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I woke today with the giggles of two young girls crawling into my bed. 3 and 7, my “nieces” are the most incredible children I have known. It was 70 degrees at 9 am when they slowly opened the door and ran under the covers. My best friends were asleep and it was sweet perfection for the half hour  that the girls and I laid in bed chatting. While my friends snuck in an extra couple of hours of sleep, taking advantage of my presence keeping the kids at a slightly quieter tone than normal, I made a traditional Southern New Year’s Day brunch complete with braised ham hocks, Hoppin’ John, collards, pan roasted potatoes, and poached eggs. Once they awoke, we sat together outside, the sun on our faces, and ate too much and laughed just enough. I miss them terribly and wish my reality was a bit closer to theirs, rather than on the other coast. Perhaps that is a change I need to consider.

This year begins a lot differently than last. Last year I was in love with a complicated man, still technically owned my home, still technically owned a small business, although both were in the end process of being given back and dismantled, respectively. I had the very best dog, who was also one of my most dearest friends. Just when I thought my own personal identity couldn’t be anymore shook up, it was. Tested is barely scratching the surface with regards to how I felt many times over. Tortured is definitely how I felt most often.

I don’t believe in Resolutions. I don’t think I did anything necessarily wrong or bad to encourage the harsh events that had unfolded around me in 2011. Will I love less? No. Will I love differently? Quite probably. Each time we love someone, a new person or a past person, the love is a little bit different. It’s nearly impossible to ever love quite the same as you have previously. So, what will the year bring. I have hopes for it. I have wishes and dreams and preferences, but none of these things I can predict as the truth. I have come to learn, through my many painful experiences, that I have far less control over the outcome of things that I once believed.

 

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Apparently my first photo, the one on Match, looks like a serial killer he says. Because I look too serious, because I’m looking right at the camera, because I look like I’m looking through the viewer. This unnerves him. The other photos he loves, that one, he does not.

We met for drinks Saturday late afternoon and talked about everything from sustainability and healthful foods, to tennis and exes. He started talking about his ex by saying, “I know there’s a rule against this on a first date, but…” and so I told him a bit about Type Geek. His ex is a model who likes being taken care of financially and can’t emotionally connect, mine is a man who knows how to spend money and likes the idea of a woman, but can’t emotionally connect. Perhaps we should introduce the two.

One drink turned to two, to 4, to dinner and too much conversation with these two fellows who sat beside us, a cuban born  troublemaker and his midwestern colleague.  Apparently they think I look like some sports newscaster, while I’ve always been told Billie Piper and Jeri Ryan. At least they are all beautiful women, I will give them that.

Conversation was easy, flirting was moderate, and as we parted, he pulled me close for a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told me what a great time he had. He then proceeded to text me a bit that night as he met up with some mates and had another drink or two, which ended with him a bit drunk. This morning, pre run, he texted me that he was feeling rough, but wanted to reiterate that he had a great time last night. Well, that’s a  good sign, right?

I’m talking to a few men, most are semi tech-head geeky and this one was more athletic smarty geeky..and hot, but a total apple fan boy, with an accent, and good style. Would it be improper for me to say that I really need to get laid soon? I need it to be good sex too. Sigh. Santa?!!!

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I have two first dates this week, on my only nights off. I don’t really know much about either, perhaps that is what I have resorted to now. I know that I found them “interesting” enough to contact them, but it’s a mental block I can’t get past. I’m not retaining details about them. My heart doesn’t want to.

Last week, I went on one first date. This gentleman, the Legal Design Guy, doesn’t know my ex like I thought he might (thankfully), he was getting into the music school as Type Geek was leaving. Also, it turns out he knows a circle of people who I know, which also don’t know Type Geek, so that explains it. So, we had oysters, we had drinks, we had pâté and confit and more drinks. Conversation was fine, but it felt more friend than anything. There is something slightly smarmy that I can’t get past, that I don’t find sexy. I can’t pin point it exactly, but it’s there.

Remember my Jewish Sex God from the very beginning? The one who ushered me into the folds? Well, we were having a conversation the other night, our friendship never really being the same since my trip to visit him that weekend. In the course of the dialogue he mentions that we had no sexual connection and proceeded to tell me why. Now, it’s fine that he didn’t feel a connection to me, but it isn’t fine that he decided to tell me that my being nervous at the reality of having sex with a well endowed man after 12 years of non penetrative lesbian sex translated into being a horrible lay who he felt ashamed to touch. WHAT? Yeah, so, he said that I was largely unresponsive, behaving as a victim of sexual abuse does, because I didn’t make much noise, because I didn’t show him how much I was enjoying sex with him. That I was too inside myself and didn’t give much to my partner, that he felt awful continuing to touch me because he felt that I must have been abused because I seemed to be in another place. Ok, once again, WHAT? Again, 12 years…non penetrative lesbian… flies to Seattle to have weekend sex romp with well endowed male friend… maybe, just MAYBE, I was nervous and shy and insecure about the entire thing?! What a dick, and I am NOT talking about his dick. I felt shitty afterwards, so I ended up emailing Type Geek for his take on my sexual style and he confirmed that Seattle is a DICK, and that I should NEVER give another thought to it, because I was obviously nervous and that he had zero concerns with my style. Thank you Type Geek. Grrr, Seattle. Seattle had no idea why I was angry, which at first I wasn’t. After I thought about it though, that is when I started to get angry, and offended.

So, yeah, Type Geek, we have texted. I apologized to him for not being able to pretend I don’t care and just cut ties. I’m not done with him. I can’t shake that a huge part of me believes that our story hasn’t ended yet. It’s just not our time. But, I want it to be. I know I can’t rush it, but I want to. I want the life with him that I know we can have, but he doesn’t have enough balls yet to have faith, to let go, to grasp something unknown, rather than his own fear. He needs time, he needs some self work, and I just need to live my life, which includes dating other people, while he does his work. Someday I will try again.

If you all think I am foolish, honestly, fuck you. I’m not on this journey for any of you, for how you would do it. It isn’t a choose your own adventure, and you don’t have the right to be angry at the roads I choose to take, because they are different from the paths and methods you would. This is MY story, and when I am laying in my final hours, I owe explanations to only my heart and the hearts of those I have chosen to embrace into my own.  I thank you all for reading, for getting involved and attached and relating, but in the end, this story is uniquely my own and I have no regrets about how I am living it and loving through it, even if that means I am just filling the spaces between Type Geek. Even if that means I am frustrating the hell out of my readers.

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