Retro future

In some ways I feel like I've always been "older" than my peers or just other folks in general. But in many ways it seems like I may never catch up to the place where even my youngest sister has already reached. It's a strange space to occupy: an old soul still doused with childlike wonderment. I've made it my goal to live my life like I'm already an old woman who's received one wish--to be young again. What would I do if I had already lived my life and was looking back on it?

Always eat dessert, have lots of sex, and floss, regularly.

It's hard to know what I'll regret when it's all said an done. Figuring that by the time I am certifiably "old" my body will have deteriorated to the point of no return leaving me plenty of time to lay around, while my physical being dissolves, to think about all of this. Lord knows I'll be there sooner than I think. I can't believe 2010 is more than half over already. But, what I imagine I'll think back on will be moments of beauty and pain. The exhilaration of my first piano recital, or singing the national anthem at the big high school basketball game. The heady smell of pine trees and gentle rustle of the wind through their needles high above my head while Mike Ozmond was giving me my first kiss. Disappointments and broken hearts. Stitches, bruised ribs, and slight concussions. Watching the sunset glint off the glass fronts of the graves built into the hillsides of Spain while on a bus to Barcelona, and watching airplanes crumple the sides of buildings on TV while getting ready for my first day of massage therapy school. What I can't imagine I'll regret is kissing lots of boys, staying up late on school nights, spending money I didn't really have to go to Hawaii or New York City or make a big deal out of a friend's birthday. I don't know if I'll regret not having kids or not getting married because I don't know that those things aren't still to come.

Expectations are tricky little beasts. For a creative mind, the building up of expectations can be devastating. The ability to create a lavish fantasy future is crushing in it's minutest detail. But is it cowardice to invent an impossible world that's all happy endings and justice for the evil doers? Or is it saintly to mold these ideals into stories for others to glean hope? Heroes that make mistakes are much more real than those who claim invincibility. Having integrity and treating people with respect, taking responsibility over your own actions--how sad that we live in a reality where those are heroic traits and not simply the status quo.

So as I continue to build the story of my life, I'll do my best to be the hero of my own tale. All the while remembering that someday I will come to the end of it. And who doesn't want their life to be like the last book in a series so great it hurts to read the last page because it means the story's over?

Emo-con

Love is not an ocean,

or a card

or a ring.

Love is not a promise,

or a guarantee.

Love is jealousy.

Love is hate.

Love is madness,

an emotion born in the brain that manifests in the heart.

Created to cleave together

beings who would otherwise be

isolated

in the solitary of their own minds.

Emotion so strong it blinds

a mother against the anguishing pain of

birth

Cripples old and young,

weak and strong alike

when it is lost.

And though it is not a possession;

it is precious, priceless, and precarious.

Dating Nirvana

I've been on the fringe of dozens of relationships.

I mean that literally.

Not the verge, not the precipice, but the fringe. I've been a kind of "fly on the wall" for countless friends' relationships. An amateur therapist of sorts for pals: guys, gays, and gals, alike. And it seems to me that the bottom line is this:

Relationships are hard work.

But hard work is rewarding as hell, so saying relationships are hard work shouldn't really deter anyone who doesn't expect life to be handed to them with easy to follow instructions downloadable from iTunes. Then again, with every passing generation we get ever more dependent on the ease of instant gratification. You want to get ahold of someone? They are summonable from virtually anywhere on the planet at the touch of a few buttons on a cell phone.

This world is fast paced, gimme what I want, get it where you can, flaunt it while you got it, because in about the time it takes to minimize a browser window--it's gone.

So how can we be surprised that relationships are not working--not as successful as they seemed to have been a hundred years ago? It used to be standard for people to fall in love over years of penned correspondence, for crissake. Now that tradition has been transformed--or maybe mutated is a better word. Kids are having entire junior high romances via text. A winking emoticon in first period leads to "going out" by lunch. A series of half speak, misinterpreted short hand and electronic squabbling during gym results in the termination of relationship status on facebook by dinner time.

WTF.

Maybe the issue lies in knowing just how many fish there are in the sea. If any one little thing is wrong with whomever you're with--if any fingernail of doubt digs it's way under that paint chip of happiness it doesn't take much prying to break a chunk loose.

But what if that's alright? What if at this point in human evolution we're starting to learn that the best way to raise a family is by non-traditional means, such as, friendly co-parenting. A man and a woman become pregnant, but are not themselves involved romantically--though they still have the utmost respect and appreciation for the other. They enter into a partnership of parenting where each side trades off equal responsibility and share of the child's life and development. The child has two teams of dedicated parental figures guiding, nurturing, and caring for them without animosity or hostility towards one another. Meanwhile, the parents never get overwhelmed with all the child raising responsibilities because there are two different--separate but equal--teams pinch hitting. This leaves the parents time to pursue their own interests, hobbies, careers, romances, etc when they're "on leave" from active parent duty.

I'm sure, like any scenario, this could turn sour in any number of ways--but it's an interesting idea, I think. It fits better with our ever growing selfishness as a society. Our obsession with this idea of "purity" and what's "right". Instead of considering "traditional" the standard for how to live, perhaps we should think of it more in the way we use the term vintage to describe fashion purchased at Abercrombie and Fitch.

Mystery Date

What's wrong with me?

I'm being serious now. What's amiss up in my clock tower? Why am I only interested in men who are not interested in me in return? How is it that I seek these uninterested men out without realizing, and what is it about them that draws me so inexplicably to them?

Yes, yes, I know that it's no uncommon phenomenon that people are attracted to others who are not attracted back. And that this occurs millions of times a day to everyone. That doesn't make my lack of connections any less befuddling. By the age of 29 most people have fallen in love at least once. Most people have had a serious relationship involving living with someone with whom they're romantically ensconced.

Not I, said the fly.

99% of the men I've winked at or emailed on the match have either A) sent me a polite auto response denial B) looked at my profile and not bothered to respond at all C) responded only to flake or D) responded met up once and then disappeared off the face of the earth.

Only one has panned out, and he doesn't want a relationship. We're just working on being friends.

99% of the men who hit on me from the match (or in real life for that matter) are either A) boring morons B) have nothing in common with me C) no intelligent sense of humor or D) my dad's age

Now, I can't believe that I'm so fucking full of myself that I think I'm on some level way above my league. And I'm sick of hearing the "this town is ridiculously superficial" excuse because I'm not a huge ugly fat chic. Plus, I haven't lived in this town my whole life or anything.

There can really only be one logical explanation for this extreme unluckiness in love:

Reincarnation is real, and I was Napoleon in a previous life.

D-DAyTE

Uh oh. Here is comes. The big one. THE Hallmark Holiday event of the year:
VALENTINE'S DAY.

The match.com must be sprucing up it's weekend deals because one of the sidebar headlines on my "home" page said: "It's nearly boyfriend season..."
...

Boyfriend SEASON? This gives a whole new meaning to the term, "manhunt". I suppose this 'season' they are referring to revolves around Valentine's Day. Now I know in this day in age full of forward thinkers and PC pilgrims Valentine's Day is supposedly regarded as a the day to tell EVERYONE you love that you love them. Singles and doubles alike all rejoicing in a day full of love and togetherness yada yada yada...
Bullshit.
Valentine's Day is the day when all those who are coupled can rain down their superiority over those who stand alone. It's their time to look down at us from their towers of partnership silently proclaiming, "Look at us! We found someone to put up with our crazy!" The fear of this 'couples wrath' is very real for some singles out there--men and women. I think that's why the headline "It's nearly boyfriend season..." rang so soundly the alarm bells in my head. Because as the fateful 14th day of February looms closer, the Valentine's Day scramble starts to get more and more frenzied.

In early January the pressure is nearly none. The hype of New Year's Eve debauchery is just dying down, and resolutions are the biggest lies we're telling ourselves. Then all the sudden you look up, and it's the last week of January...Stores are starting to become infected with fake holiday decorations in all shades of red. By the first week of Feburary the commercials on TV have started to pop up. Jewelry ads, candy ads, vacuum cleaner ads...then, crunch time--the week before Valentines Day. Now weekly sitcoms are gearing up for their Valentine's episodes. Sappy romantic "date movies" show up in theaters, practically unannounced. Now the 'red scare' has seeped out onto the very streets. All over town window displays, flyers, and those odd roadside signs that advertise for "Christian Singles in LA" "Jewish mixers" "Gay gatherings" "Speed Dating" etc. with just a phone number underneath, crop up on every corner. And heaven HELP you if you accidently walk by a florist. All to dig the fear of singledom on Valentine's Day deep into your soul. As if being single on Valentine's Day equals eternal solitude.

Then the day comes. Those who have vehemently sworn their indifference to the day and all it stands for are usually hit the hardest. While those who have been scouring their 'little black palm pilots' for anyone AN-E-ONE, find themselves not so bothered by the idea of having a date with a hot bath, a joint, and a box of self-bought chocolates (at least you'll get the ones you REALLY like). Then everyone goes to bed and when we all wake up it's the 15th. It's all over. Maybe you'll have a day of suffering through recounts of other people's romantic tristes, fights, sexings, and/or trips to the hospital but other than that, the day of reckoning has passed. Boyfriend season has closed.

EluciDATE

Today I found myself in a most foreign environment: le Sports Bar.

A little joint in the valley (yes, I know, a harrowing experience in and of itself) called "The Draft". We stopped by this place for a beer and nosh after moving my friend from the sanctity of the westside to the armpit of Los Angeles. Upon entering this cafeteria of carousal, I was immediately drawn to the stereotypicality of the guy/girl couples populating the place. Girlfriends dressed in 'baby tees' of their team of choice. Usually matching colored shoes or miscellaneous accessories accompanied their faux jersey. Wearing jeans that were too tight, or skirts that were too short with curled up or purposely straightened hair. They were clustered together in girl support teams while their men folk were running amok. Dressed in oversized jerseys of their favorite players or well WELL worn t-shirts/sweatshirts drenched in logos. The guys were stationed in homoerotic viewing pods where slapping hands, arms, chests, asses etc were acceptable because of the shared enthusiasm over their team's victories.

Now, I'm not saying watching sports on TV is stupid. Lot's of people are crazygonuts over different sporting events all over the world. It brings cities together, countries even. But there's just something about watching sports that divides the sexes. There are countless women who get into football/baseball/basketball/soccer what have you just as adamantly as any man--but it's rare to have a group of men and women really celebrating their team together. At super bowl parties--women are still in the kitchen, men at the grill. At the sports bars, women group together and find other things to talk about in and around the sporting action. Men spend the majority of their time engrossed in the action or talking about the game or other games/players/plays during commercials or timeouts. And this sports bar, The Draft, was no exception.

So I'm sitting in this crowded hole-in-the-wall drinking a dollar draft of Bud Light out of a plastic cup, trying to beat down the PTSD of my days as a cocktail waitress at Chili's during March Madness, when a commercial for Jared's Jewelry comes on during a break. The piece of junk jewlery they were advertising was as tacky and terrible as they come. Some kind of charm bracelet nightmare with little silver bobbles interspersed with letter blocks and colored beads. "$99.99" special or something along those lines. I shook my head wondering who the hell would buy that for their wife/girlfriend/mother. Then there was a commercial about used cars and another about the show coming on after the game. After those was a commercial for Kay Jeweler. This time for a gaudy necklace with a silver looped diamond mess. It was received by a mom looking all surprised and taken aback by the thoughtfulness of the husband, when really it was the kids that orchestrated the whole debacle. (Thanks for nothin, Peanut gallery) Again, I found myself thinking, "Who BUYS that crap? Do chics really fall for those gags?" Just as that thought bubble was popping, a commercial for Edible Arrangements came on talking about how sending chocolates was a thing of the past--and like a ton a bricks it hit me: VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE 2010.

Like in a dream, I slowly lowered my Dixie cup of light beer. All at once I was blinded by the refracted light from the rhinestoned necklaces, bedazzled Laker's baby t's, bling rings, and costume jewelry all around me. Those terrible charm bracelets were hanging off numerous wrists, heart shaped yellow gold pendants with tiny diamond chips dangled from necks in every corner of the room. I was sitting in a cesspool of the target demographic for Valentine's Day crappy pap. I marveled at how well it all seemed to work together. How "normal" this was for this group of people. It made sense, it was practically cut and dry. And for whatever reason, a strange calm fell over me knowing that the majority of these gals will love getting that chintzy jewelry for the worst Hallmark holiday on the calendar, and that the men who give it to them will fully expect a blow job and a beer for it.

MisDated

When do you know to give someone the benefit of the doubt?

I've always been one to WANT to believe someone when they give you an excuse for flaking on plans. I will also add that I have been known to be gullible as hell, but the world is crazy place! You COULD be washing dishes an hour before we're supposed to meet up, accidentally cut your finger while cleaning the pizza slicer, have to rush off to the hospital for stitches, and only have time to shoot me a txt. Or your roommate might have an unforeseeable emergency at the dog park so you have to go to the vet to try and recover their keys from the pooch's intestinal tract. And it's not impossible that you went to get your mail, slipped on the last stair, blacked out for 3 hours, woke up with temporary amnesia so you forgot we were even supposed to meet at Rae's Lounge--and isn't it serendipitous that we should bump into one another at another bar on the other side of town instead!?

What? It could happen...

I guess it's the over-consumption of romantic comedies, sitcoms, and women's fiction that always hangs those "what ifs" in the air over my head when I get that txt saying, "So sorry but I can't make it because..." I know the world can throw you curve balls now and then. I want to believe that you're truly sorry, and it's not that you don't want to hang out/meet up/date me--something just came up. Last minute. Unavoidable happenstance. If the shoe is on my foot, and I'm the one having to flake out on plans with someone, I always try and give the reason along with a rescheduling attempt. That way, I feel, the person I'm bailing on knows that I want another chance to make it up to them.

Then again, there are those times when you just don't know how to say to someone--I'm not interested in going out with you. I don't want to meet up. Or maybe it's one of your friends and the problem is that you just don't feel like talking to them, or seeing them. They live far, or you're exhausted, or you don't like how their house smells, or their boyfriend/girlfriend/misc relative is always hitting on you. So you end up letting yourself get roped into plans that you never wanted to make in the first place because you were too afraid to tell them the truth. Afraid the truth would hurt their feelings and create a tear in your relationship that would never really mend. Often times, that's exactly what the truth does. Not because you're trying to be mean or hurtful. It's just that sometimes people don't want to hear the truth. And sometimes you're not sure what "the truth" actually is. It's not worth the risk of hurting someone with information that you might not even mean. So you tell a white lie. If they're your friend, they'll be irked with you, but it won't be the end of your friendship. Unless those white lies start to pile up. Then those flakes can turn into a blizzard before you know it.

If they're NOT a friend, if it's a date or an acquaintance--a couple last minute bails will usually get your ticket revoked on the SS Relationship cruise. But maybe if you've more than once deemed something else a more interesting priority than meeting up with this new person...you need to be honest with yourself, and them, about your intentions.

Do onto others as you would have them do onto you. The golden karmic rule--the only problem is that 'doing onto you' part. How DO you really, really, want people to treat you?

DATE you, man...

What's the point of all this?

All this mating/matching blah blah yada yada? How many of us have parents that are happy together after years of: struggle together, kids, broken dreams, unsatisfactory endings to stories they've been writing since their imagination blossomed? Children used to be the reason for marriage, right? Why did people start getting married in the first place? There's a thesis topic just waiting to be plucked up.

Being in relationships equals pain and heartbreak. It also equals joy and laughter. The exact amount of all of the wonderful and terrible has to be balanced in a precarious harmony otherwise disaster will strike. The balance is so very easily knocked askew. One has to wonder why we keep coming back for more after getting the formulas wrong time and time again.

Part one of the formula has something to do with fantasy. For you to be attracted to someone they have to fulfill some kind of fantasy of yours--that is to say, they have to have a quality that you've always thought made a "perfect person". Maybe it's the way they dress, their job, their smile, eyes, ass, voice, love of Robert Goulet or what have you. Whatever it is, no matter how slight--it's a quality you prize over others. You spot that quality in a person and ZING you're attracted to them. For some people their has to be multiple 'fantasy qualities' in order for their zing to zang. For others, just wink and a smile is enough.

Part two has to be the "mesh". Do you mesh well with this other person with whom you've found yourself attracted? Can you talk to each other for longer than 5 minutes? Although talking isn't the only kind of meshing two people can do. And I ain't even talkin' bout sexing. (Though sexing is a very important aspect not to mesh up...) Can you be around one another without feeling obligated to fill the silence? Can you just sit and watch tv together? Or have a meal or read a book in the same room comfortably. If all you can think about is how he clacks the spoon against his teeth when he eats cereal or how she can't possibly NOT hear the way her nose whistles when she breathes--you've got a non-meshing situation on your hands. A non-mesh negates the fantasy qualities. No matter how long you try to kid yourself, whistling Dixie's rack and apple pie ain't gonna cut it.

Part three is the "mystery flavor". Remember the little Dum Dum suckers? You know the kind made out of real sugar that turns into glass shards that shred your mouth after you suck on them for 5 minutes? They always had that mystery flavored kind that came in a wrapper covered in purple question marks. Well that purple question mark lurks in the soul of your potential match. Once you have part one and part two all nailed down, it's the elusive third part that will make or break a paring. I can't even give you an example of it, because it's undefinable in its beauty and intensity. Sometimes the mystery flavor is so strong that it too will try and overrule the other two parts. Throwing it's weight around, trying to be a boss--but those pesky other parts are stubborn. They won't be muscled over! I think this third part is often overlooked, or easily dismissed because parts one and two appear to be so seamlessly put together. "He's a doctor! For kids! And baby animals! Who never needed braces! On the rowing team! Who loves his family! Writes poetry and short stories! And services me orally 3 times a day! But...." But there's something missing. You don't know what it is. You just know that his story's only a two parter.

Maybe being human and self aware is a curse. We know we can and will die. We question our purpose in life. We can talk. We created a hamburger with more calories than you need to eat in a week, and priced it under 5 dollars.

Love of my life--you'd better be as good as that fuckin' burger.

Outta Date

Now I've been on the match for a number of months. I've gotten quite a few dates under my belt. I think I'm getting into the groove of it now. In so much as I'm getting good at not letting my soul get crushed by the rejection. I'm also beginning to realize that you can't trust how great people "look on paper". You could fall in love with the portrait that some people paint of themselves before ever laying eyes on their 3D persona. THAT'S some 21st century shit right there, boy. At least back in the day of love letter courtships you'd have already met the person you were writing to so you knew there was some kinda spark or physical chemistry. It would make it much easier to hear about your beloved's afternoons of needlepoint and yarn balling if you could picture her sexy clavicles in your mind, I'm sure. But when you have no real life picture of this person, or remembrance of how seeing them made your heart race and palms sweat, all you've got are pictures and some paragraphs to create your mental image/persona of this would-be-suitor. Those graphs; photo and para, become everything.

You start doing the "list comparisons": likes and dislikes, as some of the online yenta's call them. These cover topics like movies, music, books, and activities, but all generalized into simple titles. You have to be careful to make your list's broad in scope and quirkiness. Pour example; when listing books:

Harry Potter series

LOTR

Dune

Terry Pratchett's Discworld

Anne Rice (pre-born again Christian)

Whoa whoa whoa, there! You're one hidden Orc door away from a D&D orgy. So unless you're looking for someone to go to Renaissance fairs with every weekend that you're not at a comic con or having a Battlestar Galactica marathon viewing slumber party--remember to throw in a David Sedaris novel and that Gore Vidal historical fiction book you bought at the airport thinking it was the new Dan Brown. No one wants to be pigeon holded--just ask Meg Ryan's new face.

Now even though I'm stressing the importance of variety in your lists, it's equally important--vital even--that you be truthful in your listing. Do NOT say you've read something you haven't, or are a faithful watcher of something you've never seen. Don't throw in an inside joke about the show Survivor, that you heard the cool guy from advertising making at lunch, when you don't even know on what channel Survivor airs. You WILL be called out on this, Survivor is a very popular show (so I hear).

Also, don't try and fake your way out of your gender stereotype. Meaning; guys, don't say you love America's Next Top Model because you accidently watched an entire season one Sunday when you were so hungover you couldn't find the remote. That's like a chic saying she's a huge football fan because she always puts the game on during her Thanksgiving afternoon couch nap. It will turn out badly.

Be unique--but uniquely YOU. Listing generalities about yourself isn't going to attract anyone special. When you're reading about how someone is really "down to earth" and "likes to go out but sometimes really loves a night in", you find yourself breezing over those space fillers like an iTunes licensing agreement. Don't just say you love to go out to eat--mention the time you tried a small Armenian restaurant in Hollywood and ended up eating 3 orders of samek bezry before you found out it was deep fried sardines.

I'm not telling anyone they should lie about who they are or what they like. I'm saying you should paint an accurate portrait of who you are in these online profiles. That's who you're offering to people, the whole you. Not the you that loves to travel and enjoys oxygen. The you that really likes board games and holiday cheese logs. You'll end up attracting the kind of person who is actually well suited to you. Instead of finding yourself on a date with some train wreck who's generic generalities and picture of them next to a waterfall wearing sunglasses prevented you from recognizing them from the post office bulletin board. That shit happens--trust me.

Oops-a-Date-me

So my 2010 started off with an unexpected bout of the awkwards.

One of my closest friends from college was in town with his med school crew for the new year. I was up to my eyeballs in moving details on NYE so I ended up staying home on the 31st. But yesterday I finally got all my ducks in a row--with some special decorganizing help from my homohusbands whom I adore to no end, so I was all jazzed to meet my friend and his posse out on the town. Make Jan 1st my NYE, so to speak. I had been having trepidation over going out with all his peeps (12 deep) and was trying to coax him and his gf to just come by my new place so we could hang out and actually talk to one another. But by the time I showered off the 10 hours of moving dirt and grime, and picked out something to wear, I managed to turn my attitude around about the whole night.

He and his army of pals went out to dinner and so they didn't get going anywhere until 11. I headed out, singing the top ten hits of 1987 (thanks to 100.3 The Sound LA) as I cruised down Venice Blvd to get to Main street Santa Monica. They were stationed at Main on Main so the gals could get their dancing shoes worn in. I walked in the door in my cute red glasses, long black coat and silver flats. I sort of wandered through the throng trying to pick my friend outta the crowd. I'd never been to Main on Main so I didn't know how big the place was. I was walking through the doorway that led to the restrooms when a man came through from the opposite direction. We nearly ran into one another. I looked up at him as he said, "Scuse me" and slid past. I froze.

It was the one-legged-man.

The last guy I dated. I hadn't seen him since May. The last time we spoke on the phone was September, and the conversation took place at 7am when he called to demand I tell him why I didn't want to see him anymore. This was after we'd spoken only a few times in as many months. He'd all the sudden started txting me like we were still thick as thieves even though we hadn't had any contact in six weeks. His communication style was one of the major reasons things didn't work between us. My style is; open, frank, upfront but without accusation. I'm not big on communication that feels like a hostile confrontation. His style was; if there's something I think you need to know, I'll tell you, otherwise--leave it be--if I want to talk to you, you'll hear from me. He was also going through a rough time with this friend of his whom he'd moved up to Santa Monica from Huntington Beach to live and go into business with. The whole time we were dating, I never met this friend. Only saw his profile once. I never met ANY of his friends, actually. He ended up having to move out and back down to Huntington. We barely saw each other. We barely spoke. He never invited me down to HB to see him--put me off when I offered. We only saw one another when he was up in LA for "business" of some type. He wouldn't tell me what kind of business. When I tried to talk to him about my confusion over what was going on between us, he just shut down. "I think we'd better just agree to disagree and drop it before things get said that can't be taken back." I was floored when he said that, I mean, it's not like I was accusing him of cheating on me or anything--we weren't even official or exclusive or anything like that. I just couldn't keep playing this hot and cold game. I told him that if he needed sometime to get everything sorted out with his new place to live/job/etc it was fine. He could just call me when he was settled. So he blew up at me. "I don't know how much more of this (his name)'s-an-asshole speech I can take. You, basically, just told me to get my shit together and get back to you, right? Damnit, don't you realize what you're doing? You insisted we have this conversation and now it's the last one we're ever going to have. Why are you doing this?"

What the fuck!? I felt like I'd fallen through some worm hole into a parallel dimension. I tried to quickly go over what I'd said to him in my head to try and find where I'd been mean or harsh or bitchy/needy/whiny etc--but I hadn't! After that conversation things were pretty much over. There were a few other details that I'll leave out that cemented the one-legged-man's status as one of the worst dating situations I'd managed to get myself entangled in.

We'd met as result of a craigslist experiment I tried. He seemed like an interesting, attractive, intelligent (border line genius), colorful character. The night we met I learned just how colorful. Within the first 15 minutes of sitting down with him I found out he'd been sober for 7 years and had served 2 years in a state penitentiary when he was 20 for nearly beating a man to death (which he described "I really hurt this guy's feelings...").

He and I went for a stroll and I learned more. He'd had a heart attack 5 years ago from a heart defect, the kind that kills marathon runners in the middle of mile 18. And just 2 years ago he was dying of what doctors were calling cancer. On, what he thought was, his deathbed, he looked around and saw there was no one there with him. He'd made a lot of money in sales, had a lot of "things", but he wasn't helping anyone or doing anything fulfilling. Then he went to an eastern medicine specializing doc who took out a couple cysts from his neck, and he got better practically overnight. That was all the encouragement he needed. He gave away everything he owned, quit sales, tried to reconcile with his family, and went to work doing freelance web writing to build up capital for a web based support group for disabled folks. He'd lost most of his left leg as result of a birth defect and had been learning how to feel and live "normally" his entire life. He was 33 at the time.

I was completely bowled over. He was so confident, strong, passionate, and yet so humble. He laid it all out without shame or apology. I admired that. Talked about how he wanted to do things differently than his parents. Wanted a best friend and a lover, not just some arm candy who laughed at his jokes read Vanity Fair like it was the bible. But as we got to know each other better, I found out how hot his temper really was. I discovered that there were definite walls that separated the life he lived and the life he wanted to share. To him, not telling me about parts of his everyday life (like what he was doing for a living, where he was living, who he was getting involved with) didn't mean he wasn't being honest. There were a few other incidents and a nail that that definitely sealed the coffin on our mating dance, so, needless to say, seeing him came as a complete shock.

He didn't look down at me, we didn't make eye contact. I couldn't even be positive that he recognized me. I was wearing glasses and have a different haircut/color--he looked exactly the same. It was such a bizarre feeling that swept over me. I felt my face burn, chest tighten, and heart race. Yet, at the same time, I couldn't find any reason to really let it bother me that he was there. I knew he wouldn't start anything with me, and it was possible that he didn't even realize I was there. It was like I'd split into two separate people. The rational me and the stupid flighty me. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing him when it was so unexpected, and having him walk right by like he didn't know me. I txtd my friend to meet me by the bathrooms. He knew the whole sordid tale about the one-legged-man. He came back and coaxed me out to the table where he and his friends were all congregated. He bought me a drink and he and his gf sort of walled me so I could hide. Such an irrational response to seeing him! My hands were shaking, I wanted to run out the door. I had to laugh at myself. Am I so anti-confrontation that even the threat of saying hello felt like Chinese water torture? We didn't stay long, but the whole time my eyes stayed glued to the back of his bald head bobbing on the dance floor as he danced with some girl that I assume was his date. I tried to chat casually with my friend's gf and shake off my ridiculousness. I let my pal convince me to go out for a cigarette after I started feeling okay. We fought our way through to the front door--which is the only way in or out so we were pressed body to body until we found fresh air. As I finally saw sky the next thing I clapped eyes on was the one-legged-man having a smoke right outside the front door. I spun on my heel and bee-lined it back to our table.

Check, please!

We left soon after. I was exhausted, and they were all planning on starting the drive back to Tucson the next morning. On my way back to my cozy little studio I tried to breakdown what exactly it was that made me have such an adverse reaction to seeing him. I really didn't want to ever see him again after our last conversation. Wanted to--thought I HAD--put the whole thing behind me, but if seeing him rocked me that much I must not be as over it as I thought. Was it that he didn't acknowledge me at all? Was it that he was with some other girl? Was it fear that he'd make a scene or disappointment that really nothing happened? Embarrassment that my old friend and his gaggle of goons saw me get so affected by it? Probably all of the above.

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself about the whole thing. I'm only human. I can only feel how I feel, accept it and try to figure out why. It's like Billy Crystal says in When Harry Met Sally "It was bound to happen sooner or later, a million people in this city and I happen to bump into my ex-wife."