Archive for May, 2011

I hate games, hate them. I believe they create unnecessary complication and drama, however, apparently some people thrive in a less emotive, more game driven setting.

Geek and I have a date set, tentatively, for Thursday evening. I said that I wanted to plan it, as I am tired of the predictable dinner and sex routine. The sex is great. The dinners always fabulous. But jesus, the routine. I’m a sure thing, my friends are right. Until he realizes how lucky he is to have me, I will never have him. So, time to be less predictable.

What do men like? Competition. Apparently they also like challenges. So, my original plan was Atari arcade games and a dvd of Flash Gordon with some take out, but I have changed my mind. Sexy shoes, Victoria’s Secret Miraculous Bra, a dress that turns heads, and a game of darts, some pints, a few laughs and me leaving him standing on his doorstep alone, as I head home to sleep alone in my own bed. Sure, I may need a vibrator when I make it home, but in the long run, will I gain more, by giving him less?

At our age, with our collective  history of former lovers, why waste our time on these types of games when there are better games to be played by lovers?

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Student Driver now has her own page at www.about.me/learningtodrivestick ! Check me out!

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I have been chosen to start writing for a local edition of the national site, The Examiner. I will be focusing specifically on online dating in the Boston and surrounding areas. I’ll try to bring my same voice to those posts and will be light on the Type Geek discussions, however I think it will still be a fun column worth adding to your blog rolls. I will be continuing with a psuedonym as to not affect my professional life or relationship with the Geek, but I will link you all here so you can find me easily.

What would you love to read about in a column about online dating? Would any of you be willing to be interviewed about your experiences in online dating; the good, the bad, and the insane?

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I waited on two couples who were dining together on Sunday evening, a mother and father with their younger daughter and her husband. Amongst the many inappropriate things mom said during this two-hour meal were that she disliked her other daughter while this one was her favorite and that this present favorite daughter could pick up the tab because she made more than everyone else at the table… combined. This daughter blushed uncomfortably and looked ready to crawl under the table. Regardless of the humiliation, the two ladies actually seemed to quite adore each other. We deal with our loved one’s quirky flaws, right? As an aside, the younger woman and I spoke a bit about what she did, a consulting job that required her “selling my soul for”, and how her husband was the most patient man in the world. The younger couple was one I found interesting though, because perhaps I am hideously vain, but I am not significantly overweight and because of this, I can’t imagine being with someone who is. As a youth I was. Then I made the decision when I became a teenager to no longer follow in the heavy footsteps of the rest of my family, and I lost it. This isn’t to say that a) some people aren’t attracted to heavy partners or that b) some people truly can’t see past the physical and see the inside of a person.  What I am saying is this, while I am sure her husband was a wonderfully sweet guy, he lucked out on the hottie package. 

This makes me wonder though. How often do people settle in relationships because their current life scenario isn’t perfect and their partner accepts it and rides it out in a way that someone else might not? Maybe work/life balance tends to fall more on the work end of the scale? Long weeks, unexpected trips, canceled dinners and rearranged lives. How often are people with individuals that love them dearly, but aren’t necessarily what they themselves consider to be in their league, so to speak,all because they don’t have the time and energy to find said “better” person or step up and give what might be required in a different relationship? By being patient, justifying and loving, do these other halves make it easier for their “more successful” counterpart to neglect them and the relationship? Am I one of those other halves? Are you?

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I’m sitting here, leg wrapped in six-inch gauze (size matters when gauze is concerned) , bad episodes of Sex in the City on cable, when the texts start. My Young Lawyer, the Decade Guy from last winter, whom I have stayed friends with, begins drunk texting. Flirting? A little. Apparently my Linked In photo is “sexy pants” and he had drunk a few too many beers. He tried to fish for a few minutes until he obviously passed out next to the phone.

While watching SITC, I wonder, am I as frustratingly vapid as Carrie Bradshaw? Her rants make me bleed from the eyes. I find the Manola’s and chemical peels akin to torture. Yes, but then I body wax, and I write poetic prose to stockings and garters. I obsess over Jewish cock and the perfect tush on the man I found myself so stupidly in love with. I smirked inside when I found out that Geek’s mom is technically Jewish, making HIM technically Jewish. Sure, he throws my game of averages off a bit, but in the end, it’s a theory and it’s not the theory I am after. It’s the round little tush on Type Geek that makes me want to throw him to the floor everytime I see him.

Okay, Type Geek is complicated and secretive.  A bit emotionally locked down. But, comparing him, analyzing him, dissecting him or expecting him… none of that does him justice. Sitting here, I think of him, sleeping restlessly the night before delivering his big brother’s eulogy and I see him, vulnerable and bare. When he apologized tonight, for an error in judgement, a part of his past he left untold, it came with such honest sincerity, that I wondered if this was the same man whom I couldn’t get to acknowledge my presence in January, let alone apologize for the impact of that ignorance. Sure, he might revert to past behavior, or he might not.  Maybe my walking away, only to realize how much I didn’t want to walk away, combined with my professions of true acceptance of who his is, combined with his brother’s illness and recent death, have left him realizing that we do in fact need other people in our lives. Even if we only let them into our emotional foyer, it’s better than keeping the door closed on them. I hope that someday I get a tour of his emotional house, but I am not depending our situation on it. My love for him is in spite of it, not requiring it.

At this hour, 2 am, I have one leg elevated, while a laptop warms the other thigh, on a couch that looks like it was dragged from a dormitory rec room, with a heavy heart as I consider what my Geek is facing in just 8 hours. I wish I could be there, but it isn’t my place. My heart is there. My heart is with him, wherever he goes.

So, is he my Mr. Big? My Aidan? My Berger? Perhaps what sets me apart from the Carrie Bradshaws is that in my humble world of dating, those men aren’t the reality. I’m not sure. I know that I never loved that show. My Pastry Chef roommate loves it. I catch him watching it, perhaps this is why he is single, because he watches political commentary and Carrie Bradshaw…and he is a vegetarian. Sigh. His views on the world are quite obviously skewed. Maybe all our views are skewed. Who is the baseline though? What is the baseline for emotionally receptive yet not vapid? Mysterious but not shut down? I’m not sure. I’m not sure of many things these days. I do know this, that I NEED to feel like I matter. Now that Geek is slowly coming around to that, I need the rest of my life to fall into a conga line of his lead.

Thanks for listening to my tangent this evening, my senseless musings during this senseless time. Goodnight everyone, if you could please say some thoughts for Type Geeks family in the late morning today, as they have Older Geek’s funeral, it would mean a lot.

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Illustration by Michael Hacker

Life doesn’t stop occurring because one person has died. You can’t expect for a giant hand to pick up a giant remote control and hit pause. Things don’t go back to normal because normal changes, it becomes something different, a new variation on normal. When an integral part of you is taken away, life becomes like traveling in a foreign land in which you don’t speak the language or recognize the shapes of the signs.

On Saturday evening, Type Geek’s brother was pulled from the machines, and he passed away Sunday evening, surrounded by family. They are now gathered at the family compound, silent and processing and mourning. I wish I could do more, do something, relieve the pain somehow, but this is my job, to wait and be available when he comes home. To not say anything and just listen. To hold him. Or, to give him space and allow him time to mourn the loss of his only big brother.

On Monday, life continued on, without any dramatic pause. All of the messy complications of living, the wrong drink at Starbucks, the long line of traffic, the irritation of not being able to hear your friend at lunch because the parties on either side don’t understand the concept of inside voices, and of course, hysterical mishaps that result in comedic injuries. The comedy of life doesn’t stop because death has happened. After an early lunch on Monday I stepped on wet concrete with a pair of Tom’s Shoes and one leg hydroplaned while one remained on a dry patch and resulted in my successful execution of an almost full split, without the flexibility required to do such a thing. My friend Poppy was with me as my right knee slammed to the ground in a quiet thud and my left leg extended out in an angle better left for Mary Lou Retten or Jenna Jameson. Left with a severe hobble I spent the rest of the day with an elevated leg wrapped in gauze and a stomach full of ibuprofen.

The comedy of errors doesn’t stop there. After Poppy left, I decided to finish this post and send it over to my syndicators, only my computer wouldn’t hold a charge and the thing wasn’t reading the ac power supply hook up. So, I frantically tried to finish it before the system shut down, only I didn’t make it. I tried writing my post via my not so smart phone but that didn’t work, and so I sighed and threw in the towel. I found an available Zipcar at 1 pm today and drove over to MicroCenter and bought a new power cord. The staff there is less than gentlemanly, seeing me hobble and obviously in discomfort, the fat older sales guy made me hobble down the aisles so he could sit his lazy ass down while we plugged in the adapter to see if it worked. Of course there was a plug exactly where we were, but having me walk the entire distance of the store, one hop at a time, seemed to be his particular style of customer service.

Now I am back home, and this post is late, but it is finished. At the end of my day, it’s just a post, a power cord, a comedic slip and fall resulting in a humbling bruise and dedication to becoming a bit more flexible so I am not so prone to overextension in the future (and yes, avoiding wet spots on concrete floors) because this is all just the filler for the space between the moments. Life isn’t about what we achieve, what we possess, what we are… it is about who we are and who we love and how we do that. Life is about the connections we make. Today, Type Geek is with his family and they are saying goodbye to his big brother and planning his services. Today, I am remembering that nothing else but that simple act of love and respect is what truly matters.

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Sometimes we all need perspective. We complain about our bad day, the traffic, the wait at the Starbucks… we curse our life. Our luck. Tonight they pulled Type Geek’s brother off of the machines. The constant transfusions that were keeping him alive, stopped. An IV drip kept him sedated and pain-free.

Meanwhile, I waited on impatient people. A Saturday night of delays, refires, wait times, and people who cursed their luck to get the table below the speaker or the beer 8 tickets deep behind 16 multi ingredient cocktails. They should thank the universe that they had the chance to wait for a table, to drink a beer or have their food refired. Someone somewhere isn’t so lucky. Someone is having their hand held as they slowly pass. Some painfully, some quietly, some alone, with no one to hold their hand and say good-bye, thank them for their friendship, their love, their existence.

We are all guilty of the complaints. Maybe for a few days, a week or even a month, we can consider that we have so much more than someone else and that getting the wrong drink from Starbucks is a small miniscule thing.

Hug the people you love. Tell them that they matter. Live your days because someone else can’t.

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