11 posts tagged “dating”

No, serious. True story.
(NSFW for language)

True friends help get you laid. FACT. No, seriously.

Sometimes this duty materializes as you being the wingman or buffer at a bar/restaurant or a double date, or if it's just to be the slightly non-judgemental, unbiased ear for them as they navigate through the neon minefields of m/f relations.

Leah has many times been the softening and logical voice in my ear while I spontaneously rant and rave through the nuances of various levels of courtship. In fact, the joke is that she's gotten me laid on a consistent manner by her tempering my knee jerk reactions in order to illicit some sort of sane dynamic. (Translation: She helps me not fuck shit up like I would usually do.) For Duke, I'm the one who serves as his Cyrano since he's like a 14-year old boy who is unable to be smooth or subtle when it comes to the ladies. "Well, can't I just break up with her by text?" No, dammit. Don't be a dumbass. I've also helped compose a couple of emails to his ladyfriends. I wouldn't exactly say I try to get him laid, what I'm doing is trying to help him not get on the bad sides of the females he's around. I soften him enough for him not to get his ass slapped once in a while. I'm just keeping it real, Duke. Get over it cause you know its true.

Anyhoos. More of today's IM foolishness.

As you can see, this is my main form of communication with my friends. I'm in front of a computer 9 hours a day. It happens. What also happens is the lulz. The never ending, genius, comedy gold lulz. Witness some more:

Today's episode

"Girlfriend" was listening to the radio and fell in "like" with the voice and the words of the subject being interviewed. She mentioned it to me a couple of days ago. I was sick so I got the gist of her just having a weird crush thing and such. We've all gone through it. Last year I was throughly convinced that I could totally convince Anderson Cooper to love my ass even though I'm female and have no penis. I just loved-ded him that much. And I would have been a Vanderbilt. Can you imagine? This little girl from Harlem becoming a Vanderbilt. Shove it, Ms. Greenwald! Anyways, so today she has found his myspace and decides to drop him a note hoping to find an in. She asks for my smooth, seductive help since my velvet words of promise and honey have known to finagle even the hardest of hearts. Not really. Whatever. So here we go...

She: yo, Jaime told me to check myspace for my new boyfriend
  and I FOUNDED HIM
  so I'm going to write him a letter and I need you to Beta. (ed. Translation:   editor/speechwriter)

 me: lol ok

 She: is lame

 me: let's see if i have the same verbal skills to get YOU laid

She: wow. I can't think of anything that's not lame. lol

me: lolol
  cmon, not true

 She: I'm serious. I've started it 3 times
  how do you say "I was stalking you online because you sound hot."
  without sounding lame and crazy

 me: talk about hearing the interview and how he opened your eyes to blah blah blah
  talk about what he brought up and your interest in it.
  maybe there was something in the discussion that you can personally relate to

 She: I'm not even there yet. I'm talking about the opener

me: "and i remember you said you liked socks. I love socks too. In fact i have the most impressive collection of socks"

 She: he's from brooklyn

 me: in regards to the opener, just say that after listening to the interview, you wanted to learn more about his organization or whatever. you googled his name and found his myspace
  profit.
 i WILL get you laid, gurl. oh yes i will

 She: organization? lol
  he has no organization. He's an Iraq War Vet.

 me: ah

 She: did I show you the link to the interview?
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16272276

 me: "I wanted to learn more about this 'war' you were talking about. So where is it again? Is it rough over there? Do you have any plans of returning just to catch up with old biddues?"

She: you are DUMB. lol

me: "I googled this place... is it I-R-A-K? Please assist."

Joanna's new status message - "I heard your interview today on NPR and I wanted to learn more about this 'war' you speak of. Where is it again? Is it considered 'rough' for tourists to travel there? I tried to google it, is it spelled I-R-A-K? Please advise."

She: YOU ARE DUMB. lol

me: "and i swear you and i would be excellent lovers! I have letters of references from several different countries to verify my abilities!"

She: why am I friends with you?

me: because all superheroes needs one retarded sidekick who will wear the bright red, yellow and green tights. Duh.

For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf

Ntozake Shange

i want you to know
this waz an experiment
to see how selfish i cd be
if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover
if i waz capable of debasing my self for love of another
if i cd stand not being wanted
when i wanted to be wanted
& i cannot
so
with no further assistance & no guidance from you
i am endin this affair

Men are the new "women".

Let me explain...

For the love of Sarah

Men are as batshit as women. This is true. FACT. (/David Brent voice) This is not a disparaging statement to make. In fact it's said all in the spirit of equality and understanding. Stereotypically, women are supposed to be the irrational ones. The ones prone to hysterics over matters of the heart and such. Women are also supposed to be the cruel, soulless heartbreakers of the affectionate. Not so. Boys are too.

me: guys are the new girls

I bring this up because if, Ladies, you ever feel down or upset over a Boy Episode, one surefire way to get over that malaise is by visiting Jezebel's Crap Email from a Dude.

Yes, Sister Friends, as those nutty, wonderful gift bringers of the site state:

Welcome to 'Crap Email From a Dude', the Jezebel public service that contends dudes are every bit as crazy as chicks. The names are changed but the insanity is real!

Witness! The over articulated backhanded I'm-sorry-but-not-really-cause-y'know sorta-apology! Pour over! The mad tap dancing stylings of the Yes-you-supported-my-broke-lazy-ass-meanwhile-I-was-cheating-on-you-but-is-the-door-still-open-for-sex? mea culpa! And, something hitting close to home for me, the platonic guy friend who berates the woman for getting married to another guy without even ONCE considering him to hook up with. Meanwhile she's been married for five years at this point! Sample the brilliance!

I could go on and on about the other things you *didn't* consider about me, many of which would make me sound quite egotistical. If I were less modest, I might point out the fact that I'm intelligent, interesting, funny, a great conversationalist and an even better listener, a blast to be around, and, if I do say so myself, pretty damn easy on the eyes.

But then, this is so far my favorite. She broke up with him. He's just not feeling that. So this is his compromise:

You made me promise to always be your friend no matter how our romantic relationship worked out... So your not allowed to avoid giving me huge hugs as a greeting, or to say goodbye, or anytime in between. Your not allowed to avoid doing really fun things with just the two of us. And you are certainly not allowed to not spend the night with me out of fear that we're going to have sex. Like you can do with any friend that is worth having, you can trust me to keep my end of this bargain.

And you're also not allowed to not kiss me.

...This is not going to work for me all summer, and then the rest of my life after that. At this rate I'm going to have a heart attack in a month, then I'll be dead and I'll haunt your house for all of eternity. And won't be like Casper either. I'll break shit in your house, get your family to turn against each other and murder each other out of delirium.

So unless you have very good excuse you to have to come over to my house on Friday, have dinner, and you have to spend the night there, and you need to sleep in the same bed as me. And you need to trust me.

So, from my recent experience of disappointment, disillusionment and anything just short of possibly breaking my own heart, if ever you feel hurt, shorted and possibly two steps from complete personal emotional insanity, before you write your insane, demanding emotional crap to someone, read someone else's. I'm almost positive, someone else's crazy would certainly trump yours and would make yourself feel oodles better.

Worked for me!

(To be fair, my crap email game is legendary. And I actually got broken up via email over 10 years ago... on my Prodigy account just to let you know how much I am a pioneer in such matters. heh.)

It was just one of those things
Just one of those crazy flings
One of those bells that now and then rings
Just one of those things

It was just one of those nights
Just one of those fabulous flights
A trip to the moon on gossamer wings
Just one of those things

If we’d thought a bit, of the end of it
When we started painting the town
We’d have been aware that our love affair
Was too hot, not to cool down

So good-bye, dear, and amen
Here’s hoping we meet now and then
It was great fun
But it was just one of those things

Ella Fitzgerald, "Just One of Those Things"

Hey, what can I say? It's in syndication in the middle of the night.

Billy : All I'm saying is that there's no good way to break up with someone.

Carrie : Well, it's funny you should mention that Billy, because, actually, there is. You can have the guts and the courtesy to tell a woman, to her face, that you no longer want to see her. Call me crazy but, I think that, you can make a point of ending your relationship in a manner that does not include an e-mail, a doorman, or a missing persons report. I think you could all get over your fear of looking like the bad guy and actually have the uncomfortable break-up conversation Because, here's what; Avoiding that is what makes you the bad guy. And just so you know, Alan;

Andrew : Andrew...

Carrie : Uh huh. Most women aren't angry, irrational psychos. We just want an ending to a relationship that... That is thoughtful and decent and honours what we had together. So my point, Billy, is this; There is a good way to break-up with someone, And it doesn't include a post-it.

"What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you."

-Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

One thing I always tell myself is to "know your limitations". Some things you're good at. Some things you're not good at. That's that and its no use to fight such things. Sure, you could rise to the occasion and try. But you have to wonder why you're doing something. For yourself? For other people? Meanwhile whatever it is may seep into your life into an obsession. And obsessions usually aren't healthy. Or should be at least kept private. But they never, okay 'hardly ever', manifest themselves in positive ways. So why do it? Why torment yourself? Know your limitations or end up extending yourself too far. So far that you lose yourself. And where's the fun in that?

I'm not good at dating. I get it.

No, nothing happened this weekend to cause my saying this. It's just that all week I was obsessing over something to the point in which I think I've made not only my friends sick of me but I'm pretty sick of myself. Then again, maybe I was hormonal and such. That's very likely. But at any rate, I've beaten dead horses to a nice, goopy mush. No, I still don't have answers but i do know I'm not good at dating and I wonder why I do it at all.

What a weird thing this is... this whole dating thing. Just not as simple as in the movies. And yes, even the most complicated dating dynamic on screen is a 100 times more simple than doing it in real life. And there are tons of classes and books and pamphlets on the subject but still I don't thing anyone's fully "got it".

Maybe I'm not talking about 'dating'. Maybe I'm talking about 'wanting' or 'liking'. Maybe. Well whatever it is i think I'm talking about. I know I'm not good at it. And i don't have any hot water so I can't take a shower.

Sarah's Birthday

Do you ever feel like you're in pause. In some endless procrastination queue in which you'll do something later or that later such and such will happen but it never does? Meanwhile you won't get up off your ass and get started? What the hell is that about? That's just retarded. And that's totally me.

But anyway the quote above really spoke to me. Called to me and shook me to pay attention. I wrote a poem along these lines such a long time ago. Let me find it... Ah. Here it is: 

Wild women are named so only out of frustration at the hand snatched away, the far off look in response to a recitation of a monotonous work-day, her raised voice in emphasis of her-day.
Wild women become wilder at the implication – like the label fertilized the weak shoot into a straight-backed, chaos-canopied tree.
By then, wild women are deemed too far gone for the quiet life, the ease of notice, the decency.
But wild women know of a-thing and bind it by their hearts under the wire bra and gather it under their skirts, held by the supportive string by the sharp bone of the hip (where the stripper girls hold their singles). The thing, it butters their belly laughs and thrusts out their mirthful screams of mischievousness...

All it takes is one day, one moment, one hand on the small of the back – of the perfect pressure, mind you – one whispered entendre with a hint of promised innocence, one long deep sigh of patience to tested insolence, one warm tingle just a hair below the diaphragm, one moment of the sated, closing eyes rested in the crook of another’s neck. Just that one, and everything will change.

*snap!* Just like that.

Wild women know this.
Of course they do.
How else did they became wild to begin with?

And I guess that's the crux of the whole thing. wanting your freedom, your own peace of mind within the little life you know, you understand and you more or less have under control. Yet there is another call, outside of your own personal brand of wildness that doesn't mind the quiet. The wanting to be needed. The protection of another just to feel a little less alone, out on your own and 'out there'. I haven't quite reconciled these two people within me. (Ah, yes. Another instance of my dichotomous existence.) So of course, the better option is the safer option: go with what you know, know your limitations. Don't overextend yourself into something unknown, uncertain only to possibly lose yourself... again. Sure, I could rise to the occasion but doing so would leave me... vulnerable. And strength, or at least my version of it, is all I have left in this world. It's an odd world, isn't it? A very odd world with little support other than the very few who are willing to listen with no agenda and for no other reason other than they want to. And even that could change, which is the way of everything.

I'm in-between. Maturity and childhood. Being grownup and being emotionally stunted. Being free and being tied down with my responsibilities. By my limitations and by my wants.

But that's the way of women who ventured out into the wild to be abandoned there. Who had to learn from scratch and make do. Who flirts with civilization and the occasional episodes of domesticity. You dance between what you want and what is wanted from you. And the only way to navigate is with a straight back, a myopic eye, and a belly heavy with acid. Heart optional.

But I'm just rambling, what do i know?

It's good to have friends. The people around you who know you maybe a bit more than you know yourself. And the very few who can tolerate you only a bit more than you can tolerate yourself. When showing up with little to no prior announcement, plying you with bawdy comedies, ox tail and two bottles of wine, they can help you stop your incessant thinking, refocus and look at things from another angle and then magically make everything all better. Leah made it all better by asking me a question and then posing a concept. And poof it was all done then. All better. And then I tried to learn a monologue about dicks, pussies and assholes.

Life is good.

"What are you still doing in Brooklyn? I get it. You love Brooklyn..." he said over the phone.

"It's like in Godfather," I quipped while tramping down the street from the jazz club. "Every time I try to leave, they pull me back in. And I'm just Michael Corleone trying to get back to Harlem..."

I never made it back to Harlem. Yes life was good.

Let's cut to the chase. Let's bypass the long of it and just go through the bulletpoints of it. How after a week, seeing each other again was awkward but still friendly. How he and I are still trying to measure each other's words and actions gaging for danger due to our own efforts of unspoken preservation. How it's a weird back and forth with little to nothing being said so the only obvious thing is to do what one wants and feels within reason and once things inexplicably starts to meet at a common place, it's more fun, less pressure. That's the thing: No Pressure. Pressure busts pipes. I don't like pressure. And beer loosens the screws.

We didn't see any exhibits, just went straight to the parking lot where the stage was set up. He wanted to see Stephanie McKay perform. The deejay was playing some old school pre-breakbeat breakbeats. I kept trying to compel my feet not to dance, not to get down to the music like I would usually do. I wished Leah was there since we enable each other's madness.

"Aw, man. You have no idea how badly I want to do the 'running man' right now." I shouted into his ear above the musical din. He was standing looking at what was going on with the stage setup. I was doing a barely contained bounce in time.

"I don't think the 'running man' is appropriate for this kind of music," he looked at me with a mixed look of confusion and amusement.

"Honey, the 'running man' goes with every song. Oh yes it does," and I constantly had to fan myself to beat back the oppressive heat and the possession of the get-downs. Oh how I love to get-down.

A band from New Haven, CT went up first and they were pretty good. The Brooklyn brewed beer hit the spot. When I went to get the second round Leah found me and I hugged her so hard since I hadn't seen her since she had come back from London and Paris. During the second beer, I was aggressively shoved from behind and found my best friend from HS who I hadn't seen in 15 years. Evie. I couldn't believe it. After HS and college she moved down to Atlanta, got married, had a child, got divorced and here she was in front of me with her vivacious four year old who was bounce-dancing with Quizas like a mad child.

After Stephanie finished, and it was a great set, mind you, we looked at each other carefully as we bounced off ideas of what to do. See some exhibits? Do you? I dunno. You want to see the next set? Maybe. Frankly, I am a bit hungry. ME TOO. Let's go. Awesome.

Next came the next round of Whatchoos. Do you want to eat here or this other place? Well, granted, this place is closer and we ate here last time but it was for breakfast which is different than dinner so I guess it wouldn't be the same. Okay, we'll go for something different, at least for you. And we started the long walk to Park Slope.

He was remembering the place in his head but got turned around a couple of times. It was a good talk, playful banter. We would keep a respectful yet familiar distance. Occasionally a double entendre here and there. Playful, fun. No pressure. Pressure busts pipes. Pressure ruins a good time. It was a beautiful dusky evening for a walk.

"I'm surprised you didn't say anything, when I told you that... y'know, that I was relationship averse."

My eyes quickly shot up to him from my plate of flautas. "I'm sorry? What did you say?" His bringing it up came from out of nowhere. No lead-in or anything of the sort.

"When I told you I was averse to relationships. You didn't really say anything."

I wiped my mouth during the clearing chew. "Well, if I recall correctly, I did say 'fair enough'."

"Yes you did. Usually, women start talking with me about it. Discussing whether I have issues or anything." He looked at me carefully.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, at least you told me, right? You could have not told me." He nodded. "Besides, be honest, would my having a problem with it and making a deal out of it have changed your mind? Probably not, eh?" And I went back for another forkful. "Basically you told me, I heard you, and so how I decide to deal with it is on me, right? Right." And I shoved my mouth with something drenched in lettuce and sour cream.

I saw him nod more pronounced now, almost in relief. As I chewed, his words did happen to seep in. So this comes up often? He throws in this disclaimer or something perhaps around the third or forth date or something? Usually the female would have a problem with it. And he was expecting some drama from me because of that. Now I was thinking about questions. About why he brought it up. Did he feel the need to clarify something? Did I confound him with my silence like he did that night with his statement?

Earlier in the day, when he would see a far away look in my eye, he made a joke that it looked like I was thinking, which was dangerous. I continued the joke just as facetiously asking whether it's because I should bother my pretty little head with things like 'thoughts' and opinions. We both chuckled but with a sardonic tone. He knew pretty early I tend to have opinions and usually don't keep them to myself. So now, even though we changed the subject of the conversation, he could tell I was thinking again. Thoughts I hadn't had thought of before he brought up that whole 'relationship averse' thing. He chuckled something about an "oh no".

"Well, now that you brought it up, how did you think I would take your saying that?"

"No, I mean," and he powered through purposefully, attacking the food with his fork to gain control of it. He repeated what I had said as if he was in full agreement. He was just being honest. And however way I wanted to take it, at least I knew.

And I looked at him square in the eye and I think I uttered a "okay", took a beat trying to gage how I would process that and I knew right that second, there I was, confounded again. Dammit. And so I quickly covered it by asking if he wanted to switch plates again. My flautas for his pernil.

We walked it off. The food. Didn't discuss anything of that sort again. We kicked around whether to stop off for dessert at Chocolate Bar but we both agreed that we were exhausted and rather sleepy even though it was ridiculously early like 9 or 10 at this point. He gave me basketball shorts to wear and put on The Fountain but he quickly fell asleep. It was at the height of nightlife at this point, and he lives on the first floor with no air conditioning, windows wide open. I wouldn't be sleeping for a while with all that noise.

Throughout the night, the questions kept running through my brain. What was I doing? Am I just setting myself up to just be used? Get hurt? Did I just give him a 'pass'? During our regular afterwork Friday drink, I spoke with Duke about my new situation. "He's corny," Duke first said when he realized who it was. He knew Q from a friend of a friend so he "knew" him but didn't really know him. In my mind, if Duke think's the guy is corny then that's a good thing. Duke's a bit of a hater.

"I can't believe you gave up the draws so quick, Joanna. You usually don't do that."

"I'm a grown assed woman, Duke. It felt like something I wanted to do at the time and I don't regret it."

"The problem with you, Joanna, is that you put your heart into everything. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but he's a guy. Guys don't care if they can get the draws." I've been hanging with Duke for almost 20 years off and on throughout the years. I've seen them do their different levels of 'mack', all the women who have traversed in and out of their lives, their silly adventures at the bar. Just ten minutes ago Duke starting wondering what had happened to his life. Everyone around him was linking up, married, kids, moving away and here we were, again, Friday drinking for the weekend now took tired to hit the clubs, trying to find something different.

"I'll be alright, Duke. Whatever happens happens. Right now I just hanging with the guy. I'll try to be careful."

He shook his head in slight disgust as he and I watched people walk past in the street past our window. An elderly couple holding each other by the crook of their arms tightly gingerly walked through the outside cigarette smoking crowd. Duke pointed at them and wondered if he could have that one day.

Even the keys jingling in the person's hand as they approach the building... you can hear that clear as a bell as if it was right next to you from the open window. The boy could sleep through everything. Meanwhile, my mind was making up little speeches. Bullet points of my opinions. I was going to bring up that whole dumbassed 'averse' bullshit and tell him what's what about the whole thing. All of the sudden I was under some sort of pressure. Pressure busts pipes. And only the releasing power of speaking my mind would work for me now. Yeah, that's it. When the morning comes I'll tell him...

I would tell him that 'relationship averse' just just a 'cop-out'. An out. A get out of jail free card. A way to just Put it out there as a disclaimer or release himself of any liability. Hey, you know now. Don't get too close to me and expect something in return. It won't happen. And I thought that was just stupid. I didn't ask him whether or not he was relationship worthy. I just knew that I liked him and that he liked me. I thought that was enough. And I felt slightly insulted that he felt the need to just throw in that piece of information like I was some sort of cookie-cutter formulaic thing. Putting in extra information that wasn't necessary. I would ask whether he would be 'cool' with my just telling him that I was just fucking around with him until I found someone better. That's how most females would process 'relationship averse'. With his overly-practised term with no clarification, it was unfair. Self-defeating. And I would tell him that I have my own 'cop-out'. My own way that I filter whether or not I want to do certain things. That would be whether something was special enough for me to even deal with. My aversion. I would tell him all this. And I practiced it over and over. Because I do have opinions. And I do feel some sort of way about being discounted before anything even began to count. And I kept trying to hold on to sleep through the early morning sounds of the garbage trucks that seemed to idle right at my head. And then he turned over in his sleep, reached for me and I settled in his arm's grip.

Once again, no substantial food in the refrigerator. Eggs, butter, the sliced bread he kept in the freezer. He scratched his head at the countertop where he unloaded the potential edibles. I looked at the ingredients and chirped promisingly, "French Toast?"

"Really? I guess so." He then stuck his head into the fridge again, "I guess I would need syrup, cinnamon... requests?"

"Orange juice, PLEASE," and there I was, in oversized basketball shorts and one of my black t-shirts frying up two french toast and making scrambled eggs from the rest of the batter while he went to the store. I threw in some leftover pernil (roast pork) from the night before into the eggs since I figured we would need some sort of meat. I don't really eat much in the morning so I left the food and told him to take what he wanted and I would have the rest while I plopped on the couch since the kicthen was too small for me and company in my mind. After he sat i went and saw he cut each piece of toast and the batch of eggs right down the middle so we would have equal portions of the same food. I smiled at this. Pleasantly surprised. He asked if I wanted banana as he sliced half of one onto his plate. Not used to eating that way I said no and we ate in silence. Halfway through he mentioned the toast was good with the banana and syrup so intrigued I took a piece of his and was again pleasantly surprised to see he was right. I was full but he asked for more, (wow because ziggy usually doesn't eat my food like that) and I cooked two more pieces which he finished quickly. That was cool. The coffee shop at this time was open so he went across the street and got two iced coffees while Bill Withers crooned on the stereo. Soon we were just sitting on the couch while he read a book for work and I did the crossword in New York Magazine. It was nice. Easy for a Sunday morning. No pressure. Nothing I felt like saying. In fact I think I forgot I had a semi-beef with him. Bill Withers sang about a lovely day.

He had mentioned the day before that he had work to do, which he always does, which I guess is his thing. He wondered if we would sit in the park again so he could get his reading done. I told him that I should just leave since I didn't want to get in his way. Besides, the case of the 'worries' was coming again. The questions in my mind, the speeches in my head. I'm a one-fell-swoop type of person when I am on a mission. I was going to give him the business at the door. Speechify him then walk on leaving him to marinate. Maybe call him after, maybe not. I was a little heated. How dare he throw disclaimers at me. I felt the need to legitmize myself. Stand back straight and assert my specialness and my power. And it's all just little battles for power, isn't it?

I plopped before him on the couch as he reached for my face for a kiss. I looked at him, face to face. Pressure. My mouth bunching up, moving, stopping. How was I going to begin? Pressure busts pipes. Your little statement on relationship aversion is a huge cop out, I would start. Almost a little insulting. Like you're throwing the brakes on something before it even starts. I wasn't even going to let him speak. Pressure busts pipes. I was going to give him the little speech in my head and then go. Any time now. Pressure. He looked at me suspiciously and asked me what the matter was. I opened my mouth to speak and then quickly closed it again. Pressure busts... His eyes narrowed as if waiting for something, maybe even the inevitable.

I gave off a massive exhausted sigh and then gave him another kiss and then rose.

"I was ready to give you this giant speech, but I guess not," I said from behind my shoulder as I went for the door.

"Speech? What about?" The locks were tricky and I found myself clicking in one direction, pulling, clicking in another, pulling harder.

"Oh, you know... Women. Thinking. Dangerous, and all that." The door wrenched open and I quickly stepped out. In the lobby, I turned and I saw him behind me. I told him he didn't have to walk me to the train and waved him off like it was nothing. I was outside in seconds. My fight or flight reflexes are extraordinary. My uncanny ability to remove myself from a situation is legendary. But what always results once I'm seperated from an uncomfortable place is that I'm left realizng I left with no answers. The things i wanted to say left unsaid. More questions, more worry. Nothing resolved. Basically, always a dumbassed move on my part.

I did it again.

"I did it again, Leah," I said over the phone. Now I was sitting on a bench looking right at the Grand Army train station. "I did it the hell again. Chickened out when I wanted to tell him something. Why do I always NOT say what I want to when the time is right?"

"Wait- who brought up the relationship thing?"

"HE DID!"

"And just what the fuck does that mean?"

"I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA! Why did he say anything to begin with?"

"You do deserve answers."

"Why do boys do this? Totally try to find ways to confound you? I like that word now: Confound. I'm confounded. What the fuck do I do with all these thoughts in my head now?" I didn't measure the volume of my voice. I was venting, HARD. Thank goodness Leah was there as a sounding board. "You know, I could totally just walk back over there and ask him what's up. I could just go there right now." A voice in my head said I was crazy.

"You can also just call him."

"Yeah, I could do that too." I would want to look him in the eye, though. I hated being lied to and I was waiting for lies. All I was ever was used to dealing with was lies. Perhaps that was my problem, always waiting for the shoe to drop.

"But honestly, what do you want him to say?" I wondered that too. Did I need giant overtures of poetry? Some giant overblown fight when everything was perfectly fine? When did this happen? This overt need to assert myself? When did my earlier philosophy of  "at least he was honest so I know what I'm dealing with" suddenly shift to this "he's being so intentionally vague that he's probably mindfucking me!"? Was it with the mention of other women? Was it when I was starting to become so comfortable that it actually started to worry me? Gaining something I would miss if I lost it. When did I start arming myself for war? When I was so excited to hear from him to the point in which I felt embarrased? Was it at the french toast or when he played with my knee cap while reading on the couch? When did the pressure suddenly come? Why did I feel the need to sort out some pressure?

"Joanna," I heard Leah's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're coming over, right?"

French wine. Real French wine. From France. Check that shit out.

It was on the table at the Caribbean food restaurant right between us. Thank goodness for Ox Tail, Wild Catfish and places that are BYOB. Leah bought the wine from her trip in Paris. Bought it for One Euro. She asked back at her apartment whether we should drink it now. I said it was from Paris which made it special, so I figured she would want it for a special occasion. She said Hell, it's gonna be drunk so we might as well make it today. So we were filling our bellies with what is comfort food for us, laughing a bit too loudly off the heaviness of a real French Bordeaux. And she asked me the million dollar question. The same question Carinda asked me and it stumped me back then too.

"So? What exactly do you want from him?"

Fast forward to this morning: I'm finally going through my emails. Checking my calendar. Adding detail here and there. A meeting today for the co-op. Thursday, taking the intern out to dinner with the other guys. Got a text on a BBQ next Saturday. Ironing out the details for possible paintball this Saturday. I forwarded some evites, received a couple and a few of us on the IM about plans coming. Who's available. Who should we invite. My little life. I like it. My friends, my time with Ziggy. My mother. Things I look forward to. What's sacred to me. I looked at my calendar and smiled. I didn't want any of it interrupted. And honestly, I didn't feel like including Quizas into any of it since he I considered seperate from all the other things going on in my life. I didn't want anything extra.

Back to yesterday... "I guess that's the core question, right? I mean, I'm pretty happy with what I have and I'm not so anxious to mess with that." I looked at Leah in confusion. "So what's the problem?"

"It's like you're fabricating things to be upset about," and she was right. Was I finally insane?

And then she said one really simple thing that actually clicked inside my head. Poof, made everything better. Pressure busts pipes, she somehow released the valve.

"Sometimes it seems that women, especially in their thirties, are supposed to fuss and want something more. Like we've been conditioned to be this sort of relationship harpie. But you don't want that, so why be that?" and she was absolutely right. Poof.

It's hard to explain, but in that moment it's like she wiped some dust from the window and I saw the same outside from a different angle: My angle. The angle of no battles over power. The releasing of the ego and allowing just the enjoyment of the now matter. French wine, good food, awesome friend. Walking down shaded street, easy laughter, a nuzzle at a crosswalk. Later, another bottle of wine, Team America/40 Year Virgin double header at Leah's, later live jazz. My life. My happy little life. And it made sense to me and I complicated it with things that ultimately didn't matter. 32 year old women are supposed to be always vying for commitment. We're supposed to be always gunning for the big relationship talk and giving up our lives for another person. That's what the pressure is, isn't it? And it's excerbated when you mention other females. That's when the sense of competition comes in. And then, I dunno, under some biological imperative, you're supposed to assert your place or something. But what if you like your place? Your little life. Your days and nights. Your best friends and new acquaintences. And what if you just like spending time with a person? Cause the conversations are easy and for now you consider the person pretty sexy? It doesn't have to be a big deal, just exciting to be excited about someone; but not huge enough to upend your life.

What Leah had said resonated with me, and the pressure, the inexplicable pressure to be under pressure even though I didn't want anything huge and like what I was getting so far, was gone. And the French wine was delicious on top of that.

After Leah's comment, that topic suddenly went away and I actually laughed at myself. Okay, maybe the wine helped. In the oppressive heat we shuffled home, yes with our open container of wine (whut?) back to her apartment and tried to cool off while watching both Team America (which I hadn't seen yet) and 40 Year Virgin. And we finished another bottle of wine. Then two of her former bandmates were performing at a jazz club in Bed Stuy so we took the bus there, singing loudly and with no shame various old TV theme songs including the ones for Family Ties and Diff'rent Strokes. Evil Giraffes on Mars is a great band and I was totally getting into it. I drank a lot of water. I needed the water. I was having a great time.

I sent an errant, tipsy text to Quizas: "Can you believe I never made it out of brooklyn?" And I was truly amazed. But seeing that it was quickkly approaching 10pm, and my not having a clue of where I was, I decided to head on out.

After the first set finished, we met the band outside for the hugs and such. Leah decided to stay and I ran inside to get some sort of directions from someone. The A train was five blocks thataway. Still very tipsy I made sure I understood where "thataway" was, waved wildly to Leah and the crew and counted my steps down the block. My phone rang and it was Quizas.

"You must love Brooklyn..."

"Stupid Brooklyn. Everyone's moving here. Brooklyn's so far!" It's like the Godfather. They keep pulling me back in. I'm just Michael Corleone just trying to make it back to Harlem.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Just a little. We drank two bottles of wine and watched Team America." He laughed. I told him I was still traumatized from the urination and defecation. Where was I heading, he asked. I was told to go five blocks thataway otherwise I had no idea where I was.

"Do you need to crash with me?"

"I, uh-" That took me by surprise. I wasn't angling for that. In fact I thought he would be a little freaked out about my admission of trying to speech him earlier. "I mean, that would be okay? I won't be in the way or anything."

"I know you won't." He was at Flatbush Flats. Through directions first from Leah on the phone and then bumping into a bunch of people I knew outside the next train station at So. Portland, I found myself there. After the walk and the heat, I was suffiently sober and rather thirsty. Met his friend who he had worked with, Stacey, and I was thankful I could keep up with their conversation about films and such, which is their industry. We said their goodbyes and I walked alongside him as he pushed his bike back to his apartment.

Fast forward to being on the phone this morning with Duke. "How was your 'date' with that guy?" he spat out rather sarcastically.

"It was good," I had said.

"It wasn't 'MAR-velous'? 'Ah-MAZ-ing'?"

"It was nice," I said lightly. And I told the truth, it was.

On the walk back to the apartment Q thanked me for my insisting on leaving so he could work earlier. He needed the time to finish his stuff but he doesn't want me to leave sometimes. I playfully rolled my eyes at him and told him that lines of velvet smoothness like that needed to be spoken in a deep Barry White tone to really sound more playah-like. He chuckled and then held out his arm as he checked the traffic before giving the go ahead for us to trot cross Flatbush.

"Ooh! I finally say Leah's new apartment!" I said to Duke.

"You went there because you were already still in Brooklyn on Sunday, weren't you?" I said yes like it was obvious and what's the big deal. I didn't tell him that I never made it back to Harlem until Monday morning for me to turn around to leave for work.

"But didn't he say he was against relationships or something?"

"Yup. He brought it up again."

"So why the fuck didn't you run for the Hills? I mean-"

"Duke, it's not that deep for me. Meanwhile he keeps inviting me out. So it's all good."

"Well, of course he's inviting you out, as long as you keep giving up the- oh forget it." Not so veiled implication that I was either being used or setting myself up as a hoe.

"Duke," I said quietly but sternly, "I'm a grown woman. And I'm having a good time. Okay?" He sucked his teeth.

I still find it hard to sleep in places not my own house. I woke insanely early, still not used to how amazingly loud everything is on the first floor and in awe as to how he can sleep through everything outside, but the moment I brush up accidentally he awakens like a shot. The toothbrush was still there. So weird. I wasn't prepared to be out of my house for two days so my running home was necessary but at 5:30am it was still too early. On top of my bag was the book he had been reading all Sunday for work that he wanted me to read so we could discuss it later. I smiled and plopped down on the couch to begin to read. At 6, the alarm that he had set for me went off and from the hall I saw him awaken and turn off the alarm and look around confused. I waved. He settled back and said good morning.

We shared a couple minutes of shared silence as I sat at the bed and rubbed his back and he hovered between awake and dozing. I whispered in ear I was letting myself out. I played with those damned locks again: Click, pull, click-click, pull harder and it suddenly wrenching open. As I started to walk through the threshold, I thought I heard something from the bedroom behind me, I poked my head back around the corner and saw his smiling face, now fully awake like he was laughing while watching my door wrestle.

"Have a good morning, Beautiful." I scrunched up my face and stuck out my tongue and smiled to myself as I closed the door behind me.

(will go back and proof this for mistakes, later. it's hard to just write off the top of your head and edit mistakes as you go.)

Blame it on my reflective mood as of late. My nights spent scouring the YouTube for Wong Kar Wai movie scenes. The slow motion staring at Maggie Cheung's swinging hips to a mournful violin as she descends the alleyway steps to the noodle shop. Tony Leung's brooding lean towards Zhang Ziyi's lips while the voice of Nat King Cole crooning in Spanish grows louder. I've been humming during idle moments. A certain order of notes while typing, while going down the hall for water, walking to the train...

During a lull in conversation in the cab during our second date.

"Quizas, quizas..." It was only a couple of words and a couple of notes. I swear, it was completely subconscious my doing that. But in hindsight- I mean, walking and laughing down the streets still warmed by the music and drink of the blues club overlooking Bleeker Street. The light drizzle of the night while hopping into a cab and then settling in silence. Quizas, quizas, quizas.

He crooked his head in thought then looked at me. "Do you know Wong Kar Wai?"

I believe I gasped. "I LOVE his movies!" Wasn't I just talking about this with you, guys? Reading and posting and such? Later in the afternoon, I actually went to Amazon to read more reviews and then order- "I just ordered '2046' and 'In the Mood for Love' just today."

"It took me some time to figure out what was going on. Didn't know there were three of them and I saw '2046' first," and he adjusted his position so my head could find better purchase on his shoulder

A week after returning from Florida, bored with the world, I met him when I crashed his last house party with his roommates before they all left the loft to live on their own. Two days later he called me which was actually quite impressive. Three weeks after that we were dancing to music by the Camaroonian band at S.O.B.'s. Five days after that, tonight, we were both chuckling at some outrageous guy in a mullet and muttonchops, wearing a red plether jacket rejected even back in the eighties and too tight pants whooping alone like a mad fan right before the performers on the low stage at the small, intimate blues club. We had become more than comfortable enough, the conversations so easy, our laughing at the same things. In the cab, I laid my head on his lap and watched him and the cab's ceiling and Broadway flash by. His hands started to stroke my hair.

"I have Netflix already delivering 'Days of Being Wild' by tomorrow or something," he continued.

"Aw, Man. That's the only one I hadn't seen out of the three." Sometimes, when I turn my attention back to him, I find him looking at me. Not looking in the standard sense but more studying me. I didn't find it creepy, just different. I like the way he looks at me.

"Well, I think you should to watch it with me, perhaps."

I started to smile, yet again. I had been doing a lot of smiling that night. He's a good kisser.

"Is that right?" I answered slowly.

"Yup. In fact I've made up my mind. You should see it this Saturday."

When he called me a few days prior, I facetiously apologized to him that I shouldn't have gotten him tipsy previously and I should have treated him like the gentleman he was and kept my hands off of him. It was bad form I insisted between smiling teeth while my eyes roamed the sky above when he met me at West Fourth Street that night. He had chuckled and "accepted" my apologies adding, Well, it was obvious how very attracted you were to me. I chuckled in return.

"We're only going to watch the movie, right?" I wasn't that tipsy this time. Nothing to muddle up the thinking. I did find myself being attracted to him. And this was the best series of dates I had  in a long time. The  first  time I felt comfortable enough to even consider-

He continued running his fingers through my hair. The day's humidity and resultant rains did nothing good for me. He didn't seem to mind.

He smiled at me. I smiled at him back as he lowered his head for a quick kiss. I forget which one of us spoke next, maybe I was a little tipsy.

"Maybe."