Archive for November, 2007

Some Clarifications

November 30, 2007

Dear readers–and for once I’ll use the plural without wondering if it’s warranted–thanks for all of your comments. I figured a post entitled He’s a Fuckin’ Keeper would indeed get people’s attention. A few clarifications based on your comments/questions…

First of all, everything I write about my experiences in this blog in fact have happened to me. I still ponder the question though of what is fiction and what is non-fiction. Though I give you slices of my life–mainly those times spent in bars–it is a select portion of my life. Even within the relationships that I write about, I’m sure there are plenty of other things I could add, but don’t–either because I never get around to writing about it or because it doesn’t necessarily fit in with the themes that have emerged from each of my “characters'” lives.

And, in other ways, you could argue, this blog is fictionalized. When I quote conversations do I quote them completely and accurately? I certainly try to, but for the sake of the narrative I often compress things, pick out the nuggets of truth (or even just humor). I never put words in people’s mouths, but I do streamline. And when I characterize people I’m also relaying my own impression of them. Is “the Jilted One” really “the Jilted One” any more? No, she’s long past that. Does everyone think of JetBlue as the person who can’t get her relationships off the ground? No, to be honest, if you ask most people they have a different and even lower opinion of her behavior. And K2? I’ve idealized and humorized some real sad, perhaps tragic, behavior on her part. But it’s my blog and I’ve chosen to see it that way. And Ms. Hold ‘Em? (and I’ll update you all later on this story line) She’s a far more complicated person than I even want to write about. In fact, for the first time since starting this blog, I’ve met someone that I don’t even know if I want to keep writing about her because we’re really connecting well in so many ways and I don’t want to trivialize the facts of her life–and, who knows, our life at some point. Oh, and I can’t forget Afternoon Girl–the only regular character here who knows about my blog, I might add. If I wrote about her–and us–in its entirety, you’d be truly amazed at the sensually complex and driven person that she is.

Well, enough about that.

Oh, and, as far as “the bar scene” that a number of commenters have referred to–first of all, I don’t mind comments that criticize, or that remember not so fondly, hanging out in bars. Secondly, one thing I may not have pointed out in the past is that until last February, I spent relatively little time in bars. This whole ‘nearly every night out’ lifestyle is new to me. But it has introduced me to a range of people I never would have encountered sitting at home watching The Office. Always Sunny in Philadelphia, maybe. But not most television. And it’s also provided me with something that I hadn’t really experienced in 14 years. Being single and free to do as I pleased. And, believe me, I’m happier than anyone else that I’m thinking I’m quickly on my way to transitioning back to the guy that reads books and watches TV and cooks and only goes out a couple of nights a week–and not necessarily to a bar when we do. Believe me, I’ve missed having someone (other than my kids) to go on daytrips with, go to the beach with, go out to eat with, whatever.

And, finally, please don’t confuse my bars with “the bar scene.” To me, the bar scene involves crowded clubs or martini bars with a bunch of well-heeled office workers and other 20-somethings going out with the purpose of picking up/getting picked up. The places I write about are nothing like that (not that pick ups, etc. don’t happen). When I write about “the usual bar” (sometimes just called “the bar”) think of Cheers but if it were on Showtime. Just a bunch of characters who are reliably sitting in the same seat on certain nights, often talking about the same things day after day, with the occasional plotline thrown in. (“Hey, someone just threw a rock through the back window” or “Hey, that guy just passed out and fell off his stool”)

The “secret bar” is very quiet. Often nearly empty. The sort of place you go if you really don’t want to be seen out and about. In the summer you might often find no more than ten people there, all of them out on the patio smoking cigarettes, and all of them knowing each other–not just from the bar, but from years of being friends. In my mind I sometimes liken the place to the Court of Miracles in the Hunchback of Notre Dame–you know, where the blind beggars can suddenly see and the legless can suddenly walk, where you’re free to discuss your recent grifts without anyone thinking anything of it.

So, that’s that. Thanks for reading and I hope you come back for more setbacks.


“He’s a Fuckin’ Keeper”

November 27, 2007

So, Saturday rolled around and I found out that Ms. Hold ‘Em couldn’t head out until around ten, which was a bit of a bummer but, hey, what can ya do? During the day my older son had a basketball game. On Friday his team had been crushed 41-7 or something like that. Saturday was much better–they only lost 20-13. My son had a basket too, so that was all good.

Saturday night I stopped by the secret bar for a bit before heading out to get Ms. Hold ‘Em. I took the surprisingly quick trip to her town and picked up my lovely date. And she was looking pretty darned cute too. But not as cute as her idea to start off the evening–“let’s go down to the scary bar. I have to drop something off there”. As I may have mentioned in the past, she used to work there and had a scary collage of some of the regulars that was going to go up on the wall.

We got there and she was met with lots of hugs and kisses and “wherecho bin, girl?” We got a drink and went to the back room for a cigarette with an older woman who called herself Ms. Hold ‘Em’s ‘momma’. Anyway, they talked a little bit and then “Momma” asked Ms. Hold ‘Em: “So, is this your boyfriend?” Hehe, put on the spot, right there on the second date. And, Ms. Hold ‘Em blushed a little but handled it well and said that “we’re trying to figure that out. He’s definitely my date.” And we all talked more. Then ‘Momma’ said: “You know, he’s a really fuckin’ nice guy. He’s a fuckin’ keeper.” Ahh, yes. The stamp of approval. Then she added: “Sorry, but I say ‘fuck’ all the time.” And, though I was dressed, let’s say, a little too well for the scary bar, I wanted to let her know I could fit in so I responded: “No fuckin’ problem.” And she looked at Ms. Hold ‘Em and nodded her headed and said: “I told you he’s a fuckin’ keeper.”

So, after that, we had a nice night hanging out down at the secret bar with friends, although I would’ve much preferred to have some “us” time–and I’m not meaning it the way you’re probably taking it. But you know, this was good too. As I’ve written before, Ms. Hold ‘Em is very affectionate: PDAs are suddenly all the rage for me. Lots of hand holding and coming together at the bar and lots of hugging and stuff when we’re outside for cigarettes. Even when we went upstairs to the main bar, in that less intimate atmosphere, we were hand in hand walking through the place.

Anyway, the night wore on and at closing time it was pretty clear the secret bar was only closing in name. The owner turned out all the lights and about 10 or so of us sat there in candlelight, hardly seeing each other, conversation going back and forth like spiritvoices. Ms. Hold ‘Em and I used the darkness to our advantage is all else to say there.

Oh, except that at some point after-hours a woman showed up at the bar and demanded her husband go home with her. That was fatally embarrassing I would imagine. And finally around 3:45 Ms. Hold ‘Em and I and a couple of other couples were the only ones left except the owner who was cursing the fact that he was the only one who wasn’t with someone. So, anyway, we headed off into the sunrise and the night was done.

Like I’ve said before, all is good for me, but must be getting awfully dull for you, dear reader.

Weekend Update

November 27, 2007

Well, I’m not sure where this blog post will take me. I don’t have a ton of time to write and I have to cover Thursday through Monday. So, if this is a bit outlinish in places, I apologize…

Let’s see. Thursday. I had a typical Thanksgiving Day. Time with family, etc. etc. I did play some football with my brother and the boys. And, though we were playing two hand touch, boy was I sore afterwards. For three days. Sore. One funny moment from that came when on one play the boys managed to tackle each other while I was running with the ball, my brother in pursuit. Now, sure I could outrun him, but I know that if I ran the length of the field at full speed I’d also be wheezing like a …well, like something that wheezes a lot. So, as I was running I turned back to my brother in pursuit and said: “I jog you jog? Yes was the immediate reply. And that’s what we did.

Thursday night was a fun time down at the secret bar. C. and his bartender girlfriend were there. After the previous nights’ blowout though, C. hadn’t gone to her family’s for Thanksgiving. More tension there. JetBlue was there as I mentioned in my last post. We had a nic, normal conversation together which was great but which also kind of sucked in a way. It sucked in a way because, after a long slow day of drinking, I was sorely tempted to hit on her. She was looking great, acting normal. Like she knew she could step in my way. Not the time or place. Keep telling yourself that. You don’t need that right now. You’re on the verge of something potentially sweet. And I let it go.

Although Thursday was Ms. Hold ‘Em’s usual poker night she had decided to stay home and enjoy family time and prepare for Friday’s shopping spree. At some point during the night the bartender mentioned that Ms. Hold ‘Em had told her that if a bunch of players showed up to call her and she would come down. I was sorely tempted to bribe the bartender into telling her the place was packed with big money players. Alas I didn’t but I did text Ms. Hold ‘Em and tell her that had been my plan. I think she liked that little bit of reaching out.

So, anyway, Friday came along and, as C. wasn’t headed out and Ms. Hold ‘Em wasn’t headed out I found myself at yet another bar where D. and Dr. B. were at. (Haven’t heard from them on this blog for a while, eh?) We had the typical D. type conversations, mostly revolving around women and his and Dr. B.’s low opinions on all of them–but I’ve written before about how much that annoys me. Then his girlfriend–whom he denies vociferously is his girlfriend–showed up and he and Dr. B. went into berating her and treating her like shit. The part I don’t get is why she puts up with it. Constantly. But, hey, not my problem.

I heard from the two of them (and I question them as a source) that K2 is once again getting kicked out of her apartment. And, also, that she had been “away” drying out, but had slipped back into the cycle a few days after getting back. That’s too bad, if it’s true. She’s really a sweet, sweet person.

More weekend update in a few…


November 23, 2007

So, anyway, dear readers I went down to the secret bar on Wednesday with Tattoo Guy. It’s the first time he’s been out in a while and seemed to be in rare form. I always forget to ask him that all important question before I tell him I’m going out–you know, have you been drinking all day already?

At any rate, the night was going fine despite his boisterousness. Ms. Hold ‘Em came down around ten o’clock so we got to hang out awhile. She’s in her busy season with work (okay, okay, selling stuff on the Internet) so it was a real bonus as far as I was concerned. At any rate, I’ve started to notice–and I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before–that when she’s not drunk she’s pretty shy. Either that or she saw me after I’d had a couple of drinks and said to herself “You know what? I’m all set.” (hey, until she professes her everlastin’ love for me, I’ll be filled with doubt). 

At any rate, I think all was going well until around 1:15 when Tattoo Guy decided he absolutely had to leave AND he absolutely needed to go to McDonald’s. The conversation, which I vaguely remember being in front of several people, went something like this:

TG: You need to drive me home and I need to stop at McDonalds, bitch.

Me: Ms. Hold ‘Em will be leaving soon. It can wait.

TG: No it can’t fuckin wait. Let’s go.

Me: Motherfucker, Ms. Hold ‘Em is here and she’ll be gone before I get back. Do you fucking understand that?

TG: I’m your friend motherfucker.

Me: Yeah you are so just go sleep in the car or something, dick.

TG: Fuck you bitch. She’ll still be here so let’s just motherfuckin’ go.

Me: Fuck you. I’m not leaving.

TG: Come on, you motherfuckin prick!

Me: Well, no McDonalds and I’ll see if Ms. Hold ‘Em wants to go.

TG: You’re bringing me to fucking McDonalds.

Then Ms. Hold ‘Em walked outside. I asked her if she wanted to go for a ride to drop Tattoo Guy off and at first said yes but then decided to stay to talk to a friend. So we said goodnight and I took off, being sure to send an apologetic text to her on the way.

Tattoo Guy insisted on the trip to McDonalds and then home. I was driving fast–but you know I’m not a crazy driver so not too fast. The whole way home I berated him for making me leave. Ms. Hold ‘Em sent me a text back that she understood and I was being a good friend to him–so I feel like I got some points there.

At any rate, I got back to the secret bar as she was walking out. So we said a brief goodnight and I went back in.

And yet the night wasn’t over. After the bar officially closed the bartender was waiting outside ready to go. C.–who you may recall is her boyfriend–was inside talking to someone and seemed to be in no rush to go. He knew she wanted to go, but he’s had this thing lately about ‘standing his ground.’ I don’t know.

Anyway, she asked me for a ride home and I gave her one. When we got there she said something vaguely about keys to the house, said goodnight and left. I drove away and then realized she might’ve said something about not having her keys so I tried to circle around the block to check to see if she was okay. But it was so foggy, I couldn’t even see the houses not to mention try to remember which one was hers.

So, as it turned out she was locked out. C. came home an hour later. Man, all is not well in that household. It’s a shame really, because they’re the ones who got Ms. Hold ‘Em and I together.

At any rate, that’s all I got for now. Oh, except I hung out with JetBlue a while last night at the secret bar. But that was relatively uneventful–though I will say she wasn’t being annoying. It was a refreshing change of pace.


November 19, 2007

There ain’t no disputin’ I’m toxic like Rasputin.

Well, since I last updated you, dear readers, I had a fairly straight out boozy weekend. Luckily last Monday I decided to start to “clean up” and start exercising, reduce the smoking and the drinking, and all that. Luckily, because I made up for any conservation early in the week with my Friday night (the secret bar, drinking with some people who had been there since 2 in the afternoon for a post-funeral gathering), with my Saturday night (date night, woot woot!), and with my Sunday (the all afternoon and evening birthday party, featuring every toxic substance known to man including Jack Daniels and Camel regulars).

But, hey, today I’m back in “the new me” mode. Big time. Someone even invited me to this big “fundraiser” that involved lots of free booze this evening and I said “Thanks, but no fuckin’ way. I’m done” And luckily, because Wednesday begins the long Thanksgiving weekend. And I fear that four more nights are ahead of me at the secret bar.

Yes, it is still true that I can resist everything except temptation.

But, anyway, Saturday. I’ll start by saying that I think it went really really well. My date that is. We seemed to get along like, like, well, like two things that get along great. But, of course, I always have to make things difficult for myself…

WAY THE FIRST: Oh, first off, about two hours before we were supposed to meet up, I managed to scratch the top of my ear. Did you know that if you cut your ear it will bleed for more than two hours? Yeah. So when I met up with Ms. Hold ‘Em, the top of my ear was still all blood caked, with the final trickles still coming out. Luckily she was fifteen minutes late, because when I first got there it was still throbbing out a noticable amount.

WAY THE SECOND: I had spent much of the day waffling between different dining options. By the time I called the popular Italian restaurant I decided on, the only reservation I could get was for 8:30. We were meeting at 6, it had already been decided. I figured we could, after a drink at the bar, go up to the general area of the restaurant and find something to do. Play pool, whatever, then head to dinner. Wait–let me go to Way the Third in order to finish this part of the story.

WAY THE THIRD: Although my mind kept telling myself I wasn’t nervous, my body definitely was producing those “butterflies” and all that made me think that I was more on edge than my brain was letting on to itself. So, I’m thinking a drink or two before going out will relax me. you know, no problem. We’re having a drink before dinner, maybe a drink or two with dinner, then a few more over the course of the evening. I’ll be good. But, of course, when we met up at the bar, one became three. She had decided that we could hang out there the couple of hours before dinner.  And it was a nice time chatting. For the most part it went great. Maybe one or two brief, awkward silences, but nothing like I’m often capable of. And, hey, despite the bloody ear, things were going pretty well. Except of course that without dinner, the drinks were adding up pretty quickly.

Anyway, we headed up to the restaurant and, despite all the time spent at the bar, we suddenly found ourselves fifteen minutes early for our reservation. So, I foolishly suggested going to the martini bar across the street for a quick one. Well, we settled into those big leathery seats with our tasty drinks and, well, next thing you know we were fifteen minutes late for our reservation. Heh. And that much tipsier.

So, we had dinner and it was pretty good. We had both pretty much loosened up and the talk got around to family and dating and stuff. One moment that worried me came when she asked me how old I was. I figured she already knew from talking to mutual friends. My heart skipped a beat, but then when I told her (accompanied by several ums) she said she had already known approximately and that “Age doesn’t matter at all.” Psyched.

And she was pretty straight forward about a lot of things. She’s busy for the next few weeks so don’t expect much time together until then. Until then. She also said that she wants something real and meaningful and she’s not just out for a good time. In other words, ready to settle down with someone and, who knows, it might just be you, mister. There was also another moment when I was talking about how I enjoyed to cook and she said she liked to cook but enjoyed baking more. And then she said, “I guess you can do the cooking and I can do the baking.” And I know most guys would have run screaming from someone on a first date saying all those things. But, it all seemed good and right.

So, after that we stopped at a bar in E’ton where they have both pool and music.  Unfortunately, it was country music and though she had said she didn’t mind country, well, it just wasn’t doing it for us. At any rate, we got to play a couple of games of pool. I think she let me win one of them. And then we headed back to the bar to go down below to the secret bar.

There, swimming as we were in drinks, the details of what might’ve happened win are fairly vague. We spent time outside smoking and kissing and lots of time inside holding hands and she was snuggling against me a lot. This is me we’re talking about here. I’ve never done anything much like that. But, again, it all felt so good and right and when someone puts their head up against your shoulder and they seem to fit so well there and it seems like you’ve been doing that forever, well, that’s just a sweet sweet thing.

Let’s see, what else. Oh, JetBlue was down at the secret bar and when Ms. Hold ‘Em and I were playing the video game there she kept coming over and trying to play along too. Sorry, JetBlue. Time to go away. Oh, and we went upstairs at some point. Ms. Hold ‘Em decided she wanted to try to beat the guy on the table. It’s funny–he was there for a big birthday party and so he was dressed up in the finest clothes, looking very much like a 50s gangsta. Anyway, she played fairly poorly (she said) and ended up losing by a couple of balls.  But it was funny to watch he–and his friends watching him–as she made some pretty impressive shots.

But, anyway, it was all great. Of course, part of me is still worried that she’ll find something wrong with me suddenly or I’ll find out that her real boyfriend is now paying more attention to her because she found me and now she doesn’t need me anymore.

You know, etc. etc. etc.

I may still be the same self-doubter, but at least I’m finding it harder to come up with credible things to cast doubts upon…


November 16, 2007

Well, last night I got to see Ms. Hold ‘Em. She was working down at the secret bar as usual and I stopped in for my usual Thursday evening with the gang. When I got there, C. asked me if I were going out with her this weekend. My answer, as it has been all week, was “I think so.” We had made tentative plans early in the week, but she still hadn’t gotten back to me on the subject. Of course, in my mind–and, dear readers, I know many of you know how my mind operates–this meant that she was too polite to say no directly and was hoping I’d go away or something. But only part of me has still been thinking that way.

Anyway, she took a break at some point and we had a brief opportunity to chat. She confirmed a date for Saturday night. It was all done shyly and nonchalantly, even though my heart was soaring. Anyway, the night wore on and JetBlue showed up. And she went on and on and on about the asshole, whom she supposedly cast out of her life, but whom she speaks about frequently. Luckily, Crazy Artist Guy was there and he took most of the shrapnel spewing from her mouth. And I made damn sure that Ms. Hold ‘Em didn’t in the least way think I was chatting at length with JetBlue. I don’t know if she knows her at all, but no need to bring that all up.

At one point I was standing at the bar and the owner walked in. As is sometimes the case, everything then slipped briefly into Goodfellas mode:

Owner: What–you just stand at someone’s spot at the bar where their drink is resting?

Me: Whaddareya gonna do ’bout it?

Owner: What am I gonna do ’bout it?

Me: Yeah, let me step over here away from your spot at the bar while you tell me what yer gonna do about it…

Owner: That’s right. You can’t break nobody’s fingers if yer fingers is broken. Remember that.

Anyway, once the cards were done Ms. Hold ‘Em and I sat at the bar chatting. I was perhaps a little drunk and very talkative. This is a good thing, because even if I was saying something stupid (and I don’t think I was) at least she knows that I am talkative. You see, I tend to be one of the quieter people that hangs out down there and the bartender has often commented on how quiet I am. And, you know, to a lot of people quiet = boring. Anyway, I wasn’t quiet last night.

So, at the end of the night, I gave her a birthday gift. Just something small since I don’t know her well. And she thanked me for it and all. And that was that. Part of me believes she’s already re-gifted it. But only part of me.

And, in conclusion, we’ve been sending more and more text messages over the last week or so. Until today it had always been me who sent a message first (and the only one who’s actually called the other), but this morning she sent me one out of the blue to tell me that she was at home because her daughter wasn’t feeling well. So, again, that’s a nice feeling, all this communicating more.

And we’re going out tomorrow. I’m figuring dinner and something (anyone, any ideas?). I told her that I was thinking paintball would be a good way to bond–you know, because going home from a date with welts will definitely make it a memorable one. Luckily, I’m pretty sure she got the joke. And that’s always a good thing. Not everyone gets my jokes.

But, anyway, that’s it. Nothing crazy, perhaps nothing interesting. I’m yawning myself because it feels so calm and good and real. Mmm hmm.

But It Paid Off in a Way

November 14, 2007

Okay, before I start yet another exceedingly dull blog entry about my new potential relationship I have to briefly mention the Jilted One. On Monday night when I was at the bar (only for a brief while, honest) she was there and boy was she tipsy. She reminded me that some weeks ago I was her “ride home” on a particular Sunday night–I think I told the story: she had to tell her boyfriend that I gave her a ride home because in fact some other guy had. Anyway, on Monday she was all drunky and kept hugging me and telling me “secrets” she had–none of them were too juicy, though and the funny part about it was that when she drunk whispers you can pretty much hear her across the bar. Which is very different than when she talks to me in her normal voice and I can barely hear her and have to say “Wha?” a lot.

Anyway, yesterday I wrote about being impatient. By 6 PM I had had enough so I decided to text message Ms. Hold ‘Em. Because I’ve learned a lot over the months I didn’t address the fact that she hadn’t called me or anything. Instead I came up with a random and at least mildly humorous topic. Well, the next hour or so after that was spent kicking myself for being too attentive until she replied, mentioning that Tuesday’s were a crazy busy day for her. So I waited quite a while to respond–wanting to keep up the conversation, but being mindful of the crazy busy comment. And, anyway, we slowly went back and forth over the course of a couple of hours.

Now,mind you, she still hadn’t brought up me asking her out. And I wasn’t going to mention it–though I was on the verge. Finally I asked her how her birthday down at the secret bar went and how I was bummed that I missed it. And, finally, boom! she segued into the date thing. So, by the end of the conversation last night I got: most likely yes, definitely want to, not sure which night, but most likely do-able.


Bored yet, dear readers? No, “oh by the way here’s the crazy thing she did” No nothing like that. Sorry…but I’m not.


November 13, 2007

So, last night I gave Ms. Hold ‘Em a call, you know, to ask her out on a proper date. To this point we’ve spent a good amount of quality time together, but, you know, a date’s a date. It’s the big time.

Anyway, I left a message last evening and, even though it’s only 10 AM, I’m already impatient over not having heard back. Yesterday, I was texting Tattoo Guy, talking about not being sure whether Ms. Hold ‘Em really liked me and whether she would reject me because of my age. He replied something like “Remember, you’re Mr. Bad Ass.” to which I could only reply: “Mr. Insecure Bad Ass.” So, yeah, I realize my impatience today is insecurity, but that’s okay. As long as I don’t blow it and show it all should be well in this slow process of getting to know each other.

Oh, the “too old” thing: Remember back at the end of the summer, dear reader, when I met a fellow teacher whom I thought was quite nice? I got her number and all, but remarked in the blog that she and her friend were questioning me about my age. Anyway, I called her then and she never called back and, after my usual period of self-loathing, I got over it. Until Sunday night when I saw her out at the bar. We started talking and at some point in the conversation she said: “Sorry I never called you back. But, you know, you’re too old for me.” Ouch. Yeah, so now I’m paranoid about it. Even though I knew it was the reason, hearing it wasn’t easy. Luckily, on the other hand, I’ve had K2 telling me that “Age shouldn’t matter” so at least someone is on the right page with that.

One other somewhat random note: this whole “first date” thing is going to be a unique one. We’ve already hung out together and all and kissed so, even though it’ll be a “first date” I think it will be an easy-going one. You know, not really worried so much about whether we’ll get along and not worried about whether and when to move in for that first kiss. That’s all behind us already.

But, of course, part of me realizes that I’ll never make it “easy-going” for myself. After all, I am the guy who just in his mind decided that it’s now 10:30 and clearly she’s not going to call back. I told you this blog was going to get boring and here ya go.


November 9, 2007

Hello, dear readers, all I can say right now is that everything is good–no wait, great–with me.

I’ll admit that I spent at least part of the last few days wondering what was up with Ms. Hold ‘Em. I called her on Monday, but never heard back–no return call, no text message, nothing. But then again I’ve been having problems with my text messages of late, so I can’t be sure that she wasn’t thinking that I was a TMS (text message snob) or something.

So, last night down at the secret bar she was working. And, not surprisingly, I was there–not just because she was working (that’s the bonus of the moment) but because Thursdays are my night with the folks down below (okay, okay, and Friday and Saturday too). Anyway…

You know, I don’t even feel like writing about all this. Not because I’m lazy or because it’s not an interesting story, but because I actually enjoy where I am. After a spring and summer of JetBlue and K2, I’ve finally rediscovered that part of my heart that had been idle for far too long. And it’s all good.

I will say that the night ended down in the Flats (read: the scariest/toughest part of a town) and really, really ended out on the street at 2:30 this morning. Because my mind always goes for the obvious ‘humor’, we mused at the occasional car racing by us, wondering if we’d end up as drive-by victims and what would our kids think of us as a result. But then the best summation all came to me in one final thought for the night:

“Those weren’t gunshots, officer, those were fireworks!”

De-smokifying Myself

November 5, 2007

Well, well, well, dear readers. All I can say is that I’m feeling that happy tingly feeling inside. You know what I mean. When you’ve found someone new and the world is filled with fascinating possibilities. And you want to tell everyone about how you feel and you don’t even notice that they’re not really listening. When your thoughts keep coming back to one person and you keep trying to remember everything they said to you the other night.

Even, that kind of feeling where you no longer feel the need to torment your annoying co-worker with endless pranks even though he still deserves it.

Yeah. I told you this blog might get boring. And here it is. Now, I guess I could tell all the stories from Friday. How C. called me and asked me to be the “doorman” for a birthday party down at the secret bar, how the party turned out to be for a former student, how I asked C. about Ms. Hold ‘Em and before I knew it she was there, how we sat together listening to live music and holding hands and being all shy about it, how I found out just how much ‘behind the scenes’ work went into the whole set up, how Tattoo Guy sat in my car for 45 minutes at 4 in the morning so that I could say goodnight, how all of my clothes smelled like campfire. And so much more I could add.

But I won’t for now. I’ll revel in the special feeling that a new person has brought to my life. I’ll see what happens next. I have to call her today and, you know, I’m not brilliant on the phone. But I’ll do my best. I’ll be nervous, but I’ll be reminding myself that she’ll be too.

After months of chasing after women whom I could at the same time tell funny, pathetic stories about, I’m not sure what I’ll write here now. But I don’t care. Maybe I’ll bore you, maybe not.

Well, on Sunday I de-smokified my clothes but on Friday I de-smokified my heart. And today I’m beginning to realize that more and more. After months of lying to myself about who and what I wanted, I’m suddenly on the verge of a whole different precipice–but it’s the kind you don’t mind jumping over because there are fluffy pillows of contentment and hominess there to fall into.

At least that’s the plan.