5 jobs in a single year, quit on her marriage with my father, and change dentists and doctors more than some people change their bedsheets, it occurred to me that maybe it’s ok to be a little bit stubborn.  Maybe it’s because of her that I’ve become so persistent.

Sometimes I wish I could exchange a little bit of her ambivalence for a dose of my gumption. 

It nearly killed me when we spoke today and she told me she was having second thoughts about her relationship with her live-in boyfriend, Lenny, a man that I’ve grown to adore and someone so perfectly suited for her, the two of them might as well be Ricky and Lucy.   

Maybe she is so scared of failure that she’d rather just walk away on her own, I’m not sure.  All I know is that it’s not always easy.  It’s not always going to be perfect – we don’t live in a fairy tale.  But don’t you think that sometimes, “good” really is good enough? 

I hope she can see that someday.

Q

no shame here.

July 16, 2010

Some women treat buying condoms like robbing a bank.  They scan the store to see who’s in there, make sure it’s no one they know, tuck the box beneath one of the other 14 items they’re purchasing (all of which are purely props), make the purchase, and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible – probably with a getaway car idling out in the parking lot.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who sees me making this purchase (except for maybe my mother… that would be weird.  And, I’m pretty sure she still hasn’t recovered from finding my birth control in my suitcase that weekend I was visiting from college. )  In fact, I kind of see it as empowering and sexy.  No, I don’t wave them around in the store, or wear a big sandwich board with the words “IM HAVING SEX” written on it, but I’m not ashamed. 

It’s 2010.  I like sex.  I’m being safe about it.  What’s the big f-ing deal?

We all know you can’t rely on men to BYOC.  Let’s face it, men are pretty damn unreliable.  (Hell, I couldn’t even get my ex to remember to pick up pasta sauce on his way home from the office.)  I’m not about to stop in the middle of whatever’s goin down to run out to 7-11 to pick some up, either.  I’m a believer in always having them on hand and always within an arm’s length of my bed.

The last time a dude was tryin’ to get a piece of all this sans rubber outterwear, I told him “hey, I like sex… but AIDS is for hookers” and that was that.

So listen up, ladies.  Quit your cowering in the “family planning” aisle.  March right into your local Wegman’s and make that purchase with your chest out and your head held high, ’cause you’re taking your body and your life into your OWN hands, and that is something that we all ought to be pretty damn proud of.

So can I get a “hell yeah”?

Q

not just construction workers.

July 1, 2010

I think I could probably write a book of all the weird things men do or love that make absolutely zero sense to me – farting under the covers, the attraction to girl-on-girl action, and naming body parts (just to name a few).

But what has continued to blow my mind more than anything over the last several years is WHY men feel the need to hoot and holler things to women on the street.  I honestly don’t get it.

I’ll be all hot and sweaty, with my hair pulled up in a ratty ponytail, minding my own business while walking the dog down the street… then I’ll feel the presence of a car slowing down beside me.  “Hey Baby, where you headed?” or perhaps even more puzzling is the “Woot woot” cat call done while the car is speeding by.

Has this EVER worked for men?  Have there EVER been any successful relationships that have started from this sort of contact?  Is there a woman out there that would respond to this with a “Oh hello! I really appreciated the way you so sweetly called out to me from your car.  No, I wasn’t aware of how nice my ass looked today, so thanks for pointing it out! Would you like to get a drink?”  Are there any statistics on this?  If not, can we start keeping statistics on this?  I feel like this is something we need to track.

You know, I can almost understand or excuse this if it is done by a carload full of young men. Oh ha ha, it’s so funny… and they all laugh and exchange high-fives.  But for a middle-aged man to do this while driving alone (probably on his way to pick up his kids from soccer practice or something), is just downright weird.  What is the freakin POINT?

Still puzzled,

Q

getting home.

June 30, 2010

The short commute home always seems like it is going to be a lot longer. It’s like this huge, insurmountable detour between you and your couch and your tail-wagging dog. In dreading it, you leave work early, take a shortcut to avoid the traffic at that horendous red light, or make a phone call that you know will last for the whole 15 minutes it takes you to get from ‘there’ to the proverbial ‘here’.

But in the end, it takes the same number of miles to get to where you’re going. No matter when you leave, who you take, or whose cell phone minutes you waste, you still have to travel the same distance to get home.

Maybe the same is true about everything else . . . maybe worrying about every single aspect of my life right now only passes time until they inevitably fall into place. I’ve always believed that.

I guess the hard part is just getting there,

Q

today.

June 22, 2010

Yesterday, I was inspired to write this. Yesterday, I had something beautiful to say. Yesterday, I waxed poetic.

I was a prophetic genious. 

So today i am trying to be who I was yesterday. I am holding on to some vague idea that I had for a minute or two, and trying express it in a phrase that I can understand again.

…except this point is from yesterday and I think that it is no longer applicable. So now I’m sitting here willing words to flow from my fingers and instead, I have nothing.

but I do still feel it, in case you were wondering,

Q

mr. miserable.

June 21, 2010

Over the last few weeks I had been trying here and there to hang out with a friend of a friend that I found slightly attractive.  Finally, on Saturday night I got a text: “Hey are you still at the bar?” and before I know it, there’s a tap on my back and there he is on the barstool next to me.

I asked him how his job was. “It’s work,” he said.  I asked him if he has seen our mutual friends recently. “Nope.” (followed by a sigh) I asked if he’s been watching much of the World Cup.  “Soccer is lame.”  I bopped my head a bit to the music the DJ was playing.  “This song is awful.”

(At this point, my roommate had wandered off, unable to watch this train wreck unfolding in front of her and ignoring my desperate pleading eyes.)

After looking around for a savior at the bar, and realizing that I was in this one alone, I began to fill him in on what I’ve been up to at work – my recent business trip and some big projects.  “Marketing is stupid.  I don’t get it.  It never sways me to buy anything.” I let this remark go (while taking a deep breath) and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Within the span of about 10 minutes, he had managed to insult my career, my hometown, and several of my passions in life.  Finally, fed up and getting angry, I asked: “Ok, well what makes YOU happy, what are YOU passionate about?”  His response: “Nothing really.” 

I got the check and gathered my things.

THAT, my friend, is why you are single.

Moral of the story?  It makes no difference how good looking you are, if you are a miserable asshole you are STILL an asshole.

How do I keep finding these people?

Q

there’s no place like home.

June 18, 2010

I just got back from a business trip in Washington DC.  All things considered, it might have been the worst trip I’ve been on in a long while, business or otherwise.

I was almost mugged in broad daylight in front of about 20 people.  A homeless man asked me for a dollar and I kept walking: “No man, I don’t have any cash. Sorry.” (I really didn’t).  The man lept up and lunged at me, grabbing my purse.  Instinctively, I immediately smacked (and ninja Karate chopped) his hand hard with my free hand and he let go. 

No one even batted an eye.

I then sat in the convention center at our booth for 9 hours a day for 3 days straight.  This, my friends, might be the quickest path to insanity.  You know you have it bad when the next thing you have to look forward to is the crappy boxed lunch at noon. And let me tell you, nothing turns middle aged men into creepers quite like being at an out of town conference does! Next time, I’m rollin in there with a shirt made that says “I can see your wedding ring.”

On a positive note, I made friends with (i.e. shamelessly hit on) a cute young guy working the booth near ours.  We exchanged business cards and I almost immediately emailed him from my phone and gave him my cell number so he could text me to meet up the next night. (“Us young people gotta stick together at these things.” he wrote back).  We smiled and waved at each other from a distance for the remainder of the conference.

As luck (MY luck) would have it, my cell phone was stolen from my purse as my coworker and I were breaking down our booth on the last night of the show.  Anyone that knows me in real life knows that my iphone is my lifeline.  My music, my pictures, my contacts… everything is gone. AND, as if that wasn’t bad enough, single conference guy (and friends) was supposed to text me that evening to meet up.

I raced back to my hotel and emailed single conference guy to tell him what happened… and went upstairs to my room to mope and call it a night.  I awoke to a blinking message on my hotel room phone.  SCG did some research and found me at the hotel… interesting. 

We’ve since enchanged a few long thoughtful emails and a few texts on my temporary cell phone from 1987. (Picture Zack Morris’s first cell phone on Saved By the Bell. No joke).

So while I lost my beloved cellphone (and not to mention several hours of my life that I will never get back while sitting in that damn convention center), I do appear to have gained a new friend, and I can’t really complain about that.

I’m just glad to be home,

Q

breakfast at tiffany’s.

June 11, 2010

I’m wearing the necklace he gave me again.

The pretty Tiffany’s one that he bought me only shortly after we had gotten together – the one that I took off four months ago and swore would never again leave my jewelry box.

Just like how the months have allowed the song that always reminded me of him to become just another song, those four untouched months of collecting dust have transformed what had at one point symbolized the beginning of a deep and budding romance to little more than just a pretty necklace.  When I hear that song on the radio now, I turn it up and wait for that feeling to come; but it doesn’t, and instead I sing along.

The memories that I once wore around my neck have vanished too. And now, it might even serve as a reminder that after the dust settles, everything really does turn out OK in the end.

I’m better than ever,

Q

sloppy seconds.

June 9, 2010

Well internet, I have an interesting update on the boy with the crooked smile.

Last night I was out having happy hour drinks with a friend when a semi-frantic text came in from my roommate:  “OMG. OMG. OMG My friend hooked up with [insert BWTCS’s real name here] too.” 

Oh crap.

Turns out, not only did  they hook up, they also had the EXACT same date that we had.  (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried).  Same restaurant, made out in the car, and he never called her again.  And it gets better.

(drumroll please) …He has a girlfriend!

I’m tempted to post his real name, along with a photograph and a warning: “Ladies – Do not date this man!”  Because, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

So of course I immediately text him and oh so subtly call him out on this (wouldn’t you??):

Me:  “haha, I think you know one of my friends.  Does [friend’s full name] ring a bell?”

BWTCS: “What?”

Me:  “Yeah, the details (all of them) just came up randomly in conversation, actually… not even my conversation.”

BWTCS: “Yeah. hilarious.” 

(pause)

“So have you heard the new Arcade Fire album?”

Once again the cosmos have aligned to kick me in the shins…

…But on the brightside, I guess I got a free meal out of it.

Q