And the Clueless Award Goes to...

A history lesson (in brief): 

When I started this blog in 2008, I was dating someone I liked very much. His name is Cripes. It wasn't long afterward though that he and I got into an argument and *POOF* he called a halt on the relationship. It was over and done without discussion.

Um...OK.

A year later, out of the blue, he gets back in touch. He acts like he wants to try again. We try. He fails. Especially after he stood me up twice and then forgot my birthday. 

I was done and I told him so.

So here we are, two years later, I've gladly heard nary a peep from him during that time...until this morning when he texts me an embarrassingly (for him) inappropriate message.

And I'm like...what? Huh? Really? REALLY?!

Cripes, Cripes! It's over. Get a clue.

It's time to just let me be the song you sing one day.

It Smells Like Adolescence In Here - You Know, Faintly Goat Like

Back in the last years of elementary school and all of junior high, I was not a cute kid. I hit my awkward stage very early - glasses and braces in the 4th grade - a stage made even more awkward by my early development and painfully-obvious-from-the-start large chest.

I've written about my popularity challenges and limited dating experiences before. At 40, I feel nearly as inexperienced and all elbows and left feet as I did at 14. Luckily, Noodle likes all my elbows and left feet. But that's not why I'm here tonight.

Tonight I'm going to tell you a secret.

My generation - or, at least, the generation I knew growing up in Wyoming - was particularly promiscuous at a very early age. My peers began readily losing their virginity at the age of 12. Kids were coupling up - angsty balls of raging hormones and tween spirit - before we'd graduated to junior high. One of my old elementary school friends - TB - was dating a senior in high school before she became a teenager herself. I remember listening in fascination and horror as she detailed the events surrounding her de-flowering and how humiliated she was...how much she hated it. Thinking back on it, while I understand her thrill of catching the attention of an older "man", her willingness to sacrifice that part of herself in order to keep him, what he did to her borders on pedophilia. I feel sick over it.

But this isn't about her either.

As I said, all the kids, it seemed, were coupling up, attending boy/girl parties - parties to which my invitations have yet to arrive, kissing by the gym, holding hands, dancing awkwardly - doing their best at the hug and shuffle - at every junior high school dance. Rites of passage from which I was, and would continue to be, excluded. I was so very desperate for attention and affection - shyly waiting for it, convinced it would never come.

And then...

I met CP.

CP was the best friend of the older brother of MY best friend. He was older - he had a driver's license and a 1964 electric blue Chevy Impala - he was 16. I was 14. It wasn't exactly squicky. But he had a girlfriend...a girlfriend I not only knew but a girl who counted me as one of her closest friends.

CP and I began our clandestine liaisons soon after we met. It started in the back row of the Beverly Twin movie house as we "watched" Pee Wee's Big Adventure. He would kiss me - my first kisses - a lot. Our make out sessions would continue weekly or as often as we could make them happen and usually before Wednesday night youth group meetings. One afternoon, I arrived at his house and he'd been eating sour cream and onion Pringles. To this day, those chips taste like salty shame to me.

One day, after months of these secret passion-filled afternoons, he pulled me into his parents' laundry room and told me we should "do it" on top of the dryer. I was 14 and terrified. I told him "no". Repeatedly. He would eventually respect my answer - but only after numerous attempts to convince me otherwise. 

Soon after, he would break up with his girlfriend and I...I foolishly thought it was because he wanted ME to be his girlfriend...

Until he announced he was seeing someone else and abruptly cut off all contact with me.

And I knew...I was his secret. His dirty, shameful secret. A concept I was familiar with. A concept I would continue to manifest again and again...and again.

At the time though, I didn't understand why he would have taken up with me if he didn't actually like me. I was heartbroken. I was ashamed. I didn't believe I deserved any better.

It wasn't until years later, after I'd had enough distance and experience, I'd recall how CP was first introduced to me, and I would begin to understand. I had spent the night at my best friend's house and was in her room applying my new-to-makeup, inexperienced heavy hand when her older brother, SB, came into her room talking on the phone to CP. SB continued to talk on the phone as he watched me paint my face and, at one point, declared my makeup application the art of a "super slut".

Taken out of context - from CP's end of the conversation - he heard, "super slut". He thought I was easy. The mating call of every over-sexed, hormonally-over driven teenage boy alive. And the rest is (my) history.

A history that was doomed to repeat itself - several times - over many years. A history that continues to haunt me...continues to send chills up my spine when there is even a hint of secrecy to any relationship I engage.

So...

While I would love to say I have no regrets, while I would love to say everything that's happened in my life has brought me to the place I am now - a particularly awesome place to be (and it is), if I could have a do over, it would start there. 14-year-old me would have just a little self-confidence and a little self-esteem. 14-year-old me would have told him, "Hey! You want to fool around with me? You'd better be free to do it AND you'd better act like I'm worth solid gold. Because I am solid gold. Otherwise, you won't come near me without a warrant."

Written in response to the GBE2 (Group Blogging Experience 2) prompt: Do Over.

What Does It Mean?!

If you've been around awhile, you may remember Cripes. If you don't, well, he's that one guy I (thought I) was seeing last year about this time and who I (thought I) was seeing about this time the year before. *sigh*

I liked him an awful lot. Obviously. If I was willing to make a second go of it after the first time ended so abruptly and not so nicely I must have liked him. I thought he actually liked me. At least, he certainly seemed to. He certainly seemed to say the right things at the right time. Never mind that I also appear to be a sucker for the sweet talkin'.

Anyway! So, the other day, I, quite literally, stumbled across a blog...his blog, of this I am 100% certain. I didn't read all the entries. But, I must confess, out of curiosity, I went back to the time period last year to see what he'd have to say, if anything, about me. I mean, wouldn't you? OK, maybe not. Still...I did.

He made mention of his failed relationship attempts in 2010. Two were clearly not me. About the third he states he had "another 1/2 hearted go with CCW". That was all. He then goes on to describe one of the other women he dated as being the most looped woman he'd ever known - that woman was not, I'm 100% certain, me (no really. I'm 100% certain).

Huh.

Now I know not to assume that this is, in fact, about me. That would just be silly. However, I'd be willing to wager at least an acorn machine prize on it. I'll admit, there was just the tiniest sting at the 1/2 hearted piece but, in hindsight, I understand that I mistook his 1/2 heartedness as his way of grieving the loss of his best friend. I'm OK with that.

However! I am more than mildly curious to know what CCW might stand for and as I'm not about to contact him to ask, I'm putting the challenge out to you folks. What do YOU think CCW might mean? Give it your best shot. Try not to be too mean...I am kinda sensitive and all.

A Second Chance

It's odd the way life twists and turns back on itself.

Not quite a year ago, I was confused and sad over the end of the beginning of a relationship at which I'd looked forward. A relationship that ended in a stupid explosion over hurt feelings.

I was so very sad at the time. Dealing with the death of Andy. It seemed as though everyone was leaving, one after the other, and life just kept getting harder.

But there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps, one day, everything would work itself out and we could, at the very least, be friends.

So I went on with life, doing what I do, whatever it is I do, meeting new people, exploring interesting side roads along my path, and just generally enjoying myself. Always though, there was a gnawing feeling of something left undone and a little bit of hope.

As time wore on, hope dissipated and I began to believe that the mini-explosion was, in fact, the end. Occasionally, I would find myself lost in reverie over the events leading up to the end and wondering where and how he was, but the thoughts began to come farther and farther apart.

Until last week.

After receiving an incredibly surreal text message in the middle of the night.

And I'm like all wait...what?

Because, I think, we may end up friends again. After all this time. After lost hope.

And this is happiness. I missed him.

Thanks.


A year ago: Wine sophisticate, I am not

Date...It's a 4-Letter Word

Date.

Dating.

Dated.

In order to do this up right, I think we must first take a journey back to the mid-80's when I was at my most popular self...



Yes, that is a Miami Vice cotton blazer and Hawaiian shirt, why do you ask?

Here are the me in grade 8 facts:
1) I began developing at the age of 10. I didn't stop developing until I had enough D's in my bra cup to hypothetically distribute them evenly among my mother and my two sisters in addition to keeping one all to myself.
2) I had braces.
3) I had glasses.
4) I had a rat tail¹.
5) I played the violin.
6) I wrote really bad pre-emo poetry.
7) I had 4 friends...3 also had braces, glasses, and were in the orchestra, the other was gay.
8) I was painfully shy.
9) Oh yeah...and I was fat.

Fast forward to grade 9 and some things had changed.



But one thing never did change²...I was never popular or ever on the verge of popular. I was so nerdy, I didn't even register on the geek radar. OK, by the time I got to high school, I wasn't actually a nerd anymore³, instead I considered myself very cutting edge punk rock/alternative which, in hindsight, probably did not give me much more date cred than the rat tail. I digress.

Anyway, so all through high school when most people are dating, I wasn't. OK, I had 6 dates...
1) Date with nerdy musician I didn't like and who mortified me when he brought flowers to my house.
2) 2 dates with another nerdy boy from another high school I remember nothing about except his oily nose and glasses.
3) 3 disastrous dates with Brad...well...more like 2 1/2 dates and 1 disastrous date. The first 2 got crashed by friends and the 3rd? I really have to start letting him live down prom.

Yup. Picture of popularity.

My first boyfriend came after high school...a friend...and there were no dates. It went something like this...

Delivery pizza, Boone's Farm, sex and WHAM! relationship. All in one night.

That relationship lasted about 18 months.

6 months later, another relationship began with another friend...and there were no dates. It went something like this...

Delivery pizza, bourbon (hi mom) with green kool-aid chaser, sex and WHAM! relationship. All in one night.

That relationship lasted 7 years+.

6 months later, another relationship began with another friend⁴...and there were no dates. It went something like this...

Delivery pizza, vodka tonics, sex and WHAM! relationship. All in one night.

That relationship was also another 18-month whopper.

It was about then I took some time off. I got my proverbial shit together and then decided one night⁵ I wanted to online date. Someone. Anyone. If so many people are doing it, there must be something good about it...right? RIGHT?!

Ha.

Oh the lure of online dating. Sitting at a computer⁶, reading profile after profile, cruising the pictures, exchanging winks and witty banter via e-mail all while enveloped in cotton granny panties, sweatpants, and terrycloth. Perfect! Except then there's the part where I actually have to put on my job interview suit and meet this shining example of manhood and convince him that no, yes, really I absolutely want this er...job.

I lasted 6 weeks. They were the longest weeks of my life. I went on 9 dates. 3 I made it to date #2 before calling it quits. The worst was the bus driver who spent the entire evening describing the various routes he drove each day. By the time I got to J*, I was just glad to meet someone "normal" and I hurriedly agreed after dates #1 and #2 to a relationship so I could legitimately just be done.

J* was a lovely man. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. I especially appreciated that he did not require me to online date anymore and it was nice to have someone to play BINGO with (shutup) every Saturday night...for a few months. That is, of course, until the New Year's Eve in Santa Fe incident⁷.

*sigh*

That was uhm...hmmm...5 years ago. I did not get back online. I had a couple of short term relationships that did not involve any dating. Beyond that, I was on my own. And when I realized I'm pretty good at that, I decided I was really happy with that.

Because no really, the idea of getting back on the internet and starting that crazy hellishness all over again gives me cause to shudder. Especially when I have awesome cats, even awesomer friends, and lots of hobbies and interests.

I think dating is like...pantyhose. Women wear pantyhose to hide the "sins" of the lady...the varicose veins, the cellulite, the stretchmarks, the uneven skin tones, the leg hair. Pantyhose are a bitch to get on and they aren't much fun to sit around in either. But we wear them anyway because we think they make us appear much more "attractive" than how we really are. And that's what dating, especially online dating, is like. We create a winning resume from whatever we've got to work with and then we put our best job interview suit with pantyhose on (even though we prefer the granny panties and sweats), wear our most winning smiles, and sit at an uncomfortable table across from another winning smile and engage in even more pointless witty (or not so witty) banter without really getting to the truth underneath the pantyhose...until much much later if it even gets that far.

So I just say no to dating.

Except...well...I'm dating someone. And yes, I met him online but not like that. And I've not worn pantyhose for him once yet. We met on a social network site - originally blog buddies, and then e-mail penpals, and now dating. Yes, I put my best foot forward to some extent⁸, but there was never any pressure to be anything other than who I am. He knows I was a nerd, he knows I was/am shy, he knows I sometimes sing Madonna songs in my underwear, he knows I'm opinionated, occasionally bratty, and that I live in a basement⁹. That doesn't seem to matter.

Better yet, there's been no delivery pizza, no BINGO, no sex and WHAM! and no stories about what routes he drives.

He's interesting and interested and very smart. He's gainfully employed and has transportation besides his feet and/or a skateboard.

And I like him. I like dating him. Very much.

1: A rat tail...an early 80's phenomenon whereby a person would have short hair with the exception of one long tuft in the back, occasionally braided, never attractive.


2: Aside from the plastic costume jewelry.


3: I'm pretty sure.


4: Actually this one was a former high school crush that finally materialized.


5: There was wine involved. A lot of wine.


6: Drinking lots of wine.


7: I am not the kind of girl anyone should ever ever evereverever take to Applebee's really ever but especially not on New Year's Eve in Santa Fe.


8: Just like I am right now.


9: But not my mom's basement. Just...you know, a basement apartment.

Fur Goodness (Sakes)

I no longer believe in coincidence.

Several weeks ago, Chris¹ and I were talking about our favorite bands/albums of all time. I do not take these kinds of decisions lightly. Thus, for me to say The Psychedelic Furs and specifically the album Talk Talk Talk is in my top 5 all time favorite bands and albums is very serious business indeed.

However, I'd never seen them live.

The day after our discussion then, it was brought to my attention that The Psychedelic Furs would be playing the Boulder Theater on September 11 with The Happy Mondays. Coincidence? I think not.

So this Friday night, Chris, the good sport², and I made the trip up to the show. And oh my! What a show.

First, The Happy Mondays were really very good. Except for one thing...Shaun Ryder, Love, you are a very very creepy man now. As in if-I-saw-you-within-100-yards-of-an-elementary-school-I'd-call-the-police kind of creepy³. The songs are so great though! I'd forgotten how much I liked them. And if the Furs hadn't played, I still would have felt as though I'd seen a good show.

Lucky for me, the Furs were there and they did play and now? Now I have a ginormous celebrity crush on Richard Butler. In fact, he shall receive an invitation to my Celebrity Crush Supper Party⁴. Watching him perform was like watching joy. He is so smiley and such fun to watch, I couldn't help but just beam at him the whole 90 minutes they played. Never mind that they didn't play Into You Like a Train or Until She Comes. They played so many other songs I love love love. And Butler's voice is still that same gritty, sensual, knee trembly voice I've loved for the last 2 and 1/2 decades.

Here's a promo video with interview and concert footage of one Mr. Butler and the band and hopefully you can see a bit of why I have a crush...



Both Chris and I were so very tired at the end of the night. We agreed the next show we go to must have chairs as we're too old now for standing only shows or grassy knoll shows⁵. But it was worth every minute of it...in my humble opinion.

1: The Potential...as in potential manfriend I've been dating for the last couple of months.


2: Chris worked an 11-hour shift and got no down time in between work and the show. He didn't get home until after 1. That is a very good sport.


3: By no means am I implying Mr. Ryder is a molester or a criminal at all. He simply is very creepy looking in a molester sort of way. Add sunglasses to this picture and this is what he looked like at the concert:











4: The Celebrity Crush Supper Party is my fantasy supper whereby all the guests are celebrities I love and they come together in adoration of me. The guest list includes: Richard Butler, David Sedaris, Seth Rogen, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Janeane Garafalo, Queen Latifah, Rachel Maddow, Charlize Theron, and Kate Winslet. I need one more for an even dozen (including myself).


5: Chris and I have now been to 3 shows together...The Guess Who where we sat on a grassy knoll at Hudson Gardens, The Spinners at the Taste of Colorado where there was no seating if you wanted to see, and now The Psychedelic Furs which was also standing only. I'm pretty certain we'd both pay extra to be able to sit down.