Minor details about…knowing it’s over

I used to think I was a good judge of character. Then I got all screwed over and trusted nobody. So I was alone for a long time because I hated men. When I finally met a nice one, I broke his heart. Then I hated myself. So I spend time alone for a long time because I figured I was all screwed up from not trusting anybody,  and I thought I was a good judge of character again.

Then I met that damn Brian.

I guess I wanted that stupid white knight. I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe there was someone who was perfect for me. A man who could make me laugh, and have seriously deep discussions about life and love or nothing at all. Someone smart and clever (which is not at all the same thing) and someone who really saw me. Someone who could make me laugh, debate issues without it turning into drama or disaster, and all the while – rock my world.

It was Brian. He was the one. The guy who made kissing all the frogs in life worthwhile in order to recognize the one. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more special or in tune with someone, I do know I was falling madly and deeply. I was trying to hold back, but telling myself to let go, wanting to have control, but losing myself in the delirium of letting it go where the fates took things. It has been a blissful ride.

He listened to my poetry. He laughed at my jokes. I felt strong around him. And fragile. I got him. He got me. Worse than it all though – I saw tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. I saw years from now, and liked it. I didn’t feel desperate to define where we were at, or how it felt. I was in the now and it felt right. Like we fit.

Then I found out about her. Or she found out about me I guess, since she has been his for 5 years, whereas I have been his for a month. And I should be happy it was one month, not one year, or one decade, but I can’t really be happy because I was never his. Or at least he was never mine.  And I guess it was easier for me to slam the door on his perfectly beautiful face, than it would have been for her to pack all his things and split the dog two ways. But I didn’t really have a choice anyway – I could see it in his eyes. The years of being screwed over have trained me to recognize the end. The panic in his eyes when she confronted, then left. The regret on his face. That’s when I knew it was over.

It would be easier though, if he wasn’t the perfect match. If we didn’t fit. If he hadn’t rocked my world.

Minor Details about…when to breakup?

How do you know when you’re in a hot relationship and life is good? When everything else falls to the wayside. When you don’t have time to do anything because every moment of every day is spent thinking, dreaming, obsessing about that certain person. You can’t wait to be with them, you can’t focus on mundane things like working or eating when you’d rather be rolled up in a messy ball with them. You can hardly breathe without them.  Call it love, call it lust, call it lusty love, but whatever it is, the feeling is heavenly and you never want it to end.

How do you know when that relationship is turning cold and your life is shit? When everything falls apart. When you don’t have the energy to do anything because every moment of every day is spent thinking, dreaming, obsessing about that certain person. You can’t be with them, you can’t focus on mundane things like working or eating when you’d rather be rolled up in a messy ball with them, you can hardly breathe without them.  It has a lot of the same characteristics of heavenly lusty love, but you’re in relationship hell and you can’t wait for it to be over.

Somehow the ride from heaven to hell has happened faster than I ever expected, and I can’t believe I got suckered into believing love changes everything. UGH. Being lonely is far worse when there are two of you in the room.

Tell me readers…when is it time to get out?

Minor details about…second date sushi

Sushi tastes so much better when you are sharing with someone hot and amazing. Or amazingly hot. Either way, smart-Brian is now hot & tasty Brian.

I don’t want to jinx this whole thing, but either he is one great guy, or my radar is off. He picked me up instead of meeting at the sushi place. We decided it was better to rock climb full of sushi than it would be to eat sushi covered in rock climbing sweat.  I have one complaint about eating sushi with someone. I want to order what I want to order. I don’t want to try anything different unless it comes on the other person’s plate and looks fabulous. That being said,  I would rather you just get what you want and I get what I want and we can beg and borrow from each other’s plate if necessary. Normally when I go for sushi with someone, half the time is spent with them trying to find something we would both like. I don’t get it – that doesn’t happen at other restaurants. If we go out for steak I don’t try to talk the other person into getting in medium rare if they’re a well done kinda chap. So the sushi experience can be touchy.

But Brian laid it out. “Why don’t you get your favourites, and if you want some of mine we can swap?”

“Perfect,” I said. “I like avocado and cucumber.”

“Different. I like eel and salmon. I guess we aren’t sharing.”

“Works for me,” I said. And it was done. We had our own meals with no pressure to choke down something when you’d rather have something else. We stayed at the place for more than 3 hours, then decided rock climbing was a bust and went to a dessert place instead where we got massive slices of chocolate mousse  cake and talked for another 3 hours. It was a great second date.

The best part – I decided since we missed it this time, I’d take him rock climbing and just outright if he was up for it this week. So date 3 is already booked – no need to chomp down my nails waiting for the call. This just might be a thing. A good thing.

PS – second date kiss was twice as long, twice as wet, and twice as welcomed as kiss one. Bring on date 3!

–Abby

Minor details about…getting the call

The call came in. Day 2 – which is impressive because I normally get guys waiting until day 3 or even day 4 before letting me breathe easy. Yes – I realize I could call them, but there is a big part of me that believes the male species likes to hunt, so it keeps me from making that first call. I’d rather just call them and get it over with so I don’t have to over-analyze every word we spoke over dinner, how the goodbye went, how the kiss went, how his tires sounded as they left the driveway. I would rather know one way or another – is this going to date #2? Without me losing sleep, without obsessing, second guessing, chewing nails, or eating everything not nailed down or nothing at all. Simple question – date 2, or are we done?

Well, the call officially came in. Hearing his voice was like getting a shot of caffeine. I could breathe – and I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. Smart-Brian is just as smart as I thought he was, because we have date 2 lined up. Rock climbing, (which I’ve never done) then sushi (which I do often). Things are looking up.

Now I just have to lay back and enjoy the ride - phone calls and all.

Minor details about…first date jitters

Well, me and Brian the gorgeous train guy did it.

Not did it, you perv. Did it the date, not did it the deed. We had our first date on Saturday and I think I’m in trouble. It would have been easier if he was a complete jerk that made or seemed perfect.

No, my train-reading date was almost perfect, but not quite – which I’m beginning to figure out might just mean normal and that scares me more than Mr. Fake-Perfect or a complete screw-up. Normal is hard to come by for me, and so that is why I’m in trouble. So here’s the quick run down of the date:

Conversation =  Light and easy with shades of seriousness and a load of laughter. We talked about everything from childhood camping trips to coworkers to dream vacations to double jointed fingers – which I have and he doesn’t.

Manners = Nice. How a person treats wait staff is very telling. So is the way he shoves food in his mouth, downs his drink, or carries himself at the table. I don’t want it to be true, but how he asks in a restaurant is the same way he’ll act in front of your parents or grandparents or your boss, so it’s better if he has manners as part of the package. Brian does.

Eye Candy = He looked delicious. Great hair, great eyes, great teeth. Full lips, broad shoulders, tall, dark, gorgeous. His looks are, in fact, perfect.

Overall = he’s funny, he’s smart, he’s normal.

He has a good job that he likes but doesn’t love in marketing, he has family but they live in another province so he is away most holidays. He wants a dog but figures he’s not home enough to give a pooch a happy life, and that statement made me happy. (although he didn’t use the word pooch). He has a small apartment downtown which is by his own words – nothing like he wants, but enough to get by while he saves his money for more important things then rent. I’m just glad it’s not his mother’s basement. He doesn’t party, has drinks when he feels like it, but he hasn’t drank himself into oblivion since college. He travels a lot for work, so likes to spend his time in town doing quiet things like dinner, movies – easygoing things like that. He says he likes fast cars, but most everything else at a slower pace.

He’s not perfect. But he’s pretty normal. I don’t even know what to do with that. The date though – which lasted until three in the morning because we couldn’t stop laughing and talking,  was pretty perfect and I don’t know what to do with that either.

And yes – he paid even though I suggested I pay half, which I was glad of so I didn’t to blow my grocery money on half of one expensive, albeit delicious dinner.

And yes – we did kiss. And god help me – yes – it was the perfect kiss. He pulled me in hard and kissed me so soft. Perfect, damn it. Perfect.

So now I’m waiting for the call. And trying to not watch the phone not ringing. What’s the code again?

Next day = desperate

2 days later =normal and showing great interest

3 days later = still normal, he’s interested, but playing it safe under the guise of politeness

4 days later = he’s trying to tip the scale so he holds that much more power either because he likes you a lot and is safeguarding himself, or is playing games

5 days later = rude, but will likely act like waiting 5 days to call after the first date is no big deal

6 days later = not interested, but has no other prospects of a good time in sight

7 days later = setting you up for a future booty call contact

So, let’s see how normal Brian the beautiful train reader actually is. Countdown begins.

–Abby

 

Minor details about…meeting him

I’ve just come to feel at peace with being single and now I’ve met someone interesting. Typical.

We were on the train, across from each other. Reading. Or pretending to read. I was distracted because he had dark chocolate-brown eyes that his perfect hair kept falling into as he read. I noticed. Even though I tried not to notice, and told myself I was done noticing, he took me by surprise and before I knew what I was doing, I noticed.

He noticed me too. We passed a few smiles when someone got off the train, and someone else got on and I was so glad for the excuse to look up from my book. I don’t always read on the train, and today I was wishing that I hadn’t taken it out of my bag and effectively put a wall between us. So when the little old lady beside me started to get up, I took it as the perfect opportunity to slip the book back into my bag and help the old gal out.

He helped too. I bet she hadn’t had that many people help her in a dog’s age, because truth be told, she wasn’t all that old – not like 90 or anything. She was grey haired and wrinkled, but she still didn’t have a cane or was all hunchbacked or anything. She sort of laughed with both me and gorgeous train reader on each arm, but she thanked us anyway. So maybe it was an obvious ploy to connect with the guy, but I don’t care - it worked.

So after a 20 minute ride, train guy – whose name turns out to be Brian – asked me out for dinner that weekend. And although I’ve been single a long, long time, and I am in fact quite desperate for a date, and even though the only plans I have this weekend have to do with couch, ice cream, and chick flicks – I told him I was busy.  I seem to remember from when I was in the dating world – you never want to look desperate, even when you are. Especially when you are.

So, brown-eyed Brian and I set dinner plans for the following weekend, which is now this coming weekend and I’m freaking out a little. I have the perfect outfit, my skin is clear, my hair is at the perfect point in the cutting cycle so it does exactly as I ask it to. I feel fit, and happy and excited. And maybe that’s the problem. I don’t want to be excited because inevitably that leads to disappointment. Ugh. So I am trying to tame my excitement that he can’t screw me over, but not so much that it looks like I’m a royal bitch who doesn’t care. And any girl can tell you – balancing that line ain’t easy.

I’m also slightly freaked out that he reads. Now that I say it out loud, I realized what a complete lame-ass I sound like, but I’ve never actually dated someone who enjoys reading. Sure, I’ve seen them read manuals, textbooks, magazines, even books on travel or men’s health. But never a normal book. Never a novel for just the sake of reading. Hmmm. I don’t know what to make of it.  Is it weird that it has somehow made me feel like he might be smarter than I am?

I think I might be over analyzing  again. My curse. I’m sure it will be just your average, normal date. I’ll probably walk away a little tipsy and a lot full, and not at all interested in a second date, but glad I met someone normal to have a nice evening with. Crap! Like that ever happens!

What have I gotten myself into?

Minor details about…finding your passion

I don’t know how to play guitar or piano, and though I do belt out a tune on occassion, it’s safe to say I’m no Adele. I’ve tried to learn how to strum a guitar, but I dont have a natural talent for it, and my lack of attention and general state of chaos keeps me from keeping my ass in the chair long enough to learn.

I want to be one of those people that walk down the street with the guitar strapped to thier back. There’s a coolness factor to those people that I rfeally envy. Doesn’t everyone want to be a rock star after all? I’d settle for being able to pluck a few strings around a campfire. I know they say anyone can learn, but I think the “they” that say that kind of shit are lying. Not everyone can learn. Sure, you might be able to understand notes and chords, but musicans are born, not made. I guess the same can be said for artists of any sort, becuase there’s just no faking talent.

I’d also like to be a comtemporary dancer, and a visual artist doing sculpures. I don’t think dancing around my living room or making a macaroni necklace counts, so I can write off both of those career options too. It’s hard to find your passion. We all want to be special, but to be special you have to be exceptional and being excpetional at something is pretty hard too.

I don’t think that chocolate eating is in the running for ways to go down in history, but if it was I’d be top of the list. I write a mean poem, and seem to have a way with dogs. Something about the sing-song in my voice I think.

So  – as it stands – I am searching for the perfect life path – a chocolate-eating, dog-loving poet. Let me know if you come across a job ad that fits the bill. I can assure you -  I’d be exceptional.

 

–Abby

Minor details about…loving a closeted gay

Round two  – loving the gay man who hasn’t decided he’s gay. That’s the topic today, and in case you are that person – the one loving a man who hasn’t decided he’s gay – here’s a spoiler for your future - you are so f@c&ed.

Get out! Get out! Take your toothbrush and run for the hills. Run far, far away from this man. Before you introduce him to your parents, before you pick out china patterns together and for everyone’s sake – before you have babies on each hip wondering why your husband plays “squash” so much.

The tricky thing is – if he doesn’t know he’s gay it’s pretty hard for you to know he’s gay when you first meet. After all, is it so impossible to think a straight man might possess some of the positive stereotypes reserved for gay men? Isn’t that why they came up with the whole metrosexual label? I guess that only applies for grooming and fashion, not other qualities I’d love in a boyfriend.

There is a difference between someone who doesn’t know yet – the closet gay, and a man who is on the down low. If he’s playing squash with David because he likes the way he sweats for example and - and still decides to stay in a a “straight” relationship, that’s a whole different level issue. It only gets messier if they’re sweating together at more than just squash. That’s a gay man on the down low. He knows it, he does it, and he comes home to you. The problem is that you’ll never really know his timeline between denial, then knowing, then doing.

Before it sounds like I’m all army-mama about these men trying to find their way and face fear to brave up to their own truth – I get that it’s hard to come out. I get that it changes lives and sometimes destroys families. I get that, I do. I’m not saying  it would be easy – not by a long shot.

But for the person who loves and desires that man, but doesn’t understand what’s missing in the relationship – it’s wicked heartbreak. I can attest - as a person who once loved a man who fit that bill - you spend hours, days, weeks, months and maybe even years trying to figure  out what the hell you’re doing wrong.

If you haven’t been in one of these relationships before, and you think you know – I’m telling you  – you don’t know. The obvious thing would be no sex, right? Sounds reasonable that a gay man wouldn’t want to have sex with you. Of course, logical. But a gay man who doesn’t want to be gay – all he wants to do is have sex with you. And it’s “prove it” kind of sex – which I have to say from experience – is damn great sex. It’s long, it’s detailed, they don’t miss a spot, and it goes on and on and on. In hindsight, I understand the lasting factor was because he just wasn’t that into me so the end probably never felt near to him, but at the time I had no complaints about our sex life. Zero complaints. In fact, it was the best sex I ever had. Ever. “Prove it” sex – it can be very satisfying.

And if only that’s all it ever took to make a happily ever after, closeted gay men and the women that love them could be perfect together. But, as we all know – great sex is great, but when something is missing, it’s missing. And when something is broke, even great sex can’t fix it. Not for long anyhow.

The worst of it is that pain can be contagious. If he’s suffering because he hates that part of himself, if he denies himself and punishes himself every chance he gets – then it won’t be long before that pain is transferred to you. And I’m not talking about the smack-down kind of pain. I’m talking loneliness, confusion, frustration, doubt, and shame – that’s what he’ll give you because that’s all he’s got to give. Then you’ll obsess every minute of every day about why you aren’t good enough. And unlike the out-gay man – who’ll tell you it’s not about you (it’s about your parts), the closeted gay will take the opportunity to be sure you think it is you indeed. Otherwise, he has to admit it’s him, and there’s no way he’s doing that in survival mode. Nope. You’re going down, and it won’t be pretty.

In the end, it will end. And he won’t be able to tell you why, and if he tries - every reason will sound lame and trivial.   And it won’t matter how much you beg, and how much counselling you get, and how much you change and bend, and morph into something you’re not.

And what if he never admits he’s gay?  What if you’re sure of it, and your gay friends assure you of it when you start to waiver, but he still doesn’t admit it to you – or himself? Well, I’d say revert back to paragraph two and leave anyway. If you aren’t happy, and he isn’t happy, then why are you still there anyway?

So go…but leave an ounce of room in your tattered broken heart for some compassion and empathy – because he’s gonna have a longer road than you in just trying to keep his gay head above water.

Minor details about…loving a gay man

I’ve always been drawn to gay men. I lusted after many and foolishly fell in love with two. The difference between the two men is that one was out and the other was in. Or not out. Or un-out. Or on the down low.

Loving any gay man may not be a smart choice for a straight girl, but there was a massive difference between the battering to my heart from the out-gay and down-low gay. Not that I like a heart beating of any sort at the best of times – who does really? But I’d love a thousand out-gay men before I would ever want to love another one who crouched in my closet. In hindsight, the reasons seem obvious to me, but in case you haven’t had a round with a gay man (in or out), I’ll break it down for you.  Because there’s just too much to say in one go  I’ll give you round one today with the out-gay man and discuss the if-you’re-gay-but-don’t-know-it-raise-your-hand gay tomorrow. My best advice about falling in love with either, is to learn from my mistakes.

I’ll be the first to say a gay man has all the things a woman needs. I know I’m stereotyping here. Not all gay men. Some are completely self-absorbed jerks who are cruel and unkind and treat others like yesterday’s garbage. Some are slobs or deadbeats or morons. Gay men don’t come with perfect specimen cards.  So I guess what I mean is the IDEAL gay man. Yes, that’s it. The ideal gay man has all the things a woman needs.

First – they look fantastic. They know what grooming means. They don’t continually ask “does this shirt match these pants”. They know how to apply hair gel without it making them look like a slick duck. They somehow have figured it all out on their own and just show up looking fierce. It can be somewhat of a problem if they always look better than you, but I don’t care how shallow it sounds – eye candy is sweet.

The ideal gay man knows how to give you independence and still treat you like a lady. I don’t want to sound like my grandmother here, but manners count. When someone opens the door for you,  guides you through a crowd with their hand on the small of your back, pours the wine, or lets you do anything first – it makes you feel special. I don’t care if you have more estrogen or testosterone running through your body – being treated like that makes you feel cared about. I don’t know why so many straight men have difficultly with this, but the ideal gay man just gets it. (as a side note – even every not-ideal gay man I’ve been around has mastered this one too).

The ideal gay man knows how to have a good time. And by that I don’t mean a two-minute quickie that ends with him watching a game on TV. The ideal gay man takes pleasure in talking for hours, shopping for shoes, going to musicals, watching movies that make you cry. They are on board with you giving each other foot rubs, make overs, and dancing. They’ll talk about fantasy-sex, best kisses, and ex-boyfriends at great length. They get intimacy. They get how to nurture and support. They do all of this without complaint and don’t expect it will lead to sex.  After the foot rub they’re not whip’n their ding-dong out looking for a little hand action, claiming that’s where they thought it was headed.

The ideal gay man is affectionate and sensitive. He also has a sence of humour. He can make you laugh until you want to pee your pants. Silly fun, he likes silly fun, and he makes you feels like you’re a kid again, giggling and laughing and happy.

Why can I not find this with a straight man?

In the end, the gay man I loved did indeed love me back. He loved me, and respected me, and cared about me. He just didn’t want to have sex with me, and that’s a shame because I’m quite the fox in bed. I won’t say it didn’t hurt my ego, my pride, and yes – my tender little heart. I wanted him to want me.

But here’s the thing – when he said “You’re so beautiful”  I believed it. When he said “Oh my god, your breasts look fabulous in that shirt!” I  didn’t think he was trying to get into my pants, or think he was a perv for staring at my lumps instead of my eyes. No. In fact, I said “Really, do you think so?” then stuck my boobs out some more, checked myself in the mirror, and deemed that was my new favourite shirt.

Would all that have changed if we had sex? Yes, because he would’ve hated it, and in turn I would have hated myself. But did I wish I could have him just the way he was, except for the tiny little detail of desire?  Yes – I wish that too. But the hurt was bottled somewhat because he was out when I met him, and he was always very clear about his sexual preference. So I guess when I fell, I only had myself to blame. But then again, I could hardly blame myself – he was amazing, after all.

The best part about the ideal gay man is that after he breaks your heart, he knows just how to fix it.  And that when you find a straight man who may only have half the credentials that gay boyfriend has,  your ideal gay will cheer you on and want to hear all the juicy details. And he’ll be there for you when the straight guy turns out to be a not-so-ideal boyfriend either.

So love your gay man – he’ll be the best companion you could ever ask for. Just never forget – no matter how fabulous your boobs look in that shirt – he ain’t gonna want to kiss them.

 

–Abby

Stay tuned for part 2 tomorrow…

Minor Details about…resolutions

Damn the New Year. Every January, society is  guilted into becoming better people, living better lives. By the time summer rolls around, I realize I forgot all about my  resolutions and am in fact not a better person living a better life. I don’t know who the heck came up with the idea to take the coldest time of the Canadian year to fill your head with unrealistic expectations. Winter is the time we should be bundled up in PJ’s, drinking extra-large mugs of cocoa or oversized glasses of wine, and vegging out in front of a fire, tv or laying with a lover. Not rushing to the gym in the still-dark morning, depriving yourself of your favourite treats, or braving the icy roads to volunteer, get more education, or help an organization be…I dunno – organized.

If New Years happened to fall around spring – when everything is new and fresh, or summertime when days are longer and everyone has more energy – then those pesky resolutions might just take hold.  But January? Really, Father Time, must you be such an asshole?

 

I decided this year I was making New Years’ resolutions I could keep. I was going to make a list that wouldn’t make me feel like a quitter, a fraud, a liar or a failure once bathing suit season rolled around and reminded me that I forgot to get to the gym four times a week. 2012 marks the year I will keep all my resolutions…I will be the queen of resolution keepers. I’ve only ever made resolutions on what I should do, but this year I decided to make all my resolutions things I am pretty sure I can manage.

 

2012 Resolutions

1.   Eat chocolate at least once a day, but no more than twelve times a day. 

2.   Buy a new pair of shoes once a month.

3.   Go to the gym for the two-week trial period with no cost and tell them you have to think about joining instead of joining on the spot.

4.   Think about joining.

5.   Resolve to join later. Much later.

6.   Have no guilt about not joining.

7.   Dance naked. Eat naked. Eat chocolate naked.

8.   Meet a potential new lover.

9.   Do not obsessively wait for phone calls from potential new lovers. Meet other potential new lovers instead.

10.  Read more books or at least magazines. Or twitter.

 

Here’s to 2012!

–Abby