My Law School Crush
Damn Facebook. I hate it. All the happy posts piss me off. Having photos of me (especially unflattering or ones that reveal my age) posted and tagged pisses me off. Having to connect with relatives I don’t usually talk to (sometimes) pisses me off. I mean now I have my mother asking me if I saw a cousin’s graduation pictures on Facebook? Ugh.
Then there’s the Ex, his fiancée, and their crap all over the net. Soon it’ll be his wedding pictures, complete with group pictures of my kids with the bride and groom and his and her family, all dolled up for his big day. Ugh.
And of course, there was the accidental discovery that my Ex’s fiancée and I dated the same guy, information gained via Facebook. See Mutual Friend, Part I and Mutual Friend, Part II.
Yeah, I’m kinda sick of Facebook.
But for professional and familial reasons, I keep my non-anonymous Facebook account. I do not link it to my Twitter or blog. I check into Facebook much less, rarely post, and took down all personal pictures. I check in primarily so that I can un-tag photos and respond to messages from the people who still insist on communicating with me via Facebook.
On my weekly check-in last week, I had a friend request from a law school colleague. The last time I talked to this woman years ago, she lit into me about some dispute regarding a club we belonged to, so I hung up on her. I don’t like to be yelled at.
Question: Why is she “friending” me on Facebook?
Answer: Because it’s Facebook.
I kept her dangling for a while, but since my account is so impersonal now, I thought, what the hell, I’ll accept her friend request. It might help in a future job search if she knows people.
Well, my connection to her led to seeing a profile of a man I had a secret crush on in law school. We’ll call him LawBoy.
LawBoy and I sat next to each other every day, front and center. He held my seat for me if I was running late. He was married, so was I. We studied together, some. Talked on breaks or in the library, just a little. I thought he was one of the nicest guys I’d met in a long time. Smart, funny, and so not full of himself. He was really down to earth, quite unlike many of my fellow law students. I used to love the way he smiled when talking about his wife. We didn’t hang out at night or anything. There was never anything inappropriate about our friendship. But I admit now that I was secretly holding the married lady’s crush on him.
Lucy always had a crush on Schroeder
A few years after law school, I ran into him in an office building where I was working. So we decided to have lunch, as lawyers do, just to catch up, see what our specialties were, if we could refer business . . . etc. He was always so attentive to my real love, music, as his father was also a musician, still gigging, even at his advanced age. LawBoy and I were both still married at this meeting, and now we had kids to talk about. It was quite an enjoyable lunch.
I don’t do alumni events, or lawyerly functions, and I haven’t worked downtown in a while — since all the madness (literally). So I hadn’t seen or heard from him since that lunch, years ago.
But when I accepted that woman’s friend request and viewed her page — there was LawBoy, on Facebook, a friend of a “friend.” He looked pretty much the same, still had that nice boyish smile. Now he’s a partner in a law firm. Not too shabby. More importantly, his relationship status is listed as . . . SEPARATED.
Whoa.
This time I sent the Friend Request. No message attached.
He accepted my request, immediately (she adds with a grin) and messaged that he was glad to reconnect, asked about my music and said that he hoped he could see me play sometime.
(Shhh. Don’t tell anybody, but I smiled and giggled a bit.)
LawBoy remembered me . . . and my music. Aw.
I responded in kind, telling him I’d let him know when things came up. (smiling still)
I perused (stalked) his profile a bit and saw that he seemed very active and well-rounded. He does go to the law related networking events that I avoid like the plague (but he’d have to, still being in practice and all) and is outdoorsy. Although I love to be outside, I’m not the rafting, hiking, marathoning, camping type. (But we can work that out . . . I digress . . . )
I have no plans or fantasizes of hooking up with my law school crush (well, maybe a few fantasizes, but no concrete plans). On paper, we are as different as night and day. I’m not even sure how comfortable he’d be dating outside of his race and religion.
Former Episcopalian Princess Charlotte at her Jewish Wedding, Sex and The City
But I could pull a Charlotte from Sex and the City . . . (“I’m Jew now” . . . ) yes? Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. A little. Whatever. It could happen.
Oh well. Odds are this will not be a fulfillment of a long-lost and unstated love between two law school buddies — like in the book and movie, “Something Borrowed.” No, romantic stories like that and me? — well, no.
“Something Borrowed “
Still, that one word on his profile, “Separated,” haunts me. I don’t state my relationship status on Facebook. It’s a personal policy of mine. And I doubt that he would have heard of my change in status from others since we don’t travel in the same circles, but . . . I’m not married anymore —- if anyone’s interested . . .
Regardless, I gotta say, it is nice to feel free, feel a crush and not be married this time, even if I never, ever do a thing about it.
Just Me With . . . my freedom, and still with a little crush on LawBoy, who is now separated. And, FYI, if he ever found this post, I would be completely mortified.
I Don’t Love Him
Phoebe and Rachel on Friends
Picture two women talking:
Friend 1: “It must be hard, because I’m sure in some small way, some part of you will always love him.”
Friend 2: “Of course, he’s a part of me, and part of me will always love him.”
OR
Friend 1: “It must be hard, because I’m sure in some small way, some part of you will always love him.”
Friend 2: “No, I don’t love him anymore.” She pauses, thinking, considering, furrowing the brow, squinting her eyes and rolling eyes upward — to the left, to the right — for answers possibly hidden there, and then, with renewed authority states, “Yup, I’m sure. I don’t love him at all, not one little bit. But I would LOVE another cup of coffee, though.”
Can this be true? This is so NOT Lifetime Movie, women’s magazines, or romance novels. We’re supposed to look into his eyes, brush back his hair and softly declare, “I will always love you.” And then walk away, carrying that love with us, forever.
Uh, no.
I once got into this debate with my Stalker about whether once you love someone, you always will. No surprise where he came out on the subject. He could never let go of anything, including my phone number . . . but I digress . . . The Stalker truly believed that once you love, you love for life. Kinda like herpes. Sure the love may change or diminish and you can fall in love with someone else but the original love remains, according to The Stalker. He was adamant about this. He told me I will always love my Ex-husband.
I didn’t slap him, but I wanted to.
Sure, I believe that the love stays for some people in some instances. There are some loves that people carry with them for life, long after the relationship is over. But I do not believe that it is a hard and fast rule — or a “Love Sentence” — if you will. heh heh heh
Whitney’s “I Will Always Love You” Powerful, just not always true.
“I will always love him.” We didn’t work out, we won’t work out, we can’t even be friends, but . . . “I will always love him.”
Bullsh*t.
Sounds like when a random person dies and people automatically say, whether they knew the dude or not, “He’s in a better place.” Depending on your beliefs, he may be in “a better place.” But, if you believe in the better place there have to be some jokers who simply don’t make the cut and go to — the other place. Assuming and stating that random dude is in “a better place” might take the edge off the finality of death, but it ain’t always true. Similarly, saying you’ll always love someone might take the edge off of the death of a relationship, a failed romance, but it ain’t always true.
Then there’s the — Once you’ve had a child with someone you’ll always love him/her. Again, no. Not all the time. You had sex which created a life, not necessary a life-long love for each other. People may love and cherish the memories, the good times, and have lingering, hell even deep, respect for the person you made babies with — but required life-long love? Uh, no. Not in my case. Not for many. And you know what? It’s okay. People we love are not like cars or apartments or pets. I can say I really loved my first dog and I always will. But romantic love for people is far more complex, and fluid.
I loved — intensely. I married, I procreated. A lot of stuff happened, and now I can say, resolutely, “I don’t love him anymore.” And he had better not have any loving feelings for me. That would cheapen the meaning of love. I had what could be described as an epic romance just by the sheer length of it, but now? It’s over. If I didn’t share children with him I would happily never see him again. If he died suddenly I would grieve for the children having to deal with the death of their father — or as I would for anyone taken seemingly too soon, but that’s not love.
Because I don’t love him. And that’s okay. In fact that’s better.
I’m sure many of you have had someone in your life whom you feel you will always love a little bit — or even a lot. I happen not to feel that way about my ex-husband. It didn’t happen immediately. But it happened.
Still, the years spent together, the children born, the tears cried, the laughter shared, the good memories made — are all unaffected by the declaration that —
“I don’t love him, not even one little bit.”
Is there anyone else out there who is not afraid to step up to the Altar of Ended Relationships and confess:
I don’t love him/her anymore!
Anyone?
Just Me With . . . a call NOT to love.
If I’d Married My Stalker
Weddings, Weddings, Weddings. They are everywhere this time of year. But don’t feel sorry for me because I am without an intended. I could be married now if I wanted. Really, I could. I could have married the man I now refer to as my stalker. Of course, he hadn’t completely evolved into a true stalker when we were hanging out. The true stalker nature of a person is only realized after the relationship has ended. But I’ll just say that based on the events that transpired since we stopped seeing each other, well, I have reason, good reason, to call him my stalker.
Still, had things gone differently, had I been desperate for matrimony, had I lost my mind, I could be calling him my husband. We talked about it. Well, actually, he talked to me about it. He also talked to a priest about it, and he talked to his invisible friends about it, friends I never met. To be fair, I admit that he didn’t formally get down on one knee and ask me, because I was, at the time, still legally married (little issue), had not expressed any interest in remarrying anyone (bigger issue), and had not professed love for him (the biggest issue of all), but these little complications did not deter him from making plans for our life together, in holy matrimony.
So, since the wedding season is in full swing, the following is a fanciful fictionalized account of what could have been if I had said ” I do” and become . . . Mrs. Stalker. 
- My house would be clean. Really clean. He had OCD (I believe) and liked to clean. Yes, things would be clean. Really. Clean.
- My dogs would be well-groomed also. What am I saying ? My dogs would be gone. He couldn’t handle such four-legged walking germ festivals.
- I would have sex, often and for prolonged periods of time. Then I’d have to talk about it.
- I’d be clean, hands washed as if for surgery, often and for prolonged periods of time. We wouldn’t have to talk about that — so long as he saw me doing it.
- I would have savings and new clothes. He liked me to look nice. He’d buy me pretty dresses.
- I would have an escort for everything. He’d never let me go anywhere alone.
- I’d be Episcopalian, because I’d have to be. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
- I’d have a storage unit, possibly more than one, because he was incapable of throwing anything out. And we would visit our things stored there, often and for prolonged periods of time.
- I would know I’m loved because he’d tell me, often and for prolonged periods of time. And then I’d have to talk about it.
- I’d be having surgery and/or looking into surrogacy and/or freezing eggs to see if someone could bear a child he could call his own.
- I’d have someone to shop with, since he loved to shop. And no, my would-be-stalker-husband is not gay, but I’d spend a fair amount of time attempting to convince others of that— knowing in my heart of hearts that I could not be successful.
- I’d be on time, because he’d never allow tardiness. To that end, would call me in 15 minute increments to make sure I was ready for whatever we had planned.
- My computer would have the most up-to-date, state of the art, anti-virus software, because, you can never be too careful.
- I may or may not have mother-in-law issues, because I’m not sure whether “mother” is still with us. Don’t ask, it may have been a Norman Bates situation.
Norman’s mother in the Hitchcock’s classic, Psycho
- To make him happy, I would have to answer these questions, often and for prolonged periods of time:
“Are you happy”
“Are you thinking of me?”
“Do you love me?”
And, the ever popular question that every girl wants to hear,
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Well, it was wise to end that relationship. Even though it took quite a while and an exchange of letters from lawyers for that ending to take effect. Actually, I only just recently received a post-Rapture text. Sigh.
In conclusion, while weddings are nice, and it’s good to feel loved and partner up, I didn’t want a husband that badly (or not at all, really). I don’t care that Mr. Stalker was good on paper, well endowed with stamina to back it up, wanted to be a provider for me and my brood, and that he really, really, really, really, really . . . loved . . . me. None of that matters, because if I’d married him for the sake of being married, and allowed myself to be swept away (swept, being the operative word), well,
. . . that would have been bad —- clean, but very bad.
And, if you’ve found my blog, Mr. Stalker, and are reading this, I want you to know:
No, I do not love you.
No, I don’t want to be friends.
No, I do not want to know if you are thinking of me.
No, my lack of love for you cannot be explained by alleging that I have lingering feelings for my Ex-Husband. I don’t love him either.
No, I will not be paying you back for any money you spent on me.
and . . .
Are you sure I’m really talking about you?
And, by the by, I just played with my dog and I haven’t washed my hands in like an hour.
Just Me With . . . no rings on my only moderately clean left hand.
Related, sadly, “He Lives With His Mother?”
The Landscaper Guy, Part 3 and a Phone Smarter Than Me
In The Holiday, this was a “meet cute.” Mine was not.
I had just pulled into my spot at the back of my yard after running errands. I had three gallons of milk in the back and it was hot outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I see white — a walking big white tee-shirt with a matching designed white scarf on his head.
The Landscaper Guy. See Not Digging the Landscaper Guy, Part 1 and The Landscaper Guy and The Female Chandler Bing Part 2.
Since my last post on the Landscaper Guy, I’d had some major emotional isssues (fall-out from the Ex’s pending remarriage) and minor medical issues (son’s surgery to repair a fractured thumb) keeping me busy.
The Landscaper Guy was not occupying my mind.
I do think he, as promised, called. But I also got a new phone in the interim as well. My old phone would register his call as “WITHHELD” whereas my new phone says something like “REJECTED” when it is an unreadable number. Me thinks my new phone is truly a smart phone, perhaps smarter than me, as it seemed to know that this dude should be and should have been REJECTED all along.
I did not answer any rejected calls and he never left a message and I let it go.
But today, there he was. Ambling down the alley behind my house. I was still with no makeup but I had on a fitted Victoria’s Secret Pink Tee and skinny jeans which seemed to empower me, somehow. He had on his signature tee-shirt and, of course, the sweat.
My choices were:
1. Slowly get out of the car and deal with him, or
2. Try to make a run for it.
Guess what I chose?
But, I didn’t make it.
Damn, I need some privacy plantings. As I walked briskly to my back door looking straight ahead (leaving the milk in the car), he called out my name.
Damn.
So, I ambled back down my walk and went to talk to him, hopefully for the last time.
Now that I got a better look at him, or maybe I felt a little better about myself, maybe it was my purple PINK tee, I don’t know which, and maybe you’re not supposed to say this, but, I’m out of his league. Sorry. Me with five kids, no make-up, emotional problems up the ying yang, yes, I’m saying it’s not gonna happen, not even to help me practice date.
We exchanged pleasantries. Then,
Him: “You been thinking about me?”
Me: “Not really.”
Him, shaking his head, “No, huh.”
Me: “No.”
Him: “So that means we can’t go on a date?”
Really? Is this guy serious?
Me: “No”
Him: “Why?”
Now, here’s where I wonder. Why ask why? It is what it is. Just make your exit, dude.
Then I repeated the supposedly magic words that I was told to say by a single relative of mine. Well, she’s my niece. I’m taking dating advice from my niece, the daughter of my sister!!!! (Channeling Marisa Tomei’s Oscar Winning performance in My Cousin Vinny. If you don’t know the reference, watch the movie. It is hilarious.)
Anyway, she said this would work, and I said:
“I’m just not into hanging out right now. I’m flattered, though.”
Game over — or should be, right?
Him: No, you’re not. (flattered, he meant)
Me: Yes, I am. (changing subject) So, are you on your way downtown?
Him: Yeah.
Although I didn’t ask, he goes on to tell me the date when he’s done school for the Summer (or court ordered community service, I suspect).
And then he asked, remarkably:
“So you want to give me a ride to the train?”
OMG — HE REALLY ASKED TO GET IN MY CAR WHEN I HAVE JUST TOLD HIM I DON’T WANT TO DATE HIM!!!!!
Me: You know what, I just got home, so . . . no.
We exchange pleasantries, much more awkwardly this time, and he went on his way.
The thing is, I’ll probably see him again. What are the chances he’ll just keep walking? I certainly hope he does.
I do feel good about saying, no, though.
Just Me With . . . a smart phone much smarter than me.
But wait, there’s more . . .
The Landscaper Guy, Part 2, and the Female Chandler Bing
Well, the Random-Alley -Walking- Wanna-Be Landscaper Guy called again. See, Not Digging The Landscaper Guy — Part I. I let it ring. Number WITHHELD, no voicemail. The next time he called, approximately three minutes later, I picked up. Immediately he tried to set up a date. I suggested that we talk for a bit. I asked him to tell me about himself. His reply, “What do you want to know? My age? What I do? ” Well, I asked what he did for a living. He replied that he is an iron worker for concrete installations, plus, he volunteered his age. I hadn’t asked.
Then, he did what I really hate. He asked me my age, if “you don’t mind, telling.”
I replied, I thought in a light-hearted manner, “Well, I kinda do mind telling.”
His response, sounding a bit annoyed,
“Why don’t women want to tell that? I told my age. I just want to know if you are older or younger.”
(Lately, I’m always older. sigh). Still, forcing a conversation about age is another pet peeve of mine. Men: if I don’t volunteer my age and especially if I refuse to answer the question, don’t ask again.
Anyway, this is what I learned from the Landscaper Iron Worker Guy:
By “I’m in school” he meant, he’s doing some sort of required periodic training program for his craft, which is putting in rebar (pieces of steel) for concrete installations for large structures like bridges.
He’s in the union. Which pays well, according to him. (I told him I knew the difference between a union and non-union skilled laborer, as I have experience dealing with unions.)
He has two grown kids, living out of the area.
He lives with his elderly grandmother, but that won’t be for long.
Starting next week he’ll be out-of-town all weekends until August 4th.
When I asked what he did for fun, he said he likes to play basketball and baseball, but, because of work, he doesn’t do much other than play Play Station, well really X-Box lately. He said he hasn’t been bowling in a while and he always wanted to go horseback riding. He likes to walk, and is trying to lose a couple of pounds.
Things that bothered me:
*Asking for my age more than once.
*Admitting the video games thing.
*Asking why I’m single — again.
*Telling me (again) that I look good for five kids.
*Saying that someone offered him a phone but he didn’t take it. Not telling me that he is actually going to get a new phone.
*When I asked about the number WITHHELD thing, he said he’d change it but that it is his grandmother’s phone number.
*Pushing me for a face-to-face date after I said I’d like to talk for a bit first.
* Asking for music lessons.
*Saying he has lived in the area for a few years but not seeming to know about anything outside the neighborhood.
* When I talked about working on my house, he asked, “Couldn’t you use having me around to help you with all that?” I joked and asked him, “Where were you last year when I was putting down that heavy flagstone?” He said he was “around.” But it occurred to me that I should have met him before. I don’t remember him speaking to me before or even seeing him around — he must have been in the house playing video games.
* Asking me why I don’t have anyone, whether I’ve had anyone since my husband and I split, and whether I’m just waiting for the perfect man. “What you gotta have a particular kind of man?” His attitude revealed a sense of insecurity, maybe he knew he wasn’t doing well with me.
*Anyone who says that they are busy weekends — all weekends — for a defined length of time — well, it makes me wonder if it’s not a weekend jail situation. I’m suspicious that way.
All in all, sounds like a no-brainer, right? Well, did anyone ever see that Friends episode where Chandler was seeing Rachel’s boss, didn’t like her but at the end of each date still said,
“Well, that was fun, we should do it again sometime. I’ll call you.”?
Chandler had no intention of ever calling Joanna, yet he didn’t know how to end the interaction without saying he would. Well, I’m the female version of that. (Season Three, “The One With The Dollhouse”)
So, even though I don’t want it, I have a phone date with Landscaper Guy next week. I’d call him to tell him that I’m not interested but I don’t have his number, remember? — number WITHHELD. During our conversation I tried to tell him that I wasn’t looking to meet anyone, I was just working in my yard. Sounding a bit defensive, he insisted that neither was he and he wasn’t asking for anything physical. He also asked, “What, you have too many friends?”
Now, if I wanted a new non-physical friendship, it would have to be with someone I found interesting– maybe someone who shared my interests. If I was looking for a physical relationship with or without friendship, I would have to find him attractive — which I don’t (He’s not cute, not ugly — just not offensive — there’s a big difference).
Plus, he’s starting to just piss me off.
Yet still, I, like Chandler Bing, told him he could call me next week.
What the hell????
Just Me With . . . another phone call coming my way. It’ll be the last, I hope.
Clearly Chandler cannot say no to Joanna, as somehow he ends up handcuffed to her chair.
There are no handcuffs in my future with The Landscaping Guy.
See The Landscaper Guy, Part III and a Phone Smarter Than Me
Related, sadly, He Lives With His Mother?
The Landscaper Guy: Not Digging Him — Part 1
The front of my house is on a busy street. The back of my house is on an alley. Not too much privacy. But since purchasing this little fixer home, I’ve been dutifully working on the yard. . Last year with the help of a friend I put down a flagstone patio. I built a fire pit by myself. I put up a split rail fence. This year the plan is to plant something that would give us a sense of privacy. But on this day, I was simply moving buckets of rock mulch from one part of the yard to another.
It was a beautiful day. I was dressed in jeans, T-shirt, baseball cap, work boots, no make-up, glasses on but the lenses had transitioned to dark (so maybe I looked like I had on sunglasses). I wasn’t a beauty queen, wasn’t trying to be.
A man walked by, probably on his way to a nearby bus stop or train. Asked me if I needed help with my landscaping, said he really only does it as a side job, he’s in school right now. No, I say, I usually do it myself. (I was doing it myself, thank you very much.) He said he wouldn’t charge much, that he could plant and mulch for me. Again I say — I do it myself. Of course, I told him if I need him I’ll let him know. (I gotta stop doing that). He asked me if I lived alone, asked me if I was married, if I had a boyfriend, if I was looking. He offered, and I allowed him to, carry my bags of top soil from my car into my yard. Again, a woman doing exterior work, SCREAMS single to men. See The Snowman
Now, if you’ve read my previous posts you know that I am trying to open myself up to meeting new men. But does that mean ANY new man? Must I be indiscriminate?
He spoke fairly well and had all his teeth. (Could my bar BE any lower? Chandler Bing style) He wanted us to hang out, nothing big, maybe dinner or a movie. I said, “Can I think about it?” He wanted a way to contact me. Instead of offering my number, I asked for his number to put into my phone. He said he doesn’t have a cell phone right now, he dropped it in concrete. (This man was exhibiting the classic I don’t have a job giveaways — “I’m in school” “I don’t have a phone right now” and he appeared not to have a car in this suburban area.) Plus, though he spoke well and had a nice smile, he was sweaty, had a scarf on his head, had on a white tee and sweatpants. Since I don’t need a suit guy, his casual appearance is not a deal breaker . . . but his overall mojo was not working for me. Still, I gave him my number.
When he called the next day, he did not identify himself. (Poor phone manners, bad)
“Hey, are you busy?“
“Kinda, who is this?“
“Darren.” He said he wanted to talk, wanted to set up a time when we could get together and get to know each other.
I explained, truthfully, that I was in a store, and had a meeting that afternoon. Also, since I knew I’d be busy with the kids’ concert that night I asked if he could call tomorrow. Plus, I’d just found out that my Ex-husband is getting married again, in a horrible way and I didn’t feel like small talk right then and there with random alley walking landscaper guy. He said he’d call me tomorrow, but wanted to know whether he should call or just come by. (Dude, a call is sufficient.)
“Okay,” I said, “Nice talking to you, good . . . ” — click. He didn’t say goodbye or allow me to finish. (Poor phone manners, again.)
Bottom line: I don’t feel like talking to this guy. Is it because I’m justifiably not feeling him or it is because I’m still avoiding getting out there? Or is it because I was having a weird day, finding out about my Ex’s remarriage and all.
So, here are the red flags for me from Random-Landscaper-Guy-Wanna-Be. Everybody’s flags are different.
1. He lives in my neighborhood.
Frankly it’s not the best neighborhood, not the worst either, depends on the block and the house. He didn’t tell me which house he lives in. Still, he may know people I know or who know my ex’s family, some of whom live nearby, and I’m kinda turned off by going out with random dude. [Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! — as my kids would say] Plus, what if I do go out with him and it’s not good — I may not want to see him walking behind my house routinely (I had a stalking incident at one time, so I’m a little gun-shy).
2. He had no phone.
Okay, so like most people I’ve lost/broken my cell phone before and had to go without for a couple of days, it happens — but it doesn’t happen for a long period of time. He offered no house phone number. I know, not everyone has one. But he offered no date or time frame in which he’d be getting his phone replaced. The last time I was “phone-less” I told everyone I’m getting my phone on [insert date].
3. When he called, it came up number WITHHELD.
‘Nuf said.
4. When he called, he left no message, just called repeatedly.
Again, ‘Nuf said.
5. “Should I call or just come by.”
And again, ‘Nuf said.
I am seriously regretting giving this guy my number.
But since I don’t really want to go out with anyone anyway, is there anything this guy could have done?
YES!!!!!! If he actually lives “down the street” from me, there was no need for him to close the deal on the phone number right then and there. He could accidentally on purpose run into me later. Like later, when he has a phone. Like later, when he is not so sweaty, like later, when he hasn’t just asked me for work. The point is, it was not a classic Craigslist missed connections kind of thing. He knows where I live and reportedly, lives nearby. Moreover, he could have engaged me in conversation to see if we had anything in common, other than “I look good for five kids” (a pet peeve of mine, though I know it’s meant as a compliment) and “I look too good not to have a boyfriend.” As if not having a man to mulch for me was some sort of enigma he couldn’t comprehend. Again, I know it was meant as a compliment, but it’s all in the delivery. If he’d offered these “compliments,” wished me a nice day and walked away, only to see me another day, marveling how we keep running into each other, well, that would have been better. Still, even with the red flags, I was trying to have a conversation with this guy. I was trying to be open. And trust me, this is not the cabana boy – – romance novel- -six pack having- -strong muscular arms — looking man I could simply enjoy watching mulch in my yard. No sir, no ma’am.
Ugh . . . . . . I’m SO not feeling it now.
So, what to do if he calls? (To be continued, because . . . he did call again).
Just Me With . . . number WITHHELD and possibly on my way to Home Depot to buy some privacy plantings.
See The Landscaping Guy, Part 2 and the Female Chandler Bing
And the Guys Say: Just Say Yes! — To Dating
NBC’s new show, “Go On”
I’ve gone to group therapy before to deal with my depression. You know, in a room of complete strangers baring my soul and my business. I’m not sure why it works, but it can be effective. I’ve never had any problem with drugs or alcohol but after having been to group I now understand why recovering addicts continue to go to meetings well after they are off the bottle, pipe or pill. Non-addiction related group therapy works kind of the same, Hello I’m [fill in the blank] and I’m here for [ depression, OCD, anxiety, etc].
In group, sometimes strangers can be so supportive in a way that friends and family cannot. These similarly flawed people served as a mirror to my own self and offered help to find a solution to my blues. The last time I went to group, there was a theme for how to deal with my major episodic clinical depression, a chronic condition triggered by the end of my marriage.
The guys said:
“Just say yes.”
What?
It was a common theme. The guys said I need to go out — with men. In other words, I need to date. Quite antithetical to my historically feminist sensibilities.
“I don’t need a man to help me get over my problems,” replied the feminist voice inside me.
The process of separating myself from my ex-husband had been difficult enough and I certainly wasn’t looking for a replacement.
“I’m fine alone, thank you,” said my strong, invincible, feminist self.
But the group therapy guys, insisted: “You need to go out.”
Dude, is it that obvious?
It’s not like I haven’t had male companionship since my marriage fell apart, but aside from the Transitional Man, the other men were guys I’d already known from throughout the years. You know, kind of comfortable guys. What I hadn’t done is open myself up for new men, random men, being approached by men and actually being approachable — just dating.
During the time I was going to group, I was perfectly content with not seeing anyone. Not because I was afraid of being hurt again. I believed, and still do, that no one could hurt me as much as my Ex had, just given the sheer number of years I’d put in with him. (Kind of like having cramps after having experienced labor, what once would have crippled me in pain turns into a mere annoyance). And, no, I don’t hate men, either. I just didn’t really see the need, other than enjoying the occasional physical release they can provide. My fear, if I cop to one, is really that I might actually find a man. I was and am sure that another marriage is not the goal, nor do I have room in my little house — let alone my life — for another person. Plus, with so many kids, well, there are the practical considerations of finding the time, etc . . . I could go on and on BUT . . .
Apparently none of that mattered — to the guys.
The guys suggested, strongly suggested, that I go out on dates and “Let somebody treat you right,” they said. They weren’t saying I should go on the hunt for husband number two or even a boyfriend, or that I needed to get laid, just that I casually date. “You need to let somebody spoil you,” they said. “Guys would eat you up.” (double entendre accidental — I think) . Really?
Jack Nicholson’s “McMurphy” in “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”
They were so sweet that way. Some of these guys were in for anger issues, had been victims of and/or committed abuse — these were tough dudes. The fact that these guys were suggesting flowers and dinner was a real eye opener. In fact, they were telling me to open up.
It was food for thought. “No, I don’t need to find a man,” I told my feminist self, but could I benefit from seeing my value reflected in a man’s eyes over a meal or coffee? Perhaps. And, wouldn’t it be nice knowing I have the option of walking away if I’m not having fun? Absolutely. No lawyers, no visitations, not even any mutual friends — just “Buh Bye”?
Yes. Can I get an Amen?
So should I say yes? Should I let a man “woo” me even though I have no desire to be “won.”
Seems so simple. But it’s the one thing I haven’t truly embraced in my not-so-new state of singlehood.
Notably, the women in group were supportive, too. They talked about being thankful for the kids, and that what I’m doing for them now will pay off later.
But the guys? They weren’t talking about mothering.
Out of the mouths of babes . . . oops, I mean . . . the mouths of guys . . .
Just Me With . . . thoughts of just saying yes.
The Snowman
Waiting for Spring, still. It was a rough Winter, as far as precipitation, emotionally, vehicularly (I love making up words sometimes), it was overall kind of blue.
In my part of the world we got a lot of snow this year. Snow means different things to me now that I’m in a much smaller house with no driveway. Not so bad. There’s so much less snow removal, but it is all my responsibility. I can’t always count on my beautiful ( lousy, good-for-nothing children) to help me when it actually needs to be done.
One fine, sunny, cold and clear day after a snow storm, I was out shoveling my front walk. By myself. A truck drove by and with some equipment in the back and slowed down. Then it kept going. I thought, well, this is gonna be some guy asking to do my snow removal for pay. So I wasn’t really surprised when he circled the block, came back and pulled up in front of my house. But I’m not going to pay someone to do my little front walk, though this snow was really heavy. I just got ready to tell him, no, thanks, I got this. But you know? He was pretty cute. Nice eyes. Nice smile. Had a hat on, which can mask a lot, plus, he was sitting in a truck with a big jacket on so height and weight were not clearly apparent, but still . . . As it turned out he didn’t ask me to hire him to shovel my snow. He had pulled over . . . (on a busy street, mind you) . . . just to talk.
huh
I’ve found that nothing screams SINGLE for a woman more than doing exterior work on your house (not gardening). Exterior painting? Clearly this woman has no man. And now . . . shoveling snow? This chick must be single. Still, I was not prepared to be hit on outside my house on a snowy day with a shovel in my hand. Actually I was not prepared to be outside in the snow — NO TISSUES. My nose was running like Kobe Bryant at a Gay Pride Parade (tee hee). But lone pioneer woman that I am, my sleeve and gloves were good enough for the task at hand. That is, until this good-looking guy was trying to talk to me. And I was a — sans makeup, nose running, ugly knit hat and hand-me-down snow pants wearing — hot mess.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t look quite this bad.
He managed to find out from me that I am indeed single, own the home, not a drug user, not a church go-er and my true age (not something I generally share, not even with myself some days). The man has interrogation skills. Or, standing there in the cold, trying to control my snot as traffic was whizzing by, I just didn’t feel like being coy. I found out his age (men always tell you that and of course he’s younger than me), where he works and where he goes to church. I got a little sermon about having faith and that will see me through. Then he tried to get my number. This man kinda liked me. As he already knew where I lived, I didn’t feel like giving out any additional information (aren’t you supposed to get the guy’s number anyway?). So I got his number and name (it was a sexy, French name). He made me promise that I would think about calling. “We could have coffee or something,” he suggested. And he invited me to church.
I did think about calling him. I still do. I figure, I can only get better in his eyes — I wonder how much more smitten he’d be if he saw me without snot, breathing through my nose instead of mouth, and maybe with a little lipstick on and dressed up in maybe — say — shoes — instead of snowboots. But I didn’t call, still freaked out about being single. (Translation: chicken-sh*t) But I have the number, right here in my phone.
Just Me With . . . the digits of a snowman.
Maybe if he had shoveled that heavy snow for me . . . More importantly, maybe this Spring . . . as I resume my exterior painting . . . I’ll be ready . . . for . . . anything.
The Perfect Man — or so I thought.
My Electrical Challenges — or My Heart
I was in the midst of a nasty divorce and remodeling a nasty house. (See Piss, Puke, and Porn). I was learning how to do so many construction type things by myself. I went almost daily to the Home Improvement Store.
Sometimes I bought what I needed.
Sometimes I’d just stare at items and plan my next project.
Sometimes . . . I would just stare.
I had decided I would learn about electrical work (dangerous, I know). My thinking was that carpentry is all good but it requires a fair amount of strength – man strength that I just don’t have, and I’d often need help for those projects anyway, same with plumbing. I was looking to learn how to do things I can do my own damn self. So electrical work– nothing big– more like just being able to trouble shoot and maybe one day being able to replace a receptacle or put in a light fixture — could be a skill I could use by myself. It doesn’t take a whole lot of strength, and it seemed like something about which I could at least try to develop a working knowledge. So I bought a book and was standing in the electrical aisle — you know, just looking.
(As an aside, if you like the work boots kinda guy, it’s fun to look at the home improvement store customers early in the morning during the week if you can get there. Weekends, not so much, unless you want to ogle married guys with their wives and kids in tow.)
Anyway, a nice gentleman working there asked if he could help me. He was okay cute, well-spoken, friendly — impressed when I told him about my projects but not condescending. The conversation turned personal and I found out he was divorced with grown kids (he must have married young), and he owned his home. I told him I was getting divorced too, hence my move to the fixer home (my Hoarders dump).
Ahmed Hassan, Former Host of DIY and HGTV’s “Yard Crashers” I miss him, what were they thinking in replacing him?
I started to think: Well, this is The Perfect Man. Based on his store discount alone I could justify falling for him. Plus — bonus, he actually had skills, electrical skills, construction skills — and a nice smile. This man could teach me things. (I was still mid-divorce nastiness, not dating but trying to be open to it.) I started to fantasize about power tools and having someone to hold the other end of the tape measure. Ahhh “Maybe I should go out with this guy,” I thought. “What can it hurt?” So when he finally got around to asking if he could give me his number (very gentlemanly I thought), I just said, “Sure.” At the time, this was a huge step for me. Though my husband and I had been separated for a while, I did not feel very single yet and was not ready to be “out there.” (Sadly, some of that has not changed.) Anyway, he got some paper, scribbled his name and number and handed it to me.
His name? —- SAME FREAKIN’ NAME AS MY ESTRANGED HUSBAND!!!!
What the . . . ?
I kept his number for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to call. I knew I’d never be able to say his name. Never. Ever.
My Home Improvement Store Guy Fantasy was over.
Just Me With . . . the digits of a guy with the same name as my husband.
The Snowman — another chance meeting
Online Dating — What am I looking for?
I’m single. I’m free. I should be out there, right? Wrong. I have some real logistical problems in getting out what with all those people I made (the kids). But this post isn’t about that. Even if I could get out of the house, I just tiptoe around dating. Except for my Transitional Man, the only men I’ve dated since my marriage ended have been guys I’ve known since college. I think about branching out. I create online profiles but don’t pay. I don’t have a lot of extra money right now, but it isn’t really about that either. I check out guys’ profiles and get messages but I never respond. Why? Am I afraid of meeting a stranger — is it a safety issue? Nah. I don’t mind talking to strangers. Truth is, I can’t even get through the “What are you looking for?” questions online — let alone in person. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’m not looking for anything. I know I’m not looking for a husband. I can’t take care of another living thing. I can’t imagine being anybody’s girlfriend. I could go on a date, though, if I had time. But in the meantime . . . I guess I need to be single, free for a bit. Doesn’t hurt to look, though . . heh heh heh.
Just Me With . . . 
