Wednesday, April 28, 2010

A Thought...

Maybe it's the two French Martinis talking, but...

For all the bitching and moaning about the shit that's gone wrong, things that have happened or haven't, where I wish I was and where I'm not, the shitty job, my farce of a love life, the money spent on a degree that I'm glad I have but isn't getting me anywhere...

A minute ago I was hanging out the living room window of my fifth floor walk-up smoking a cigarette (which, yes, I really shouldn't be doing), listening to guys on the street shout at each other in Spanish, and I realized...

I really fucking love my life.

Funny how it just hits you sometimes.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Down the Rabbit Hole...

A word of advice: Exchanging thinly veiled sexual text messages with the guy you want but cannot have is likely not a good idea.


I'll give you three guesses what I spent an hour or so doing earlier this evening.

Just call me Alice...

Thursday, April 22, 2010

How It All Went Down

So, we talked.

I met him at the diner down the street from the theatre an hour or so before our cast was going to see the show in our sister theatre.

For the first half hour or so we drank coffee, and chatted, and I laughed hysterically when he managed to launch the contents of a ketchup bottle all over himself (and the neighboring table).

And then, we talked.

Did I get what I wanted? Perhaps not so much. But he said a lot of nice things, the sort of things every girl who's ever been jerked around by a guy wishes he had said at the beginning; and while this isn't exactly the beginning, it's as close as I'm going to get without a time machine, so I'll take it. He said that I deserve a level of emotional investment that he can't give me right now, which frankly might be the nicest thing any man has ever said to me.

I, in turn, apologized for ambushing him (and myself) the other night, explained what sparked off my inner crazy and caused me to do so (and the fact that he simply thanked me for telling him rather than judging me definitely raised him in my estimation), and, in general, was far more open and honest with him about my own intentions and desires, and how I've acted on those in the past, than I've ever been with any man, ever. I don't know how he's done it, but I've let my guard down around him and even though it's hurt me a bit, it's still down. And I'm okay with that.

Am I disappointed? Of course. Am I sad? Yeah, a little. Does it make me feel both warm and fuzzy and a little bit like dying when we just sit there in silence and he looks at me like I've always wanted a man to look at me? Oh, you betcha. But despite all of that, I'm in a better place with this than I was before we talked, so... I'm counting my blessings, I guess.

Is there still a little spark of hope that maybe, somewhere down the line when he gets his act together, this crazy chemistry that we have together will come to something more? I'd be lying if I said there wasn't, but for now I'm reigning that hope in, exercising some self control, and letting go of the expectations I tried to convince both him and myself that I didn't have.

In other words, I'm behaving like an adult.

How the fuck did that happen?

Funny that this is the most mature relationship I've ever had, and it isn't a relationship at all.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010


I am both anticipating and dreading seeing Mr. I this afternoon.

Dreading, because I'm fairly certain I'm not going to hear what I want to hear.

Anticipating, because, damnit, I still fucking like the guy, and I just plain want to see him.

My daily horoscope ended with the following: "In your sentimental life, your every desire will be fulfilled with lots of love and availability."

Yeah... Universe? You can stop fucking with me any time now, 'kay?


Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Well, That Was Awkward...

Sunday was both more and less painful than I expected.

I managed to get myself together and, after flipping through all the usual suspects, I finally found an album on my MP3 player to get myself into the necessary mindset to survive the evening. (Amy Winehouse, "Back to Black," in case you were wondering. "Tears Dry on Their Own" is officially my new theme song.)

Mr. I arrived at the theatre, and, with the exception of a few loaded moments, I was doing okay...

...until he came up to me backstage in the middle of Act 2 with this mean little smile on his face and said, "So, you want to talk now?"

I flipped him off--more playfully than he deserved--called him an ass, and walked away. Needless to say my head was not in the game for the rest of that show.


So now we have a date an appointment to meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon and talk this thing through while we're both sober. Let me tell you, making a date to receive bad news is quite a mindfuck. As much as I'd like to maintain a little hope that perhaps, given a few days (and a few more functioning braincells) to think about it, he'll rethink his position, I'm not banking on it. We all see where hope has already gotten me, and I'm not sure I can cope with being any further up this particular creek than I've already ventured.

Still, I'm giving him a chance... a chance to prove that he's not a complete twat. Because, despite the pyrotechnics of Saturday night, I still like him. And I'm a sucker. And clearly, my sense of self-preservation is on holiday somewhere, stranded by that damned volcano and not coming back any time soon.

In the mean time you can bet your ass I'll be looking good tomorrow afternoon. Hey, a gal's gotta use what she's got.

Sunday, April 18, 2010


I cannot believe I am saying this... but it has happened again.

I allowed myself to get my hopes up that there could be something there between me and Mr. I, the guy who told me that he liked me, that he wanted to get to know me better, who looked at me in a way that made me smile from head to toe...

...but apparently not.

Last night did not end well.

We had two shows, an 8pm and 11pm performance, so by 1:30am when we were all walking to the bar for a drink (or three), everyone was already a bit loopy. Mr. I was walking a (female) friend who'd come to see the show to the subway before joining us, and two of the others looked back and made a comment that it looked like they were making out... and my stomach just about crashed through the sidewalk. I was instantly kicked in the chest with memories of a night years ago when I was sitting at the bar in my old restaurant waiting for the chef (who I was secretly dating) to get off work, and some girl called on the phone and identified herself as his girlfriend. Turns out he was fucking half of Manhattan while were ostensibly "dating."

Or B, who flirted with me for months to such an extent that everyone who knew us assumed we were dating... until the words "my girlfriend" fell from his lips one fateful afternoon.

Even though I didn't want to be thinking it, I couldn't help wondering: could it really be happening again? I was completely distracted until he came into the bar 15 minutes later.

So I did something stupid.

When we were both drunk and outside smoking a cigarette, I called out Mr. Inscrutable on his inscrutability... and I did not hear what I wanted to hear.

It would seem that dating is apparently a distraction, and he can't focus on getting his life on track if he's dating someone. That smacked so much of the Guitarist who dumped me using ADD and poor time management skills as his excuse that I wondered for a moment if I'd suddenly time-warped back to 2002.

History repeated itself an awful lot last night.

He has a lot of preconceived notions of how I would behave if we were to start dating, and how it would go wrong--I'm guessing based on his last relationship which he says was not good. He says that he does like me and could see a relationship between us, but not now. Which is all well and good, but I'm not going to wait around for him to straighten his shit out. Not intentionally, at least, but the way my life goes the chances of my finding another man I'm actually interested in dating anytime soon is roughly that of a snowball's chance during a drought in Hell.

Much more was said, but I can't rehash it all right now. It was a long conversation and I don't think it's nearly finished, but we reached his stop on the train and his parting shot was so unfair that it still gets my hackles up just thinking about it. "And now here, through no fault of my own, I'm hurting someone..." and then he left.

And that is just such bullshit.

If he'd known all this from the beginning, that he wasn't in a place to date and didn't want to start something... well, he shouldn't have started something.

I was drunk and I kissed him. It could have ended there, I would have been mildly embarrassed for a week or two, and then it would have been over.

We started talking. It became clear that we were interested in one another. Instead of saying that he wanted to get to know me better, he could have said "I think you're cool, but I'm not in a place to be dating anyone right now." It would have sucked, but again, without having had time and impetus to kindle that little ember of hope, I could have gotten over it fairly painlessly.

But he didn't do either of these things. He flirted with me. We made out for several hours. He mentioned people in his life and modified their names with "who you'll probably meet." The flirtation was escalating, becoming less clandestine. For fuck sake, I went and filled a (very expensive) birth control prescription because I genuinely thought that, within the next month or so, I might be needing it. Now not only is my ego sorely bruised, but I'm out $150 that I really couldn't afford, and the package will just sit there in my medicine cabinet mocking me with the fact that, even if a guy actually does like me, that's apparently still not enough... all because I let myself hope.

He thinks he knows what I want from him, that I'll be demanding and whiny, and hold it against him if he has things in his life other than me, all of which is bullshit.

All I want is to be enough. For one person to think I'm worth the effort of getting to know. I'm fucking lonely and I'm sick of it and I just want someone to care.

Apparently that's asking an awful lot.

I'm being dramatic now, I know. These wounds are still fresh. We were both drunk and probably a bit unfair when this conversation took place, I blindsided both of us when I started it, and perhaps when we continue it at a later date the situation will appear differently, but I've got a sinking feeling that he's already made up his mind. Right now, I need to focus on today. I've got to be at the theatre and see him in three hours and right now I look very much like I've been crying all night (which I haven't... just part of it). I need to pull myself together, put on my big girl panties, and not let my inner turmoil affect anyone else, or the show.

I've got to be enough for myself. Good thing I've had a lot of practice.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

So, Uh...

...either the universe is being particularly attentive to my needs, or Mr. I reads my blog.

We're gonna go with option A for the time being, because option B is just a little bit too frightening to contemplate. Though if he knows I'm completely crazy and is still interested, he could well be my soul mate. If, you know, I believed in that sort of thing.

And no, I haven't received any grand communique of just what the hell is going on in his head, but today the weirdness seems to have abated enough to strengthen my fragile grasp on sanity. We'll see if my luck holds.

Oh, and wegrit? Every guy I date is emotionally retarded. Apparently, that's my thing.

Saturday, April 10, 2010


I am frustrated.

Very, VERY frustrated.

And yes, this has everything to do with The Guy, who for the time being is being renamed Mr. Inscrutable, because that is exactly what he is... fucking inscrutable.

My egg donation retrieval was last week--and I'll tell you all about that interesting process and the bitch of a recovery period at a later date--but my hormones are clearly still finding their way back into balance, albeit very, VERY slowly. Exaggerated emotional responses seem to be the order of the day (I thought I was going to kill people at work last night, moreso than usual), which is making this whole situation even tougher to deal with because I keep asking myself: Would I be such a mess if my hormones weren't still out of whack?

Who am I kidding? Of course I would. But for the moment let's just blame the hormones, okay? Thanks.

Anyway, some background.

As I was putting the finishing touches on my somewhat angsty post about the difficulties of dating as an adult, Mr. I and I began a text message conversation (instigated by him) which started out as fluff but lasted--with a few breaks--until about 1:00 in the morning. During the course of that conversation we came to the conclusion that we a.) liked each other, b.) would like to get to know each other better, and c.) would like to make out as soon as possible.

Considering that this was pretty much what I'd asked for in the post I'd just finished writing, I could have danced for joy. If I'd known that I could get what I wanted simply by putting it out there for the universe to hear, I would have been far more vocal in my desire for, oh, a winning lottery ticket, or freedom from student loan debt.

In lieu of those things, however, I now put this to the universe: I want to know what the fuck is going on in his head! NOW! Even if it's not what I want to hear--though that would be really great, of course--I just want to fucking KNOW. Because I can't read him. At all. And it's driving me bonkers.

A few days after that text message conversation, we went to his place after a rehearsal, ostensibly to watch a movie, but really we engaged in some thoroughly PG (bordering on PG-13, but still pretty damned chaste) activities, and just generally snuggled and enjoyed one another's company.

It was lovely.

It was also over a week ago, with no sign of it ever being repeated.

I tried to get him to see me last weekend, but failed. Since then I'm not even sure how to broach the subject because I'm not sure if it's welcome. I can't even figure out if I'm allowed to casually text him when I'm bored, like I want to do. I only see him at rehearsal under the watchful (or, at the very least, observant) eyes of the rest of the cast and other various and sundry people, and he's... distant. He doesn't flirt like he used to. Today I actually managed to ride the subway with him without anyone else present, but it still seemed... weird.

The chemistry is still undeniably there, even if it only comes out when we're on stage together.

Now, he made a comment, on that fateful evening, about how he tried not to date people he was working with, and so we'd "have to wait." I half jokingly responded "And until then we're just... what? Fooling around?" His response, after a pause, was "What are we doing?" which, admittedly, threw me for a loop as well, being that it was only the first time we'd been alone together. After a moment I said, "I think it's a little early to be having a 'state of the union' conversation, don't you?" He agreed, we both relaxed, and the moment passed...

But it begs the question: Is that what is going on? Is this "waiting"? Now, it seems to me that the moment for waiting passed somewhere in the several hours I spent in his lap (PG people! PG!!), but still... if that's the case, okay. Fine. I can be patient (stop laughing) if I know what I'm waiting for. It's the not knowing that's killing me. I thought I had a sense of where we were, and now I am... lost.

Now, I am not a member of this particular theatre company, and he is. I get the feeling that the rumor-mill operates at lightening speed and perhaps he's just keeping his distance around the theatre to avoid being the subject of gossip. Fair enough. I just want to KNOW.

Or maybe he's just a jerk.

But he'd have to be a pretty stupid jerk to put so much effort into wooing a girl who'd already thrown herself at him if all he was after was a roll in the hay, so I'm inclined to believe that his attentions were genuine. Just call me an optimist.

Add into the mix the fact that, as my hormones take the long way back to normal, the horniness has returned a thousandfold (did I mention I've seem him in spandex that left very little to the imagination?), and all emotional turmoil aside, I would like to get him alone and naked at the earliest available opportunity, well...


Sorry, what was I talking about? I was still thinking about the spandex.


My head is a fucking mess.

The show opens in a few days. As of this moment I am going to see him every. fucking. day. for quite some time. I would prefer for that to be something to look forward to, as opposed to a source of emotional and sexual frustration.

So, there. I'm putting it out there. I just hope the universe is paying attention.