Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Kismet
A woman was doing 90 on a country road, when a cop pulled her over and said, "Young lady, I've been waiting for you all day."
"I'm sorry, Officer," she said. "I got here as fast as I could."
"I'm sorry, Officer," she said. "I got here as fast as I could."
At the beginning of the summer, I visited an old coworker who retired last year. She lives in a luxurious lakefront apartment with her husband who is also retired. Over dinner, they recounted the full unabridged story of their romance:
When they were young, Orrin's mother married Gwen's uncle. Since they were around the same age, they were very close growing up. Gwen fielded Orrin's girlfriends and Orrin introduced Gwen to her first husband - one of his fraternity brothers. They fell out of touch with one another sometime after college, when their lives and careers pulled them to opposite ends of the country.
Life went on: marriages, divorces, kids... Several years later, Gwen contacted Orrin to invite him to her mother's 86th birthday celebration. Orrin wasn't able to attend the gathering, but they kept in touch from that point on. This time, their friendship evolved into a passionate love affair and they married in 2004.
Life went on: marriages, divorces, kids... Several years later, Gwen contacted Orrin to invite him to her mother's 86th birthday celebration. Orrin wasn't able to attend the gathering, but they kept in touch from that point on. This time, their friendship evolved into a passionate love affair and they married in 2004.
Gwen and Orrin's story struck a chord in my cold little technoheart. They met each other at a young age, spent their lives as friends, and fell in love in the latter part of their lifetime. I cannot think of a more powerful example of true love.
I believe in "The One." I believe that one person in this world exists solely for me. I don't believe that everyone finds their "one," or even that those who do stay with that person forever, but I do believe that such a person exists and that they will make me exuberantly happy for as long as they are a part of my life. Sometimes, in my darkest and loneliest moments, I think of my "one." Whoever he is, I know that he's out there; I hope he knows that I'm out there too.
I like to believe that we're both on our way, running toward that moment where our lives converge. We're running as fast as we can... and when we collide, it'll be kismet.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The College Experience
I met Marc when I was in high school during a brief stint in retail over the winter break. He worked in a different department than I did, but we saw each other often enough to strike up a friendship. Marc was a big flirt and he always had a bevy of ladies at his side, ready to laugh at his jokes and shower him with their affections. Marc and I flirted all the time and though I really liked him, our relationship never went beyond innocent flirting. After the Christmas holiday, new schedules meant little to no interaction between us. Marc and I fell out of touch completely after I quit in March.
Fast forward a couple years, and I was a few weeks into my first quarter as a college freshman. As luck would have it, I bumped into Marc one night on my way home. He instantly recognized me and we exchanged numbers before parting ways. I soon learned that Marc was a junior at the same university and we used this newly discovered proximity to see more of each other. We hung out mostly around campus - a lunch here and there, a couple school functions, and even a few parties. Marc was the typical college guy: playful, easygoing, and non-comittal.
Fast forward a couple years, and I was a few weeks into my first quarter as a college freshman. As luck would have it, I bumped into Marc one night on my way home. He instantly recognized me and we exchanged numbers before parting ways. I soon learned that Marc was a junior at the same university and we used this newly discovered proximity to see more of each other. We hung out mostly around campus - a lunch here and there, a couple school functions, and even a few parties. Marc was the typical college guy: playful, easygoing, and non-comittal.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
An Intriguing Start
Monday, June 14, 2010 at 3:03am
Subject: Your shout out to the chunky guys in Chicago intrigued me...
So while it's 2:30 on a Sunday night and I'm watching some tv and browsing the internet until it lulls me to sleep, I figured, why not respond?
My name is Beau, and I am most definitely a "man of stature," at 6'5" and around 300lbs...which no one believes when I tell them. My frame allows me to carry the weight around well. There's the important stats out of the way.
I love cars, blues music, and entertaining. I work as a host/server at one of the city's famous comedy theatres that is an awesome gig which coincides with my love of improvising.
I share the same views on women as you do on men, in that I have no idea what attracts a person to a bag of bones. It is a mystery that I am not wasting any time on trying to solve.
Like I said, your post has intrigued me, which is why I felt compelled to respond, which is what I hope my response inspires you to do in turn, because you sound like someone who would be interesting to get to know.
I hope this finds you well, and I hope you had a good weekend.
Sincerely,
Beau
Monday, June 14, 2010 at 10:58am
Subject: Your shout out to the chunky guys in Chicago intrigued me...
Dear Beau,
Initially, the purpose of my post was solely to comment on society's impossible demands for physical perfection and the mental damage it is doing to men in our communities. I've been bombarded with emails from men expressing their appreciation and gratitude for the post. Someone even sent me a porn vid of themselves, can you believe that? CREEPY!
Your response was intriguing for a couple reasons. I also love blues music and jazz. I love Eric Clapton, B.B. King, and Buddy Guy. I also love Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughn, and Ella Fitzgerald. B.B. King's daughter, Shirley King does a set most Wednesday nights at this bar I frequent called The Joynt. You should check it out. I think you might enjoy it.
I also like comedy theatres and I'm tempted to guess that you work at Second City. If I'm right, then we may have seen each other before. I took a comedic writing course last fall and caught a few shows. I'm tempted to go back and take an Improv class. I think that would be fun.
I have all these questions but I don't want this email to get too long so I'll ask one more question and be done: How old are you?
Kindly,
Ms. Technoheart
Subject: Your shout out to the chunky guys in Chicago intrigued me...
So while it's 2:30 on a Sunday night and I'm watching some tv and browsing the internet until it lulls me to sleep, I figured, why not respond?
My name is Beau, and I am most definitely a "man of stature," at 6'5" and around 300lbs...which no one believes when I tell them. My frame allows me to carry the weight around well. There's the important stats out of the way.
I love cars, blues music, and entertaining. I work as a host/server at one of the city's famous comedy theatres that is an awesome gig which coincides with my love of improvising.
I share the same views on women as you do on men, in that I have no idea what attracts a person to a bag of bones. It is a mystery that I am not wasting any time on trying to solve.
Like I said, your post has intrigued me, which is why I felt compelled to respond, which is what I hope my response inspires you to do in turn, because you sound like someone who would be interesting to get to know.
I hope this finds you well, and I hope you had a good weekend.
Sincerely,
Beau
Monday, June 14, 2010 at 10:58am
Subject: Your shout out to the chunky guys in Chicago intrigued me...
Dear Beau,
Initially, the purpose of my post was solely to comment on society's impossible demands for physical perfection and the mental damage it is doing to men in our communities. I've been bombarded with emails from men expressing their appreciation and gratitude for the post. Someone even sent me a porn vid of themselves, can you believe that? CREEPY!
Your response was intriguing for a couple reasons. I also love blues music and jazz. I love Eric Clapton, B.B. King, and Buddy Guy. I also love Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughn, and Ella Fitzgerald. B.B. King's daughter, Shirley King does a set most Wednesday nights at this bar I frequent called The Joynt. You should check it out. I think you might enjoy it.
I also like comedy theatres and I'm tempted to guess that you work at Second City. If I'm right, then we may have seen each other before. I took a comedic writing course last fall and caught a few shows. I'm tempted to go back and take an Improv class. I think that would be fun.
I have all these questions but I don't want this email to get too long so I'll ask one more question and be done: How old are you?
Kindly,
Ms. Technoheart
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Eureka!
I can't remember the dream I had. All I remember about that cloudy Sunday morning is springing out of bed and reaching for my laptop. The following entry was posted on Craig's List Missed Connections on Sunday, June 13th:
To All the Chunky Guys in Chicago - w4m
You are by far my favorite! Put down your gym bag, hang up those unnecessary insecurities, and let me love you and appreciate you for what you are - a chunky man!
Why do six-packs and small frames get all the hype?! I'd take meat and potatoes over a bag of bones any day!
There you stand, 5'10" plus with your big ass, generous thighs, and solid build. You drive me absolutely insane! Don't you see how flustered I become when you sit next to me on the train or how I stutter when exchanging pleasantries on the elevator? It's all your doing, you sexy beast!
Seeing a ring on your finger incites the greenest of envies. Your wife is a lucky girl!
If you're single, please call Bally's RIGHT NOW and cancel your membership. Tell them that there's a woman out there looking for a little extra weight on her man and that every pound counts. Let me kiss those insecurities away and show you just how much you turn me on.
Must have been one hell of a dream, don't you think?! I wish I remembered it!
I don't know what the motivation was behind that post. What's more, I had absolutely no clue how it would be received by the Craig's List audience. I just felt compelled to write, bringing a month-long writing drought to a close. The words flowed naturally and steadily from my brain, to my fingers, to Craig's List itself. I was done within five minutes.
It was that five-minute burst of uninhibited free writing that led me to Beau...
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Writer's Block
I've been thinking a lot about this blog recently. I enjoy writing about my dating life. I enjoy writing period. I articulate my thoughts best when I write them out first, developing my voice somewhere in the midst of the editing process.
When speaking in public, I always rely heavily on a written script. Don't get me wrong, I think the delivery is also important, but that's a performance. It's the meat, the substance that truly captures my interest.
I've had the worst case of writer's block the last few weeks. Two drafts have been sitting in my post listing for about a month now. I curse them every time I glimpse over and see the word draft beside the title. I've come to the conclusion that the reason these two posts have never gone anywhere is because I'm not really in love with the stories they tell.
So, while the story of Fat, Sloppy, Mean, One-Minute Marc may be entertaining for some, I am sorry to say that this post will be placed on the backburner for now.
When speaking in public, I always rely heavily on a written script. Don't get me wrong, I think the delivery is also important, but that's a performance. It's the meat, the substance that truly captures my interest.
I've had the worst case of writer's block the last few weeks. Two drafts have been sitting in my post listing for about a month now. I curse them every time I glimpse over and see the word draft beside the title. I've come to the conclusion that the reason these two posts have never gone anywhere is because I'm not really in love with the stories they tell.
So, while the story of Fat, Sloppy, Mean, One-Minute Marc may be entertaining for some, I am sorry to say that this post will be placed on the backburner for now.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
New Year's Resolutions
Invariably, any conversation you have from December twenty-sixth through December thirty-first of every year will gravitate towards a discussion about New Year's resolutions. I hate New Year's resolutions. I never stick to them and I suspect that this also applies to the vast majority of people who adopt resolutions as well.
In December 2008, instead of creating a list of resolutions, I thought of a general mantra by which to live my life in the upcoming year. 2007 and 2008 had been rough, so my goal for 2009 was to break free from all of the things that were keeping me down and holding me back – it was time to get mine. "GET MINE IN '09!”
2009 was nothing short of spectacular. I took a comedic writing course at Second City, something I had always wanted to try. In the thick of the economic recession, I quit my steady job at a labor union to pursue an unpaid internship at a Senator's office for three months. Consciously deciding to not pay my bills for a quarter of a year was the most terrifying decision I could make and yes, it was also the most liberating. The internship was a blast! I met new people, had fun despite my limited resources, and lived a carefree life temporarily.
I returned to my old job in late December once the internship ended. Sitting at my desk one quiet afternoon, I thought about the incredible year I'd had. What was beyond getting mine in '09? How could I extend that mantra into the upcoming year?
I created a new list of goals and as expected, my list was quite ambitious. "How in the world am I going to find time for a love life," I asked myself as I reviewed my list. "Well actually, why would you need one," said a little voice inside my head. "Frankly, if you did without men in 20-10 you could get everything accomplished."
Wait, that's it! "No Men in 20-10!” Not that I wouldn't make an exception if the right guy came along, but why not just take some time to focus on other things?
In December 2008, instead of creating a list of resolutions, I thought of a general mantra by which to live my life in the upcoming year. 2007 and 2008 had been rough, so my goal for 2009 was to break free from all of the things that were keeping me down and holding me back – it was time to get mine. "GET MINE IN '09!”
2009 was nothing short of spectacular. I took a comedic writing course at Second City, something I had always wanted to try. In the thick of the economic recession, I quit my steady job at a labor union to pursue an unpaid internship at a Senator's office for three months. Consciously deciding to not pay my bills for a quarter of a year was the most terrifying decision I could make and yes, it was also the most liberating. The internship was a blast! I met new people, had fun despite my limited resources, and lived a carefree life temporarily.
I returned to my old job in late December once the internship ended. Sitting at my desk one quiet afternoon, I thought about the incredible year I'd had. What was beyond getting mine in '09? How could I extend that mantra into the upcoming year?
I created a new list of goals and as expected, my list was quite ambitious. "How in the world am I going to find time for a love life," I asked myself as I reviewed my list. "Well actually, why would you need one," said a little voice inside my head. "Frankly, if you did without men in 20-10 you could get everything accomplished."
Wait, that's it! "No Men in 20-10!” Not that I wouldn't make an exception if the right guy came along, but why not just take some time to focus on other things?
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Drive This Train!
Sometimes us ladies need you fellas to "Drive This Train!" But what does that mean, exactly? Well, it's an expression my friend Candice uses when referring to a person who plans a date. On occasion, it's simply nice to board the train knowing that the destination, estimate times, tune-ups and all other pertinent details have been arranged, and that my sole responsibility is to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride...
1) When you ask me out on a date, your next question is almost always: "What would you like to do?" I immediately throw it back into your court: "I don't know. What do you suggest?" Then you say something like, "I don't know. I'm up for anything." Setting a date can also lead to a similar conversation. "When are you free?" "I'm pretty flexible." UGH!!!! Odds are you'll assume that I'm a bougie bitch for suggesting Sullivan's for their jazz trio that does a killer rendition of Mack the Knife. So really, you're not up for anything.
2) You 'could eat' and I'm on a see-food eat-food diet so we settle on going to dinner. Solid choice. Do we really have to go through every ethnicity known to man to decide on a restaurant, becoming progressively more obscure the further we go along? Mexican? Italian? Greek? Pan-Asian? Lithuanian? Australian? WHAT THE HELL DO AUSTRALIANS EVEN EAT?!!?!?!?!?!?!
Australian food it is. I'm excited about trying something new and since this is your first time too, we'll have a shared experience and bond over how amazing or disgusting that Koala dish was.
10 MINUTES BEFORE DATE
30 MINUTES LATER (20 MINUTES LATE)
15 MINUTES LATER (35 MINUTES LATE)
4) You FINALLY get to my place and I'm not ready. You razz me about it. Listen asshole, I showered, shaved, waxed, tweezed, went through EVERY fucking outfit in my closet, self-loathed, changed my outfit, sewed a button, squeezed into a girdle, painted the three toenails that will show through my peep toe heels, changed my outfit, drew on my eyebrows, accidentally poked myself in the eye with eyeliner, changed my outfit, danced to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance (twice), curled my hair AND COACHED YOU ON HOW TO GET TO MY FUCKING APARTMENT. I'm down to blush, lipstick, perfume and throwing the essentials into my clutch with possibly one last outfit change depending on what you're wearing. DEAL WITH IT!
5) We get to your car and I'm forced to wait outside for 10 minutes while you clear out the contents of the passenger's seat.
6) One block into our trek to the Australian restaurant the gas light comes on. We spend the next 20 minutes driving around searching for a Shell gas station because you've been dying to use that Shell gift card your aunt gave you last Christmas.
7) We make it to the Australian Restaurant and it actually looks promising! Who knew Koala was such a popular delicacy?! Upon entering we discover that there's a two-hour wait. You didn't call ahead of time to make reservations.
1) When you ask me out on a date, your next question is almost always: "What would you like to do?" I immediately throw it back into your court: "I don't know. What do you suggest?" Then you say something like, "I don't know. I'm up for anything." Setting a date can also lead to a similar conversation. "When are you free?" "I'm pretty flexible." UGH!!!! Odds are you'll assume that I'm a bougie bitch for suggesting Sullivan's for their jazz trio that does a killer rendition of Mack the Knife. So really, you're not up for anything.
2) You 'could eat' and I'm on a see-food eat-food diet so we settle on going to dinner. Solid choice. Do we really have to go through every ethnicity known to man to decide on a restaurant, becoming progressively more obscure the further we go along? Mexican? Italian? Greek? Pan-Asian? Lithuanian? Australian? WHAT THE HELL DO AUSTRALIANS EVEN EAT?!!?!?!?!?!?!
Australian food it is. I'm excited about trying something new and since this is your first time too, we'll have a shared experience and bond over how amazing or disgusting that Koala dish was.
HOW TO DRIVE THIS TRAIN:
Ask me out to a specific place at a specific time. For example, "I've driven passed this Australian restaurant a hundred times. How about we have dinner there this Friday?" 2 out of 3 times I'll say "Sure, I've always wanted to try Koala," even if I know I'm allergic! And if you're going to force me to make a decision, don't make faces when Mack the Knife comes on. ::ACCESS DENIED::
3) On your way to my place we exchange a series of text messages that go a little something like this:10 MINUTES BEFORE DATE
hey
Hey! What's up?
whats ur address again?
123 Peachtree Lane. You take the expressway to 1, turn left at 2, make a right at 3, and voila! Peachtree Lane.
K on my way
Ok. See you soon! :)
30 MINUTES LATER (20 MINUTES LATE)
hey
Hey! You downstairs?
no still on expressway. were do i get off again?
1
then what
turn left at 2, make right at 3, and voila! Peachtree Lane.
k
15 MINUTES LATER (35 MINUTES LATE)
hey
Where are you?
lost. i went to 4 like you said but didnt see Peachtree
!!!%#@$!!
HOW TO DRIVE THIS TRAIN:
In a world of MapQuest, OnStar, Google Maps, Yahoo Directions, GPS, iPhones, and Blackberries, do not text me for directions.
::ACCESS DENIED:: Here's a novel concept - STOP AT A GAS STATION AND ASK FOR DIRECTIONS! I'm too busy having a crisis over here! (See #4)
::ACCESS DENIED:: Here's a novel concept - STOP AT A GAS STATION AND ASK FOR DIRECTIONS! I'm too busy having a crisis over here! (See #4)
4) You FINALLY get to my place and I'm not ready. You razz me about it. Listen asshole, I showered, shaved, waxed, tweezed, went through EVERY fucking outfit in my closet, self-loathed, changed my outfit, sewed a button, squeezed into a girdle, painted the three toenails that will show through my peep toe heels, changed my outfit, drew on my eyebrows, accidentally poked myself in the eye with eyeliner, changed my outfit, danced to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance (twice), curled my hair AND COACHED YOU ON HOW TO GET TO MY FUCKING APARTMENT. I'm down to blush, lipstick, perfume and throwing the essentials into my clutch with possibly one last outfit change depending on what you're wearing. DEAL WITH IT!
HOW TO DRIVE THIS TRAIN:
Don't razz me about getting ready. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!5) We get to your car and I'm forced to wait outside for 10 minutes while you clear out the contents of the passenger's seat.
6) One block into our trek to the Australian restaurant the gas light comes on. We spend the next 20 minutes driving around searching for a Shell gas station because you've been dying to use that Shell gift card your aunt gave you last Christmas.
HOW TO DRIVE THIS TRAIN:
Clean your car and fill it with gas PRIOR to picking me up. All you have to do to prepare for a date is shower, possibly shave, and pick out something to wear; I think you can afford to spruce up your car before you come get me. Plus, you'll have time to search for a Shell gas station near you since the one half a block from my house is designed to explode should you ever need it. 7) We make it to the Australian Restaurant and it actually looks promising! Who knew Koala was such a popular delicacy?! Upon entering we discover that there's a two-hour wait. You didn't call ahead of time to make reservations.
HOW TO DRIVE THIS TRAIN:
This is remedial dating not even Dating 101. If you suggested a restaurant we've never been to, check it's website for the basics like directions, parking information, and whether or not they take reservations. You can also use this as an opportunity to gauge pricing information. This may be one of the places you save for further down the line once you figure out whether you like me enough to spend $24 on a salad.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
An Observation
People often ask me why I date older men. They tend to assume that because I was raised by a single mother, I somehow developed daddy issues and solely select men that possess fatherly traits. Aside from being tremendously rude, these people are also grossly mistaken. It's not that I'm searching for a father figure at all. Over time I've simply developed a theory... an observation, if you will:
Teens: Ah, that young tender love! Teenage boys will love you unconditionally. Flowers. Chocolates. Mix tapes. While it is true that their love may be driven by the desire to have you touch their peen, you'll be the first person to do so and you'll thus be afforded some decency and respect (if you chose wisely). Plus, they'll want you to do it again. And again. So they'll behave.
Early to Mid-Twenties: Men in their early to mid-twenties just want to screw. Screw relationships. Screw monogamy. Screw condoms. Screw! Screw! Screw! Well, screw you!
Mid to Late-Twenties: This group is a mixed bag. You don’t know what you’re gonna get! Some men refuse to let go of their frat boy days and party all the time. You typically see them at nightclubs or bars (‘cause God knows what they do during the day). They travel in packs and come in all different douchey flavors. Conversely, other men in this group are purely focused on their careers. These men may be serial daters in search of a steady lay (think Justin Timberlake) but the odds of actually getting married are slim (sorry Britney, Cameron, Jessica, etc.).
Early Thirties: This is the gray area. I was going to merge this group with the former, but there is one key difference: thirties are a period of introspection and reflection. Men start thinking of what they've accomplished thus far and what's left to obtain. The thought of legacy and family suddenly sounds appealing. While some men may still think they’re frat boys, as hairlines recede and bellies start to expand, they start to reconsider their lifestyle. Other men are still purely focused on their careers but by now, that woman they’ve held onto during their serial dating phase may be pushing for marriage. This man may choose to either marry said woman or move on to someone else with the intention of getting married. Single men in this group make for great dates. They've got the dating game down pat and are able to drive this train. Plus, they read, ::gasp:: make clever jokes, ::gasps again:: and aren't complete shameless assholes. ::faints::
Mid to Late-Thirties: A man should be securely planted in the career of his choice by now and is hopefully working towards something. Usually he’ll have children by or during this stage. If he's divorced, he's probably realized that marrying that woman he serially dated in his late twenties, while convenient, was a huge mistake and he's trying to start anew. What better way to start anew than with a young, sexy lady that will boost your ego simply because you managed to bag a young, sexy lady? And she's smart? ::gasps:: And she has good taste in music? ::gasps again:: And she likes sports? ::faints::
Teens: Ah, that young tender love! Teenage boys will love you unconditionally. Flowers. Chocolates. Mix tapes. While it is true that their love may be driven by the desire to have you touch their peen, you'll be the first person to do so and you'll thus be afforded some decency and respect (if you chose wisely). Plus, they'll want you to do it again. And again. So they'll behave.
Early to Mid-Twenties: Men in their early to mid-twenties just want to screw. Screw relationships. Screw monogamy. Screw condoms. Screw! Screw! Screw! Well, screw you!
Mid to Late-Twenties: This group is a mixed bag. You don’t know what you’re gonna get! Some men refuse to let go of their frat boy days and party all the time. You typically see them at nightclubs or bars (‘cause God knows what they do during the day). They travel in packs and come in all different douchey flavors. Conversely, other men in this group are purely focused on their careers. These men may be serial daters in search of a steady lay (think Justin Timberlake) but the odds of actually getting married are slim (sorry Britney, Cameron, Jessica, etc.).
Early Thirties: This is the gray area. I was going to merge this group with the former, but there is one key difference: thirties are a period of introspection and reflection. Men start thinking of what they've accomplished thus far and what's left to obtain. The thought of legacy and family suddenly sounds appealing. While some men may still think they’re frat boys, as hairlines recede and bellies start to expand, they start to reconsider their lifestyle. Other men are still purely focused on their careers but by now, that woman they’ve held onto during their serial dating phase may be pushing for marriage. This man may choose to either marry said woman or move on to someone else with the intention of getting married. Single men in this group make for great dates. They've got the dating game down pat and are able to drive this train. Plus, they read, ::gasp:: make clever jokes, ::gasps again:: and aren't complete shameless assholes. ::faints::
Mid to Late-Thirties: A man should be securely planted in the career of his choice by now and is hopefully working towards something. Usually he’ll have children by or during this stage. If he's divorced, he's probably realized that marrying that woman he serially dated in his late twenties, while convenient, was a huge mistake and he's trying to start anew. What better way to start anew than with a young, sexy lady that will boost your ego simply because you managed to bag a young, sexy lady? And she's smart? ::gasps:: And she has good taste in music? ::gasps again:: And she likes sports? ::faints::
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Apple Incident
On our way back from the movies, we drove down McCormick Boulevard, a long dark road next to a park decorated with massive art structures. The road was eerily desolate for a Saturday night in late August. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and I allowed myself to close my eyes and take in the comfortable silence. A sudden loud bang startled me and I shrieked as the car swerved in and out of both lanes. “Someone hit me in the face with an apple,” he cried as he pulled over to the side of the road. He frantically flipped the lights on and wiped juicy residue off his face. “Are you okay,” I panted. He did not respond. His face stiffened and he turned a chalky brown. My eyes darted. There, lying on the stick shift were the remains of the largest, nastiest insect I had EVER seen. I referred to my date as Beetle Juice for the rest of the night.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
LET'S GO ON AN ADVENTURE!
Since The Magician wasn't interested in being in a relationship, I settled on remaining friends. He was as sweet as he was intoxicating, and it was still absolutely impossible to resist him. Our chemistry was undeniable and that magnificent summer night we shared heightened the sexual tension between us.
I don't remember the series of events that led to our little arrangement, but The Magician and I began to see each other casually. Dirty Martinis at Devons. A smoke at a cigar shop in River North. Bandera. Myopic Books. Nick's Beer Garden. The Magician was more than just sex, he was an experience.
I will never forget the time I visited The Magician at his new apartment. I brought along a bottle of wine and we toasted to his new place. Channeling my best Rita Hayworth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his tender lips. I felt wanton and brave. Aggressive. Feminine. Beautiful. Loved. Special. The Magician took me in his arms as my legs buckled beneath me.
When I moved into Wicker Park, The Magician was the first person with whom I explored the neighborhood. We ventured into Nick's Beer Garden and enjoyed some live jazz. We befriended the waitress and like me, she fell for The Magician's doting affections. We ended the night back at my place and were lulled to sleep by Billie's mournful blues.
My last encounter with The Magician took place last year. "Let's go on an adventure," he exclaimed. He picked me up and we drove to Chinatown. It was as if The Magician had commissioned the city to shut down the neighborhood just for us. The stores were dark and the streets were quiet. We walked hand in hand down the main drag, illuminated by neon signs and city lights. We found a quaint little restaurant off the main strip and had a marvelous dinner.
The Magician and I gradually fell out of touch with one another. Once again, I am scarce on the details that led to the dissolution of our arrangement. Whenever I needed him most, The Magician appeared out of thin air and brought along a little razzle dazzle. For that, I am eternally grateful. I don't know if I'll see The Magician again. All I know is that he left the magical imprints of many wonderful adventures in my mind and on my soul.
I don't remember the series of events that led to our little arrangement, but The Magician and I began to see each other casually. Dirty Martinis at Devons. A smoke at a cigar shop in River North. Bandera. Myopic Books. Nick's Beer Garden. The Magician was more than just sex, he was an experience.
I will never forget the time I visited The Magician at his new apartment. I brought along a bottle of wine and we toasted to his new place. Channeling my best Rita Hayworth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his tender lips. I felt wanton and brave. Aggressive. Feminine. Beautiful. Loved. Special. The Magician took me in his arms as my legs buckled beneath me.
When I moved into Wicker Park, The Magician was the first person with whom I explored the neighborhood. We ventured into Nick's Beer Garden and enjoyed some live jazz. We befriended the waitress and like me, she fell for The Magician's doting affections. We ended the night back at my place and were lulled to sleep by Billie's mournful blues.
My last encounter with The Magician took place last year. "Let's go on an adventure," he exclaimed. He picked me up and we drove to Chinatown. It was as if The Magician had commissioned the city to shut down the neighborhood just for us. The stores were dark and the streets were quiet. We walked hand in hand down the main drag, illuminated by neon signs and city lights. We found a quaint little restaurant off the main strip and had a marvelous dinner.
The Magician and I gradually fell out of touch with one another. Once again, I am scarce on the details that led to the dissolution of our arrangement. Whenever I needed him most, The Magician appeared out of thin air and brought along a little razzle dazzle. For that, I am eternally grateful. I don't know if I'll see The Magician again. All I know is that he left the magical imprints of many wonderful adventures in my mind and on my soul.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Toxicity
Although I was fulfilled emotionally, the sex with Mr. Ed continued to be atrocious, disgusting, terrifying bad. I asked guy friends for advice, consulted sex books, and attempted to get Mr. Ed to talk about his problem. It was in one of our discussions that I learned a groundbreaking truth: While Mr. Ed had sworn that he wanted an independent woman at the start of the relationship, it was my independence itself that emasculated him, causing the dysfunction in the bedroom.
Looking back, I should have ended our relationship right then and there. I was absolutely horrified at the notion of being someone's housewife and even more petrified at the thought of settling on a life that was not at all what I wanted. But how do you tell someone that they're not "The One?" That while they didn't do anything in particular to merit it, you want to end the relationship? How do you tell someone that you think you deserve more than what they are able to offer?
I felt that Mr. Ed would never understand me wanting to end things over our massive ideological differences. In his mind, differing ideologies was a pretext meant solely to conceal the actual reason for my unhappiness - his inability to please me sexually. But in reality, his penis was just one of many shortcomings.
While we both grew up in rough neighborhoods, Mr. Ed was never able to get out of the ghetto mentally and that, to me, was the biggest source of contention. He ran back to the west side every chance he got, having a couple run-ins with the cops along the way. We were never able to solve disagreements by having rational discussions but rather by raising our voices and hurling disrespectful obscenities and painful insults at one another.
Mr. Ed also didn't understand my sense of humor. A large number of our arguments were generated from misinterpreted sarcasm. I found myself having to dumb things down for him thus reinforcing his feelings of being emasculated.
The more I spent time with him, the more I disengaged from the relationship. Mr. Ed of course, was quite the opposite; the more we saw each other, the more he talked about a life together. Not being able to find a way out myself, I did the next best thing - I tried to make Mr. Ed break up with me. I turned into a cold-hearted bitch, mercilessly kicking him out of my apartment or not talking to him for months at a time. I told Mr. Ed I had been honest about not wanting a serious relationship and that if he chose to stick around, that was his problem. The straw that broke the camel's back was fairly minor, but Mr. Ed had finally had enough and he broke up with me.
Looking back, I should have ended our relationship right then and there. I was absolutely horrified at the notion of being someone's housewife and even more petrified at the thought of settling on a life that was not at all what I wanted. But how do you tell someone that they're not "The One?" That while they didn't do anything in particular to merit it, you want to end the relationship? How do you tell someone that you think you deserve more than what they are able to offer?
I felt that Mr. Ed would never understand me wanting to end things over our massive ideological differences. In his mind, differing ideologies was a pretext meant solely to conceal the actual reason for my unhappiness - his inability to please me sexually. But in reality, his penis was just one of many shortcomings.
While we both grew up in rough neighborhoods, Mr. Ed was never able to get out of the ghetto mentally and that, to me, was the biggest source of contention. He ran back to the west side every chance he got, having a couple run-ins with the cops along the way. We were never able to solve disagreements by having rational discussions but rather by raising our voices and hurling disrespectful obscenities and painful insults at one another.
Mr. Ed also didn't understand my sense of humor. A large number of our arguments were generated from misinterpreted sarcasm. I found myself having to dumb things down for him thus reinforcing his feelings of being emasculated.
The more I spent time with him, the more I disengaged from the relationship. Mr. Ed of course, was quite the opposite; the more we saw each other, the more he talked about a life together. Not being able to find a way out myself, I did the next best thing - I tried to make Mr. Ed break up with me. I turned into a cold-hearted bitch, mercilessly kicking him out of my apartment or not talking to him for months at a time. I told Mr. Ed I had been honest about not wanting a serious relationship and that if he chose to stick around, that was his problem. The straw that broke the camel's back was fairly minor, but Mr. Ed had finally had enough and he broke up with me.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Easy To Love
We made our way over to the bedroom and it was there that I awoke the next morning, wrapped in the arms of my lover. When he got up, he brought back tea and we spent the next few hours in bed enjoying each other's company.
The Magician was my ideal man - educated, ambitious, considerate, a classic gentleman from the 40's transplanted into this era specifically for me.
It was so easy to love him,
so easy to envision a future together...
so easy for him to turn me down.
The Magician was my ideal man - educated, ambitious, considerate, a classic gentleman from the 40's transplanted into this era specifically for me.
It was so easy to love him,
so easy to envision a future together...
so easy for him to turn me down.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Those Summer Nights
I drove myself close to insane reliving the final moments of our
date - the lingering hug, the smell of his skin, the tender good-bye. Our date was perfect! Why didn't he kiss me?!?!
The Magician's restraint had absolved me of my own and now this liberated temptress would show him a little magic herself. When he called to schedule a second date, I suggestedwe have ravenous sex all over his apartment I cook him a nice Puerto Rican dinner at his place and he agreed without hesitation. ::ACCESS GRANTED::
The Magician lived on the first floor of a classic graystone in Palmer Square. The apartment itself was a vintage gentleman's bachelor pad; dark woods, imported leathers, and dark fabrics dominated the space.
We caught up over cocktails in the living room. The Magician opened the windows, allowing the breeze to bring in all the sweet scents of summer. We ate dinner by candlelight while Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, and Frank Sinatra serenaded us. After dinner, we cuddled on the couch under a throw blanket, watching the trees sway romantically in the park across the street. Once again, I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
I turned to face The Magician. His twinkling eyes met mine. I leaned in and gave him a soft, sweet kiss. It was infinitely better than anything I had ever imagined. We made love on the couch with the sweet summer breeze blowing in through the stained glass windows and Billie's melancholic song ringing in the distance.
date - the lingering hug, the smell of his skin, the tender good-bye. Our date was perfect! Why didn't he kiss me?!?!
The Magician's restraint had absolved me of my own and now this liberated temptress would show him a little magic herself. When he called to schedule a second date, I suggested
The Magician lived on the first floor of a classic graystone in Palmer Square. The apartment itself was a vintage gentleman's bachelor pad; dark woods, imported leathers, and dark fabrics dominated the space.
We caught up over cocktails in the living room. The Magician opened the windows, allowing the breeze to bring in all the sweet scents of summer. We ate dinner by candlelight while Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, and Frank Sinatra serenaded us. After dinner, we cuddled on the couch under a throw blanket, watching the trees sway romantically in the park across the street. Once again, I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
I turned to face The Magician. His twinkling eyes met mine. I leaned in and gave him a soft, sweet kiss. It was infinitely better than anything I had ever imagined. We made love on the couch with the sweet summer breeze blowing in through the stained glass windows and Billie's melancholic song ringing in the distance.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Low-Esteemed Comic
A former classmate from Second City invited me to a special show commemorating his second anniversary as a stand-up comedian. A low-key night at a comedy club sounded like the perfect segue back into dating after the Skinny Seth Rogen catastrophe.
I decided to invite The Comedian, who had recently been checking in on me. I called him up and our conversation reminded me of all the things I loved about him. He apologized for his behavior on our second date, claiming that nerves got the best of him (been there) and added that he felt like things weren’t over between us.
As soon as we hung up however, The Comedian reminded me once again of the reasons why we were no longer dating. He tried to meet up with me sooner, suggesting we have dinner onWednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday before the show. “I’m falling for you,” he texted the week leading up to our date. “I can’t wait to make you my girlfriend.” He even went as far as suggesting we get drinks after the show and I sleep over his place.
On Saturday, The Comedian sent me a text message inviting me to go barhopping with him and his friend who had just flown into town from Texas. I asked if our date was still on and The Comedian passively noted that he hadn’t seen his friend in forever and that he wanted to hang out with him before he flew back home...
TIME OUT!!!!
How are you going to spend the week prior to the show building me up, bragging about what a fun time we're going to have and then pull this kind of shit? Did you honestly expect me to believe that you had NO idea your best friend was flying into town... from Texas??? You waited until the last possible minute not only to cancel, but also to suggest I play third wheel on your guy’s night out?!?! I don't think so!
To any guys reading this entry thinking that I may be blowing things out of proportion, put yourself in my place. If you asked a girl out on a date and she spent the week leading up to it telling you she couldn't wait to see you, and then invited you to go watch Dear John with her best friend who just happened to fly into town the weekend of your date, you'd be pissed. You'd feel disrespected, like you were Plan B in case things with the bff didn't pan out.
Well I'm nobody's Plan B and there's no faster way to earn my wrath than to treat me like I'm dispensable. Later that night, when The Comedian tried to check in, I told him to lose my number.
::CONFIDENCE REGAINED::
I decided to invite The Comedian, who had recently been checking in on me. I called him up and our conversation reminded me of all the things I loved about him. He apologized for his behavior on our second date, claiming that nerves got the best of him (been there) and added that he felt like things weren’t over between us.
As soon as we hung up however, The Comedian reminded me once again of the reasons why we were no longer dating. He tried to meet up with me sooner, suggesting we have dinner on
On Saturday, The Comedian sent me a text message inviting me to go barhopping with him and his friend who had just flown into town from Texas. I asked if our date was still on and The Comedian passively noted that he hadn’t seen his friend in forever and that he wanted to hang out with him before he flew back home...
TIME OUT!!!!
How are you going to spend the week prior to the show building me up, bragging about what a fun time we're going to have and then pull this kind of shit? Did you honestly expect me to believe that you had NO idea your best friend was flying into town... from Texas??? You waited until the last possible minute not only to cancel, but also to suggest I play third wheel on your guy’s night out?!?! I don't think so!
To any guys reading this entry thinking that I may be blowing things out of proportion, put yourself in my place. If you asked a girl out on a date and she spent the week leading up to it telling you she couldn't wait to see you, and then invited you to go watch Dear John with her best friend who just happened to fly into town the weekend of your date, you'd be pissed. You'd feel disrespected, like you were Plan B in case things with the bff didn't pan out.
Well I'm nobody's Plan B and there's no faster way to earn my wrath than to treat me like I'm dispensable. Later that night, when The Comedian tried to check in, I told him to lose my number.
::CONFIDENCE REGAINED::
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Return of the MegaDouche!
Our good friend Brad recently sent me another message via Facebook:
March 29, 2010 at 3:01pm -
“hey im sorry for the way i acted towards you i did like you an it sucked that you told me you didnt want to see me anymore is there anyway we can start over”
::rolls eyes::
::Delete::
March 29, 2010 at 3:01pm -
“hey im sorry for the way i acted towards you i did like you an it sucked that you told me you didnt want to see me anymore is there anyway we can start over”
::rolls eyes::
::Delete::
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Tales of Desperado
Not all dating scenarios turn out as we would have liked. In fact, however painful, cringe worthy, or shameful it may be to admit, sometimes dating disasters are purely our OWN fault...
The morning after drunk dialing Skinny Seth Rogen, thehangover guilt was so severe that my stomach convulsed at the mere thought of him. I was all too familiar with the rules of the dating game and knew that the slightest misstep could lead to instant disqualification. Drunk dialing was definitely more than a misstep;
It was a disaster. I was devastated.
I didn't expect to hear from Skinny Seth ever again so when he texted Sunday afternoon, I was absolutely floored. He invited me to Tavern on one condition - no suits, no baggage. ::MELTS:: Just like that, it was back OONNN!
While the 'no baggage' request was all too easy to oblige, the 'no suits' portion would be a challenge. I had sworn by Barney Stinson's mantra for so long that I had to dig in my closet for something casual. I settled on wearing the only pair of jeans in my closet, but dressed them up with some killer boots and a black shawl. "That's casual.... ish," I said to myself.
I knew Skinny Seth was a stickler for punctuality, so I showed up to Tavern right on time. He was nowhere in sight. I sulked over to our table and sat down, petrified at having arrived first. He walked in a few seconds later looking as delectable as ever. Instantly forgiven.
Skinny Seth was as relaxed and easygoing as the first time we met. I on the other hand... Well, I don't really know what the hell I was.
My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, and there were butterflies reenacting a scene out of WWII in my stomach. I was uncharacteristically quiet, unable to do anything other than sip my drink and smile. He threw me a couple softballs: "What are your hobbies? What kind of music do you like?" But it was no use. I had lost all composure. I got so abominably drunk that I was no longer able to function.
I could see the date going straight to the shitter but I couldn't salvage it. I resorted to sex as a last desperate attempt to reel him in. Cue the horror music! We migrated back to his place to work on his beloved 2000 piece puzzle and that's where I hammered the final nail into the coffin. Something about Latin women being the best lovers... ::TRAGIC::
Skinny Seth drove me home sometime afterwards. When he pulled up to my apartment building, I kneeled on the passenger's seat, arms spread wide open, and asked for a hug. Some part of my inebriated subconscious must have known that it would be the last time I'd hug him because I held onto Skinny Seth for a long, long time.
The morning after drunk dialing Skinny Seth Rogen, the
It was a disaster. I was devastated.
I didn't expect to hear from Skinny Seth ever again so when he texted Sunday afternoon, I was absolutely floored. He invited me to Tavern on one condition - no suits, no baggage. ::MELTS:: Just like that, it was back OONNN!
While the 'no baggage' request was all too easy to oblige, the 'no suits' portion would be a challenge. I had sworn by Barney Stinson's mantra for so long that I had to dig in my closet for something casual. I settled on wearing the only pair of jeans in my closet, but dressed them up with some killer boots and a black shawl. "That's casual.... ish," I said to myself.
I knew Skinny Seth was a stickler for punctuality, so I showed up to Tavern right on time. He was nowhere in sight. I sulked over to our table and sat down, petrified at having arrived first. He walked in a few seconds later looking as delectable as ever. Instantly forgiven.
Skinny Seth was as relaxed and easygoing as the first time we met. I on the other hand... Well, I don't really know what the hell I was.
My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, and there were butterflies reenacting a scene out of WWII in my stomach. I was uncharacteristically quiet, unable to do anything other than sip my drink and smile. He threw me a couple softballs: "What are your hobbies? What kind of music do you like?" But it was no use. I had lost all composure. I got so abominably drunk that I was no longer able to function.
I could see the date going straight to the shitter but I couldn't salvage it. I resorted to sex as a last desperate attempt to reel him in. Cue the horror music! We migrated back to his place to work on his beloved 2000 piece puzzle and that's where I hammered the final nail into the coffin. Something about Latin women being the best lovers... ::TRAGIC::
Skinny Seth drove me home sometime afterwards. When he pulled up to my apartment building, I kneeled on the passenger's seat, arms spread wide open, and asked for a hug. Some part of my inebriated subconscious must have known that it would be the last time I'd hug him because I held onto Skinny Seth for a long, long time.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Drunk Dial
Skinny Seth Rogen had volleyed the ball in my direction and now it was my turn to send it back his way. Would my response lead to a Hester-styled touch down punt return? Or to a pathetic Grossman nerve-induced fumble? "I'm glad I made it out too. You were funny and bubbly, and the suit only added to your charm. If you'd like to hang out again, give me a call: (xxx) xxx - xxxx." Breezy. Succinct. Succesfully volleyed back. Just as I was set to disappear from Facebook for the next week, forcing Skinny Seth to call me, he replied. "My number is in my facebook info. :o)"
::SPIKE::
TIME OUT!!!!
Cut me some fucking slack here! I threw the ball in your court! Your response was totally an illegal play! Where the fuck is a ref when you need one?!?!
I didn't reply. I wanted him to pursue me and any sort of answer to his message was simply not going to fall in line with that goal.
Fast forward to the middle of the week. It was St. Patrick's Day and I had done a terrible job of remaining off of Facebook. It's like crack, especially when you recently friended a hottie you really like. I hadn't heard from Skinny Seth yet but he regularly updated his profile so I got my fix that way instead of calling. And boy did I want to call! But Icouldn't wouldn't. Years of being the aggressor hadn't gotten me anywhere. This was the first time in three years that I had met someone I could really see myself being with and I was hell-bent on not messing this one up.
(II) PAUSE
For the sake of the story, it's important to note that a couple months prior to St. Patty's Day I had drastically cut back on alcohol.
(>) UNPAUSE
Candice and I hit up Tavern after work. A few green beers and an unfortunate shot of Don Julio later, I was trashed. Left to my own devices, what do you think I did? Cue the horror music! I called Skinny Seth. I didn't remember our conversation the next morning aside from something about luggage... or was it baggage?
::TRAGIC::
::SPIKE::
TIME OUT!!!!
Cut me some fucking slack here! I threw the ball in your court! Your response was totally an illegal play! Where the fuck is a ref when you need one?!?!
I didn't reply. I wanted him to pursue me and any sort of answer to his message was simply not going to fall in line with that goal.
Fast forward to the middle of the week. It was St. Patrick's Day and I had done a terrible job of remaining off of Facebook. It's like crack, especially when you recently friended a hottie you really like. I hadn't heard from Skinny Seth yet but he regularly updated his profile so I got my fix that way instead of calling. And boy did I want to call! But I
(II) PAUSE
For the sake of the story, it's important to note that a couple months prior to St. Patty's Day I had drastically cut back on alcohol.
(>) UNPAUSE
Candice and I hit up Tavern after work. A few green beers and an unfortunate shot of Don Julio later, I was trashed. Left to my own devices, what do you think I did? Cue the horror music! I called Skinny Seth. I didn't remember our conversation the next morning aside from something about luggage... or was it baggage?
::TRAGIC::
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Suit Up! The Story of Skinny Seth Rogen
In the three years we had worked together, my best friend Candice and I had hit up virtually every hotspot and eatery in the River North area. There simply wasn't a lunch special, discounted happy hour, or half-priced margarita pitcher we weren't aware of. So the reason for never venturing into the Weber Grill just a mere block away from the office is way beyond me. As we settled into our seats, still reveling in the excitement of a "new" place, Skinny Seth sauntered over and introduced himself. My jaw instantly hit the floor. My eyes popped out of their sockets, pupils pink and heart-shaped. My face instantly flushed a vibrant scarlet and I wondered if Skinny Seth could hear my heart pounding inside my chest as he took our order.
I played it cool in my little leopard print wrap dress and made it a point to engage Skinny Seth at every opportunity. He was very sweet and we bonded over our favorite TV show. I mentioned that he looked like he belonged in Wicker Park (Chicago's art district) and he told me he played in a band. ::I SO called it!:: He also casually dropped that he was a regular at Wicker Park Tavern, visiting every Sunday after his shift was over, and suggested Candice and I make an appearance that upcoming weekend. ::ACCESS GRANTED::
It was ON like Donkey Kong! Sunday night, I suited up. I wore a wine-colored blouse, pencil skirt, and mary jane heels - a 40's femme fatale. I hung out with my friend Fern at Tavern until about 11:30pm. No sign of Skinny Seth. When Fern retired for the night, I decided to cab it over to The Joynt, not wanting to spoil an outfit on a no-show. Well, The Joynt also turned out to be a huge bust! It was hosting some private event and I simply refused to pay a cover for a place that's typically free, even if it was my Cheers. Fuck that.
Relentlessly unwilling to let the night end there, I called my faithful and unwavering Mr. Ed. He had just gotten off of work and as always, picked up the phone almost instantly. Since River North was pretty much dead, he suggested we go back to Wicker Park and hit up - wait for it - Tavern. Cue the horror music! Tell that bitch to run for it!
As soon as I walked into Tavern, there he was. Skinny Seth sat a few tables away from the entrance, casually drinking a beer and wearing a suit. The mother fucker SUITED UP! I immediately excused myself and went to the bathroom tocrawl into fetal position and die freshen up. When I came back, he was gone. ::Phew!:: I told Mr. Ed that we should probably get going. "We just got here," he said. "Plus, that guy told me to watch his stuff while he went to the bathroom." No. No, no, no, no, no!
When Skinny Seth returned, he thanked Mr. Ed, flashed a smile in my direction and politely asked if he could join our table. Cue the horror music again! Tell that crazy bitch not to take the bait! I nodded and my stomach did a back flip as he took a seat.
There we were, in the most awkward and potentially devastating situation EVER. Why didn't you tell the bitch to run for it?! Oh, right. Though I prepared for the worst, things actually didn't explode in my face like I thought they would. Mr. Ed and I were justexes friends after all, and Skinny Seth was just a random guy I had instantly fallen for met earlier in the week. I tried to distribute my attention equally between both gentlemen and above all, avoided any implicating pronouns.
Skinny Seth was phenomenal. He was dorky yet smooth (ah, the white man's charm), and very easygoing. In later conversations, even Mr. Ed had to admit that Skinny Seth was a likable guy. He was truly working the crowd, crackingus Mr. Ed and me up while also trying to figure us Mr. Ed and me out.
The more the scene unfolded, the more I hated myself for involving Mr. Ed in this mess. He had inadvertently become the odd man out. Skinny Seth and I engaged him in our conversation to make him feel included, but he was clearly not in step with us. Skinny Seth definitely took notice. He boldly asked Mr. Ed to take a picture of us. You should have seen Mr. Ed's face! The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mr. Ed's feelings so I asked Skinny Seth to return the favor and take a photo of us two as well. That's when Liz walked in.
(II) PAUSE
When I first met Skinny Seth, he was a bit down. Upon further investigation (and a little prodding) he confessed that he had a thing for his co-worker Liz. Now, I'm a smart girl. I quickly realized what I was working with: Boy likes Girl. Girl doesn't like Boy. Girl stomps on Boy's heart. Girl strings Boy along until further notice. Sound familiar?
(>) UNPAUSE
Liz was everything Skinny Seth was not (and I'm not just saying that because I liked him). She was neither warm nor bubbly. She made no effort to become a part of the conversation. She simply sat in a corner and held onto her drink for dear life. Truthfully, I had no problem with Liz. Had the circumstances been different, we probably would have knocked back a few brews and I would have honored the Sisterhood. Her stank ass attitude however, instantly let me know that this would not be one of those times, and that it was indeed ON.
Skinny Seth and I continued to hit it off, while both hangers-on fell by the wayside. Liz eventually got up, grabbed her coat and stomped over to the bar. Skinny Seth chased after her and an argument ensued. Her little tantrum worked because they left shortly afterwards without saying good-bye. ::ADVANTAGE LIZ::
The next day, Skinny Seth posted the picture of us (taken by Mr. Ed) on Facebook along with the following message on my profile, "I'm so glad you made it out! We should hang out again! :oP"
::ADVANTAGE TECHNOHEART::
I played it cool in my little leopard print wrap dress and made it a point to engage Skinny Seth at every opportunity. He was very sweet and we bonded over our favorite TV show. I mentioned that he looked like he belonged in Wicker Park (Chicago's art district) and he told me he played in a band. ::I SO called it!:: He also casually dropped that he was a regular at Wicker Park Tavern, visiting every Sunday after his shift was over, and suggested Candice and I make an appearance that upcoming weekend. ::ACCESS GRANTED::
It was ON like Donkey Kong! Sunday night, I suited up. I wore a wine-colored blouse, pencil skirt, and mary jane heels - a 40's femme fatale. I hung out with my friend Fern at Tavern until about 11:30pm. No sign of Skinny Seth. When Fern retired for the night, I decided to cab it over to The Joynt, not wanting to spoil an outfit on a no-show. Well, The Joynt also turned out to be a huge bust! It was hosting some private event and I simply refused to pay a cover for a place that's typically free, even if it was my Cheers. Fuck that.
Relentlessly unwilling to let the night end there, I called my faithful and unwavering Mr. Ed. He had just gotten off of work and as always, picked up the phone almost instantly. Since River North was pretty much dead, he suggested we go back to Wicker Park and hit up - wait for it - Tavern. Cue the horror music! Tell that bitch to run for it!
As soon as I walked into Tavern, there he was. Skinny Seth sat a few tables away from the entrance, casually drinking a beer and wearing a suit. The mother fucker SUITED UP! I immediately excused myself and went to the bathroom to
When Skinny Seth returned, he thanked Mr. Ed, flashed a smile in my direction and politely asked if he could join our table. Cue the horror music again! Tell that crazy bitch not to take the bait! I nodded and my stomach did a back flip as he took a seat.
There we were, in the most awkward and potentially devastating situation EVER. Why didn't you tell the bitch to run for it?! Oh, right. Though I prepared for the worst, things actually didn't explode in my face like I thought they would. Mr. Ed and I were just
Skinny Seth was phenomenal. He was dorky yet smooth (ah, the white man's charm), and very easygoing. In later conversations, even Mr. Ed had to admit that Skinny Seth was a likable guy. He was truly working the crowd, cracking
The more the scene unfolded, the more I hated myself for involving Mr. Ed in this mess. He had inadvertently become the odd man out. Skinny Seth and I engaged him in our conversation to make him feel included, but he was clearly not in step with us. Skinny Seth definitely took notice. He boldly asked Mr. Ed to take a picture of us. You should have seen Mr. Ed's face! The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mr. Ed's feelings so I asked Skinny Seth to return the favor and take a photo of us two as well. That's when Liz walked in.
(II) PAUSE
When I first met Skinny Seth, he was a bit down. Upon further investigation (and a little prodding) he confessed that he had a thing for his co-worker Liz. Now, I'm a smart girl. I quickly realized what I was working with: Boy likes Girl. Girl doesn't like Boy. Girl stomps on Boy's heart. Girl strings Boy along until further notice. Sound familiar?
(>) UNPAUSE
Liz was everything Skinny Seth was not (and I'm not just saying that because I liked him). She was neither warm nor bubbly. She made no effort to become a part of the conversation. She simply sat in a corner and held onto her drink for dear life. Truthfully, I had no problem with Liz. Had the circumstances been different, we probably would have knocked back a few brews and I would have honored the Sisterhood. Her stank ass attitude however, instantly let me know that this would not be one of those times, and that it was indeed ON.
Skinny Seth and I continued to hit it off, while both hangers-on fell by the wayside. Liz eventually got up, grabbed her coat and stomped over to the bar. Skinny Seth chased after her and an argument ensued. Her little tantrum worked because they left shortly afterwards without saying good-bye. ::ADVANTAGE LIZ::
The next day, Skinny Seth posted the picture of us (taken by Mr. Ed) on Facebook along with the following message on my profile, "I'm so glad you made it out! We should hang out again! :oP"
::ADVANTAGE TECHNOHEART::
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
My Regards, Sir Douchington
Here’s a little message I received from our friend Brad via Facebook:
March 1, 2010 at 3:28pm -
“hey im sorry for the way things ended can we start over how have you been i been thinking about you”
I bet you have.
::Delete::
March 6, 2010 at 12:51pm -
“you cant answe me back at least”
Not that I can’t. More like I won’t. But I send you my best regards, douche!
March 1, 2010 at 3:28pm -
“hey im sorry for the way things ended can we start over how have you been i been thinking about you”
I bet you have.
::Delete::
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another one followed a few days later:
Another one followed a few days later:
March 6, 2010 at 12:51pm -
“you cant answe me back at least”
Not that I can’t. More like I won’t. But I send you my best regards, douche!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Frequent Text Messaging, Persistent Douchebaggery
Billie Holiday and a dimly lit apartment set the mood that evening. When Brad showed up, I greeted him in a leopard print mini-dress that sensually fell off of my shoulders every so often revealing red bra straps.
We pounced on each other straightaway. Brad pulled my hair and burried his face into my exposed neck, biting, nibbling, and licking a path down to my chest. His searing kisses penetrated my skin, reviving every neglected sensor in my body. Mmmmmmm... This was gearing up to bemagical. epic. legendary.
Brad orgasmed moments after initiating intercourse. In his defense, he did warn me that he was rusty ahead of time. But while I completely understood that, I also couldn't help but be disappointed. He could havefingered me, gone down on me, used a vibrator done other things to please me instead of taking a nap. Tisk, tisk selfish lover! Discovering a Trojan Climax Control condom wrapper in my waste basket after he left only made me feel worse.
Truth is, I really liked this guy and if my time with Mr. Ed taught me anything, it was to be more considerate of a male's penile sensitivities. So I vowed to work with what I had and when Brad asked if we could see each other again the next day, I accepted. Secretly, I was also happy that Brad wanted to see me because this would mean he wouldn't be attending some gathering this blond chick invited him to on Facebook.
Brad and I were both busy during the day so we didn'ttalk text much. Half an hour before our date however, Brad dropped a major bombshell (via text of course). "I don't think this is going to work out." "The date or at all?" "At all. Sorry." ::ADVANTAGE BLOND CHICK::
I immediately called my best friend Candice and we went out to The Joynt that night to blow off some steam. A collection of vodka cranberries later, Brad started blowing up my phone. "I made a mistake. Can we start over," he wrote. "I freaked out because I like you so much. Will you give me another chance?" Guess the blond didn't put out, huh douche?!
I was done with the firefighter, despite having one last romp sometime later. I am the prize, not the consolation. Brad's subsequent behavior confirmed that I had made the right decision. He texted me some weeks later with the same recycled sob story, "I'm really sorry I hurt you. Can we start over?" When I declined, he called me a "hairy fat slob." I've never laughed harder in my life! Folks, I'm a healthy size, a self-professed clean freak, and my grooming habits are equally as compulsive. Frankly, I am none of those things. While I should have taken the high road and left it alone, I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to put douchebags in their place:
We pounced on each other straightaway. Brad pulled my hair and burried his face into my exposed neck, biting, nibbling, and licking a path down to my chest. His searing kisses penetrated my skin, reviving every neglected sensor in my body. Mmmmmmm... This was gearing up to be
SHORTLIVED?!?!
Brad orgasmed moments after initiating intercourse. In his defense, he did warn me that he was rusty ahead of time. But while I completely understood that, I also couldn't help but be disappointed. He could have
Truth is, I really liked this guy and if my time with Mr. Ed taught me anything, it was to be more considerate of a male's penile sensitivities. So I vowed to work with what I had and when Brad asked if we could see each other again the next day, I accepted. Secretly, I was also happy that Brad wanted to see me because this would mean he wouldn't be attending some gathering this blond chick invited him to on Facebook.
Brad and I were both busy during the day so we didn't
I immediately called my best friend Candice and we went out to The Joynt that night to blow off some steam. A collection of vodka cranberries later, Brad started blowing up my phone. "I made a mistake. Can we start over," he wrote. "I freaked out because I like you so much. Will you give me another chance?" Guess the blond didn't put out, huh douche?!
I was done with the firefighter, despite having one last romp sometime later. I am the prize, not the consolation. Brad's subsequent behavior confirmed that I had made the right decision. He texted me some weeks later with the same recycled sob story, "I'm really sorry I hurt you. Can we start over?" When I declined, he called me a "hairy fat slob." I've never laughed harder in my life! Folks, I'm a healthy size, a self-professed clean freak, and my grooming habits are equally as compulsive. Frankly, I am none of those things. While I should have taken the high road and left it alone, I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to put douchebags in their place:
"Well, don't forget that this 'hairy fat slob' made that tiny dick cum in less than 10 minutes... What a joke!"
Monday, April 19, 2010
Internet Dating: My Encounter with a Firefighter
Most women my age arrive at a point in their lives where they either venture into the perilous waters of internet dating or STRONGLY consider it. Like myself, these women are smart, successful, and unlucky in love. They immerse themselves into their careers and are often too busy with work and other responsibilities to go out to appropriate venues (i.e. not the club) and meet their prince.
One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about online dating and the quacks we women encounter on such sites. Her entry reminded me of my own experiences with an online dating service and a guy I met...
Sometime after The Comedian, I decided to give online dating a try. At the time, I was overwhelmingly consumed by work. I thought it would be nice to meet someone who, like me, had a demanding schedule but also desired a long-term relationship. I chose a dating service that pre-selected my matches based on shared interests. This seemed more legitimate than allowing any random stranger to send me a message because I wasfuckable pretty. I also believed that the extensive questionnaire you were required to fill out prior to registering would deter the lazies and crazies from joining.
One month into my subscription and I hadn't met anyone worth my while. It seemed as though the lazies got in anyway, profiles half-completed. Their shitty answers were apparently enough to deem us worthy matches. While I did manage to correspond with a few nice guys, nothing serious ever materialized. Just as I started to lose hope and reconsider my membership, I met a hunk named Brad. Brad was 24, a firefighter, and like me, very close to his family.
Brad and I corresponded several times and eventually met up for dinner. Despite a few lulls and extended silences, the date went pretty well. Brad was a bit shy but remained engaged throughout the entire date. He was kind, respectful, and to my surprise, not a socially inept internet creep. His pictures did him no justice. Brad was very handsome and his bodybegged me to fuck it was lean and muscular. At the end of the date he hugged me good-bye and texted me when he was safely tucked into bed.
Now folks, I'm a pretty aggressive person. When I want something, I go after it. I've played the role of the Debutante before, and it's just notfun me. Brad had pushed all the right buttons on our first date, and although I still wanted a long-term relationship, I also wanted him. Naked. All over my apartment.
An innocent text message I sent him about wanting a kiss soon led to the revelation of otherwet dreams desires. Subsequent saucy text messages, racy pictures, and I.O.U's provided the itinerary for date number two.
One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about online dating and the quacks we women encounter on such sites. Her entry reminded me of my own experiences with an online dating service and a guy I met...
Sometime after The Comedian, I decided to give online dating a try. At the time, I was overwhelmingly consumed by work. I thought it would be nice to meet someone who, like me, had a demanding schedule but also desired a long-term relationship. I chose a dating service that pre-selected my matches based on shared interests. This seemed more legitimate than allowing any random stranger to send me a message because I was
One month into my subscription and I hadn't met anyone worth my while. It seemed as though the lazies got in anyway, profiles half-completed. Their shitty answers were apparently enough to deem us worthy matches. While I did manage to correspond with a few nice guys, nothing serious ever materialized. Just as I started to lose hope and reconsider my membership, I met a hunk named Brad. Brad was 24, a firefighter, and like me, very close to his family.
Brad and I corresponded several times and eventually met up for dinner. Despite a few lulls and extended silences, the date went pretty well. Brad was a bit shy but remained engaged throughout the entire date. He was kind, respectful, and to my surprise, not a socially inept internet creep. His pictures did him no justice. Brad was very handsome and his body
Now folks, I'm a pretty aggressive person. When I want something, I go after it. I've played the role of the Debutante before, and it's just not
An innocent text message I sent him about wanting a kiss soon led to the revelation of other
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Comedian
A routine ::is-this-really-my-life?!:: freak out session led me to enroll in a comedic writing course at Chicago's historic Second City last fall. I wasn't expecting to turn into Stephen Colbert, but I thought that the class would be a lot of fun and that I'd meet some really cool people. Cue The Comedian. He was short, frumpy, and had a killer sense of humor (naturally). We didn't interact much during the semester, but remained in touch after the course ended. He asked me out sometime after that.
Initially, I was quite astonished by The Comedian's offer. I was clearly out of this guy's league. He was potentially setting himself up for one hell of an embarrassing (and painful) rejection. Lucky for him though, my initial shock soon led to devout admiration. The Comedian was able to do what other men are typically too intimidated to do - ask me out on a date. He did it with such confidence, such ease that I couldn't help but respect him for it... and be mildly curious. Surely he must be packin' if he's this confident, right?!
Our first date was spectacular! The Comedian was easygoing, chivalrous, and just as much of a political junkie as I am. Our conversation flowed naturally and steadily. I found myself sashaying to the restroom just so he could see me work it in my flouncy leopard print skirt and stiletto boots. Upon returning, I planted myself seductively on his lap and went in for the kiss. Fireworks all around! Was it the liquor flowing or was I actually falling for this guy? We barhopped around the area and ended up at a pizza place near his apartment. The Comedian suggested we watch a movie at his place (no harm in testing the waters) but did not fuss when I declined and tenderly put me into a cab at the end of the night. I was hooked! Needless to say I told anyone and EVERYONE that would listen about our amazing date the next day and played it cool until he called.
The Comedian waited the prerequisite number of days permissible and called to arrange a second rendez-vous. We agreed to meet at Second City and barhop once again. When I arrived (fashionably late to make a grand entrance), I noticed he was in a bit of a funky mood. Boy was that the understatement of the century! All of The Comedian's funny little self-deprecating jokes that were charming circa date one gave way to a laundry list of insecurities. The more he drank, the more our date became a therapy session. He talked about how much he hated Second City and how he left several opportunities in Texas to move to Chicago. He repeatedly mentioned his disbelief at being out with "someone like me," (a compliment the first time, an insult the eighteenth) and his amazement at there being a second date (i like you stupid fuck, don't ruin it). "I need to make you my girlfriend," he slurred. At this point, the whole situation wreaked of desperation and date gone disaster. To top off my night, he shamelessly tried to get me to go back to his place, becoming more forceful with each attempt. ::ACCESS DENIED:: I must have looked beyond pissed because he claimed to have a migraine shortly thereafter, walked me to the bus stop, and sulked home.
He didn't call again; Neither did I. We left it at that. It was better to learn about (and subsequently run away from) the crazy sooner than be blindsided by the wrath of a meltdown later when fully vested. And I thought that that was the last I'd hear from The Comedian. I was wrong. But more on that later...
Initially, I was quite astonished by The Comedian's offer. I was clearly out of this guy's league. He was potentially setting himself up for one hell of an embarrassing (and painful) rejection. Lucky for him though, my initial shock soon led to devout admiration. The Comedian was able to do what other men are typically too intimidated to do - ask me out on a date. He did it with such confidence, such ease that I couldn't help but respect him for it... and be mildly curious. Surely he must be packin' if he's this confident, right?!
Our first date was spectacular! The Comedian was easygoing, chivalrous, and just as much of a political junkie as I am. Our conversation flowed naturally and steadily. I found myself sashaying to the restroom just so he could see me work it in my flouncy leopard print skirt and stiletto boots. Upon returning, I planted myself seductively on his lap and went in for the kiss. Fireworks all around! Was it the liquor flowing or was I actually falling for this guy? We barhopped around the area and ended up at a pizza place near his apartment. The Comedian suggested we watch a movie at his place (no harm in testing the waters) but did not fuss when I declined and tenderly put me into a cab at the end of the night. I was hooked! Needless to say I told anyone and EVERYONE that would listen about our amazing date the next day and played it cool until he called.
The Comedian waited the prerequisite number of days permissible and called to arrange a second rendez-vous. We agreed to meet at Second City and barhop once again. When I arrived (fashionably late to make a grand entrance), I noticed he was in a bit of a funky mood. Boy was that the understatement of the century! All of The Comedian's funny little self-deprecating jokes that were charming circa date one gave way to a laundry list of insecurities. The more he drank, the more our date became a therapy session. He talked about how much he hated Second City and how he left several opportunities in Texas to move to Chicago. He repeatedly mentioned his disbelief at being out with "someone like me," (a compliment the first time, an insult the eighteenth) and his amazement at there being a second date (i like you stupid fuck, don't ruin it). "I need to make you my girlfriend," he slurred. At this point, the whole situation wreaked of desperation and date gone disaster. To top off my night, he shamelessly tried to get me to go back to his place, becoming more forceful with each attempt. ::ACCESS DENIED:: I must have looked beyond pissed because he claimed to have a migraine shortly thereafter, walked me to the bus stop, and sulked home.
He didn't call again; Neither did I. We left it at that. It was better to learn about (and subsequently run away from) the crazy sooner than be blindsided by the wrath of a meltdown later when fully vested. And I thought that that was the last I'd hear from The Comedian. I was wrong. But more on that later...
Friday, April 16, 2010
Mr. Ed
I met Mr. Ed in the latter half of 2008. He worked as a security guard in my office building. Every evening after work, we would exchange a few words before I headed home. We became fast friends and after several weeks of the same routine, Mr. Ed asked me out on a date. I told Mr. Ed that 2007 had been a hard year for me and that after two consecutive heartbreaks, I wasn't ready for anything serious. Mr. Ed seemed to understand. He said he would give me all the space necessary but also vowed to win me over.
We dated casually for several weeks and spoke to each other over the phone almost daily. On Valentine's Day, Mr. Ed took me to the Grand Lux Café and we had a wonderful dinner. Back at his apartment, I decided to take our relationship to the next level. I pulled him close, kissed his lips, and unbuttoned his shirt. Things were going well until Mr. Ed suddenly lost his erection.
I knew that Mr. Ed had been out of practice for a while and that he was also tremendously nervous. I wasn't mean. I wasn't judgmental. I just wanted to try again. Subsequent attempts over the next few weeks however, revealed that Mr. Ed suffered not from nerves but from Erectile Dysfunction.
At first, I was unwilling to give Mr. Ed another chance. Not only did I not want to be in a serious relationship, but now I had to deal with a man suffering from Erectile Dysfunction and all his baggage. Mr. Ed was a nice guy though and while I had always made sex the deal breaker in the past, I took this as a sign that it was time to focus on other aspects of a relationship and tried to make things work. Our sexual incompatibility however, loomed ominously over our entire relationship, and it soon became the basis for more divisive arguments.
We dated casually for several weeks and spoke to each other over the phone almost daily. On Valentine's Day, Mr. Ed took me to the Grand Lux Café and we had a wonderful dinner. Back at his apartment, I decided to take our relationship to the next level. I pulled him close, kissed his lips, and unbuttoned his shirt. Things were going well until Mr. Ed suddenly lost his erection.
I knew that Mr. Ed had been out of practice for a while and that he was also tremendously nervous. I wasn't mean. I wasn't judgmental. I just wanted to try again. Subsequent attempts over the next few weeks however, revealed that Mr. Ed suffered not from nerves but from Erectile Dysfunction.
At first, I was unwilling to give Mr. Ed another chance. Not only did I not want to be in a serious relationship, but now I had to deal with a man suffering from Erectile Dysfunction and all his baggage. Mr. Ed was a nice guy though and while I had always made sex the deal breaker in the past, I took this as a sign that it was time to focus on other aspects of a relationship and tried to make things work. Our sexual incompatibility however, loomed ominously over our entire relationship, and it soon became the basis for more divisive arguments.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Come Fly With Me
The Magician showed up to my apartment right on time. He wore a suit, tie, and that cream colored fedora I adored. As we exited his car on our way to the restaurant, The Magician threw his cell phone into the glove compartment so as not to disturb our evening.
Think Café was intimate and sexy. Lovers sat in twos, candles concealing seductive stares and salacious whispers. The bar glowed a sultry pink and even the staff seemed to bask in the euphoric haze. The Magician and I took our seats at a cozy little table in a corner and soon became enveloped by our surroundings. Our eyes glittered as the wine coursed through our veins and we giggled over the duck risotto while caressing hands.
The Magician was attentive, having eyes and ears only for me. We talked about everything from shared interests to foreign diplomacy. Surprisingly, he treated me as an equal and not like a little kid as I'd expected. He listened to my thoughts and shared his views without the slightest hint of condescension or judgment.
We made our way back to the kitchen to greet his friend Omar, owner and head chef of the restaurant. Omar treated us to dessert and even sat with us for a while, making our date even more special. After the waiters cleared our table, The Magician looked at me wistfully and said, "I'm not ready for the night to be over. Would you like to go listen to some live music?" "Sure," I cooed.
We drove to a blues bar named Rosa's Lounge and it was there that I had my first encounter with live jazz. I sat there, engulfed by the blues, the happiest woman on earth. The Magician and I had a couple of drinks and eventually made our way back to my place. He told me he'd call to set up a second date and hugged me goodnight.
I have never felt more beautiful than I did that night. In one evening, The Magician had proven that it was possible to come back from devastating heartache. Though he did not know it, that was The Magician's greatest magical act - bringing someone back to life.
Think Café was intimate and sexy. Lovers sat in twos, candles concealing seductive stares and salacious whispers. The bar glowed a sultry pink and even the staff seemed to bask in the euphoric haze. The Magician and I took our seats at a cozy little table in a corner and soon became enveloped by our surroundings. Our eyes glittered as the wine coursed through our veins and we giggled over the duck risotto while caressing hands.
The Magician was attentive, having eyes and ears only for me. We talked about everything from shared interests to foreign diplomacy. Surprisingly, he treated me as an equal and not like a little kid as I'd expected. He listened to my thoughts and shared his views without the slightest hint of condescension or judgment.
We made our way back to the kitchen to greet his friend Omar, owner and head chef of the restaurant. Omar treated us to dessert and even sat with us for a while, making our date even more special. After the waiters cleared our table, The Magician looked at me wistfully and said, "I'm not ready for the night to be over. Would you like to go listen to some live music?" "Sure," I cooed.
We drove to a blues bar named Rosa's Lounge and it was there that I had my first encounter with live jazz. I sat there, engulfed by the blues, the happiest woman on earth. The Magician and I had a couple of drinks and eventually made our way back to my place. He told me he'd call to set up a second date and hugged me goodnight.
I have never felt more beautiful than I did that night. In one evening, The Magician had proven that it was possible to come back from devastating heartache. Though he did not know it, that was The Magician's greatest magical act - bringing someone back to life.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Magician
I've always been an old soul. I often say that I should have been born in the 1920's in order to grow up on Billie Holiday and sweet talkers drenched in old gentleman style. The down side to being a woman with a vintage heart is that most men my age are Neanderthals with no manners or courting skills. I truly believe however, that once in every lifetime, the stars and the planets align, and you meet someone who is truly special. That person challenges your expectations and impacts your life so profoundly that though their stay may be brief, you are forever magically altered.
I met The Magician several years ago while working at a labor union for the entertainment industry. He often visited the office to use the resource center in between auditions and we struck up a friendship.
I met The Magician several years ago while working at a labor union for the entertainment industry. He often visited the office to use the resource center in between auditions and we struck up a friendship.
The Magician had olive-colored skin, kind eyes, and a dash of salt in luscious jet black hair. He had a cheerful and infectious disposition, making the most straight-laced woman crack a smile. He always wore perfectly tailored suits, accenting them with one-of-a-kind cuff links, crisply folded pocket squares, or - my favorite - a cream colored fedora with a black sash. The Magician was relentlessly charming. He offered compliments even when they were undeserved and he remembered every last detail from prior conversations: "How is your uncle Luis doing? Has he returned from Puerto Rico yet?"
Although I liked The Magician, I was hesitant to make a move for several reasons. Aside from ruining an already solid dynamic, I was dabbling in the company ink so to speak, and there was potential to lose my job. There was also quite a substantial age difference between us. The Magician was 36. I was 20. Still, with each visit becoming more frequent and every conversation lasting a little longer, my feelings for him became too significant to ignore and I finally relented.
I took thescaredy cat cautious approach and posted a Missed Connection entry on Craig's List. It wasn't long before I received the following response:
Wednesday, September 12, 2007 -
Subject: Mysterious Stranger.
Hello, Charming One.
Alright. You've got me fooled. Who could this be?
I'm not much of a Craigslist Enthusiast, but some acquaintances of mine happened to spot your "Missed Connections" entry ... Yes, it made my day.
Feel free to reveal yourself. Safe passage guaranteed. I'm friendly.
Indeed,
The Magician
Two days later I received this one:
Friday, September 14, 2007 -
Subject: Alright You!
Hello, Secrets.
Yet another Friend contacted me just this morning to tell me about your Craigslist Posting ... This is all fun and funny and obviously very flattering -- but now I really haven't a clue. (I'm not calling you bad, but I am suggesting this is slightly naughty of you!)
Do you live in my neighborhood in Logan Square? Are you someone from a coffee shop in Andersonville? Or Wicker Park? Possibly a new restaurant along Printer Row? Downtown at Miller's Pub (a frequent late night haunt)? Do you sell Mens Ties? Howard Orloff Volvo? Are you a Manager for Premiere Cruises? Stewart Talent Agency? I got nuth'n ...
Here are three ideas:
1. We meet at Lula's for Coffee or Lunch. (My treat, Silly.)
2. Come out to Motel Bar on Thursday to see our Groovy Show ... Bring a Friend. Or ten.
3. You present an alternative plan and I say "Hey, why not? I love the Zoo ... "
So there it is. So soon. We've hit a Wall of Truth.
Gratitude,
The Magician
The Magician was right. I was stuck between a rock and ahard place wall of truth. After a few more emails (and further prodding) I finally acquiesced and disclosed my identity. This is one of the messages that followed:
Tuesday, September 18, 2007 -
Subject: Thanks!
Thanks, Technoheart.
You're grand!
Preparing For My Entrance,
The Magician.
And with that, I prepared for an entrance of my own.
Although I liked The Magician, I was hesitant to make a move for several reasons. Aside from ruining an already solid dynamic, I was dabbling in the company ink so to speak, and there was potential to lose my job. There was also quite a substantial age difference between us. The Magician was 36. I was 20. Still, with each visit becoming more frequent and every conversation lasting a little longer, my feelings for him became too significant to ignore and I finally relented.
I took the
Wednesday, September 12, 2007 -
Subject: Mysterious Stranger.
Hello, Charming One.
Alright. You've got me fooled. Who could this be?
I'm not much of a Craigslist Enthusiast, but some acquaintances of mine happened to spot your "Missed Connections" entry ... Yes, it made my day.
Feel free to reveal yourself. Safe passage guaranteed. I'm friendly.
Indeed,
The Magician
Two days later I received this one:
Friday, September 14, 2007 -
Subject: Alright You!
Hello, Secrets.
Yet another Friend contacted me just this morning to tell me about your Craigslist Posting ... This is all fun and funny and obviously very flattering -- but now I really haven't a clue. (I'm not calling you bad, but I am suggesting this is slightly naughty of you!)
Do you live in my neighborhood in Logan Square? Are you someone from a coffee shop in Andersonville? Or Wicker Park? Possibly a new restaurant along Printer Row? Downtown at Miller's Pub (a frequent late night haunt)? Do you sell Mens Ties? Howard Orloff Volvo? Are you a Manager for Premiere Cruises? Stewart Talent Agency? I got nuth'n ...
Here are three ideas:
1. We meet at Lula's for Coffee or Lunch. (My treat, Silly.)
2. Come out to Motel Bar on Thursday to see our Groovy Show ... Bring a Friend. Or ten.
3. You present an alternative plan and I say "Hey, why not? I love the Zoo ... "
So there it is. So soon. We've hit a Wall of Truth.
Gratitude,
The Magician
The Magician was right. I was stuck between a rock and a
Tuesday, September 18, 2007 -
Subject: Thanks!
Thanks, Technoheart.
You're grand!
Preparing For My Entrance,
The Magician.
And with that, I prepared for an entrance of my own.
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