The obligatory PC reference

Yesterday one of my old Starbucks regulars came in to my store.
And while I know she means well, she inevitably always asks me about Prince Charming.
If I've heard from him, if anything is going on with him and I always politely change the subject.
Only this time I made the mistake of admitting that last month I thought I saw him on the escalator and my heart lurched into my throat.
'I guess I didn't think he still had that effect on me.'
"Well, maybe it isn't over between you two. Timing is everthing, you know."

That was not exactly what I needed to hear.
Especially when I was already feeling needy and emotional because of a stupid cold and stupid hormones and my friend with benefits has given me no benefits for nearly two weeks.
Eleven Days.
But whose counting.

And it's like some cosmic joke that all the characters in my story are handed the same script and don't even realize it because just last week my friend brought up PC too.
"When was the last time you heard from him?"
'November.'
"That's all? It feels like its been forever."

Yes. It does.
But it really hasn't.
I mean, it hasn't even been two months.
And sometimes I still think of him and miss him and wish I could tell him about all that's been going on.
And sometimes I'm glad I haven't heard from him and I know he feels the same way.

Seeing that old regular made me kind of realize my need for a new relationship.
My La Fee Verte is charming and I cherish his presence right now.
But I also know he will never be one of those epic relationships I'll write books about.
He just doesn't see me that way.

My mother and I had an interesting conversation over the holidays and she said something I wished so badly I could share with PC.
"I think you were having a hard time realizing the only man who ever loved and accepted you as you are was unavailable. And these other men have made you doubt yourself and its made you feel awful."

There's something romantically tragic in that and I smiled knowing it'd make a wonderful moment in my book.
Which I desperately need to get back to writing.

I also need to get back to relationships.
I'm ready.
Dating is fun and making out is great but I'm ready for something of substance.

The drama at work has subsided and I love my job.
The tension at home has evaporated and I love spending time with my family.

And now I'm ready to release all of the past so I might embrace all that awaits me.

Someone just needs to get the memo to the real prince charming so he can make his grand entrance.
And I know PC will be watching in the wings, smiling approvingly.

Did you hear the one about the curly red headed girl with the big mouth?

My big mouth is going to get punched one of these days.

I lack a filter.
But that's part of my CHARM.
That's what makes me so amusing.
Unless you lack my sense of humor.
Or don't think it's funny when my drunk ass is making fun of you.

My bad.
It's not me.
It's the vodka talking.
Or the champagne.
Depending on what dress I'm wearing.
I really do have to coordinate such things.

 I do love making people laugh.
I think my love for making people smile has got to be in my top five favorite things to do.
Somewhere between getting naked with a sexy guy and shopping for vintage clothing.
I'm a versatile lady.

Really, the blame lies in Facebook.
I am now compelled to constantly update my profile with witty sayings and sometimes I even make my friends laugh so hard they quote me.
To be quoted as a FB status?
Ah, perchance to dream.

So one of my soul sisters took it upon herself to quote my sassy buzzed arse and post it on my wall for all posterity.
And for all cyber stalking hotties to view as well.
Including, possibly, the one I was mocking.

Gulp.
Shame thy name is me.

I hate it when words are taken out of context.
Anything can sound wretched when it lacks the original tone.
Oh. He's charming can mean several different things depending on who you are.

Douchebag?
Oh. He's charming.
My La Fee Verte?
Oh. He's charming.

Same quote.
Two very dissimilar meanings.

But as mother pointed out at least he didn't block you from his life or start gossiping about you to half of Portland....
Alas, something more than one lad has succumbed to in my life.
In the last year or two.
Gee wiz, I sure can pick 'em.

But rather he just casually brought up in conversation that he housed particular interests and he wanted me to be well aware.
To dissuade any preconceived misconceptions I harbored that attacked his intellectualism.

Because, I mean, really, his brain was what I was drawn to in the first place.
The tall, lanky, european sex god housing that brain had absolutely nothing to do with why I longed to rip his clothes off.
I mean, get to know him.
I'm always mixing those two up.

Once this guy told a friend of mine that the reason he liked talking to me, the reason he enjoyed my company was not because he thought I was particularly beautiful but because he thought I was particularly bright.
I've never been so insulted in all my life.

Of course, months later, he DID put the moves on me so something tells me his little speech wasn't entirely truthful in its accuracy.
Dialogues rarely ever are, especially when they're being retold.

Though in some rare instances the simplicity is clear as diamonds.

Hugging you today made me feel even more high and giddy than the dayquill I was on.

Go ahead and quote me.

We can't be friends. My vanity won't allow it.

I got dumped.

I got dumped by a guy I never met.
That may be a new record.

It was supposed to be a blind date.
Which is always a charming way to kill two hours.

But rather than agree to a truly blind blind date I thought we could be Facebook friends first.
That way we could each have the stalking opportunity to scam on each other and decide if the profile pictures really warranted an exchange of fluids.
Vodka. Gin.

It also gave me the delight or possible terror of engaging in a repartee with someone who might make me laugh or make me squirm.

This particular suitor?
Beige Guy.
His messages were cordial enough but boring.
Nothing that made me smile, nothing that prompted a second read through, just Meh.
I was almost certain that my date with him was going to be Be capital Eige exclamation point.
Dud.

BUT
I am an open minded overly opinionated shallow frisky know it all and I was WILLING to look past his lack of intriguing qualities.
Particularly handsome?
No.
Inciteful and intellectual?
Hardly.

And no, my acceptance at his invitation had nothing to do with the fact I was lining up several different dates with several different guys in the same week.
And I wasn't trying to merely make him lame date Wednesday before potential date Thursday and mostly friend date Friday and naughty date Saturday.
Not. At. All.
It was an honest to goodness gen-u-ine date.

For the most part.

But what should happen days before my week of debauchery??

Beige Guy has the nerve to cancel our lametastic rendezvous.

I'm sorry but I've changed my mind about meeting you. I feel our personalities are really very different. Of course I am not saying yours is bad or mine is bad or anything like that, just different. I hope there is not any hard feelings. I'm sorry if I've wasted your time.

Ahem.
Let's all take a moment and laugh a long hearty guffaw.
Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

Beige Guy cancelled our beige date and opened up my Wednesday night and he hoped there weren't any hard feelings?
Oh honey.
We all know you're the only one who felt hard.
I do have some great profile pics.

And who wants to hang out with someone exactly like them?
Even my ego isn't that much of a narcissist.

The one factor that intrigued me was what it was about my Facebook profile that pushed him over the edge to no longer want to meet me.
My blog posts? My pictures? My sassy status updates?

I'll never know and I'll never get to have my beige date.

But I did get to write about what a giant ass he was and that's far more important to this notorious lady anyhow.

Mix that with your beige juice and suck it.

An answer in search of a question

You haven't slept with him?
No. But I want to. It's been, like, sixteen months and the last time lasted only two minutes.
She stops chewing her food and stares blankly at me. I'm sorry. Did you say sixteen months??
Yup.
Oh I think you should definitely sleep with him.

If I took a survey regarding my latest interlude the results would make an amusing pie graph.
EVERYONE has an opinion about my sex life.
Which is kind of ridiculous considering the way most people hand it out like they're a pez dispenser.
But I'm not like most people.
And my friends know this.

I'm actually a pretty old fashioned debutante about the whole thing.
Relatively speaking, of course.

But the particular beau I've been delighting in as of late is different from the men I'm used to dating.
And maybe because of that I've found myself writing my own Hamlet soliloquy.
Ophelia's dirty to do or not to do speech.

Everyone from my pseudo boyfriend to my favorite customer has an opinion about whether or not I should keep my panties on.
And Lord knows mother will be wagging her finger in disapproval when she reads this one.

You're too bright and beautiful to put up with anybody's bullshit.
Right now he has the power and until you have the power you're subservient.
Only do it if you can accept the fact you'll inevitably get hurt.
After you do it only allow a maximum of five minutes of snuggling and then be the first one out of bed and get dressed.
Find someone else to sleep with so you can stay friends with him.

It's really kind of amusing the monsoon of advice I'm receiving.
I'd kind of like to make a video of everyone getting interviewed.
Maybe dig up some ex boyfriends too.
Just to make the video all that more hilarious.

I'll add that to my to do list.
Or not to do.

Obviously I'm not the kind of gal to act now and think later.
One of my many best and worst qualities.

But regardless of what I choose to do or not to do I had to ask myself....

Why am I so calm considering something with someone I barely know when there were men I was over the moon for I refused to ever consider?

Maybe this kids really special.
Or maybe I'm no longer a mere girl.

I'm not looking for myself in my relationships anymore.
I don't need to find myself.
I'm here already.
I think I've made that pretty apparent.

So maybe that's the real answer.
Maybe I shouldn't consider such intimacies with anyone until I'm certain I am whole without whatever it is they have to offer.
So I don't know.
I mean, I likely won't, because that's just the kind of dame I am.
But I have to wonder....
I want to sleep with him more than I've ever wanted to sleep with anybody else.
And I'm not in love with him.

What the hell is up with that.
Maybe I'm not as deep as I thought.

Or maybe some questions have more than one truthful answer.

"Actually going all the way is like, a really big decision. I can't believe I was so capricious about it."

Will you be my obsession, Valentine?

I've discovered a rare anomalie in dating.

The guy who asks you out but never takes you out.
The guy who wants to date you merely in theory.

The only time I ever experienced anything similar to this was when I was talking to The Texter.
Texter was a kid who never followed through with making any actual plans but when it was late at night and he was bored he'd want to start our verbal tennis with his oh so clever ice breaker of HEY.
The ridiculous part was I went on texting him for months before I grew weary of Texter's asinine dialogue and started dating Mr. Volcano.
And true to form, as soon as I was no longer available to volley his tedious banter he suddenly had to see me, NOW.

I'm so sexy when I'm unavailable.
Which never happens because I hate that game.
If I wanna see you naked then I'm not pretending like I don't wanna see you naked.
That's just how I roll.

Oh and ps?
The rendezvous with Texter ended with me making out with him at a bar in front of Mr. Volcano's best friend because I'd tried fixing him up when Mr. V was out of town.
The next day I filmed my first movie hung over and wondering if it counted as cheating when the guy you were dating didn't know if he wanted a relationship.
I decided it didn't.
After hearing of my spit swapping Mr. Volcano decided we should be exclusive.
Happy endings all around.

So Texter ancient history, what's happening now?
I have three different dudes who pop up out of the woodwork just around the time I forget we're still Facebook friends to let me know they still think of me inappropriately.

One guy took me out during the summer for a pleasant though lackluster date and then would occassionally message me about taking me out again but never actually set a time.
He texted me one night in December and imagine my surprise when a message from a number I didn't recognize read, So you're at Mumford tonight? I saw it on your FB.

Awwwww!
Who the fuck is this??
It's that guy who took you out for wine months ago.
Oh. Hi.
I'll be back in town in a week wanna grab a drink?
Uh. Sure.

And guess who never contacted me?

I love being rejected by guys I'm not even interested in.
It's SWELL.

Another kid who took me out on a few pleasant but lackluster dates did the same thing around my birthday.
And again, no follow through.
And again, a rejection from a guy I don't wanna kiss.

But the weirdest, most WTF is he thinking schmuck of all?
This kid I used to work with in Coffee Land who finds the most bizarre ways to try and get my attention.

I hadn't heard from him in.....10 months?
When he commented on a picture of me and him together on Facebook.
No one else had commented on the picture he just randomly decided to talk about that night knowing I'd see the comments.
How clever.

So curious as I am at his lack of subtlety I agree to meet with him for a drink.
And it turned out the kid needed someone to discuss his sex life with.
And he thought of me.
How flattering.
I have no idea why I was the one he sought counsel from.
I try not to think about it.

So assuming we're now friends I suggest meeting up again.
He's pretty busy, he explains to me.
I pretty much have something planned every day for the next month.
Damn, Romeo.
I know when I've been dismissed.

So another few months go by and what do I receive?
Another message from the kid himself.
A text, again from a number I don't recognize reading, So I saw you today and waved. But you didn't wave back.

Nothing says I care like creeper stalker messages from guys you deleted out of your phone ages ago.

Twenty bucks says they all decide to poke me on FB for Valentine's day.

Fucking freaks.

The worst date in the world

This is the story of a girl and a boy.
Though I should warn you this is not a love story.
This is a loathe story.
As in I loathe the very remembrance of his image burned in my mind.

The man raped my soul.


I was at work one day when who should walk past me?
But the soul raper himself.
Can I just say the way you have your hair, well it, it just looks lovely.
I blushed, in all modesty, of course.
He seemed a handsome fellow.
They all do when they cleverly sport beards to hide their ugly mugs.
Actually, do you think you could help me? I'm looking to get a fragrance for my aunt.

So I showed him several different kinds and he made up some elaborate story of needing to send it to her and then he asked me what my name was.
So I handed him my business card.
Actually, can I get your number? I don't really have an aunt I need to buy perfume for I just thought you were cute and wanted to talk to you.

My very own Meet Cute happening at work.
Merry Christmas to me.

But I didn't give him my number because that's considered quite the professional no no.
So I told him he could email me and one week later, he did.
A cleverly worded note he suggested a day and time and place for our rendezvous.
And I. Was. Thrilled!!

How romantic!
How delightful!
How magically unexpectedly lovely.

Shudder.
Soul Raper used the word lovely so many times on our date I may never enjoy the word again.

You look lovely.
This stew is lovely.
Some girl he met in Belgium was LOVELY.
My fucking nightmare of a date?
LOUSY.

I get to the pub first and it's a place I love that I'm a regular at.
So I tell the waitresses what's up and we're all giddy and giggling over my prince prospect.
The place is pretty packed but there's a booth in the corner with a Reserved sign.
For us, of course, he'd planned in advance.

Not really, but it seemed like some adorable coincidence.
There was a romantic corner booth saved just for us!
C'est magnifique!

Clearly we were about to star in two very different screenplays.

My first warning sign was the second he sat down he was not as cute as I remembered.
The beard was gone and he had very nondescript features.
You know how in every romantic comedy there is a peculiar looking guy who plays the funny side kick to the handsome leading man?
Well this guy was definitely miscast as my leading man.
The dick prick side kick was his area of expertise.

He then proceeded to violently spew his narcissistic bravado all over my vodka press while my eyes darted around the bar desperately trying to plan an escape route.
Talking with Soul Raper was like being out with Gaston.
Only without the dashing Disney sex appeal.

He interrupted me when I tried to talk, insulted the greatest review I've ever received in my acting career, disregarded my sincere compliment with a snide, Yeah, I've heard that before and bored me with tales of his latest South Park viewings.

If my life were a reality tv show I would have thrown my drink in his face and used a bunch of expletives to tell him where he could shove the rest of his evening.

But my mother raised me well and I was determined to remain a lady.
A lady who was delighting over the words she'd use to write about such a disappointing date.

He didn't pay.
And his Napolean Complex reared its ugly head when we stood up to go and he hissed my heels were sure tall.

What a fucking waste of my Miraculous bra.

Lucky for me I left the bar right as my la fee verte was getting off work.
So I met up with him and went home with a few hickeys as a souvenir.

Next time some weird looking side kick sits in front of me?
I'm downing my vodka and heading for the door.

Life is far too short for anything less than a handsome leading man.

my tongue is still numb

There are two types of people, those who burn the candle at both ends and those who burn the candle at only one end. Those who burn the candle at one end are more methodical, they burn slowly, deliberately. Those who burn the candle at both ends are a little more reckless though never boring. The candle burns faster but also brighter.

My la fee verte and I are opposite candles.
But somehow I maintain I shine just as brightly.
I'll be the judge of that, I'm sure is what he'd say.

It's wonderful having a little intrigue.
It has honestly been years since I've had something so carefree and reckless.
I love appreciating the moment for its raw simplicity.
And not staring into the eyes of a man whose looking to me to save him.

I don't want to be with a man again who suffocates me merely to keep from drowning.
That is not romance.
I'm beginning to wonder what it even looks like.

I read that I should not get involved in a serious relationship until I know what I want.
Until I have a clear picture in my mind of what it is I'm seeking and what that looks like.

But I haven't a clue what I want.

And I love this stage in dating.
This stage where I've found someone I connect with.
Whose gorgeous.
And oh. yes. how. that. matters.
And when we look at each other we don't yet know what we're seeing.

And I love having no idea what may happen.
I love that I don't feel like I need to impress him because I don't know that I'd ever want to really be his.
Because I like feeling free.
And content in all that is.

And should I while away certain hours sipping absinthe in his kitchen?
Then that delights me.
And should I while away certain hours sipping champagne on my own couch?
Then that delights me just the same.

My la fee verte has me under his spell.
But for the first time in a very long time, I'm not reeling from all he took while I was asleep.
I'm here, intact.
Basking in the glow of a shared high.

Candles burning continuum.