June 16, 2008
Cohabitating
With this blog entry, I am now switching from categorizing Mr. MMB under "boys" and moving him to "family". One small step for Movable Type, one great leap for Ms. Write Again Soon. Click on the picture to see the latest photos of Maya and her first swimming lesson in our backyard pond.
So a couple of weeks ago we had The Talk. The one about our respective living environments. The one about raising a child ("devil puppy") in a single home with an everyday routine. The one about sharing our lives together in a long-term, shared bathroom kind of way. And while we won't make any permanent moves until the end of the summer (when my Big Idea internships finish up), we are making major steps towards cohabitation.
We've gotten a melange of herb plants, which are happily thriving on the living room deck, and a solar umbrella (that lights up at night) to go on the bedroom deck, where we lay in the hammock and look over the community pond. I've gotten half of the walk-in closet, and there is a new dresser and bedside table arriving for me later this week. Upstairs in the loft, our project next weekend is to set up a home office for me, so that the Big Idea doesn't have to be run from the living room couch.
I brought a couple of gigantic wheels of cheese from my trip to Wisconsin, and so we felt obligated to buy a fondue set--otherwise we were going to be looking at 9 months of cheese-with-every-meal. And there is a new recycling bin in the kitchen, as Mr. MMB's concession to my eco-habits.
In perhaps the biggest transition, we will be moving the cats over to Mr. MMB's house later this week. Since I've only spent 12 hours there in the last 3 weeks, we figured it was time to reunite the family pets. Madchen is still pretty friendly, but Natasha has practically gone wild, so at Maya's vet appointment tomorrow I'll be begging for a knock-out drug (or possible a taser) to subdue her long enough to transition to her new home.
Of course, there are some hitches, including my mom's near daily phone calls espousing the horrors and the risks of cohabitation-without-marriage. And it means that when I suddenly need to go back to my place for a couple of days (like tomorrow, with Mr. MMB on a last-minute training course and me needing to be close to the Big Idea office) I am completely witless. I anticipate a lot of confused looks--from Maya wondering why we're back in the urban jungle, from the cats being horrified at this jumpy puppy, and from me pondering why my place suddenly feels like a hotel.
Still, I suppose the "off times" makes the nights when we experience peaceful, domestic bliss all the more rewarding. Especially when it's Mr. MMB's turn to take Maya our for her midnight potty break.
Posted by madchen at 12:19 AM | Comments (2)April 18, 2008
Four Passengers Between Us
This weekend I'm going down to Charlottesville with Mr. MMB (christened thus by Ms. ADA for reasons I will decline to specify). It will be forty-eight hours of non-stop entertainment, beginning with a drive with the top down in one of our 2-seater cars (how we both ended up with roadsters I have no idea). I have a new pink dress and am enjoying the idea of a day that might actually require sunblock. Nothing like a rosy nose and cheeks to match one's fashion.
We'll have dinner with his parents before checking into a hotel, where I will exercise restraint and keep my hands to myself since at the crack of dawn on Saturday Mr. MMB will be running in the city marathon. My plan is to sleep in and arrive at the finish line in the nick of time to throw a flower blanket around his shoulders, just like they do for the Kentucky Derby winner.
Assuming that Mr. MMB can still walk after 26.2 miles, our plan is to drive to a friend's farm in Rappohanok for a good old fashioned pig roast. We'll camp at the farm overnight (getting to break out my camping equipment is perhaps the most exciting thing to happen to me in months, although how we are going to cram all of our stuff into one of our tiny cars is still a mystery) and hopefully avoid the thunderstorms on Sunday on our way back into town.
With all of this excitement ahead, one wonders why I am still sitting in front of my computer, sipping iced tea and watching an episode of Magnum PI. (And why in God's name does Magnum wear such ridiculously skimpy shorts?) I still need to find the tent and sleeping bag, need to pack my bag, need to send about a million emails, need to clean the kitchen from last night's stir fry (cooked to perfection by Mr. MMB while I watched and drank wine), need to print out directions for the pig roast, need to put out cat food and water--in essence, I need to get my proverbial shit together.
The reason, dear reader? I suspect it might have to do with Magnum's skimpy shorts.
Posted by madchen at 12:39 PM | Comments (0)April 13, 2008
The Happiness Continues...
In a strange turn of events, I have reverted to my 16-year old self and am completely infatuated with a boy. Head over heels, sickeningly, achingly, desperately enamored. It's actually rather nice.
After five days apart (my Big Idea trip to Chicago), he picked me up at the airport on Friday and whisked me away to a B&B in Berkeley Springs for the weekend, complete with dual massages at one of the local spas, a bottle of wine every night in our room, and a ridiculous amount of conjugal entertainment.
(Intrigued by Ms. Secret Blog's claim to be worth $1,086 an hour in bed, I thought I should do my own calculation. I was pleased to discover that I am apparently worth $1,224 an hour. I expect the difference in our fees is largely due to my...copious bosoms, I suppose is the right way to put it.)
Anyway, I just walked in the door to my house after a week away to find it spotless (the maid came on Friday), the cats happy and purring, a new Netflix movie (Junebug) waiting on the counter, a new nightgown hanging in the closet, and a week of adventure to look forward to. First up, Indian cooking class tomorrow night.
Posted by madchen at 07:08 PM | Comments (2)November 19, 2007
How to Host an Orgy
(It has come to my attention that my dad may read this blog. Starting today, I will endeavor to use more explanatory titles so that he—and my other delicate readers—can exercise judgment about whether to continue on…I assume that today's title is self-explanatory enough, no?)
So last week started like any other. Working on the Big Idea, having lunch with friends, a few IMs—and then all of a sudden I had 18 hours to pull together an orgy. Go figure.
As you might imagine, I was wracked with indecision. What is the optimum time to begin an orgy? What kind of alcohol should be served? Should prophylactics be prominently displayed on the coffee table, or hidden away in a drawer? Would people want snacks?*
It was a weekday, and so I had limited time at my disposal. I took care of the immediate requirements—shaving my legs, going to the liquor store, swinging by the Whole Foods for some last-minute groceries, etc. The major stuff taken care of, I wandered around the block full of ambiguity. Then, it came to me in a flash, and I dashed to the spa and got a pedicure—completely neglecting to save time to vacuum the New Place. It was later pointed out to me that, in an orgy situation, few people are looking at your toes whereas the cleanliness of your carpet is of the utmost importance.**
* 10 p.m., wine and vodka, on the coffee table, no.
** That's not true at all. In an orgy situation, you could be stuck to the floor with gum and not notice it.
November 11, 2007
Realizations
One – Mr. Amazing is not so amazing after all. Actually, he probably is and I'm just too warped to appreciate it. Regardless of whether he was too clingy or I am afraid of emotional intimacy, in the end it was not a match. What's weird is that I'm pretty sure I could have gotten him to propose by now, if I'd just put in a little effort. Which I was apparently unwilling to do.
Two – I am dating Janie. I pick her up, take her out for a meal and a movie, and then drop her back off at home. If I'm lucky, I get a kiss goodnight.
Three – I am insane. Compare for instance, insanity's definition "doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome" to my recent foray into listening to my iPod while in the bathtub and being surprised when the earphones fell into the water.
Four – When I think about the Big Idea's long-term growth opportunities, I would rather be a manager than a worker bee. Right now I am doing both parts, and it's fabulous to realize that there actually *is* a path forward that doesn't necessarily involve me working 20 hours a day as the president, analyst, and janitor.
Five – Getting a housekeeper is money well spent.
October 09, 2007
Buy My Love
Mr. Amazing continues to be amazing (and a non-snorer, for those of you keeping track). And aside from being a pretty cool guy all around, I am getting particularly fond of his woo-ing style.
My first inkling of his generosity was when he slipped a couple of star sapphires into a letter he sent me from Afghanistan, shortly before he returned home.
On our date yesterday, which involved wandering around Old Town and looking in random stores and eating dinner at the very fancy Chart House, he presented me with a book of essays, which he then read aloud to me as I watched the sunset and drank a glass of wine.
Today I was presented with more gifts from the bazaars of Afghanistan--a wool wrap and a silk-wool wrap of beautiful colors that will keep me snuggly warm in the winter. Should winter ever arrive (did you know that today broke the heat record set in 1939?).
In return, I cooked a frozen pizza for dinner. He seemed pleased. I could definitely get used to this treatment.
Posted by madchen at 10:47 PM | Comments (1)October 07, 2007
Love at First Sight
I had the most amazing first date today. A-maz-ing.
How wonderful was it? I got lost driving home and toured the greater Alexandria area with a goofy smile on my face for a solid 45 minutes before finally meandering my way back to GW Parkway.
He is amazing. The date was amazing. I'm hoping it will be amazing tomorrow too.
September 23, 2007
First Date Blues
So I recently went out on a first date with this new guy that I met online. I was a bit nervous since he looked pretty cute in his picture and well…it was a first date. Anyway, I shouldn't have been worried at all because while he was certainly not repulsive, he was not super attractive. And if he was 5'9" you can call me Tyra Banks.
This was by no means a dealbreaker, since I've dated and fallen in love with guys who weren't Brad Pitt look-alikes. But it definitely set a tone—a date motif, if you will. And that motif was mediocrity.
He was only kind of funny, not particularly smart, sort of laid back, a bit forward, and mildly entertaining. It wasn't that I was left with a feeling of distaste; rather I just didn't feel any sort of click.
Again, not a dealbreaker, since I've dated and fallen in love with guys who didn't immediately make me think "ahh, here is a catch!"
But ultimately, there WAS a dealbreaker. It happened when I invited him back to my place (totally on the up and up, since we closed out the Starbucks and they locked the bathrooms as we were leaving). Since my place was right across the street, I volunteered to let him come up and use my facilities before his long drive home.
Big mistake. First of all, my bathroom has two doors; one facing the entryway and one facing the bedroom, which has a very large window that reflects light back into the living room. Dear reader, he didn't shut the second door and I got an eyeful of "man peeing" when I walked into the living room. Awkward.
But it was after I had shooed him out the door (we hugged and as I was releasing he actually pulled me back in for a kiss on the cheek and a comment about hoping to see me again—double awkward) that I realized we would not be going out again, ever. When I walked back into the bathroom, there were drops of pee on the floor, the toilet seat was up, water had been splashed all over the sink, and the hand towel was all awry.
Dear reader, I gave him a pristine bathroom and he used it like a common pub's. No thanks, I would rather be the crazy cat lady forever than deal with someone whose best "first date" behavior includes marking his territory, literally.
Attention Male Readers: I'm not being overly fussy here, right? If it were just some water on the sink, that's one thing. But PEE ON THE FLOOR?
September 21, 2007
More Fun Than I Thought
I cannot even begin to describe the adventures I had last night. But what the hell, let me give it a try.
Half of what made it a night to remember was that it was totally spontaneous—I mean, rarely (and by rarely I mean "never") do I go downtown to speak at a business networking event and end up sneaking out of a hotel room at 6:30 a.m. to grab a cab back home. The hotel room of a semi-famous person. Here's how it happened:
I met the guys in a serendipitous sort of way at a swank hotel bar. I was just finishing up an event for the Big Idea; they were just coming back from the house of a particular European ambassador who is keen on their professional sport. One thing led to another and I found myself at dinner, doing sake bombs at a table of ten guys and holding an emergency Big Idea meeting on my cell phone in the bathroom (we'll see if I managed to close the deal in a few weeks).
From there we went to another DC hot spot, where the bartender took our pictures in a very paparazzi kind of way and people came up to our group to gush about their enthusiasm and shake hands with their heroes. It was a scene straight out of Entourage, I tell you.
I consumed more alcohol in an 8 hour period than I have in the previous 6 months combined—including several varieties of shots that I wouldn't recommend to a hard-core alcoholic. I got celebrity gossip (he fucked HER?!) straight from the horse's mouth. I was invited to Camelot when some of the group split up (but declined), and ended up…well, I'll just skip over the next few hours and go straight to the beauty of catching a cab that drops you off right outside your doorstep. I've never had that luxury before and it made the perfect end to a strange and fabulous night.
September 10, 2007
Toothache
I'm typing to you, dear reader, from a motel in the Canadian frontier. It is a mix of surprisingly nice (free wireless internet) and not-so-nice (a gigantic fly that refuses to be shoo-ed out the door). It's a mere 9:22 p.m. and yet I have a strong suspicion that I will be collapsing into a deep sleep in a matter of moments. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to take advantage of this internet connection to do a quick review of the last week's events.
I am finally shedding the headache resulting from two nights in a row of drinking (I can see Ms. NYC Rogue rolling her eyes and trying to remember the last time she went two days in a row without drinking), but have discovered a toothache that is not just annoyingly persistent, but almost assuredly an early sign of jaw cancer. At least, it feels that way tonight.
My trip here is going to be really fun, I think, but already I'm missing my new place. I moved in on Tuesday, but it was only this morning as I dragged my hastily packed suitcase into the pre-dawn lull of the parking garage that I felt the place was sufficiently "moved into" to feel like home. And then to get on a cross country flight, spend 4 hours in a layover, and then get on a prop plane with WAY too much turbulence for my comfort--well, it created an instant homesickness.
Last night I went out with Ms. Secret Blog and Her Boy, along with his two brothers. We saw a fun band (including a post-coma lead singer), drank cider (that in a perfect world would be accompanied by a peanut butter sandwich), and even heard a bit of the Silver Spring Jazz Festival during our arduous trek to find parking (and the subsequent meandering over to the Irish Pub where non-adventurous dinners were later served).
After all that entertainment I was even escorted home by a fireman and a policeman, sort of. These public servant siblings might take a cue from their older and wiser brother, who is a paragon of good manners and who, I'm sure, would have seen me all the way to my building instead of waving a nonchalant goodbye a block from my front door. But they are young and it's possible that I seemed WAY too old to warrant such attentions, and so I will forgive them the oversight.
In the spirit of catching up, I would also like to explain to you, dear reader, about Friday night with Mr. HSBF and how he finally made a move (apparently, removing the fear that my dad would walk into the room in a dramatic repeat of our youthful indiscretions was key to the whole endeavor), but my poor tooth hurts and puts me in a very non-sexy mood. Suffice it to say that I could not be more delighted to finally be in my own place.
Reader Alert! I am searching for a fun blog name for my new place--something like Tara, or Green Gables, or possibly The Den of Iniquity. All suggestions are welcome--especially those that convert to a great acronym.
Posted by madchen at 12:25 AM | Comments (3)August 21, 2007
Why I Don't Love You
(Also gathered via 15 years of failed relationships.)
Because you're a slob. Because you are too needy. Because the only book you read last year was the DaVinci Code. Because you wear pleated khaki pants that are three inches too short. Because you call me seven times a day just to check in. Because you aren't as smart as I am. Because I hate your "performance anxiety". Because you broke my heart once and it's too late to try again. Because you hit me. Because you apologized after hitting me, and then hit me again. Because I don't respect you. Because you are chronically in debt. Because you pay more attention to your video games than you do to me. Because I hate the way I can hear you breathe in the car. Because you are boring in bed. Because while you are fun to hang around with, I would never have your babies. Because you need constant reassurance about EVERYTHING. Because you insist on waking me up in the morning when all I want is to sleep in until 10. Because you forgot my birthday. Because you can't make a decision on your own. Because after dating for a year, you broke up with me over email and that is just a motherfucking rude thing to do. Because you don't make time in your schedule for me. Because you never let me pick the movie. Because you cling to me. Because you cry in front of me for totally non-cry-worthy reasons. Because you act like you are God's gift to mankind. Because you think "exotic travel" means going to Colorado for a week. Because you are naïvely patriotic. Because you purposefully argue with me over things you don't really care about. Because you question my loyalty. Because you don't like my family. Because my family doesn't like you. Because you are too old for me. Because when you speak I imagine banjos playing in the background. Because I’m pretty sure our kids would grow up emotionally stunted. Because when it comes down to it, you see our relationship as something that completes you, never mind what I need. Because you just aren't "the one".
August 20, 2007
Why You Don't Love Me
(Compiled from 15 years of failed relationships.)
Because I'm bossy. Because I make you feel bad about yourself. Because I don't always remember to wash the skillet after making an omelet. Because I don't listen well. Because I ask too many questions. Because I don't support your career goals. Because I'm impatient. Because I can't appreciate your off-color jokes. Because I complain that your bathroom is messy. Because I travel too much. Because I'm a bitch. Because I don't like your friends. Because I don't appreciate you. Because I always want you to get me a drink of water in the middle of the night. Because I complain about not having any money, and then go out and buy three new pairs of shoes. Because I’m selfish. Because I want you to spend more time with my friends. Because I'm a snob. Because I forget to be considerate. Because I let the cats sleep on the bed at night. Because you suspect that I don't really love you. Because I don't look up to you enough. Because I cry too often. Because I have mood swings. Because I'm not ambitious enough. Because I insist on talking when you just want some space. Because I'm easy. Because I am sarcastic. Because I hurt your feelings. Because I speak before I think. Because I'm never satisfied with the way things are. Because I'm not always kind and gentle. Because I'm not a supermodel. Because I laugh too loudly. Because I blog about you. Because I always want to be in control. Because I push your buttons. Because I am chronically five minutes late. Because I want you to spend time with my family. Because I hate having a television in the bedroom. Because I demand too much from you. Because I gossip. Because you never know what I’m thinking. Because I don't want to commit. Because I always want you to make the first move. Because I make you co-dependent. Because I don't stand up for myself. Because I don't consider your feelings. Because I'm just not "the one".
Posted by madchen at 08:06 PM | Comments (1)August 17, 2007
The eHarmony Experience
I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about a topic near and dear to my heart: online dating. I'm a long-time supporter of this method of meeting eligible young (and not-so-young) men, especially since my friends aren't the "let's go to a bar tonight" people and I can't exactly pick up people via the Big Idea.
There are, of course, problems with online dating, and I'd like to highlight one of them here: the problem of "closing" a match. One encounters this problem when matched with someone that isn't quite right, generally before one ever meets them in person.
Here is the way that eHarmony does it:
If you are sure that you want to permanently close communication with John, please select from the following list those messages which best reflect your feelings at this time. After you click the "Close" button below, we will notify John that this communication has been closed. This match will be moved to your Closed section.
"I have decided to close communication because..."
(choose as many as apply)
-- I think our family backgrounds are too different.
-- I have too much happening in my life at the moment.
-- I don't feel that the chemistry is there.
-- I don't think our Must Haves and Can't Stands fit.
-- I think the physical distance between us is too great.
-- I want to pursue other matches at eharmony.
-- I am pursuing another relationship.
-- I'm just not ready for the next step.
-- I am taking a break from dating.
-- I would rather not say.
-- This match never responded to my request to communicate.
-- I think the difference in age between us is too great.
-- I think the difference in our values is too great.
-- Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match.
-- Because there are no photos posted/I couldn't see any photos.
-- Because I was put on Hold.
-- Because we are communicating outside of eHarmony
-- Other
Now, having dabbled in online dating for several years, I can tell you that these reasons are all wrong. Please allow me to provide several examples:
I think our family backgrounds are too different.
What this really means is "I don't want to date a man with a 9-year old child" or "the fact that you've been divorced twice turns me off". I suppose on the other end there might also be "I'm emotionally abusive by nature and your stable family makes me think you won't put up with it". Also, "I only date Latina women and you are clearly white."
I have too much happening in my life at the moment.
Going with the very true hypothesis of "he's just not into you", a guy who is interested will find the time to woo a woman when he really likes her, even if that means leaving the operating room with a half-repaired aorta on the table. This "close reason" should be "You seem like a nice person, but I'm just not into you" and could be combined with any number of reasons above.
I would rather not say.
Um, this is online dating, and you have just been given seventeen perfectly plausible reasons to close the match. You can't simply say "I don't feel that the chemistry is there", "I want to pursue other matches at eharmony", or even "Other"? Even if the real reason is that you've decided to give your marriage one more try, there is no reason to make it sound like you're politely trying to insult your match.
So, as part of a public service to all bazillion of the people who have an eHarmony profile, here are my suggestions for the "close communication" reasons (keeping in mind that closing a match almost always happens before you meet the person):
-- Your profile indicates you have a gross inability to spell, and that basic rules of grammar are beyond your ken.
-- You bore me; please consider polishing your personality before you inflict it upon others.
-- I am not attracted to your physical appearance. I can't imagine having sex with you, and I think our children would look funny.
-- After talking with you a bit, I've discovered that you are rude/offensive/controlling/bitter—please seek help.
-- You seem like a nice person, but I'm just not that into you. It's a chemistry thing.
-- You never responded to me, or stopped responding somewhere along the line.
-- I'm pursuing another relationship.
-- I couldn't see any photos of you, which means you are either hideously ugly or too ashamed of online dating for us to have a future.
-- We are communicating outside of eHarmony.
See how much easier that would be?
Posted by madchen at 10:51 AM | Comments (3)August 05, 2007
I've Still Got It
Mark your calendar, dear reader, for it is truly a momentous day in the life of Ms. Write Again Soon. Approximately 45 minutes ago I was asked out on a date. By whom, you might ask?
By a boy who—while in military uniform—is almost certainly too young to buy alcohol, and who probably only needs to shave once a week.
A boy who checked my ID last night when I arrived home at 2 a.m. and proclaimed that I was "mighty chipper" for it being so late. A boy who followed up that comment with "ma'am, I'm not hitting on you or nothing, but we should exchange phone numbers so we can go out sometime. I'm new here, see, just up from Texas."
A boy who just now announced that there was a drag race up in Annapolis later this week and I should go. A boy who proudly informed me that he has TWO cars, a Mustang and a Chevelle. (Just in case you were wondering, he will only be racing the Mustang.)
While this would have been a noteworthy encounter, what made it REALLY special was that tonight I was in the passenger seat of Ms. ADA's car. She was dropping me off at home and got to witness the exchange, proclaiming afterwards that he looks about 12, and I should really consider it. I believe there might have been sarcasm in that last part, but it was hard to tell because of her hysterical laughter all the way to my doorstep.
Anyway, I think I might have to drive by the security gate once more, so that I can pull him side and whisper into his ear when you're hitting on a girl who is obviously older than you, you probably shouldn't call her ma'am.
Even so, let's not forget the larger lesson here: I've Still Got It.
July 30, 2007
How To Take Me On A First Date
When setting up the date, volunteer to come down to my neighborhood for the evening. Do a little research and have an idea for an activity we might both enjoy. If you are going to take me to out to eat, at least have a couple of cuisines that you can suggest so I don't flail around making a dozen suggestions and hoping that one will be acceptable. Don't invite me for drinks—make it lunch or dinner or something completely unrelated to food like golfing or paint-your-own-pottery. Never ever suggest a movie. Volunteer to pick me up, but be open to the idea that I probably want to meet you someplace public just in case you are a serial killer.
Dress nicely—but not too nicely. Your shoes matter, so leave your sneakers at home. A belt wouldn't hurt either. Don't forget to brush your teeth, floss, and use some mouthwash before you leave the house. Chew some gum on your way over. I promise to do the same.
Be on time...no, be early. Introduce yourself; don't make me walk over to every single guy and parade the fact that I'm here on a first date. Compliment me. Whether it's my eyes or my smile or my dazzling ability to mix stripes and plaids, I want to know that you're not horrified at the sight of me in person.
Keep the awkward small talk to a minimum and suggest that we go to the bar/get a table/tee up right away. Once we get to wherever we're going, take the lead and announce that it's a "table for two" or "18 holes with a cart, please". Let me be the quiet and submissive one at the beginning; I'll jump you later.
During our date, don't dominate the conversation. Pay attention to my subtle social signals. Recognize that because I'm a polite person I will continue to ask you follow-up questions long after I have completely lost interest in whatever topic you're droning on about. Topics to avoid include why your marriage broke up (unless I ask, in which case a short explanation will suffice), why you hate your job, how to program software, and why your favorite sports team is going all the way this year. Don't complain about the traffic, the parking, or the weather—I dealt with it too and I've still managed to plaster a grin on my face.
Ask me about myself. When it turns out that you don't understand my job (and you probably won't), don't probe for twenty minutes in a feeble attempt to sound interested in the topic. You and I both know that you don't care unless it will help you get me into bed. And it won't. Just make a note of my chosen industry and do some internet research when you get home.
Don't admit that you never read books. Don't admit that you only watch horror movies. Don't talk about your home movie set-up like it was the second coming of Christ. Don't laugh too hard when I say something self-deprecating.
Don't ask if I want to have wine with dinner—of course I want wine, it goes without saying. And when the meal is over and the waiter comes over with the dessert menu, announce that we'll "take a look" and then give me the choice to peruse the offerings at my leisure. Never under any circumstances ask if I want dessert while the waiter hovers at the table's edge--it's too much pressure.
Take the bill when it arrives. Do not leave it sitting in the middle of the table, even if you plan on picking up the tab in a few minutes. Do not say "let me get this"—we both know that's how it works and there's no need to point out something as obvious as your ability to pay for a meal. Besides, my signal for "you're in" is to pick up the tab and having a back-and-forth on the first date dilutes my gesture later on.
If you like me, let me know during that first date. Don't actually say it out loud, but any of the following are acceptable: asking me to take a walk after dinner, casually touching my hand/arm, suggesting that we go to a different locale for an after-dinner drink. That let's me know that you are interested enough to want to spend more time with me, but doesn't get into stalker territory.
Feel free to flirt. Do not swear. Do not make lewd comments—or any comments about sex. Hold the door open for me. Walk on the outside edge of the sidewalk. These things tell me you are a gentleman, and that even if you don't buy into gender stereotypes, you can turn it on when you want to. It is unnecessary (but a plus) if you wait to be seated until I sit down. But don't overdo it—there's no need to jump to your feet every time I get up from the table.
Walk me to my car at the end of the night. Don't try to kiss me—a hug will do. And make it a quick hug, there's no need to stand with your arms wrapped around me, squeezing me like someone trying to hold on to a wriggling hamster.
Make sure we both know the next step. If you like me, tell me when you'll call again. If I wasn't your cup of tea, just say it was nice to meet me. I'll be looking for these signs from you, and you can be sure that if you pay attention you will know exactly how I feel when you walk away.
If I give you the preemptive handshake goodnight, you needed more gum.
Posted by madchen at 04:27 PM | Comments (2)July 05, 2007
So Ms. Write Again Soon, When Is It Going To Be Your Turn?
Jess and Mr. Angel of the Morning got hitched on Saturday night. (Incidentally, Mr. Angel of the Morning will now be called Mr. Eagle Six in accordance with his wishes and in honor of his new status as my brother-in-law.)
I was the maid of honor AND the photographer AND the newly-off-the-rebound woman of the night. Yes, dear reader, my self-inflicted "coi-atus" officially ended at midnight on June 30th. Unfortunately, Mr. HSBF (my date, pictured below in slightly fuzzy format thanks to Janie's camera prowess) was on call at the hospital the next morning and thus left the party at 1 a.m., narrowly escaping with his dignity and honor intact.
All was not lost, however, and at approximately 2:37 a.m. I enthusiastically bounded back into the world of "intoxicated wedding sex with members of your newly expanded family, albeit only by marriage thank goodness". I will spare you the details--not because they aren't hot and drrty and highly entertaining, but mostly because I was sworn to secrecy by the gentleman in question because he is just SURE that knowing of our adventures would make Mr. Eagle Six's head explode. And no one wants that.
Anyway, the wedding itself was lovely. Jess looked radiant, the flowers were perfectly in bloom, the food was un-terrible, and much merriment was had by all attendees--including the ones who made an impromptu ho'down in the corner.
And just so you know, if one more person asks me "so Jen, when is it going to be your turn" I might have to take those leftover long stem roses and shove them into their eyeballs, making a particular point to brush the thorns against the corneas for emphasis as I shout IF YOU KNOW OF ANY SINGLE GUYS YOU MIGHT CONSIDER SENDING THEM THIS WAY YOU ASSHOLE BECAUSE REALLY I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN PINE AWAY ABOUT MY SINGLE STATUS IN BETWEEN SHAGGING ANONYMOUS MEN (WHO REALLY ARE NOW TECHNICALLY RELATED TO ME) THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Posted by madchen at 09:11 PM | Comments (3)June 24, 2007
Vulnerable
Today I took my relationship with Mr. HSBF to a whole new level. We were intimate in a way that is usually reserved for serious couples with an explicit commitment. For a few hours, we looked deep into each other's soul, and as he dropped me off tonight I felt as though a bond of trust and mutual respect tied us together.
Yes, dear reader, today we went to IKEA. And then to Home Depot.
Cookbooks and carpet were purchased, California Tortilla was visited as a reviving pause in the buying spree, and I rode home squished into one corner of his SUV as I warily waited for the 12 feet of rolled up carpet to go flying out the back window into the onslaught of Beltway traffic. Thanksfully, we were spared that trauma, and I happily trotted off to my tennis match while he went home to admire his new purchases.
Posted by madchen at 11:39 PM | Comments (0)June 11, 2007
Third Time's the Charm
I was reluctant to mention it before on my blog, but Mr. Pilot and I got back together about two weeks ago. I approached a third try at our relationship with some trepidation, since the break-up in early May was so painfully gut-wrenching. After some consideration, however, I thought that it was worth giving it another shot. After all, as Ms. ADA pointed out, "Whatever happens, you'll at least know you gave it your all and more than its fair share of chances."
So for the last two weeks we've been back together as a couple. We spent the night at his place a couple of times, did the Virginia Wine Festival last weekend, went to the movies and a lecture this weekend, talked for hours every night, and in general dropped right back into the "relationship" mode.
It was perfect, and just enough time to loosen my guard before getting fucked over again with the "I'm sorry and I wish it were different, but I just don't see a future together" speech, which was delivered at precisely 2:53 p.m. this afternoon.
Unlike last time, dear reader, I will graciously spare you the emotional fallout from this break-up, since I feel it will have little therapeutic value for me (unlike kicking something, which is almost assuredly a more effective recovery method) and little entertainment value for you.
At the same time, please be by your phones for the next few days in case I need to commiserate. Or, more likely, need you to bail me out of jail for disorderly conduct. And vandalism. And possible felony assault.
Posted by madchen at 04:50 PM | Comments (1)June 04, 2007
This Relationship Just Isn't Working
Dearest,
We've been through a lot together, and what I'm about to say is more difficult than I could have imagined. I'm just not happy anymore. And it's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me, so I think we should call it quits.
I loved you for a long time—longer than I like to admit to myself. I loved you as a psychopath, as a reformed neo-Nazi, as an American Vice President, and as a magician. I even loved you during the dark days when you took revenge on a rhino you felt had wronged you in some way that I never really understood. I adore your commitment to sustainable development and renewable energy, and I feel lucky to know that you are involved in local causes near to my heart. I still rank you and Brad as my all-time top threesome, and I thought your washboard abs circa 2001 were some of the hottest I've ever seen.
But sometimes dazzling talent, a social conscience, and a killer physique just aren't enough. For one thing, I have too long overlooked your philandering. In addition, I am less-than-pleased with your facial hair choices of late. The little goatee…really?
I know this must be coming as a shock to you, and I can't explain myself more accurately than to simply state that I am not happy the way I used to be. You are distant, you don't make time for me, and your career doesn't seem to include the family I've always pictured. And while I used to be happy to just admire you from the shadows…I need more than that now.
No, no, please don't blame yourself. You are immensely talented and I don't want to stand in your way. You are destined for great things, and I'll be proud to watch your path and know that in some small way I was there along for the ride.
Oh my, please stop crying—you KNOW how that makes me uncomfortable. Really, a Kleenex? Please, for both of our sakes, pull it together. There is no use begging. I've made up my mind. You know, perhaps you should just go. It's better this way, I promise.
I'm sure we'll run into each other occasionally—at the movies, or the video rental. But don't look back, my darling. Just pretend like you never knew me—go on about your daily life and keep that chin up. I know it will be hard, but it's the only way.
Yours always,
Ms. Write Again Soon
May 28, 2007
When God Closes a Door...
…he has your newly-single ex-boyfriend move to the neighborhood.
Of course, God has a sense of irony, since the old High School Boyfriend (Mr. HSBF?) dropped by only 10 minutes after I arrived home from a cross-country flight and was not looking my best. He, on the other hand, looked just like I remember him (from 10 years ago), only with a new haircut and more muscles.
Why don't women improve with time that way?
May 14, 2007
Step Forward Please
Well, it turns out that I can really only be angry for about 4 hours before it all fades and I go back to being mopey. This evening I thought I had turned a corner with the first softball game of the season (and an after-game beer with some of the guys from the team), but lo and behold on the drive back home, the tears started again. I'm beginning to tire of this whole saga--being miserable sucks. Time for a radical change, I think.
On another topic, I was watching The Break-Up yesterday, which is actually not a terrible movie (I'm not nominating it for an Oscar either, so relax) and it got me thinking about how relationships are affected by timing. At the end, when Vince Vaughn finally comes to his senses and realizes that he loves Jennifer Aniston, it's too late. It's not that she doesn't love him anymore, it's just that she "doesn't have anything left to give".
That made me think about what I have to give. I had dinner with Mr. Bethesda last week and he said something offhand about how he always liked that I was domestic--that I took care of him. I believe there was some reference to an omlette I made him on our second date, and how even months later he often thinks back to that night and appreciates the gesture. Now granted, I think we went on a whole four dates before we decided a relationship was not in the cards, and so the sentiment coming from him was a little absurd.
Even so, there is some truth to his statement. I do secretly enjoy being domestic. When I'm honest with myself, I'd like to be in a relationship where I make dinner for us at night, where I iron clothes in the evenings while we watch The Daily Show, and where occasionally we have a Saturday afternoon picnic. And while he's sitting on that blanket in the backyard in his freshly ironed shirt, I want us to look at each other and be blissfully happy.
AUGH. That is a scary paragraph, because it seems so unlikely to happen. Not impossible, I admit, since when I look back over my dating history there have been PLENTY of guys who would have jumped at the chance to have me iron their clothes, if you know what I mean. It just so happens that I actively loathed most of them. Or pitied, or despised them. As desperate as I am for a meaningful relationship, I have fled from many promising ones because it just didn't click.
All of which makes it particularly hard to give up on that nugget of hope that grew during this last relationship, when I thought things did click. I am reminded of the end of my relationship with Mr. Music where the emotional lines were drawn on opposite corners, and now I feel much more empathy for his confused puppy-dog "why don't you love me" look. I wonder if I called him today if he would "have anything left to give". (Not that I would--that would just be mean, but it would be an interesting experiment.)
I have my own experiment, in the form of a dream I have every year or so, in which the great loves of my life all show up to offer me their undying devotion. In the past, it's always come down to two guys--one who broke my heart, and one who I loved, but whose heart I broke anyway. In the dream, both of them explain that they want to try again--to marry me and have a family and be together forever--I just have to decide. It's an emotionally painful dream, full of long-suppressed baggage and distrust and longing.
Strangely enough, my ultimate decision on which guy to choose has switched back and forth over time--even though it's been almost a decade since I talked to either of them. Sometimes I've even decided to be alone forever.
I wonder, if I had the dream tonight, and all the great loves of my life lined up with love in their eyes, who I would select. On the other hand, given my tenuous hold on reality at the moment, I might not recover from a dream like that. So perhaps it's a good thing that I have at least another 6 months before that one rolls around again.
Posted by madchen at 09:52 PM | Comments (0)Residual Rage
In the words of Sheryl Crow, I can't cry anymore. Literally. It's like my tear ducts have frozen over and nary a drop can escape.* Instead, I have now moved to a place that can best be described as a "whirling dervish of rage into which you and your loved ones may be sucked at any moment, so perhaps you should think about moving to another state for your own protection and peace of mind".
Yup, I'm angry. And not necessarily in a reasonable way.
Angry in a "can you please stop thinking about yourself for TWO SECONDS and realize that maybe the reason I don't want to spend happy family time together is that I'm trying not to have a breakdown EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF EVERY SINGLE DAY?" sort of way.
Angry in a "how dare you pull that passive/aggressive crap and then have the audacity to be outraged at my behavior, you self-righteous asshole…and the fact that I sort of laughed it off in no way mitigates how very, very sorry you should be" sort of way.
Angry in a "no one really understands my pain, and the way that everyone can go about their daily lives without appreciating the sadness and misery exuding from my every pore just goes to show how shallow and self-absorbed people are these days" sort of way.
As you might imagine, all of this rage isn't going a long way in making friends and influencing people. I'm going to seriously have to consider moving to Africa for a decade of feeding the starving children to rectify this situation. Because moving backwards (crying every 10 minutes) just isn't going to work, and moving forward (retail therapy is the next stage in my grieving process) is bound to be very expensive.
* OK, it's not entirely true that I can't cry anymore. It's more like "I can't make myself cry at the drop of a hat anymore". It's now segued into a more "cry at inopportune times and make those around you immensely uncomfortable". But every day there are fewer incidences, thank goodness. Can I get an amen?
Posted by madchen at 04:37 PM | Comments (1)May 12, 2007
New Man In Town
Part of the Great Purge of 2007 has been eliminating things that remind me of Mr. Pilot. Unfortunately, everything seems to remind me of him (that book I'm only halfway through that once sat in my car while we went on a date, etc.) and so I've been reduced to fixing the obvious things. Like changing our account on The Knot.
As you may recall, dear reader, I had to sign up for a free account with The Knot in order to see one of Jessica's wedding gown options. Before I knew it, they had sucked me into putting in a fiancee name and wedding date. These were NOT optional categories, and so I threw in Mr. Pilot and September 1, 2008 without thinking too much about it. After all, the point was to view the potential wedding dress as quickly as possible, not to start creating a registry of my own.
Obviously, now it seems a little ridiculous to have an account on The Knot with both of our names, and so I've gone back and done what Mr. Pilot suggested when I told him about it: I've changed the groom's name to my Secret Celebrity Husband, Ed Norton. After all, I've loved him for the last ten years, it seems only right to now take it to the next level.
Ed and I will still be getting married on September 1, 2008 (if you change the groom, it seems only fair to keep the date the same). That doesn't give me much time to meet him, woo him, get engaged, plan a wedding, and execute the event.
But I did find time to take the "what kind of couple are you?" quiz. Turns out that Ed and I are: Happy Hipsters.
You prove that adulthood doesn't have to mean being too serious. Think last-minute road trips, one-pot meals that are somehow to die for, and date nights in. You love to entertain without a lot of pretense or labored preparation -- as long as there's enough food and drink, you trust the rest will fall into place. That relaxed vibe rubs off on your guests, who all feel comfortable in your nest. Registering for multipurpose, sure-to-be used pieces will make your life even cozier.
Whew, I am *glad* I figured that out...perhaps I can mention it during our first encounter, when he finds me in the bushes outside of his home.
Posted by madchen at 01:26 PM | Comments (1)May 11, 2007
Out of Breath
Every night for the last week, I've had the same recurring dream.
I'm in an airport, racing through the hallways with the speed of a marathon runner. I've got to find Mr. Pilot and tell him something of vital importance. I might die if I don't find him, and I spend a good chunk of time dashing back and forth between gates, anxiously scanning the crowds, and pushing people out of the way. Eventually I find him, and when I run up to him I'm so exhausted that I have to bend over for a second to catch my breath. When I stand up, I realize that he is on a moving walkway, slowly receding from view. I can't see his face, and there is a moment of agonizing desperation as I realize he is gone forever and I will never get to whisper that crucial information into his ear.
I have this dream maybe a dozen times a night, and wake up feeling frantic and woeful each time--making my mornings not exactly the most delightful part of my day.
I tell you this, dear reader, not so that you will feel bad for me, or so that you will suggest I put in some more time at the gym to get in better shape for my subconscious moments (because, seriously, I could NOT spend any more time at the gym these days), but to share with you the following twist, which happened this morning just as the sun was rising and I was dozing off after a night of running through the airport:
Lo and behold, I have the dream again, but this time I am 9 months pregnant. I move as slow as a turtle through the imaginary airport hallways, fighting to get my round belly past the crowds and cognizant that I will never find Mr. Pilot at my current speed. It's like moving through jello, and I feel suffocated and smothered and desperate and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
But this time, instead of the traditional ending where I finally find Mr. Pilot at the moving walkway, this time I burst out of my sleep to find that I'm laying in bed, with my arms and legs tangled in the blankets, and one of the cats lolling squarely on my stomach. Thank god I don't need a psychologist to explain *that* one.
I suppose that still doesn't explain the other strange variation I had a couple of nights ago, where instead of finding Mr. Pilot I was suddenly making out with a 7' tall batik-swathed African woman. Feel free to analyze that one, dear reader, since I'm out of self-reflection minutes for the day.
Posted by madchen at 10:12 PM | Comments (0)May 10, 2007
"Yeah the legs in the air comment was particularly tasteful."
You know when you do something really stupid?
Maybe you've had a little too much to drink and are feeling angry and bitter. Maybe you think that the person to which all that emotion is directed should be made aware of your angst. And so perhaps you decide to leave a nasty comment or two on their blog. Something that you are sure to regret in the clear light of day. Something that you hope is so out of character that it can be forgiven as an immature gesture gone terribly wrong.
For once, dear reader, it's not MY regret we're talking about.
Anyway, I've deleted the comments. To the several dozen people who saw them this morning and sent funny/concerned emails to me, all I can say is this: you read my blog WAY too early in the morning and I can't really be responsible for weeding out the badness before 10 a.m.. And I love you all. And no, I do not need the services of you, you're three best friends, and your bat. But I appreciate the thought.
I would spend the next few minutes sharing intimate details of my life (I have a blister on my toe from shoes that are now in the "purge pile", etc.), but I think I will instead take a walk outside to enjoy a bit of fresh air and the sweet smell of my intact dignity.*
* By "the sweet smell of my intact dignity" I actually mean "the pollen-soaked aura surounding my poor, spore-coverd car". Damn you, Claritin, I shake my fist in your direction!!
Posted by madchen at 04:11 PM | Comments (0)May 05, 2007
Laughter Through Tears Is The Best Kind
This is from a email I received from my sister...
So the husband of the counselor at Janie's school was killed in a car accident, very tragic, and so the kids all made sympathy cards for her. And that put Janie on a kick of writing sympathy cards, one for Grandad because his dad is blind and one for Grandma because her parents died. I had a hard time explaining that sometimes its not nice to point out other people's misfortunes long after the wound has healed and there's no need to bring it up.
So she asked about you and [Mr. Pilot] a couple days ago and I told her that you weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. I thought this might be a good outlet for the "sympathy-card-frenzy". So I suggested that she might make you a card to make you feel better. Her response: I only make cards for dead people. Is he dead? I told her that he was not dead. She looked away with a "case closed" look on her face. "Then he doesn't get one."
Happy cinco de mayo, dear readers.
Posted by madchen at 11:36 PM | Comments (0)May 04, 2007
How to Recover from a Broken Heart
I base this advice on two episodes of broken-heartedness. They were separated by a space of 8 years, but I remember the symptoms that I am experiencing now and see the logic in acknowledging that there is a cycle. Forewarned is forearmed, if still very unhappy.
Step 1: Cry. A Lot.
The first step in getting over a broken heart is to acknowledge how much it sucks. In my case, my heart broke so quickly that it was over before we knew it was happening. In the space of one day, I went from being totally content and happy to sobbing on the floor as he drove away forever.
Anyway, the problem with a broken heart is that it's loss that is compounded in a million different ways. It's the best friend who's no longer there to listen to your daily tribulations. It's the lover who will no longer touch your face and whisper how much he wants you. It's the intellectual equal that you never thought you'd find in a partner. It's the person who exposes you to new movies, new restaurants, and new gossip websites. It's the person who despairs of your taste in music and secretly hopes you'll learn the finer points of football. It's the person who made you finally open up after 10 years of being an emotional recluse, and the person who—in the end—said you weren't what he was looking for.
Here is where the crying starts.
I advise that you give into the crying as much as possible, at least at the beginning. And when I say cry, I mean really let loose. Let your eyes swell up, your nose run, and above all, be sure to make the terrible noises that accompany a heart shattered into little pieces. Wallow in the misery. Allow yourself to feel just how empty and meaningless your life is without this person, and just how very alone you are.
Why do I recommend this? Well, the more emotional and hysterical the crying is, the more you exhaust yourself. There is something about the human body that simply cannot be hysterically upset for more than 10-15 minutes. Time yourself and see. Really, it works.
I advise that you give yourself an early morning "cry time" and then another one right before bed. I find that a broken heart repeats the same cycle, and we can use that to our benefit. Each morning when you wake up only to remember that you're no longer in a happy relationship, that's a perfect time to muster all your crying abilities and get it out of the way. And going to bed, when you go over your day and lament the absence of someone to share it with—that is also an excellent time to expel all that pent up anguish.
In between, feel free to do some "pretty crying". This involves silent tears running down your face (hopefully camouflaged behind some dark sunglasses), a strange tightening of the mouth, and perhaps a delicate sniff or two. If you've really indulged in the twice-daily mega-cry, then these interludes should be enough to get you through the day. And you can do them anywhere! Today, for example, I've done "pretty crying" in the following places: 1) in the car when listening to the radio, 2) in the parking lot waiting for a shuttle bus, 3) on the airplane during take-off, 4) in the airplane during landing, 5) in the bathtub after I got back from the gym, 6) just a few minutes ago while I was packing my suitcase, and 7) right now.
Long story short, crying is going to happen and you are best off when you can strategically separate the heavy-duty crying jags (complete with hair pulling and moaning) from the unhappy-but-not-totally-embarrassing crying. After all, when the time comes when you are actually required to step into real life (if only for a few minutes), you'll be much happier knowing you've gotten the sobbing out of the way for the next few hours.
Step 2: Stop Crying. Now.
Ok, now quit it. Crying all day isn't going to get you anywhere—and deep down you know that at some point it has to stop. This is why I feel that the planned heavy-duty crying is so helpful. Once I've given myself 15 minutes of writhing agony, I can go about my day (at least for the next few hours) pretty much business as usual.
Unfortunately, crying spurts will sneak up on your when least expect it. This is why I recommend turning off your radio (music is a huge trigger, except maybe for the gym mix on your iPod), avoiding updating your Quicken (where you can relive the last days of your relationship via your spending habits), and being very selective about who you commiserate with (because you are basically guaranteed to start leaking tears whenever a thoughtful friend expresses sympathy—good for solidarity, bad for productivity).
My best piece of advice? Get yourself to the gym. It is physically impossible to cry while on an elliptical machine—I've found that it's the one place that I can think about my misery without resorting to sobbing convulsions. On the track (or a treadmill), you can still do "pretty crying" while walking, but stepping it up to a jog basically nullifies the tear ducts capabilities. Here is where the body's reluctance to multitask works well for the brokenhearted. Plus, you get some nice exercise. And potentially sore legs. (During the first day after my most recent break-up, I spent 4 hours exercising since every time I stopped moving the tears started again and I just couldn’t deal with it any more. By the time that I made my wobbly legs carry me to the shower, I managed only a 5 minute sob session before pulling it together and crawling into bed for a nap.)
Step 3: Distract Yourself.
Whether it's time at the gym, or a complicated work project, or whatever—find someplace or something that requires all of your attention. The benefit is that you give yourself a break. The downside is that moment when the activity ends and the full impact of your misery hits you like a ton of bricks. It's like your heart breaks all over again. But each time, it breaks a little bit less. Small comfort though it is, it is progress and something you will appreciate over time.
Step 4: Stop Talking about It. Immediately.
While at the very beginning of the broken heart recovery process it's good and healthy to talk it through with friends, at some point you need to internalize the unhappiness. For one thing, your friends are going to get tired of it—no matter how much they love you, dealing with someone else's misery on a daily basis eventually makes a person want to run away and hide. And for another thing, constantly reliving the event and its consequences prevents you from moving on.
If you are having trouble with this step and you've exceeded your hiatus (see below), it's time to take a hard look at yourself. Once you've experienced all the loss, all the pain, all the physical absence, all the loneliness—and given yourself time to mourn—why are you not moving on? As much as I hate to quote Dr. Phil, he has a point that when we make ourselves unhappy, we're doing it because we secretly get something out of it. To quote him again, how's that working for you?
Step 5: Put Yourself on Hiatus.
I am a believer in the rebound—a period of time where you are still in heartbreak mode and should be allowed to wallow in misery (within the guidelines set out above), and when you should absolutely NOT be "out there" interacting with the world like nothing has gone wrong. This rebound time ensures that you give yourself enough time to mourn your loss, and that you have an opportunity to work through any residual issues.
How do you calculate the rebound period? Simple—just take one week for every month you were together. I don't know why, but it works. I dated him for 7 months, and that means I'm on hiatus for 7 weeks, at which point I can reenter the world as a competent human being.
Step 6: No Dating. No Sex. Really.
Part of being on hiatus is giving yourself the space to be celibate. Trust me, I've tried the "get back in the saddle" approach and it just does NOT work. So don't make the mistake of mixing the business of broken heart recovery with the dubious pleasure of rebound dating. Make your hiatus a "coi-atus".
The added benefit is that when you forbid yourself from dating, there are no nights spent wondering why no guy has asked you out. When you choose not to hook up just for the sake of having sex, you avoid the ugly surprises that inevitably follow (there are few things as unpleasant as the intersection between sex and a spontaneous crying fit, and I speak from experience here).
Step 7: Realize that While It Gets Better, The Pain Will Never Go Away Completely.
I think one of the biggest mistakes in a breakup is the goal to return to "normal". The death of a relationship is very much like the death of a person. We experience loss, pain, loneliness—and a part of us dies in that process. So even though life goes on and we learn to cope, there's also the truth that we are forever changed. There is no going back to normal life. And that's okay—humans have an amazing ability to adapt.
But while it absolutely sucks to acknowledge that we'll never be the same person, that acceptance it the only way forward. Not that it's much help at the outset, when the biggest lesson we can learn is to have that pair of dark sunglasses available at all times. ALL TIMES. So take it one day at a time--and when that doesn't work, focus on getting through the next 10 minutes.
Posted by madchen at 12:52 AM | Comments (16)May 02, 2007
End of the Chapter
It is over with Mr. Pilot.
It was one of those sad and quiet break-ups where it feels numb and cold and empty -- and also hot and tight and violently sickening, like someone just stuck his arm down your throat, grabbed your fluttering heart, and ripped it from your broken body.
He cried, I cried, we wondered if we were capable of deciding what a "good relationship" entailed, we briefly discussed being friends, and then I told him that I couldn't see him anymore. Ever. He drove away nine hours and three minutes ago.
After 7 months of dating--the longest I've dated someone in nearly a decade--he had become a really good friend and what hurts me the most today is that I don't have his shoulder to cry on and his advice to seek. The last nine hours are full of things I want to share with him, text messages I want to send, IMs I want to write, phone calls I want to make. But I've decided that a quick and agonizing loss is better than a long drawn-out pseudo-friendship in which I'd always be trying to be the girl with the "something" he thinks is missing.
The really shitty part is that since work is so busy these days, I'm going to have to fit my sobbing jags into 8 minute between-meeting increments. Or like now, when my typing skills don't require being able to see the computer screen through blurry tears.
Posted by madchen at 08:55 AM | Comments (3)April 23, 2007
Settling In
Things are going well with Mr. Pilot. We've now entered that very strange (for me) place in the relationship where we're constantly testing what is "appropriate" and what is still too intimate, too clingy, or too bitchy. For example:
Endearments = appropriate
Certain terminology for genetalia = NOT APPROPRIATE
Using the term boyfriend/girlfriend = appropriate
Signing us up on knot.com = NOT APPROPRIATE
In my defense, I had to sign up in order to view a picture of the wedding dress that my sister sent me (for her own wedding). The knot.com sucked me in, insisting that it would take just a second to get a free account, and then before I knew it I was putting in my "fiance's name" (Mr. Pilot later suggested that I should have indicated that the lucky groom-to-be was my secret celebrity husband Ed Norton) and our wedding date (September 1, 2008--the default date, giving Mr. Pilot a mere 498 days to pop the question and get me to the courthouse). By the end of the account creation, I felt drained--like I had invested all the wedding planning time and attention that my body could handle. Ever.
Anyway, in response to the several queries, things are good. I've made it clear to my other "friends" that I'm off the auction block, to the point where I actually spent the weekend taking care of Mr. Pilot when he was sick. As my loyal readers know, patience is not my virtue, and being nursemaid isn't exactly my calling in life. So, in addition to using up all of my wedding planning reserves, I've also bankrupted the "sweet and gentle" pot for 2007. Beware lost kittens and small children--you'll want to avoid me for the next 8 months.
I'll leave you with this exchange from the weekend:
Ms. Write Again Soon: What if you crashed your plane and died? Do your parents know how to contact me in the event of an emergency? How would I know that you had been hurt?
Mr. Pilot: Besides the national day of mourning?
Posted by madchen at 07:21 PM | Comments (0)April 15, 2007
Where Have You Been?
"Aunt Jen, where have you been?"
With Mr. Pilot.
[Thoughtful silence.]
"Were you at a hotel?"
Um...yes.
[Thoughtful silence.]
"When did you leave?"
On Thursday.
"Where was the hotel?"
In Tyson's Corner.
"No, I mean in what STATE was the hotel?"
Virginia.
[Thoughtful silence.]
"Did you have to fly there?"
Nope, we just drove.
"Ok, you want to play?"
Actually, I want to take a nap.
Posted by madchen at 11:35 AM | Comments (0)March 11, 2007
Conundrum
I've been watching a lot of movies lately...Kontroll was fabulous, Birth was strange and twisted, Cabaret made me realize that Liza Minelli never stood a chance.
I've never been a huge movie buff. I don't recite entire scenes from Full Metal Jacket (like my military friends), Clerks (like my high school boyfriend), or High School Musical (like Janie). I don't own every possible edition of Star Wars, rarely go see movies in the theatre (although I did see The 300 this weekend), and I don't have strong identification with gen-X classics like High Fidelity.
Movies just don't speak to me about the larger truths in life. Except when they do.
Over the last week, I have repeatedly flashed back to a movie I saw last year with Ms. Secret Blog: Shopgirl. I loved it then, and love it now. And I keep coming back to the scene where Claire Danes, upon realizing she cannot win long-lasting love--that the relationship she has is never going to turn into something meaningful--says, So, I can hurt now, or hurt later. It's heartbreaking and terrible and poignant and beautiful and awful. And just like real life, its a trade-off that sucks.
Sigh.
Posted by madchen at 11:29 PM | Comments (1)March 04, 2007
Brave New World
Two new things...
First, I got a Blackberry today and it has opened my eyes about how absolutely medieval my life has been. I held out for a good two years after iPods came out, and I held out as long as humanly possible for the Blackberry. And after both purchases I have immediately thought: WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG?
Second, I had a long conversation with Mr. Pilot today*, who pointed out that blogging about him without his knowledge was a really terrible thing to do.** When we first had the conversation about it and he showed irritation, I had a very "if you don't like it, deal with it" sort of reaction, and then tonight I had the opposite reaction and burst into tears (twice--it was very awkward) and decided that I was a very terrible person for doing it.
Now that I've had a couple of hours to think about it, I do think that I probably should have a better system for blogging about the men in my life. For instance, I went back and read all the emails that mention Mr. Pilot, and I realize that while very few of them are explicitly negative about him (rather, they make me look like a lovesick idiot who can't read any male signals), it wasn't really fair to be introducing him to my friends (who read the blog) without him knowing that I was writing about him.
It's one thing to write about guys who will never meet any of my friends, or to write about people who know I blog about them and like it (Mr. FWB falls into this category)--but what about people that I might want to have a meaningful relationship with? And how should I proceed now with Mr. Pilot? Should I even be writing this entry now that I know he doesn't like it when I mention him?
I had often been warned that my blogging style was going to get me in trouble--but it was usually in regards to being able to run for public office. Now I realize that it's so much more personal than that, and I'm left wondering how to make this right...
Option #1: Take down the whole website and start again at Write Again Soon, writing only things that are appropriate for audiences of all ages and eschewing any personal information. Boring, and who would read it?
Option #2: Take down the whole website and start a new, completely anonymous blog with the same type of content. The "writing it all down" part really is like therapy, and I would be sad not to do it anymore...but I would be sad to lose my loyal readers by switching everything up.
Option #3: Take down the entries with potentially awkward entries, and be forthcoming about my blogging with everyone from now on. Sigh, what a pain in the ass.
Option #4: Leave everything as is, and try to be more sensitive in the future.
I'm leaning towards #4, mostly because I'm lazy. But dear reader, if YOU were the person being written about, what would YOU want?***
*In the last couple of weeks we have decided to start again on a clean slate. A lot of that has been dealing with our past (why he didn't call, why I am mean and sarcastic), and it's weird to think that we talk now WAY more than we ever did...perhaps because I was always mean and sarcastic...
**He doesn't know the blog address, just that I posted the "open letter" and his response verbatim. He was NOT pleased at all.
***Should I give Mr. Pilot the web address and let him satiate his curiosity? Or is it better to just let it go? I can't decide.
Posted by madchen at 09:55 PM | Comments (3)February 27, 2007
Cancer Free
For Valentine's Day, some women get flowers. Some women get chocolates. Some women even get lingerie. I got cervical cancer.
Or so I thought.
Six weeks of tests and $1500 in medical bills later, it turns out that the first test--the one that showed incontrovertable evidence of cancerous changes in my cervix...well, they were just plain wrong. It turns out, in fact, that my cervix (picture it, dear readers, in all it's cervical glory) is as healthy as an 28-year old virgin.
I'm consumed by mixed feelings--of immense relief and growing suspicion that the first doctor I saw (who was sketchy in SO MANY WAYS) is to blame for this colossal mix-up. After all, if he would lie to my face about the effectiveness of generic birth control pills (his actual words: "generics have 40% less of the active ingredient, so you will probably get pregnant--here, try Yasmin"), why wouldn't he mess around with the test results in order to rack up another thousand dollars in fees?
I celebrated with an injection of Gardasil, and a decision to take my newly-polished cervix out for a spin. And in a fun example of two worlds colliding, it also turns out that I don't need to see Mr. FWB and Mr. Pilot separately, because they are quite pleased to see me at the same time. Bwa-ha-ha.
So that ends the little saga of personal health--we'll now return to our usual story line: boys, the Big Idea, and why I am going to die alone (but apparently, with a healthy cervix).
Posted by madchen at 01:32 PM | Comments (5)February 26, 2007
Things I Learned This Weekend
1. Despite thinking many women in Hollywood dress like, ahem, ladies of the night, my dad has a strange fascination with Celine Dion. Let us never speak of this again.
2. One of the most satisfying experiences is teaching a child to ride a bike sans training wheels. It is a balancing act far beyond the laws of physics--trying to get a stubborn and timid 5-year old to stick it out twice around the track, even after riding off into the bushes and steering wildly back and forth, and even being in tears a couple of times. But seeing her running in triumph back to the car, bursting to tell everyone back at the house--it made me think that kids might be worth the trouble after all. Maybe. But probably not.
3. It's possible to have a great second date that involves a three hour dinner with wine and dessert and a trip to Starbucks afterwards and then two more hours of talking and then a quick kiss goodnight--after behaving ridiculously inappropriate on the first date. Instead of it being frustrating, it's actually kind of sweet.
4. Girls have an incredible power over guys--especially guys who are a teensy bit insecure about their, ahem (again), performance. And what's even more strange is that it's all about perception...not whether a guy is actually good in bed (because wouldn't that vary from girl to girl?) but whether or not he thinks he is good in bed. It's a bizarre world to peer into, let me assure you.
Posted by madchen at 12:41 AM | Comments (0)February 11, 2007
The Reason My Mother No Longer Reads This Blog
The last few days have proved that I've still got it. Although now that I think about it more closely, "it" may be defined less flatteringly than I'd like. So for the moment, let's define "it" as "highly desirable" rather than "easy", shall we?
It all began on Thursday night when Mr. FWB, in his ongoing effort to educate me in the ways of the world, explained that webcams can be used for more than professional reasons. Things were interrupted slightly when Janie arrived at the house to spend the night (no kindergarten the next day) and breathlessly wanted to know why Aunt Jen was in her room with her door shut. I must invest in a lock post haste since scrambling to keep the door shut is not conducive to seductive behavior.
The weekend kicked off Friday night when I had my first "real" date with Mr. Officer (and a Gentleman)--the guy I met last week. Dear reader, pause a moment with me to wonder once again at the miracle of Ms. Write Again Soon actually meeting a guy in a REAL setting, rather than being set up on the internet. We had dinner in Rosslyn, and while he was just as attractive as I remembered from the weekend before, he looked even hotter after we finished a bottle of wine and some after-dinner liquor. Two and a half hours into the meal we realized that the waitress was ready to throw us out, so we meandered over to the Hyatt hotel bar. (It was the only place we really knew to go, although looking back he probably thought I was giving him a *wink, wink* signal when I suggested it. I swear I wasn't.) Another drink (note to self: Chaitinis are gross) later and we decided...well...it was late and the bar was closing, and there really was no other place to go...when I finally arrived home about 4 a.m. he called to make sure I had gotten home safely, and we made tentative plans to get together again next week. Le sigh.
Saturday continued the merriment, with me sleeping in and getting a little work done before going out to dinner with the family for my sister's birthday. In an ironic twist of fate, Mr. Pilot called (twice--I almost fell over in shock to realize he did indeed know how to pick up the phone) to follow up on our tentative plans to meet. (Dear reader, I can't remember if I mentioned it, but we had a nice talk about our non-relationship earlier in the week and I made it clear that I don't need another FB, but would be potentially interested in continuing a casual dating policy.) Long story short, we met, we saw Smokin' Aces, I spent the night, we ate breakfast and watched Kung Fu movies and Mythbusters all day, and he tickled me until I cried. It was nice, and I think I'm okay with the way things stand.
Today, when I got home I realized I had missed a call from Mr. Doctor (the guy who gives me the creepies, but that I keep thinking Might Have Potential), who was calling to follow up on our tentative plans to meet that afternoon. It was then that I realized there is a limit to my "boy energy". I did not call him back, but instead took a nap. I think I deserved it.
To round out the evening, I just received an email from a guy that my long-ago-next-door-neighbor is trying to set me up with. Clearly she hasn't gotten the message about my burgeoning love life, because here is the way she described him: he's close to 45 years old, needs to lose a little weight, and is probably a little socially awkward. And he lives in upstate New York.
Excellent.
Posted by madchen at 11:19 PM | Comments (3)February 07, 2007
Run Down
I have to suspect that a good portion of my productivity yesterday can be attributed directly to the chocolate-covered espresso beans I ate throughout the day. It certainly explains why I was still awake (with toes nervously wiggling) at 1 a.m.
Unfortunately, that rollercoaster ended with a rather abrupt stop (oh, chocolate-covered espresso beans, how I miss ye!) and today I've been losing steam with every passing minute. I started off well enough with a 9 a.m. meeting at a local coffee shop, where I was interviewed by an MBA student for his entrepreneurship class. It was flattering, since he chose me as someone he "would like to emulate" and helpful, since he'll be interviewing me about my business growth plan several times over the course of the semester. Since I've been doing a lot of thinking about the Big Idea, it's a good chance to see if the thoughts in my head can be rationally translated into words. so far, so good.
This afternoon, though, was a different story. While I have been extremely productive, it's been like walking through the deep end of a swimming pool. Instead of being able to effectively multitask, mostly I just want to sit and stare off into the pretty snow.
...mmm...pretty snow...
Anyway, I had grand plans for today but it was not to be. Yes, I've been working diligently since 8 a.m., but no, my to-do list hasn't seemed to shrink in the slightest. Looks like I'll be working late into the evening again.
(Incidentally, for those keeping track of my love life, I have a date on Friday with a new boy that I met this past weekend. I also talked to Mr. Pilot last night. I wanted to kill him by the time it was over, but I do believe we have agreed to meet up sometime in the next week or two to see if it's worth pursuing a casual relationship. I'm girding my loins (hee, hee) in preparation for the discussion about being "friends with benefits".)
Posted by madchen at 04:54 PM | Comments (1)January 31, 2007
Mr. Pilot Responds
Ms. Write Again Soon,
[ X ] Even though you are smart, funny, attractive, and excellent in bed, I’m “just not that into you”. I would have called, but I feel sheepish that we’ve been dating for three months and I can’t be upfront about this fact . . . is the closest ‘choice’ though not entirely accurate.
You are definitely smart (even smarter than me and I’m wicked smart) and funny (see previous email), and attractive (wow) . . . beyond excellent in bed (mmm) . . .
I’m not sure that I see a serious relationship between us in the long term and I’m not sure that continuing a great sexual relationship in lieu of that is the best thing for either of us if we aren’t upfront with that.
Should I have been and adult and talked about this to you upfront: YES. Should I have not returned your calls: NO.
Very frankly, I wimped out and I hate admitting that. I don’t consider myself a wimp, but I do consider myself honest enough to admit when I’ve been ‘wimpy’. I should have brought it up instead of taking advantage of the aforementioned excellent sex.
I don’t really know what to say. If you want to talk I’m willing. If you don’t, I definitely, definitely understand. I am embarrassed (as I should be) by my actions (especially saying this in an email).
Mr. Pilot
Posted by madchen at 10:42 AM | Comments (6)January 30, 2007
An Open Letter to Mr. Pilot
Dear Mr. Pilot,
I believe you owe me a phone call (or several). Since you haven’t called, however, I’m guessing that you MUST have a good reason. As you know, impatience is my biggest personal flaw, and I am not so good at just “waiting it out”. To make it easy on you, I’ve compiled a list of acceptable excuses. Simply check any/all that apply and we'll call it even.
[ ] I was in a terrible plane crash over the Andes. I would have called, but I’ve been too busy deciding which of my frozen companions to eat first. That, and there’s not any cell phone coverage here in the mountains of Chile.
[ ] I’ve met someone, fallen in love, and gotten engaged. I would have called, but I’ve just been swamped with looking at reception sites, picking a tuxedo, and planning our honeymoon. Given the high cost of weddings, do you think we should elope?
[ ] I’m moving forward with buying a house. I would have called, but I’ve been spending every spare moment with my real estate agent and she has a nasty habit of listening in on my phone calls. I don’t want to whisper sweet nothings to you with her hovering in the background.
[ ] I’ve been writing up a storm in an attempt to jumpstart my book. I would have called, but I’m so deep into the world of castle spies and epic adventures that taking 10 minutes to phone you would be irresponsible to my future reading public.
[ ] Even though you are smart, funny, attractive, and excellent in bed, I’m “just not that into you”. I would have called, but I feel sheepish that we’ve been dating for three months and I can’t be upfront about this fact.
[ ] Now that it’s celebrity award show season, I’ve been swamped with my obsession to People.com and TMZ.com. I would have called, but my commitment to Britney and Paris’s latest exploits takes priority over my personal relationships. And I’m gay.
[ ] Other (specify) ________________________________________________
I think that about covers the list of acceptable excuses. Are there others that I’m missing?
Ms. Write Again Soon
January 25, 2007
Dream a Little Dream of Me
I know it's boring to read other peoples' dreams, but I've been having a weird streak lately, just full of analytical potential. Freud would adore me this week.
First off, a few nights ago I went to sleep and had a series of bizarre vignette dreams. They ranged from soft core fumblings to Prison Break-esque chase scenes, from boring "reliving mundane daily tasks" to one where I was trying to explain to a judge why even though I had committed the crime I couldn't be considered guilty because I *felt* no guilt about it. (I believe I may have been trying the "I'm a psychopath" defense, but the dream ended before a judgment was handed down.)
What made the whole thing bizarre (in more than a traditional "bizarre dream" way) was that immediately preceding each vignette was a ratings disclaimer--like the kind you see in the movies. For each sequence, there was a green screen that indicated what was to follow: "intense prolonged realistically graphic sequences of war violence", "strong sexual content, nudity, language and some drug-related material", "disturbing and graphic depiction of violent anti-social behavior"--you get the idea. And sure enough, the dream was filled with exactly that sort of behavior. It was uncanny.
Secondly, I had a dream last night that Mr. Pilot called and assuaged all my fears about him. I confessed that I was head over heels for him, and while he didn't exactly get down on one knee he clearly proclaimed that I was the only girl he was interested in and that all of this cat-and-mouse was just a reflection of his busy schedule and my earlier proclamations of needing independence. It was such a relief.
And then I woke up. And realized that it was just my imagination and that really I was still in that "he's just not that into you" place. Strangely enough, it wasn't nearly as devastating as it might have been, so I think that maybe it wasn't all about needing to hear affirmations from him as just wanting to hear something, ANYTHING. Even if it was just in my mind.
I'm hoping that tonight I'll dream that he has died in a tragic aircraft accident, so that my subconscious can mourn his untimely demise and I can move on with a clean slate. Somehow, having him dead is much more bearable than having him alive and uninterested.
Posted by madchen at 10:47 PM | Comments (1)January 24, 2007
Let's all bite our nails together...
I just called him. You know, Mr. Pilot. The one who has been incommunicado for the past...let me pretend to check the calendar...eleven days and three hours.
His phone was turned off (usually a sign that he's in the air) and so I left a message. A very nice message, but one that was very clear that I was going out of town this weekend and wanted to talk to him before I left.
Let the waiting commence.
In the meantime, I think I'll while away the hours getting my eyes checked--it's been 4 years since I had my LASIK done and I'm still seeing 20/20 (and occasionally 20/15). So even if it turns out that I'm destined to be single and alone for the rest of my life, I can take consolation in the fact that I can spot miserable couples without squinting even a bit.
Posted by madchen at 03:29 PM | Comments (1)January 22, 2007
Bodyguard
Before you ask, I haven't heard a single word from Mr. Pilot. That's right...it's been 9 days since I left his front porch and NOTHING. I'm bitter, but haven't taken Mr. Bad Apologies' good advice to just call him up and ask him to justify his behavior (or lack thereof). So let's just move on, shall we?
I spend Sunday afternoon with Mr. Bethesda, who has turned out to be quite the ally. We have a bizarre arrangement where it really is an even split between "friends" and "benefits". We talk quite frankly about our dating life: why Mr. Pilot doesn't call me (answer: he's a bum) and why Mr Bethesda can't seem to put the moves on his "family friend" (answer: he needs to walk her to the front door after their outings). We even enjoy just being quiet around each other--like when we spent a good two hours on Sunday reading the paper (ok, mostly I took a nap on the couch while *he* read the paper). And then, of course, the "benefits" part, which is very nice too.
With all these nice qualities, what is my most favorite thing about Mr. Bethesda? He's armed.
Because of his job, Mr. Bethesda carries a gun with him where ever he goes--including out to lunch with me. His job's "deadly force policy" says he can shoot people with reckless abandon (ok, that's just my take), and we've had many discussions about when he would, in fact, shoot someone. Example:
Mr. Bethesda and Ms. Write Again Soon are walking down the street and two people walk up and demand out wallets. They have their hands in their jacket pockets and appear to have a gun trained at us. Does he shoot them? Here's what Mr. Bethesda had to say:
Scenario 1: If the gun is pointed at me, Mr. Bethesda makes me give them my wallet (which I would, of course, refuse to do), and then he probably lets them go. But maybe he shoots them, depending on other variables.
Scenario 2: If the gun is pointed at "us", Mr. Bethesda steps in front of me and refuses--identifying himself as a [person who carries a gun all the time]. If they don't immediately retreat and/or surrender, he shoots them.
Scenario 3: I make a commotion and they shoot me, then run away. Mr. Bethesda takes 15 seconds to shoot them, then returns his attention to me, where he provide heroic resuscitation so that my life is prolonged long enough to get me to a hospital.
I should say that while I find these explorations to be highly interesting, it's not like Mr. Bethesda has a history of shooting people--even when presented with such scenarios. I think his previous training just makes him like to *think* that he'll be capable of shooting 2 people within 15 seconds, all before providing life-saving CPR to his friends-with-benefits person lying gasping for breath on the pavement.
That said, I feel really safe with him. And that makes up (partially) for a lack of phone calls from other gentlemen callers.
Posted by madchen at 05:52 PM | Comments (0)January 13, 2007
Am I In a Relationship?
Well, dear reader, I'm a bit confused about my situation.
I spent Thursday night and Friday and half of Saturday with Mr. Pilot. We went out to dinner together, watched TV together, read the newspaper together, slept together, wandered around in towels getting ready for lunch together. He read aloud to me for hours, and we laughed at goofy things like how nipples are divided up in the animal kingdom. (In case you're wondering, the river otter has four.)
It was so comfortable, so sexy, so something I haven't had in years.
But now that I'm home with no established plans to see him again, I'm back to that in-between stage that eerily resembles the First Circle of hell. (The ground is firm, grassy and pleasant and the air is clean and fresh, but you know that the Second Circle--an infernal storm that lashes the Lustful in darkness with rage and punishment--is just around the corner.)
Bah.
Posted by madchen at 09:07 PM | Comments (0)January 11, 2007
Full Circle
So now that I've abandoned monogamy, dear reader, guess who I heard from today?
If you guessed Mr. Pilot, you're right. (I also heard from Mr. FWB and Mr. Doctor, and two new gentlemen whose attributes will be revealed later. But we're focusing on the most ironic part of the day, so bear with me).
Here's how the exhange went:
My email, several days ago: Hey there, now that college football is officially over for the season, your grace period has expired and you owe me a phone call!
His reply, sometime around 2 a.m. last night: You are a very gracious and forgiving soul. :) Perhaps I can find some way to make it up to you. I have my house all to myself from Thursday through Sunday . . . I’ll give you a call tomorrow.
Sure enough, he just called and we arranged to meet up tomorrow night. But...notice that there was no apology, no explanation, no ANYTHING to suggest he recognized his behavior was grossly unsuitable to someone who is supposed to be being monogamous.
There will be a reckoning, and I can't wait to tell you how it goes.
Posted by madchen at 12:40 AM | Comments (2)January 09, 2007
You Get What You Pay For
So I've given up on Mr. Pilot. After all this, he hasn't gotten the message that, once you've (however inadvertantly) committed to monogamy, you're basically required to call at least once a week. And he hasn't. Even after I called him. Twice.
So no more (however indvertant) monogamy for me! I wash my hands of him completely. If he shows back up, so be it. If he doesn't, good riddance to him.
Dear reader, I have to admit that part of the reason I have come to this place of peace about the situation with Mr. Pilot is that I have just returned from a day filled with non-Mr. Pilots. I had a afternoon rendezvous with Mr. Friends with Benefits that once again blew my mind in new and exciting ways. And then I stopped off on the way home to have dinner with Mr. Doctor, who walked a very fine line between fun and creepy. But he took me to a very nice Thai restaurant, so we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. For the moment.
All of which brings me to the point that the title of this blog doesn't really apply.
I didn't get what I paid for with Mr. Pilot, who, after my gracious profferings of affection, seems to have headed for the hills. And I didn't get what I paid for with Mr. FWB, since basically I got more than I gave. And Mr. Doctor sure didn't get what he paid for--picking up the check for dinner and still not getting anything beyond a simple kiss goodnight.
Them's the breaks, I guess.
Posted by madchen at 09:38 PM | Comments (1)December 30, 2006
Things of Note This Christmas
Despite a spate of depressing moments leading up to Christmas (cue the scene where I burst into tears THREE separate times while driving home from a holiday party), the last few days have actually been quite pleasant.
In some sort of Christmas miracle, Janie has abandoned her I-know-it-all-so-please-go-away-Aunt-Jen attitude and been a delight since last Saturday. She's been swept away with the joy of receiving a Barbie doll and dog. [Note: it's really the dog that gives her the giggles, since it eats food and the poops it out—who knew such a thing existed, let alone would entertain a 5-year old for hours upon hours?)] And we've all taken a solemn pinky promise to be on our best behavior—"even Grandad". If I knew it just took the wiggle of my smallest digit to wreak this transformation, I would have been wringing her pinky years ago.
The much maligned trip to Williamsburg has not been so terrible—although the drive itself was quite an adventure. First off, the directions estimated that the trip would take us, oh, approximately 2 hours and 57 minutes. Apparently, Google doesn't take into account post-Christmas traffic because we actually clocked the drive at 7 hours and 24 minutes. That's a LOT of family time to be stuck in a minivan packed to the gills, dear reader.
Then, it turns out that my mom accidentally googled the wrong directions and so instead of ending up on the military weapons base (where we had rented a nice little 3-bedroom cottage—insert your own ironic comment), we ended up in a McMansion subdivision with no idea where we'd gone wrong. A quick stop at the liquor store set us right, and even added to our wine stash—a strategic move that would pay dividends later.
So here I am sitting in the living room in the cabin (which is certainly as nice as our military base house in Japan) and trying to catch up with some Big Idea stuff. But rather than do that, dear reader, let's engage in some "live blogging".
[Live Blogging]
Jessica's boyfriend has decided he would like to be referred to as Eagle Six. He is refusing to append the traditional "Mr." prefix, claiming to "make his own rules". This, dear reader, will not stand. Instead, he shall now be called Mr. Gator.
Mr. Gator would now an explanation to be put into this entry about the origins of his name. But since I don't know the origin, and he's too busy complaining about the Jewel song currently being played on Jessica's new iPod, no explanation will be provided. Perhaps he will grace the blog with a comment—even though I am tempted to block his IP address because of his very negative attitude towards others readers of this blog. (I promise, you don't want to know what he thinks of you…the term "very lonely" was used…)
Jessica is now asking for any reference to Mr. Gator as her boyfriend to be removed post haste. I am sympathetic to her cause, but it's too late to go back now.
Mr. Gator is now rocking out (with full head-bob) to Angel of the Morning, which is playing loud enough on Jessica's iPod for me to clearly hear it across the room. His performance is so breath-taking that I shall now refer to him as Mr. Eagle Six a.k.a. Mr. Gator a.k.a. Mr. Angel of the Morning. Since it takes too long to type that out each time, we will simply refer to him from now on as Mr. Angel of the Morning (or possibly, as The Gator), but never just Eagle Six. Oh no.
[/Live Blogging]
OK, that was quite enough. I grow weary of Mr. Angel of the Morning, and besides that he's now on to an awkward rendition of Me and Bobby McGee. Let's now list a couple other pertinent "boy" facts that have occurred, just so you can stay up to date:
Once again, Mr. Pilot and I are on the fritz. After cancelling on me last Friday because of a "cold" I haven't heard from him. A text message and a phone call have gone unreturned, and I'm beginning to tire of the game. It's either on or it's off, and at this point I will be sad (but not heartbroken) if we don't end up married with three kids.
Mr. Bethesda and I are actually forming a friendship, which is perhaps the strangest and most unexpected thing to happen this December. He even stopped by on Christmas Eve to see me for a bit, and said hi to the whole family (which is more than my dates have done since Mr. Music back in the fall).
I've decided to stop the whole online dating thing. As Ms. Wish to See so insightfully points out, juggling multiple guys at once takes a lot of time—time that I should be devoting to figuring my life out (or at least billing for the Big Idea). So as of January 4th, dear reader, I'm on my own.
Update: Note to self, no more "blogging while drunk". No indeed. But in the interest of my reading public--I just KNOW there are more than 3 of you, dear readers, no matter what Mr. Angel of the Morning says--I will post the original entry in its shameful, verbose entirety.
Oh, and Mr. Pilot and I are back on. Maybe. He is the epitome of mixed signals. Just thought you should know.
Posted by madchen at 09:45 PM | Comments (2)December 18, 2006
Recovery
Let me catch you up, dear reader. Last week I was feeling grouchy. Now I'm not. To recap:
December 14: Maybe it's the fact that Mr. Pilot hasn't called me.
He called, he called, hallelujah, he called. Turns out he was just having a last hurrah with his far-away friends and wasn't blowing me off at all. We got together today, and made plans to get together later in the week. [Ms. Wish to See, is it okay if I bring him to the holiday party on Friday?]
December 14: Maybe it's the fact that I'm just not feeling the holiday spirit.
After my date with Mr. Pilot, I stopped by the mall and indulged in the hectic bustle of the oh-my-god-there-are-only-seven-days-left-until-Christmas scene. Although I actually ended up walking out with only one present (and several gifts for myself), I am now feeling a little more holiday-ish. And I wore a red sweater, which helped.
December 14: Maybe it's the fact that I'm hormonal.
Well, not much has changed on this front. I'm not on the verge of bursting into tears (or rage) at any given moment, but that's probably attributable to other factors.
December 14: Maybe it's the fact that I'm feeling a little bit burned out with the Big Idea.
One of the experimental Big Idea projects for 2007 has gotten excellent results after only a week of tentative beta-testing. I'm feeling really excited about it, which makes the humdrum day-to-day a little more tolerable. Plus, tomorrow I have set aside the entire day to work on the not-fun stuff, and once I can get into a groove things tend to go faster.
December 14: Maybe it's the fact that I haven't been to the gym in a month.
After my date, the mall, and a very nice slice of cheesecake I dragged my sorry self to the gym. When I walked through the door I felt like a scene from a movie, where I was instantly transferred to a sunny meadow, and the ellipitcal machines and I ran into each other's arms in slow motion, while butterflies flitted about in the background. It was magical, let me assure you.
Other things that have dispelled the grump:
-- A delightful trip down to Blacksburg, home of my alma mater and current residence of my friend Ms. Used to Blog. The drive down there gave me some time to think about life, the lazy hours in town gave me time to enjoy the simple pleasures of a small town, and the drive back gave me time to get excited about the coming weeks.
-- Pretty clothes. After the very unfortunate moth-eats-four-sweaters incident of October, I've been a little lacking in the nice winter clothes department. But after having an adorable cashmere jacket made in Shanghai, a shopping spree in Ann Taylor, and a supplemental trip to Eileen Fisher, all is once again right with Ms. Write Again Soon's fashion world.
-- High definition television. I've recently come to the conclusion that I actually enjoy watching sports. In fact, right now I am cheering on my secret NBA husband Dirk Nowitzki as he leads Dallas to a win over Sacramento. With the courtside tickets running a bit steep ($895 per ticket), the big screen in the sunroom is the next best thing.
December 12, 2006
Drrty Grrl
As Mr. Paramilitary High School points out, it has been nearly a week since my last briefing on The Boy Situation (TBS). So while I sit here and listen to an excruciatingly long conference call for the Big Idea, let me recap:
Mr. Pilot
Mr. Pilot met my friends at a happy hour on Thursday. While they all fled for their suburban homes within 30 minutes of him arriving (with the exception of Mr. Bad Apologies, who engaged us in an entertaining sex toys conversation for a good twenty minutes), I think they didn't hate him (or vice versa). All in all, he was pretty quiet and--to my disappointment--did not engage Ms. Maryment in a game of brinksmanship over celebrity gossip knowledge. Next time perhaps.
Anyway, we left together and said goodbye at the subway--him traveling back to NoVa and me driving back to MoCo. He was leaving early the next morning for an overnight golf trip with his guy friends, and was then leaving on Sunday for another trip.
So long story short, I haven't heard from him since Thursday, and I can't tell if he's blowing me off or has just been busy. Last week he called me on Monday night, and so I was half-expecting a call last night--but no luck. I'm not really letting myself think about it too much (not true, WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME??), and am keeping busy with other young men.
Mr. Friends With Benefits
First off, let me say that Mr. FWB should really be called Mr. FB, since we have long since given up the farce of being friends and have neatly segued into something more practical (and I'll let you figure out the acronym yourself, dear reader). But I'm not complaining, since he has actively pursued a very *interesting* arrangement that makes a threesome look like the missionary position. Unfortunately, the adventure scheduled for Saturday was cancelled at the last minute due to a work conflict. If Mr. Pilot and I don't elope to Vegas, we're planning to reschedule for sometime in January--at which time I will decide how detailed to get in my recollections.
Mr. Doctor
I just can't figure him out. After playing phone tag for the last week, we finally talked last night. It was a great conversation, and we made plans to meet next week after our respective trips have concluded. I was thinking, "hmm, maybe" when he concluded with...
And I guess I owe you a big, wet kiss.
WTF? I have no response to that, other than to immediately want to go brush my teeth--and not in a good, anticipatory sort of way.
Mr. Bethesda
In preparation for my adventure with Mr. FWB, I called in a favor from Mr. Bethesda this weekend, who very generously (and gently) introduced me to a new thing. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that it basically met my expectations. Namely, it is tolerable, but NOT HOT AT ALL, despite what porn movies would have you believe.
The most noteworthy part of the whole evening was when I got up to leave. As I was pulling on my clothes, he reached over and said, "why don't you sleep here for a bit?" When I replied that sleeping over was the *one* thing that consistently made me an overly emotional, relationship-wanting girl, he said, "so what's wrong with that?"
That ship has sailed, dear readers, and I told him so.
Posted by madchen at 07:17 PM | Comments (1)December 06, 2006
What to Do?
The "boy cycle" is in full swing.
1. After a delightful break-up with Mr. Bethesda immediately after Thanksgiving, we've still managed to retain a lovely friendship and will be getting together this weekend for as-yet-undetermined amusements. (Not necessarily of the "inappropriate" variety, but it's nice to know it's a possibility.)
2. Shortly after that I had a bizarre date with Mr. Doctor, in which he somehow concluded that I salivate at the mere thought of a foot massage and therefore suggests it at every opportunity. (In one sense I'm totally repulsed, but still a little curious.)
3. I also had a great date with Mr. Pilot (and he FINALLY made a move) and then we had a 2-hour phone conversation last night that leads me to believe things might get serious. (I feel giddy at the thought of this guy, which is so bizarre and wonderful and terrifying and fantastic I might have to go throw up...)
4. Yesterday I went on a date with Mr. Music, which reinforced that he isn't the guy for me even though I still suspect he thinks he is. We had a nice time, but there weren't any sparks. (Thank goodness, since I can barely keep up as it is.)
5. As if all that weren't enough to keep me occupied, I received a call tonight from Mr. FWB, who would like to set up a ménage à trois arrangement (or two) for the next week. (Not that I'm (seriously) considering it, but still, it's nice to know it's a possibility.)
What have I done to deserve such a streak of good luck? Clearly I'm giving off some signal. Perhaps a blinking neon "loose woman here" sign above my head.
Posted by madchen at 12:10 AM | Comments (2)November 27, 2006
Sick, Part II
First of all, a word to my dear readers. I *finally* fall madly, deeply, forever in love with someone and there is not a single peep in the comments? I wash my hands of you.
Secondly, the magic is over. All the freewheeling estrogen coursing through my veins on Friday had evaporated by Saturday morning, when I woke up with a distinct feeling of distaste for Mr. Bethesda. It was like night and day.
Friday: I think I want to have his babies.
Saturday: He would not give me enough attention once the kids were born.
Friday: I could easily pick up my life here and move to his permanent home in the Southwest.
Saturday: He doesn't ever want to do anything at night, which would make me too lonely in a small town.
Friday: He's beyond all the game playing.
Saturday: I need to see a little effort here.
Anyway, the arc was helped along tremedously by a FABULOUS date with Mr. Pilot on Saturday afternoon. We went to lunch, we went to the zoo, we briefly held hands, and he still hasn't kissed me. He revealed a startling knowledge of celebrity gossip that would almost certainly rival Ms. Maryment's (apparently, the pilots do a LOT of reading of People, Us Weekly, etc. while the autopilot is on), and yet also was able to hold an in-depth discussion of the Iraq war. He's a former Marine, which adds that little bit of military flair that I like, and yet manages to come off as a totally responsible, totally engaging sort of guy.
So, by Saturday night I was back to juggling several men--since I wasn't totally sure that I wanted to ditch Mr. Bethesda. After all, I don't get those *who-hoo* feelings too often and damn if they weren't a teensy bit nice.
But I digress.
Sunday morning Mr. Bethesda came over for a bike ride. I took advantage of my parents' Sunday morning religious fervor to meet him at the door half dressed, and we were, ahem, a little bit late leaving for our 30-mile ride from Bethesda to Old Town. (Note to self: do not engage in previously-alluded-to-activity prior to a long bike ride...no good can come of it.) Anyway, the weather was gorgeous, the bike ride was great, the lunch at The Chart House was fabulous, and the conversation at the table was enlightening.
Him: While I really like spending time with you, and I think you are a great person, I just don't see us having long-term romantic potential.
[Silence.]
Him: So? What do you think?
[Silence]
Him: I need a little feedback here.
Me: Strangly, I feel a huge sense of relief.
Actually, we had the best date so far--something about removing the 800-pound relationship gorilla made us get along much better. We ended on a "let's keep doing the casual dating thing--but let's also actively pursue other people" basis, kissed goodnight, and I was even a little giddy when I finally settled in for the night.
It might be the best break-up I've ever had.
(It was just icing on the cake when Mr. Doctor called later in the evening to make plans for later in the week. And it was like putting ice