Virginia is for (ex)Lovers

If she’s amazing, she won’t be easy. If she’s easy, she won’t be amazing.
If she’s worth it, you won’t give up. If you give up, you’re not worthy…”
– Bob Marley

We were set up by a mutual friend. He called me during the blizzard. We made a date for the following weekend. I was so excited. We met at a sherry bar, and the moment I saw him, I knew. I just knew. The date was wonderful, magical. We moved on from that bar to another. We drank some more. We talked about wanting to travel with someone special, he said he was going to go renew his passport right away. We talked about marriage – he put my first name with his last, and his eyes danced at the prospect of our future together. Neither of us wanted the night to end. He walked me out to my Uber and we kissed. He took my breath away. I got into the car and simply sparkled.

He kept gazing at me and finally said,
“You’ll have to get used to me staring at you. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
“I can stare at your lovely face forever.”

We had a date two nights later. And then on Friday night. Then we found a way to meet up the next night. He wanted to take me away for Valentine’s Day. I spent the night with him, despite only knowing him for a week but when I woke up still wrapped in his arms, I knew.

Valentine’s Day was romantic, away on the Eastern Shores, taking advantage of the spa with massages and just… well, you know.

And so it went. One Friday night the following month we went to dinner downtown. We were seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant. He said, “Anybody watching us would think we’re in love.” I was. Completely. He had our waiter take a photo of us. It’s still my favorite photo – we were both madly, crazy in love.

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue
Tuesday’s gray and Wednesday, too
Thursday, I don’t care about you
It’s Friday, I’m in love”
– The Cure

And so it went on that way. We spent days and nights and weekends and weekend nights adoring each other. He even made our relationship “official” by formally asking me to be his girlfriend.

He would tell me how perfect I am.
How sweet and beautiful and wonderful I am.
He would tell me that he wants to be a good man. My man.
We had our intimate jokes about our future in the old age home.
He told me that I’m a classic beauty and I’ll never get old.
He told me I’m the perfect size when we hug or snuggle.
He told me he wants us to eventually live together.
He told me he wants us to elope one day.
He told me I’m perfect.

We drove to Cleveland and stayed at my parents’ house. He witnessed my mother’s crazy song and dance in which she one-sidedly  argued politics, religion, the plight of the Jews, the mistreatment of those under Soviet control. But we made it back.

It’s been a hot summer. Uncomfortably hot, forcing us indoors with the AC blasting. Maybe we were getting stir crazy. Maybe I was  getting tired of being the one to always plan outings and buy tickets and make reservations. Maybe I was already losing him…

Maybe I made the mistake of opening up to him and trusting him with my fears about my new job, wondering if I’ve been making the right career decisions for the last decade. I told him I’ve worked so hard my entire life and maybe I was getting burnt out. I needed a vacation. Maybe I made the mistake of telling him how I’ve been flying solo for most of my life – only child, changed schools a few times, moved around – and I envied those with lifelong friends or friends in every corner of the world, such as him. I was a little bummed but I’m not depressed. But you know what? He was my boyfriend. He was supposed to give me a big hug and a kiss and tell me I’m brilliant and awesome and everything is going to be fine at work, and I’ll find that new apartment soon, and yes my mom is insane but it’s okay, everything is okay, he’s there to support me. Instead, he told me how I could benefit from therapy. That’s when I felt like he was already headed toward the door…

He went on a week-long trip for a couple of conferences out of town, after leaving me fraught with nerves, scared that he’s scared, anxious because he told me he’s anxious, but didn’t tell me exactly why. He came back and we had plans for Tuesday:

“Are you still coming over?”
I told him yes, and asked what he wanted to do.
“Just a quiet dinner, maybe watch a movie.”
Nervous, scared, and anxious, I asked if I should pack an overnight bag.
“I thought that goes without saying.”

I rushed home and got my stuff together and Ubered over to his place. I stood outside his apartment door, heart pounding, feeling the blood drain down… down… down…

I wanted to tell him all the fun and crazy things that happened while he was away. I wanted to tell him that the week to myself was a good thing, and I feel amazing and I can’t wait for our trip to the beach the following week to just relax, lay back, and enjoy ourselves away from this insane city.

I finally knocked on the door. He opened it in his timid way – peering out before fully opening the door. I couldn’t act happy and natural. I felt it coming… He tried to act normal. I came in, put my bag down and plopped down on the couch. We barely made any small talk when he blurted out

“I’m not feeling good.”

I asked if he caught a cold on the plane and started to tell him about the bout of e. coli I experienced earlier last week until he interrup–

“No. I’m not feeling good about this. About us.”

I stared. The room began to darken quickly as the sun went down.

“Do you think we’re okay?”

Yes, I told him. Maybe we hit a rough patch but it’s nothing we can’t work out. In fact, I wanted to sa–

“I WANT PERFECT AND YOU’RE NOT PERFECT!”

The room suddenly faded into shades of gray. My heart stopped beating and I felt the air rush out of my body. This isn’t really happening. No. It can’t be. No. No. No. No! NO! NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!!!!!NO!NO!NO!NO!!!!!

“I just want easy.”

The rest of it was a blur. It was all confusing. He was confused. He didn’t want to make a decision he was going to regret in a month. He just needed to sleep on it and see how he feels in the morning. He left me with nothing to go on. He left me with no words. He left me with no comfort. He left me with nothing. I left his apartment.

Bits and pieces of his soliloquy float around in my head…
“Why have I never been compelled to buy you flowers?”                “I’m just anxious…”
“I don’t know…”                           “This is why I’m bad at relationships.”
“At 6 months I should have stronger feelings.”
“I care about you so, so, so much.”                              “You’re such a sweet girl”
“I think you may be a depressed person.”  “You’re not perfect.“

I managed to go to work the next morning. I met with clients and when I got back into my car, I saw that he texted me.

“Are you ok?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I told him so. I started my car and drove back to my office. I parked and looked at my phone again.
“I know. I’m sorry, I was just thinking about you.”
I went off on him. I asked him if he really expected me to be okay. I asked him if he realized that I’ve spent hours wondering what I did wrong, where did I mess up, what’s wrong with me. I told him that I was mad at myself for giving so much to him. I was profoundly bereft and pissed off and crying in my car. Yeah, I was okay.
“I don’t expect you to be ok. It hurts me to hear all of this. I hope eventually, not now but eventually, you can appreciate that I’m trying to be honest about my feelings.”
I went off on him again. I told him I felt like I never stood a chance and now he’s happy and free and I have to pick up the pieces. I told him that his pithy line about hoping that I’ll appreciate his honesty one day was lame.

He never did explain what he meant by anxious, by the way.
He once said he was anxious about his life,
whether he’s letting his life pass him by,
whether he’s saving enough in his retirement accounts,
about his aging parents 2,000 miles away,
whether he wants to be a father.
But that’s life, isn’t it?
That’s all of our worries.
But we keep going, right?

I took the afternoon off from work. I canceled our hotel reservations on the shore. I canceled my PTO request. I stopped eating and started chain smoking. I decided to write a letter, spilling all my feelings and everything I wanted to say but was never given a chance. I regrettably mailed it to him.  One week later, he texted

“I’m on the plane, about to take off. I got your letter, it looks like you may have sent it a while ago but I don’t check my mail often. Just wanted to acknowledge that I got it, and it was very meaningful. I care about you so much, but I still feel the same way that last time we spoke.”

He texted from a plane about to take off??? I call BS on not having checked the mail. I deserved a PHONE CALL. I spill my heart out and he texts me from a plane so if I even wanted to reply I couldn’t??? He made me feel like I was trying to sell him a car, or a set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I never replied. I never saw him again.

“The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman’s love with no intention of loving her.”
– maybe Bob Marley 

It’s been a month and half, give or take. I have a lot more bad days lately than I should. I need to get over him. I wonder if he’s already with someone else. I wonder if he actually left me for someone else. I wonder if he thinks about me. There are too many days when I wish he’d call or just show up and tell me he wants me back. There are too many days when I have to tell myself that he’s a jerk, and he doesn’t deserve me. I wonder if he’ll wish me a happy birthday in a couple of weeks. I wonder what he told his family and  friends and what they told him. I wonder where I went wrong and have to stop blaming myself. I cry too often, still. I don’t wish him ill, but I don’t wish him well. I wish him back and I wish the pain would just go away. I’m still profoundly bereft and pissed off, but I still love him. I wish he loves me back.

Cool Girl Part IV – this is a good one!!

Tags

Adventure, Comedy, Crazy

This is an excerpt from an email I sent to a great friend of mine up in Maine. I tend to write long emails, but people have come to expect them from me.

I went to the ever-lame Moonlight Circus at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, with a brief stint at the Masquerade Ball at Howard Theater.

To: Hot Chick in WM
From: Cradle-Robbing Crazy Cat-less Cat Lady
Date: January 5, 2015
Subject: NYE Adventure

I wasn’t excited about going out at all—I have a bad cold, I’m tired of this solo thing, etc. But, I already paid for everything so I figured that if it were really lame or if I really couldn’t make it through, I’d just go upstairs to my room.

Knowing that the party started at 10:00, I decided to leave for the hotel just after 6:00 or so. I waited long enough to eat something at home and still have time to shower and get ready at the hotel. I was early, since it turned out to be about a 15-minute drive with lights and traffic and two tunnels (I lost satellite reception so my GPS delayed me a bit). I decided that I needed a square before I got ready. I went outside and stood near a couple of 20-nothings who were smoking as well. I started listening to their conversation. The guy was telling the girl how he lived in France for some time, and all this other stuff to impress her. But it wasn’t the kind of impressing to pick up, it was impressing to seem more interesting. I can’t explain it, but it was a little boasting, not “hey, baby.” The girl was eating it up (I think) and I looked over and noticed she was wearing a super mini skirt under her coat, no tights or hose. I asked her if she were freezing; she said no, she’s from Boston. I said I lived in Maine for the last 3 years and it’s a wonder I didn’t get frostbite. The guy chimed in and said he grew up in Buffalo, so the weather (frigid, windy 32 degrees) was like spring. So, we chatted a little and I went back in to get ready.

The Moonlight Circus at the Hyatt was a complete joke. It looked like a really bad prom. Now, I didn’t go to the classiest high school, but this event made my prom look like the royal wedding. I had been a little hesitant to go to the other party at Howard Theater, but I decided, oh, why not. I ran up and got my coat, and the doorman hailed me a taxi. I got to the party just a couple minutes before midnight. It was dark and crowded and it seemed like it had an awesome vibe, but I felt like I got there too late to join in—everyone was already doing their thing. At 12:03, I requested an Uber and two minutes later I was headed back to the hotel.

Talk about timing.

I got out of the car, and headed for the door. The guy from earlier was outside having another smoke, this time with a really tall guy. They both looked at me as I got out of the car, and I thought they said something to me. I walked over and the first guy greeted me, “Hey, we talked earlier, didn’t we?” I said we did, and I joined the two. His name is Jamie. His friend is Rupert, a fashionista who’s living the privileged life. In fact, I believe they’re both from the privileged life. This is where things get hazy, most hilariously.

Rupert is mad at some trashy girl who spilled her drink all over his Zegna suit. He wants a new car, possibly the Audi A3 because he just loves that little hatchback. His dad refused to buy him a BMW at 16 because he didn’t want his son to act like a BMW owner. He doesn’t really know what he wants to do in life. He’s 22 and living the dream.

Jamie is an art dealer. At some point he tells me his parents own the art gallery at Harrod’s. His parents own the Halcyon??? Who is this kid??? He feels like he’s making something of himself—he makes $80K/year, which he feels is great for a 24 year old like him. At age 15 his father made him get a job. He wears American Apparel tee shirts to mow the lawn (what rich kid mows the lawn?????). Rupert won’t stop asking who’s my furrier (I don’t know? Birger Christensen? That’s who made my cape, blah blah blah). Rupert told me how miffed his aunt was when she called him to find why he’s late for her party and he said, “I’m in Prague.” He woke up one day and decided to board a plane. They’re shocked at how I haven’t been to this restaurant, or that clothing store, or how I must drink at whatever bar. Ever see the movie Metropolitan? This was it in real life.  We had decided to ditch the party and have a drink at the hotel bar. Their “secretly wealthy” girl friends came around, too—such young, carefree, skinny girls. Oh, to be young and wealthy…

The entire time I’m thinking that real wealthy people don’t brag about their money. They also would go somewhere posher than this party—they’d have one of their own, even. I don’t let on anything about myself, really—certainly not how much or little money my family has, I laugh at their silliness with them, they’re impressed with what little I say.

Jamie tells me that he wishes he lived through the 80s. I agreed that the fashion and the music and the money were enviable, but I stopped myself from saying anything further. I realized that he was born in 1990. He missed the entire decade through which I lived. I didn’t want him to know that I remember the 80s. I almost made a reference to Pretty in Pink because his hair and clothes were totally James Spader to a fault.

I told them they make me feel so old. Jamie scoffs, “You know, 26 isn’t old. I’m so envious that you have your life together.”  So, they’re thinking I’m as young as they, and I’m thinking that’s because I’ve had years to get my act together. I mean, when I was 24, I was doing exactly what they did, minus the spontaneous jaunts to the Czech Republic.

Rupert runs off with the twiggy girls and Jamie and I head upstairs. He’s got two bottles of wine to share. Because these 5 kids are sharing a double room, there are clothes and overnight bags and food and bottles all over the tiny room. Why didn’t they get a suite?? Who knows what the deal is with them.

Jamie and I went to my room. We chatted for hours. We went outside a few times. In the elevator, some guy complimented him on his ascot. We both nearly lost it—he wasn’t even wearing a tie, the “ascot” in question was a pocket square. But drunk elevator guy was so impressed with himself for remembering what it’s called, we didn’t want to correct him. We ran into this guy a few more times as we went from my room to his room where his friends reappeared to outside again to back upstairs. This guy was tall with a huge gut, a big, bushy red beard, and wearing a black wife-beater, black pants, black suspenders, and that’s it. I mean, holy cow, can we say “Appalachia??” He stole some placard from an easel in the hallway. That placard made its rounds up and down our floor.

At some point, I excused myself to take out my contacts. Jamie said I was lucky to be able to wear them (he wears glasses) because he’s too scared of sticking something in his eye. I said I had to get contacts right before I got braces so that I wasn’t the glasses-and-braces geek in school. He then threw out yet another non sequitor, “my grandfather was an orthodontist. He gave me gold-plated braces.” Talk about excessive!!! LOL!!!!

He told me how some girl wanted to hook up with him after he took her out to a $900 dinner just because she thought he was wealthy. Well, you take someone out to a $900 dinner, you’re giving the impression that you are wealthy. So, are you or aren’t you? This is baffling, but I don’t dare ask.

We kept talking and he said he’d like to take me to dinner. I gave him my card—he was shocked that I had a calling card (“doesn’t everyone?” I couldn’t believe I said that.). Then came the most precious moment:

Jamie: I have an awkward question
Me: Yes? (feeling a smirk growing on my face)
Jamie: Do you want to hook up?
Me: (smirk so frozen on my face, I could barely answer) No. I mean, sorry, I don’t hook up.
Jamie: I’m so relieved! Neither do I!

He went on to say how cool I am (he said with such sincerity how I’m a “cool girl”), and how he hooked up with someone once and felt terrible about it he couldn’t face her again and that he really enjoys talking to me and doesn’t want that weirdness. I told him I’d like for him to take me to dinner as he had offered earlier, as I’ve enjoyed our evening together. He left around 5 AM.

So I did a little digging. I don’t see anything about his parents owning the Halcyon—I mean, I would think that it’s owned by Al-Fayed, who owns the entire store. I figured out where he works. According to his FB profile, he drives a hybrid Toyota, and doesn’t sign in very often. He has a LinkedIn profile, but I’m not interested in looking at it. And, I can’t tell if he lives on his own, or still lives with his parents. But he’s so young, and cute, and I really liked the absurdity. I want to figure out what’s real and what’s not. I do hope to hear from him!

So that’s my adventure. Getting home the next day wasn’t an adventure other than missing the 395 entrance and having to take the long way home.

Cool Girl Part III

Tags

Bad Date, Bad dates, Busybody, Creepers

I went home for the Christmas season. I worked remotely from my parents’ dining room reserved for me working from their home. They never use that room. The kitchen table seats way more than the one in the dining room. Ah, but I digress…

Because I was working from home, because this was my first visit home in 2014 that wasn’t for a funeral (third luck’s a charm, I guess), and because I just wanted to veg and be spoiled by my parents, I didn’t make plans or meet up with old friends or doing anything more demanding than shopping with my mom (that’s really demanding, actually– bad example). I did, however, promise my friend Jackie Warren – the most bad-ass jazz pianist I know – that I’d come to her late-night set at Nighttown.

Nighttown was my old haunt. I could walk in anytime and my drink was being prepared as I grabbed a seat. I knew everyone behind and in front of the bar. I was behind the locked doors ’til 5 am, drinking and smoking squares with the other elite members who were in with the owners. We joked and laughed and bragged and told riddles and doodled all over the paper top-cloths until the morning crew came in to prepare for brunch.

She was playing in the marble bar. The wooden bar was crowded so I made my way back and sat near her. She saw me, pointed at me, and loudly exclaimed, “It’s YOU!!!” I went over and gave her a hug. After a quick greeting, I let her get back to her music. There had been this tall, dorky guy lurking around, but he finally went back to his seat. He was there only long enough for me to finish my chat with the bartender.

So Dorky Doug saunters over. He’s talking to me, but he’s too tall for me to crane my neck and hear him over the music. I told him to sit down. I never learn.

He asks me what do I do. I told him I’m a banker. I asked him what does he do. Nothing. He quit his job a month ago and doesn’t know what he wants to do next. He started explaining some of the antiques around the bar area. I cut him off, “Yes, Brendan has a lot of impressive relics here.” He proceeded to tell me about the (bizarre) painting behind my head. I don’t know why– he knew nothing about it. I was there when the artist brought it in. He was a landscaper/snowplower/artist who always had a Guinness in one hand and a double Jameson in the other. Nicest guy, but weeeeeiiiirrrrd.

As you can imagine, I’m just not feeling it. I’m not finding any common ground.

Him: Did you have a nice Christmas?
Me: It was okay, I guess.
Him: Just “okay?” But it’s Christmas!!!
Me: I don’t celebrate Christmas.
Him: You DON’T celebrate Christmas??
Me: I’m Jewish.
Him: Really? Oh. My landlord’s Jewish!

BOOOOOOOO

He insisted on showing me photos of his nephew and niece, “Do you want to see pictures? Don’t say no!!!” I said no. He ignored me. He wouldn’t take the phone away from my face for an eternity.

He asked what do I do again, as if he hadn’t already. He told me his brother visited from Texas and his grandmother took a spill but she’s okay. He said he’s lived here since high school. He went to school in Akron and went to college in Cleveland, so I was confused by the “since high school” thing. I smiled curtly and over-enthusiastically greeted an old friend – the music producer for the restaurant – when he came by.

Dougie Dorko asked me what I was doing the next day. I told him I’m busy. He asked about Monday, I said I was working. He asked about Monday night, “Do you want to go out?”

I said no. He didn’t believe it. I shook my head and said sorry, but no. And he still wouldn’t leave. His friend came over to clink glasses as if we were hitting it off. His friend got the hint shortly after. He tried to drag his friend away, save what’s left of his dignity. Ten long minutes later, Doogie finally got up and I can’t understand why he did this:

He ran his hand up and down my back, over my hair, and said it was nice to meet me.

I shivered and recoiled and jolted off my stool. EWWWWWWWWWW

Cool Girl Part II

Tags

bad co-workers, Career, Comedy

I don’t know what it is, but everyone seems to think I’m at least 10 years younger than I am. They take one look at me and go, “yep! Just graduated college!”

HA! I WISH!

Unbeknownst to most of my coworkers, I’ve been developing my current career for 10 years. But the fuzzy math comes from being the new, single girl plus making the big move from up north – this must mean I flew the nest and I’m a fledgling trying to make it on her own.

One particular Friday, I had a meeting to clear up a lot of confusion I created due to conflicting information from several directors. Long story short, I couldn’t win. After the call, one of the guys reached out to me via Instant Messenger (it’s not AIM, but it’s primitive enough to be) and told me it’s okay. The conversation continued for a while, chatting away about school, career, moving (he’s from FL but lives in NYC), and we joked a bit. Nothing flirty, since he’s married. Well, I didn’t think I was flirting.

He was impressed with my outlook on life and adventure, but it seemed like he was chalking it up to naiveté on my part. He then asked me to call him, since he was shutting down his computer. So, I did– I didn’t put much thought into it.

He was impressed that I called him. He told me he really likes my style. We need to grab a drink the next time he’s in town. That was my “a-ha!” moment.

Him: So, how’d you decide to go into CRA?
Me: Complete accident. I went to school to become a software engineer.
Him: You’re a hot commodity! Why aren’t you doing that? There are so many positions!
Me: I can’t compete with the kids these days. I started at the wrong time– right before the dot com bubble burst. I got pink-slipped and suddenly the market was saturated with kids like me. No work.
Him: Wait, wha– uh– when did you graduate?
Me: I started working in my field in 2000 while finishing school. I graduated a year late, in 2002. My parents thought I’d never finish! Hahahaha…
Him: 2002??
Me: How old do you think I am?

Not only am I 10 years older than he imagined, but I’m also 2 years older than him.

awkward like a turtle on its back

Cool Girl Part I

So here continues my weird, crazy life. Every day brings an encounter or an adventure.

My last relationship finally dissolved when I begrudgingly answered his phone call only to be yelled at for not “liking” his sister’s Facebook post. (Yes, I dated a 15 year old girl, or so it seemed.)

You know, I’m still annoyed that he didn’t bother giving me a birthday gift, but he invited himself to an expensive steak dinner with my dad and me on my actual birthday. His attempt to offer to pay was feeble and embarrassing. He thought nothing of suggesting that I leave my dad in my newly-emptied apartment– the movers had already come and gone and I had nothing more than a sleeping bag and an air mattress– to go have sex with him at his place after dinner.

He hung up on me. The next day, I received a long, scathing email about me and how much it hurt him that I didn’t like his sister’s post, or his re-posting of her post. His sister had posted a Veteran’s Day homage, if you will, to their father who had served in the Air Force. Neither her nor his post showed up in my newsfeed that day. After that phone call, I didn’t look for it either.

I took my time to reply. I went through a few drafts, but kept it simple: “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m done.”

Of course he had to write another long, scathing email (I told you, he’s 47 going on 14) and ended it with- I kid you not – “Maybe we should end things before we end up hating each other.”

I didn’t bothe—

The Psychic Was Right!!!

Tags

birthday, Humor, moving, new year, predictions, psychic, twist of fate

A year ago, for my 34th birthday, one of my bestest friends took me to see a psychic for a reading. I’m not sure if I heard a collective groan or dead silence, but I’ll continue anyway.

I let the psychic talk and tell me what she sees in store for me. I didn’t lead her on– I told her my date of birth, and that was it. After calculating some numerology and shuffling her tarots, what she said was amazing.

She told me that my 34th year was pretty much going to be crappy. Nothing is going to go very well but my 35th year would be the exact opposite. Not a very warm and fuzzy sentiment for your current birthday. She told me I’d find myself angry and frustrated with the lack of movement my life has taken on. She said –  verbatim – “I have nothing good to say about your job.” But, she did tell me that my career will upswing in July. Maybe banking, maybe insurance – something finance-related. (I swear I did not tell her at any point that I’m a banker!) She told me that someone close to me will pass during the colder months, and I assumed it was my grandmother she was referring to. I’d never have thought I’d lose my aunt in March. No one saw that coming. Well, besides the psychic.

She detected that someone I was involved with has let me down, but I’m vastly better off without that fool (isn’t that what everyone says?). She also told me that someone close to me will disappoint me greatly, and it may not be wise to continue the connection. She did say that if that person meant a great deal to me, then it would take a lot of work to keep it going, but only if both are willing. We’re at a standstill right now.

The real kicker is that I am now sitting at the Starbucks two blocks away from my new apartment in Arlington, VA. I start my new job in a couple of weeks, after having gone through the application and interview process since end of July.

As I explore my new town, I find that the DC area is nothing but an oversized playground, and I can’t wait to see it all! Big hopes, big smiles. The best part is I’m only a few hours away from my family, so maybe we’ll be able to see each other more often than once a year.

I suppose the only way I ended up here was by going to Maine first. I just don’t know why it had to be such a bad experience up in Vacationland. Then again, at the end of every vacation, it’s good to go home.

By the way: my 35th birthday was two days ago.

Happy New Year! Cheers!

A Death in the Family

Tags

death, family, life, loss, love

I finagled a few days off at the end of December to go home and spend time with my family. My dad and I went to the movies and Chinese for dinner on Christmas, for the 31st year in a row. I also visited an aunt, one of my mother’s sisters. She always boasted, “I’m your favorite aunt!” while I just kinda grinned and nodded. Let her think that, that’s okay with me. One day, my dad’s sister argued, “No, I’m her favorite aunt!” I just kinda grinned and nodded again. Let them duke it out– it’s pretty funny!

That weekend I was home, my aunt texted me. She told me to come over because she has something for me, and it’s not food. I said I will. It was followed by three identical texts, “Are you on your way? When are you coming?” I’m not sure if she was getting impatient or her phone was flipping out. I replied, “I’m on my way!” She said, “Ok.”

I got to her house and she was more than excited to see me. She was in a really good mood I didn’t know to what to attribute. She gave me a gift, “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to clean them. I was going to give them to you for your 35th birthday, but since you’re here I’ll give them to you now.” She handed me a jewelry box containing sapphire and diamond earrings, and a matching ring.

She said she couldn’t find the bracelet. I told her she already gave it to me as a thank you for doing the calligraphy on her daughter’s wedding invitations. 

I look down at my hands and I’m STILL wearing the gold ring she gave me on my 10th birthday– since then, same finger. On my other hand, I’m wearing another sapphire and diamond ring she gave me for another (26? 27? 28? I dunno, my late 20s were a blur) birthday. She always loved to give me sapphires, my birthstone.

My parents and I hung out at her house for a couple hours. My aunt said she’s going to visit me in Maine. Just for a weekend– fly in, fly right out. With my mom. She was going to bring my mom with her.

But she knew that that was going to be the last time I’d see her. I did not.

On Thursday, February 27th, I got a voicemail from my mom asking me if I was interested in a black winter coat. My aunt bought it on sale, but when she tried it on at home, it was too small. Because my aunt and I were the same height, my aunt thought I’d like it. I called my mom back the next morning, Friday morning, on the way to work. I told her I’ll take it. She told me it’s in my aunt’s car trunk; they’re going shopping again that morning, so they’ll send it to me that day.

I walked from the parking lot to my office building imagining what would my aunt think of Portland. I thought up humorous situations, as those two sisters always created some mayhem together.

At 11:24 AM, my mother’s call went straight to voicemail for whatever reason. In 42 seconds my mother told me that my aunt had a heart attack and she’s been declared brain dead. Her voice sounded distant, a little unreal. I didn’t know what that meant. It didn’t register. It still didn’t register the next day, or even the next night, when my mother called me and told me I need to come home. I booked my ticket for 6:00 AM. I flew home, confused, bewildered, panicked.

This didn’t really happen. No, no. Wait, what?? But the coat is in her car, she’s going to visit me in Maine. She was going to ship me a needlepoint she made. She didn’t get to visit me. No, she’s going to pull through. She will. She must.

She passed on Wednesday, March 5th. My mother told her to go, “Father is waiting for you.” The next day, the cold lifted and the sky cleared. It was a warm and sunny day for the funeral. They lowered her coffin and broke our hearts. There must have been over 100 people there; someone counted at least 50 cars. The visitors started pouring through my parents’ front door, to pay their condolences. The phone calls from all over the world flooded the house line and my mom’s cell phone. The deli and bakery trays filled the tables and refrigerators. But we were waiting for my aunt to walk into the room.

My mom’s phone will ring a lot less often now. She and my aunt used to talk 5, 6, 10 times a day. My phone calls home will no longer be interrupted by aunt on the other line wanting to gossip with my mom.

I flew back to Maine on Sunday, exactly one week later. I went back to work the next day. I felt awkward. There was nothing left for me to do at home, and there’s nothing I can say or do.

It’s just so final… but it’s not…

I talked to my mom tonight. She told me she had a dream that she was with my aunt, but she couldn’t see her. My aunt gave her a very nice large, white handbag. But my mom couldn’t see her, she couldn’t find her; she searched and called out for her sister, but she couldn’t find her.

There’s no sound worse than your mother crying.

Then my mom told me she’ll pay me back for the flights, and she needs to check her mail and start paying her bills. She got off the phone with me.

My aunt was right. She really was my favorite.

50 Shades of Wrong: Chunk

Tags

Bad dates, Humor, relationships

He’s well-educated, undergrad at Cornell, graduate at Johns Hopkins. He’s well-traveled, having been to all six inhabited continents. He’s an entrepreneur, with his own relatively successful business. As he approached, I thought he looked pretty decent, too. That is, until he got that much closer and took off his sunglasses.

It was CHUNK!!! A real-life Cabbage Patch Kid!!!

He sat down waaaayyy too close to me. So close, I had to lean away so we wouldn’t be linking arms every time we took a sip of our drinks. He asked a lot of questions, leading the conversation along. I got bored talking about myself– he gave vague answers about himself and pressed for details over the mundane to where I wasn’t interested enough to ask him anything anymore, so I rambled on. He was just under 30; I wondered if he’d get the “Chunk” reference.

He paid for our drinks, and offered to walk me to my car. We get to the parking lot and– sneaky bastard!– I thought he went in for a hug, but NO, he went in for a kiss. I pushed him away and he said, “We should do this again some time!”

“Let’s not.”

I got into my car and drove away.

I thought he’d totally forget about it all. Two days later, I’m sitting at the airport waiting for my flight to board. He texted me, “How’s the sleeping bag?”

***I had mentioned at the bar that my parents had not yet redone the spare bedrooms, so I’d be sleeping on an inflatable mattress during my visit (again, just like 8 months ago… and a year ago… and a year and a half ago… No, I’m not bitter, just exhausted. I just wake up at 4:00 AM, with the right half of my body completely numb and unable to go back to sleep for three hours.). ***

Me: “I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight to board.”
Chunk: “Haha! You’d better start downloading games on your phone!”
Me: “The plane is on time; I believe we’re boarding in about 5 minutes.”
Chunk: “Oh, haha!”

I went to dinner with my parents later that evening. As we were leaving the restaurant, I got another text from him,

“Well, you’re not missing anything here. It’s raining.”

*sigh*

My parents were calling me to move my butt along, so I ignored it. I just don’t want to think about anything this week.

If only I were attracted to him, it might be cute.

50 Shades of Wrong: Bill

Tags

Bad dates, Frat Boy, Hook-Ups, Humor, Old Orchard Beach, OOB

A friend of mine was telling me how her boyfriend’s friends were just all about hooking up, even though they are way too old to be acting like they were still living up their frat house days. I know the type well, and ran into the perfect specimen.

They go out to the bars wearing polo shirts and khaki cargo shorts, and flip flops. Sometimes they’re wearing a baseball cap, backwards (for the record, unless you’re playing baseball, there’s no need for a cap), and for bonus effect, a pooka-shell necklace, or some string friendship bracelet for whatever ungodly reason. They’re well over 30, but shhhh!!! Don’t tell them! You’ll shatter the world of their very existence!

Bill was wearing the uniform. He put on his feigned interest– part of his “charm.” I tried to keep things short, polite, but not detailed. He wasn’t even that attractive; he carried too much beer weight and had broken blood vessels in his cheeks and nose. Another nondescript Vanilla, swollen liver version. Like Matt before him, if he stood against a blank wall, you wouldn’t even notice him.

Bill: “So, wanna have some drinks and fun? Me and some buddies of mine are headed down to Old Orchard Beach. We’re gonna go see a friend play in his band. The music is not that great, but that’s what the drinks are for! Hahaha…”

Me: “I’ll pass.”

Bill: “Huh, you’re no fun!”

And he stumbled off, looking for a new victim…

50 Shades of Wrong: Dan

Tags

Bad dates, Canceled Date, Emergency, relationships, Stood Up

Talk about whirlwind:

Dan: Let’s have tea on Wednesday (no, he’s not British)
Me: Sure, that’s… different.
Dan: How about 5:15ish?
Me: Okay, that works.
Dan: Just text me if you’re running late or something comes up.
Me: Okay, see you then!

Wednesday Afternoon

Dan: Golly, gosh! I have to cancel– I have an emergency. (yes, he really did use that phrase)
Me: I hope it’s not too dire!
Dan: Thanks for understanding! Bye!

hmm…