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Archive for the ‘Argh This Man is DRIVING Me Crazy!!’ Category

I’ve never been as lonely as I have in those moments when I am missing him.
When I am seeking his voice on a day when 5 seconds on the telephone would make weeks of grey clouds clear.
When I hear people, celebrating, or just gathering together as friends on their decks on hot summer nights, and I can’t reach him, this is when I feel alone.

I’m in a moment of questioning. I have big answers now, but they don’t seem to make the questions fewer. I want the answer from the universe. Why? Why did you put us together, Type Geek and I? Am I supposed to teach him something, or visa versa? Give me the lesson plan already! Let me skip to the last chapter and see what the outcome is. I don’t even know what chapter I am in. I feel like I am living a slow French film, without the gratuitous sex. Like a French film, it will probably end abruptly, with no explanation and everyone in the audience will be left scratching their heads and looking to each other for understanding.

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So, I am wondering about all of your dates that could have been potentially dangerous. Scenarios in which the men, or women, weren’t what they said. Either they were married, had criminal records, didn’t want to take no for an answer, etc. You can all answer anonymously, but I am curious because Type Geek is intent on calling me nuts and psychotic for running background checks.  Not financial histories mind you, just basic name, age and criminal record. The more friends and colleagues I run this by, the more women tell me horror stories and men are on the fence. The men say that they would feel violated, however, if you are telling the truth, where is the violation? If you aren’t, shouldn’t the woman feel violated? Type Geek’s response stinks of the old “blame the victim” game. 

So, please readers, I’m interested in your horror stories. By sharing, you may enlighten many people’s eyes out there.

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It’s Valentine’s Day and I went to sleep at 4 am. I drove to Type Geek’s home last night, dropped off his things, tried to pick up my own and it didn’t happen. He didn’t answer the door, he didn’t answer his phone. I stood, on his porch, in full regalia. Tight charcoal grey dress, fishnets, vintage inspired cream and black t-strap heels, and a push up bra that rivals plastic surgery. Why? Multiple reasons. 1) I was aiming for reaction. I wanted him to see what he was fucking up. 2)I hoped I was wrong. I hoped there was any other explanation for everything and that possibly I would find myself in his arms.

An hour after I left, after picking up Haagen Daaz and sitting down to an ice cream sundae with magic shell,  I received a text. 15 minutes of back and forth texting, I said he owed me at least a 5 minute phone conversation. 40 minutes into that conversation I realized that, in many ways, I was wrong. It truly WASN’T about me, it was all about him and how deeply he is hiding away in his fear. What is he afraid of, I don’t think he even knows. He’s overwhelmed by life, by family, by career and by responsibility, and crippled by it all. This isn’t just about me and my pain. This is also about him and his pain. He apologized for it all, he realized he had no explanations, no excuses that were worth expounding on, in the end, he just chose to put his head down and not see me, rather than look up and at me.

My friends keep chanting, “down with the douche bag.” , but it isn’t that easy, is it? Not when you love someone, not when you find that one person who fits into your puzzle and who you can accept for all his or her scars, faults, fears and baggage and in the end, you can actually see yourself with this person, regardless of all of that. You can see yourself old with them, a lifetime of experiences behind you both, years of joy that reduce the emphasis of the painful moments we all experience as human beings. When you are in love with someone whose broken pieces fit into your missing pieces. Something deep and unexplainable, unreachable, tells me that this man is worth fighting for. I just don’t know what to fight when he doesn’t know why he’s hiding.

In the end, we are final. It is final. Unless another solution to this issue presents itself, my ten months with Type Geek have come to an end. I end this message, on Valentine’s Day, with tears. Tears over what I found, a truly open and aware love that I was unaware I was capable of, and tears over what he and I are losing, collectively.

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When we fall in love, when we surpass the weeee of it and step back, looking at the person, catalog their flaws and scars and realize that not only are we “in love” with them, but that we can honestly, love them with each of these flaws. That each body scar, each soul scar, is just a spice that has gone into the entire dish. Without each element, this gorgeously flawed man or woman wouldn’t be who they are, who we LOVE.

Now, what comes after we realize this? After we put our heart out there and ask for nothing in return, except respect. What happens when the respect goes out the window because the individual of our love, is so terrified by this love, that they do everything in their strength to make themselves so despicable that there is no way you could possibly continue to love them. If it was as simple as they didn’t like you, didn’t care, and just wanted a piece of ass, they would have dumped you months ago. Why the elaborate ruse? Why put that much effort into making the worst of two decisions?

10 months ago I met him, Type Geek. At first I was unenthused. He was interesting, but also, he seemed to lack depth, until I dug deeper. When I stopped seeing Cooper Fiennes I had considered bringing some other men into the fold, but then I considered it unfair to Type Geek. In side by side comparison he didn’t fare well. He was a workaholic who rarely let you in. He was shorter than what I was “looking for”. Bald, when I wanted hair to run my fingers through. A cat owner, when I hoped for someone to fall in love with my dog. For some reason, I decided that I would give him some solo Type Geek time, to see if the gem would sparkle on its own.

I’m not sure the moment I realized that I was in over my head, that I was suddenly facing a future I hadn’t planned for. When I was in his arms, when his face was beside mine, I had the sense of finding my way home. I could close my eyes and see into the future, imagine making him dinner for years to come, sharing a bed, sharing a life. Only, at some point he stopped sharing, he started erasing, with vigor.

The exhaustion has set in, I have cried myself to sleep too many nights in confusion, and I have come to realize that I have reached that point where if I continue on this path as it is, I do not deserve my own self respect. 6 days ago I left my last text. 5 days ago he texted me, telling me that , indeed, we should fuck soon. I didn’t respond. Is he back now? From his trip to wherever it is he truly went? It would seem so. Will I hear from him? At some point, I think. My presence is all over his apartment. He can’t ignore my existence forever. Will he realize his wrong doings? Quite possibly he already knows what they are, but that they are part of his plan. If I leave because I can’t handle it anymore, he hasn’t had to break my heart by dumping me. I once told him that he didn’t hold the power to break my heart, to hurt me yes, but to break my heart, no. Was that a challenge in his mind?

So, I ask all of you to send me super human strength, to keep me from texting him, from emailing him, because I miss him and the sound of his voice. Not the him that is being an utter ass, but the him that is truly behind all of the nonsense. The him that I love. The man who hides behind the boy.

10 months ago we said hello. How many days before we say goodbye?

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There might be some untruths occurring. To deal with this I have been swallowing my need to express, to demand answers and explanations NOW and waiting until the third round of business trips ends and he is sitting in front of me, the first time in over a month. This is the reason I have been silent. I haven’t been writing through my feelings. I have been cooking through them.  Making cheese and butter in my new kitchen. Rotisserie cornish game hens and pork loins. And then, I’ve been shedding a few tears when I find myself unable to find the inspiration to cook. He has brought an element of rediscovery into my cooking, becoming my food muse, and at times, when the confusion becomes deafening, my culinary skills are cut short. If I can’t cook, if sleep becomes elusive, I can find myself distracted mentally. Trying not to think of what I don’t want to, but unable to focus on anything else, my thoughts go into a haze, as a method of emotional separation. Then, some moments,  have been steeped in tears when I can’t decide what to do with my frenetic heart. When nothing else works. When it catches me before I see it coming.  Asking the universe for guidance and the patience required to wait and speak calmly in person. Asking the universe why something that is so perfect, is so imperfect, in a world that needs a little magic.

I don’t believe that love should be easy, I know that life is messy and complicated, and for that, I don’t assume that romance should be any different. But JESUS, does it need to be THIS complicated?

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Letting go and trusting is hard. I’m not sure if I am making the right decision to do so or if I am being my own most ignorant enemy. In the future though, when I am looking back over my life, will I regret time spent trying and hoping or will I regret times I have walked away with my dignity, but without really having tried? I don’t have the answers, but I also don’t have the guy. Not really. So, what am I really doing here? He is on the other side of the world, and hasn’t checked in yet. My decision, at least for now, in the strength I am finding now, is to NOT contact him while he is away. To start being the girl who isn’t the aggressor, who isn’t the sure thing. I’m tired of begging for what someone should want to shower me with. Send me flowers bitch. Sure, we all have things going on in our life, good and bad, but we also have each other and that isn’t something to ignore. I am a prize, not just someone who is worthy. I am in love with him and I will try to breathe through the coming days and trust that he does in fact want me in his life, and if he doesn’t contact me, then he doesn’t. What more can I do?

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12 months.

Originally I had planned today to be the swan song for Learning to Drive Stick. I assumed, wrongly, that I would have some amazing revelations about human behavior. About human sexuality. Instead, a year in, all I have are more questions than when I began. My base questions were simple, or in retrospect, simple. Can I, a lesbian of 12 years, a woman who didn’t even like penetrative sex with her female lovers and hadn’t had a remote inkling of a novel non fleeting interest in a man in 12 years, sustain enough of an interest in any one or more men to date them and have a sexually romantic relationship with them. Sure, I flirted with a few boys during that time, kissed a couple, but that was alcohol tinged fun, not cock fueled desire. So, I set out last December on a quest, one year to meet as many men as possible, stay open to the process and see what the universe had to offer. Boy, did the universe have plans.

In the first months it was very experimental. I did have a look at my dates as pawns in a game, in a way. Or perhaps it was all like a science project, controlled experiments. As much as I was open to the process, I was awkward, at best. I was having issues crossing the line and connecting beyond the sexual flirtation. No one was getting in. I was having a blast though, so, I assumed, again wrongly, that this would be the nature of the beast. I would meet and have laughs, maybe some hot make out sessions with beautiful men who looked too good to be true (i.e. Gavin Depp), and some douche bags who thought inviting their friends on a first date and hitting on the girl in the tight wife beater, smoking a cigarette outside, was a BRILLIANT and tactful move. I assumed I would have some good stories, nothing more, nothing less.

Then Brooklyn showed up. He came at me with a relentless desire. He was just leaving a marriage to the only woman he had ever been intimate to, the 3rd woman he had kissed, and in many ways, what should have been a short passionless affair, turned into a 12 year relationship. She was the first girl to pay attention to him. The first to fall in love with him. So, he stayed. Until he decided the fall previous to our meeting, that he was done. Fini. He saw me on Match, signed up specifically to meet me, only met me and fell into a fantasy. It turned out that we had been neighbors in Brooklyn, yet never known each other, and in many ways, our connection was one of soul mates, but it was forced, by him. It was filled with a teenage fervor, making out on the beach in winter, in a car for hours with the heat turned on, on the couch of a home I was house sitting and in between the stacks of bookstores. It was hot and fast. In the end I fell in love with the idea of love. Love wasn’t what I was expecting in the journey, so to see that it could be a real possibility in the journey was thrilling. We broke off our short affair because he was overwhelmed, a night of almost sex had him rethinking his entire life. He needed therapy to leave the relationship, not me.

I did also assume, again wrongly, that sex would be fairly easy to come by, seeing that I am an extremely attractive woman with an average slender build, some fashion sense and style, and a pretty good sense of humor. Sure, except I wasn’t getting laid. Start and stops, start and stops. Hot make outs in a mall after hours following an alcohol loaded evening of jazz resulted in our getting thrown out of said mall, but when we were alone later, excuses for why the young law student wasn’t ready. Dates that couldn’t make it close to first base and my desire to have someone “be a man” about it and show me that they wanted me, rather than my taking the first move as I have in all of my relationships in my past. It wasn’t happening. So, the dates continued, the weather warmed, and the experiments went from controlled to natural as I found 3 men in a few week period who redefined the game.

Type Geek started out his date late, nice, but not thrilling. Former lawyer talked my ear off on the phone in an argumentative debate that, at times, crossed into condescending and rude, but I went out with him anyway, only to realize that I was truly JUST going to use him for sex. He seemed to be my most promising route for a lay, since Type Geek hadn’t even kissed me at week 3 of dating. So, I slept with Former Lawyer on a Wednesday and had him begin a three-day stalking that covered him showing up at a grocery store he knew I was shopping at, show up outside my door, uninvited, assuming he would be invited in, at a time when I just wanted to sit in the tub and relax after a hard day. I gave him 2 hours at a local martini bar. He told me that I couldn’t possibly like electronic music because I liked serious musicians like Rush. I respected Rush, sure, but I LOVE trip hop, so fuck off. He told me he was being argumentative in order to make my arguments and opinions more precise. I told him I had to go, I had plans. Those plans were to get back in the tub, of course, but I would not see this man again. He had however, broken the mystical seal surrounding my pussy and suddenly the world opened up.

That evening I met Cooper Fiennes on-line, we chatted briefly,flirted, and agreed to meet for coffee after an appointment I had scheduled the next day. I also had a date with Type Geek later that evening. And so, the next morning, I arose for my meeting, met Cooper Fiennes in person, and tried to hold my shock when meeting him. He was handsome on-line, but he was HANDSOME and European, and sexy as HELL in person. We walked for hours, drank coffee and talked. I didn’t feel a huge spark, but I felt his interest. Suddenly I saw the time and realized that I had 2 hours to get home, shower, wax (just in case, although since our first kiss was initiated by me, I was only so hopeful of anything past 1st base on this date as well), and get back to the same location I was sitting, for a date with Type Geek. I made it 15 minutes late. He was, of course, 20 minutes late. By 1 am I was beginning to consider it fruitless. He wasn’t making a move, and so I decided one last attempt at making myself available would need to be tried. I followed him into his bedroom as he dug through his closet for some shoes, the ugliest shoes in creation apparently, and I purposefully laid myself out on his bed and began to pet his cat. And so, this is how Type Geek made his move, finally. This was one hell of a move, as well… it resulted in great sex, my getting off, and really good coffee in the morning. After going home and showering, I met Cooper Fiennes in the city for a late afternoon coffee.

That became my summer, juggling between these two insanely different men. Sex with Cooper Fiennes was fierce and passionate, often beginning in alcoves of buildings of on park benches. He could turn me on in 3 seconds by stroking the back of my neck and breathing on it until I was ready for another 4 hour escapade. With Type Geek, it was sweet and typical, but he didn’t let me in, I was intimate with him, but often felt detached. I was beginning to think that he might be one-dimensional. a few months in I realized that I had fallen in love with the idea of sex and my body in ways I hadn’t ever been able to in my life. I had two men that found me sexy, one that showed me how insatiably, and it was thrilling. I misdirected this emotion for a couple of weeks as it being about Cooper Fiennes in general, only to see that it wasn’t, after we stopped seeing each other because he had fallen in love with his best friend.

I was considering ending my affair with Type Geek at this time as well, I wasn’t feeling anything spectacular, and while he was a nice guy, I didn’t see much else. As I trolled the internet sites for more potential dates I realized that perhaps Type Geek was that guy that in comparison doesn’t show well, but underneath it all, if the focus is just on him, maybe he is a diamond in the rough. So, I actively decided that I would only see him for a while. That awhile is now 8 months. A month ago I realized that after falling in love with the idea of love, after falling in love with the reality of myself as a very sexual being, I had also, fallen in love. He is flawed, emotionally and physically. He is imperfect in many ways. I am a overcommunicator and he is a undercommunicator, and at times I feel like a chicken with my head cut off, cause I just don’t get him, but, I love him. He is multi layered and as delicious as a Mille-feuille. He isn’t my boyfriend, it’s no grand affair with fireworks and sex on street corners and in rental cars, but it’s true and honest and real. Real isn’t always sexy, it requires a lot of work.

So, a year in. My original question was answered early on, yes, I could successfully date and maintain a sexual relationship with a man. Then I wondered if I could fall in love, and I did. Then I began asking questions about the all of human nature, realizing that while we are such different creatures, especially in how we go about processing and handling our rich and varied emotional lives, we, men and women, essentially want similar things. The only two things I truly know for sure though, in all of this, is that women are indeed bat shit crazy, even me. Men are emotionally retarded, and if they aren’t, there is some red flag somewhere that you should look for. We will never be able to have total communication with anyone we are sexually and romantically involved with, because we see things through eyes clouded with our own needs, wants, past traumas, etc. Nothing will ever be perfect, but imperfection, in all its beauty, isn’t far from grasp, if you open your eyes to it.

I no longer consider myself a lesbian, but I don’t consider myself bi or straight. To some, straight makes more sense. To me, calling myself straight discounts and disrespects my knowledge, my history, my activism in the gay community. I know too much to be straight. I consider myself, because labels seem to be necessary in our day and age of necessary compartmentalization, queer. I’m left of center, as Suzanne Vega sang.

What next? I’m not sure. I have decided not to end the blog just yet, but I am taking a break until the new year. In January I will be back, and perhaps with a different direction to take it in. I am thankful for all of the support I have received over the last year from my readers and my editors at The New Gay, as well as the gifts of the universe and even all of the crazy boys I encountered along the way. Some have become lifelong friends, others I avoid on the street, and some, one, I bring with me into the new year, filled with possibility, filled with potential and filled with utter frustration that once again, a date may get canceled and I may not get laid, because he may end up stuck in another state today due to a snow storm that hit after he finished his business meeting. Sigh.

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