Dating is funny. Not ha-ha funny. It's ironic. It's almost at times - "see, I told you so!" or "what goes around comes around." and for some, "onto the next one."
I've been part of the online dating community for over four years now - changed websites, tweaked profiles, yet stayed the same in my search for the "perfect mate". I've lost the belief my "perfect mate" is out there. In fact, I don't think I ever had certain standards that my future partner would need to have in order to be with me. It brings me to reminisce about my classmates who rattled off exactly what they wanted in a lover.
If I do have standards - the highest would be laughter. If at the end of the day, you and I aren't laughing at at least SOMETHING, then perhaps we need to reevaluate our future.
I'll be the first to admit that I fall pretty hard and sometime pretty fast. I'm on that course right now. I've always been somewhat of an open heart - call it a combination of naivete or wishful thinking. I have tried to stop myself in the past, but as I have gotten older, I realize it's part of me. I've never been one for playing games - and when it comes to matters of the heart, especially my heart - I don't want games.
Two months ago, I was bitter. I was confused. I was angry. I knew it would get better, but it felt as if I never wanted to get back in the saddle again. Such is life. And six months before that, I was defeated. I had told someone that I loved them and I wanted only them. Needless to say, that didn't work out. And, slowly I healed. Just as I did with my most recent dating scenario.
Amylynne left me with such bitterness that it took me by surprise. I was feeling things I hadn't felt or perhaps not once fully acknowledged. With Janice, I did acknowledge it - to what extent, I'm not entirely sure. But with Amylynne, the bitterness took over. I had never felt so safe with someone I had been dating, it felt right walking down the street, holding her hand. It felt right holding her on the couch as we watched The United States of Tara. It felt right waiting to have sex (even if my mind and body were begging for something more). And to have that ripped away from me so soon after finally having sex, it simply tore away every layer of strength I had built up over the years since I had last allowed someone fully into my heart and soul.
I am proud to say I have moved on. I have embraced the things I cannot change.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Sign on the Pavement
"Become Your Dream." The words on the sidewalk were fading from the foot traffic, but it still managed to strike a chord within me. Especially on this day. This day of what felt more like a day of shedding complaints rather than being one of productivity.
I am suddenly hearing cliched phrases, "dreams are what makes life tolerable"; "dreams without follow through are just that, dreams"; "go confidently in the direction of your dreams, live the life you've imagined." "A dream is a wish your heart makes." "The only one that will stop you from fulfilling your dreams, is you."
That's just it. What is my dream? What drives me? Where is my inner compass? Perhaps I am treading on this too deeply as I have just escaped the hurricane that is March Madness - 16 plus hour days for over a month. It doesn't feel like a dream job when you are sitting in an edit room at 2:30 in the morning, listening to a producer berate you about not having particular footage.
Silently you can think, somehow, some way it's going to get better than this. And it will - shouldn't it? One day you'll be in that chair, demanding where the footage is from some overworked, underpaid broadcast associate who should be relishing in the opportunity to be part of such an organization.
This industry requires commitment - like a marriage and I don't know if I could even consider proposing. And yet for the last four seasons, I have committed myself to this company. I know no other way, I just dive in and go along for the ride. I shouldn't simply hop on, I should try to sneak my way to the front, I should be the curious kid that asks endless questions; that pesters people for more information. I should be the one that people get sick of, but remember.
I feel as if I have just been spat out from the hurricane, that I am part of the wreckage. Do my tired eyes reveal too much? Do I look as if I long to pour my soul to anyone who will listen? Do I look as if I mistrust anyone who approaches me? Do I feel lost? You betcha. All of the above.
When I step back and even when I am going through it, I see how tired I get, I see what it does to my social life (even though it's not the best of social lives to begin with). I often think about my co-workers who are married - how on earth do they do it? Some of them have children! Is it easier for them because they are men? Without a doubt.
Perhaps I am not tired of the industry, rather, I am tired of the company. I am restless and as someone told me today, when she feels restless, that is usually when she is about to experience a growth spurt. I have developed some strong roots at my company and potentially there is more there for me to experience, but I feel restless. My roots have created a trunk and branches have grown, but I'm getting taller and I cannot help but think there is something else out there for me.
There is a tiny voice within me and it's championed by the voices of my everlasting, always supportive parents. Why on earth would I even consider leaving the top network that produces sports (other than that big company in farm land Connecticut)? After all, I have been given opportunities other people that share my title, have not had. I have had the chance to cut features for a program and recently it was nominated for a Sports Emmy. It has very little chance to win, but as the saying goes, 'it's just an honor to be nominated.' I'm proud of my work on the program, but recently it just doesn't inspire me the way it should. I'm ashamed to admit that.
I know a part of it is because I am tired and worn out, but who's to say if I were far from stretched out and emotionally spent that I would feel the excitement of achieving something I have thought about since I enrolled in graduate school.
Next to me is a small glass of whiskey. It's become a nightly routine within the last few days. I take a hot shower, pin up my hair and let the water take over my tired skin. I melt into my pajamas and find my smallest glass. I cram ice into it and pour myself a decent amount. It doesn't burn anymore when I drink it. It goes down smooth and I love the numbing that travels through my body as I gently sip it. It doesn't numb the thoughts that echo through my mind, rather it makes them come alive, they become real. I am able to be a bit more introspective and dig down deep. I don't see this becoming a crutch, it's something that's working for right now and that's all I can ask for.
I wanna go to bed with arms around me but wake up on my own ~ Dido "I Don't Believe in Love"
I long for comfort; but refuse to fall into something completely unless it feels right. I feel my mask, my shell casing slowly breaking away. I am beginning to feel naked; I am beginning to feel as if people are seeing through my smile. I feel the urge to run, to start anew. My eyes burn - do they reveal this tiredness that has taken over every inch of my body, every aching bone? My mind feels like a speeding subway, destination unknown.
Become your dream...
I am suddenly hearing cliched phrases, "dreams are what makes life tolerable"; "dreams without follow through are just that, dreams"; "go confidently in the direction of your dreams, live the life you've imagined." "A dream is a wish your heart makes." "The only one that will stop you from fulfilling your dreams, is you."
That's just it. What is my dream? What drives me? Where is my inner compass? Perhaps I am treading on this too deeply as I have just escaped the hurricane that is March Madness - 16 plus hour days for over a month. It doesn't feel like a dream job when you are sitting in an edit room at 2:30 in the morning, listening to a producer berate you about not having particular footage.
Silently you can think, somehow, some way it's going to get better than this. And it will - shouldn't it? One day you'll be in that chair, demanding where the footage is from some overworked, underpaid broadcast associate who should be relishing in the opportunity to be part of such an organization.
This industry requires commitment - like a marriage and I don't know if I could even consider proposing. And yet for the last four seasons, I have committed myself to this company. I know no other way, I just dive in and go along for the ride. I shouldn't simply hop on, I should try to sneak my way to the front, I should be the curious kid that asks endless questions; that pesters people for more information. I should be the one that people get sick of, but remember.
I feel as if I have just been spat out from the hurricane, that I am part of the wreckage. Do my tired eyes reveal too much? Do I look as if I long to pour my soul to anyone who will listen? Do I look as if I mistrust anyone who approaches me? Do I feel lost? You betcha. All of the above.
When I step back and even when I am going through it, I see how tired I get, I see what it does to my social life (even though it's not the best of social lives to begin with). I often think about my co-workers who are married - how on earth do they do it? Some of them have children! Is it easier for them because they are men? Without a doubt.
Perhaps I am not tired of the industry, rather, I am tired of the company. I am restless and as someone told me today, when she feels restless, that is usually when she is about to experience a growth spurt. I have developed some strong roots at my company and potentially there is more there for me to experience, but I feel restless. My roots have created a trunk and branches have grown, but I'm getting taller and I cannot help but think there is something else out there for me.
There is a tiny voice within me and it's championed by the voices of my everlasting, always supportive parents. Why on earth would I even consider leaving the top network that produces sports (other than that big company in farm land Connecticut)? After all, I have been given opportunities other people that share my title, have not had. I have had the chance to cut features for a program and recently it was nominated for a Sports Emmy. It has very little chance to win, but as the saying goes, 'it's just an honor to be nominated.' I'm proud of my work on the program, but recently it just doesn't inspire me the way it should. I'm ashamed to admit that.
I know a part of it is because I am tired and worn out, but who's to say if I were far from stretched out and emotionally spent that I would feel the excitement of achieving something I have thought about since I enrolled in graduate school.
Next to me is a small glass of whiskey. It's become a nightly routine within the last few days. I take a hot shower, pin up my hair and let the water take over my tired skin. I melt into my pajamas and find my smallest glass. I cram ice into it and pour myself a decent amount. It doesn't burn anymore when I drink it. It goes down smooth and I love the numbing that travels through my body as I gently sip it. It doesn't numb the thoughts that echo through my mind, rather it makes them come alive, they become real. I am able to be a bit more introspective and dig down deep. I don't see this becoming a crutch, it's something that's working for right now and that's all I can ask for.
I wanna go to bed with arms around me but wake up on my own ~ Dido "I Don't Believe in Love"
I long for comfort; but refuse to fall into something completely unless it feels right. I feel my mask, my shell casing slowly breaking away. I am beginning to feel naked; I am beginning to feel as if people are seeing through my smile. I feel the urge to run, to start anew. My eyes burn - do they reveal this tiredness that has taken over every inch of my body, every aching bone? My mind feels like a speeding subway, destination unknown.
Become your dream...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Serendipity
We met this past summer at Prop during Pride Week. I was not expecting to meet anyone, since I went with the purpose of being Jane's "bodyguard" from her then ex and now girlfriend. I almost took the position too seriously. Perhaps it was because I knew how much Susan had hurt Jane; or maybe it was my own arrogance liking the idea of protecting someone.
At some point in the evening I met Randi. Within moments of meeting, we had found our way to an open spot on one of the couches, where we proceeded to kiss. So much for being a bodyguard. Though, surprisingly, I had done my job and I even managed to give my two cents to Susan who I managed to bump into on the way out of the bathroom.
Cutting to the chase, Randi and I had a half-stand that night. It wasn't a complete one-night stand. Nothing was done to me, it was all about Randi that night, but we stopped midway through. There was someone in picture for her, who had shown up with someone else. In sense she was using me; however, for some reason, it never felt that way. Maybe it was my mild intoxication - intoxication of the mind, of the sensations - feeling another body, the tango of lips that I hadn't felt since the week before. I was craving more from my previous encounter in Connecticut the weekend before.
I left the next morning, it was awkward, it was uncomfortable; however, I tried to play it as cool as possible. I reminded Randi that she deserved to be treated with respect and what this woman had done to her last night was despicable. I kissed her gently on the lips and let one of my hands fall down her cheek. I was nervous - I had never been in this situation before. Should I kiss her more? Do I say more? Do I - ? I stopped myself short in my train of thought and let myself out.
A couple of weeks before I moved into New York City, I received two text messages from Randi. She told me I came into her thoughts that day, that she wasn't sure I would remember her (how could I not?), that she apologized for the awkwardness of the situation - that she was in a rough spot and hoped I was doing well. Naturally, I wrote her back. I emphasized that my style wasn't to go home with someone the first night of meeting them; but that I was worried about her and how she had been treated and hoped she was doing well. I also told her I was moving into New York in a few weeks. And so began our correspondence. Mildly flirtatious - at least I thought so.
It's going beyond that now. We go out to dinner and movies, we talk about our exes, we talk about our coming out stories, we lean into each other, we smile, we hug. That's just it - we end every meeting with a hug. There's a part of me that loves spending time with Randi, exploring this city that I now call home. I feel comfortable with Randi, I like the laughter we share and the warm smiles over food. But every now and then, I try to test the waters - to try to kiss her at least on the cheek to see if it triggers something else.
There are times I feel as if Randi is disinterested in me - or pretty much anything I say. She emits this vibe of boredom when I speak and perhaps I am being too harsh, but I don't know how much longer I would want to be around someone like her. I want to be around someone who laughs with me (which she does), someone who asks me about me or my work or my interests. Randi doesn't seem to take interest. Randi's even taken her phone out during conversation - a pet peeve of mine; however, I have blown it off and told her I work in an industry where people are constantly looking at something other than the person who is speaking to them (which I do and my boss does it all the time - it's rather annoying).
I guess it is this day in age. But I would like to think that most people could put their phones down for more than a half hour. Randi's not one of those people. Tonight her phone "died" and she looked at me with this look as if her dog had died. "I feel so," she paused. And I knew exactly what she was going to say so I interjected, "naked". "Exactly!" Randi remarked excitedly.
I want to kiss Randi, but there's a part of me that feels it should have happened by now. She has nicknames for me (Ginger spice is the latest). Today she called me kiddo. I began analyzing this - and then I stopped myself. It was hard not to analyze it because of the fact kiddo just seems so, well, juvenile. Not to mention that I called a number of my friends in high school kiddo. It was a term of endearment. Not to mention, my dad calls me kiddo. Yikes.
We went to Serendipity for dessert tonight. Yes, that cliched restaurant that a movie was named after and scenes were filmed. And you know what? I loved every moment of it. It was so charming, cozy and delightful. There's a but... can you tell by the way I'm writing? We were seated next to an overly affectionate couple and it was quite nauseating. As much as I look forward to having that day return, I think I would manage to curb my affection for my loved one in public, to keep people from potentially losing their appetites.
I could sense Randi was looking at the couple too - I thought briefly about what she might be thinking about looking at this couple. It was uncomfortable after awhile, especially since you couldn't escape the affection. It was visible in the corner of my eye and couple that with the mirror - I couldn't escape mentally either.
When we left and walked towards her subway stop (I was walking back to my apartment), I asked her if she would like to come back for another glass of wine. I was quickly turned down due to being tired - it was a fast denial and it stung. But I didn't let it sting for long because the reality of the situation was that Randi had only returned from the West Coast one day earlier. She had had a brutal journey back to New York City thanks to the post-Christmas blizzard. I refused to be upset.
But as I walked home tonight, with my Ipod playing in my ears and the cold wind blasting me in both directions - I felt confused. I felt uncertain. Friends? Frightened attracted women? Did I actually feel anything for Randi? Where was that spark that I felt the last night she and I had had dinner before Randi went home for the holiday? Where was my stomach flip when I looked at her over the candlelight at our table?
I know that not everyone I meet I am meant to be with. This isn't something that HAS to happen. And I'm okay with it not happening. I like the idea of dating and meeting all sorts of women to find that one. But she keeps coming back and I keep replying. Perhaps it is because I am new to the city and I don't want to lose this connection, even though this connection is far from being in the scene. We're removed from the scene in which we met. We met in chaos, perhaps by serendipity. And now, time will only tell...
At some point in the evening I met Randi. Within moments of meeting, we had found our way to an open spot on one of the couches, where we proceeded to kiss. So much for being a bodyguard. Though, surprisingly, I had done my job and I even managed to give my two cents to Susan who I managed to bump into on the way out of the bathroom.
Cutting to the chase, Randi and I had a half-stand that night. It wasn't a complete one-night stand. Nothing was done to me, it was all about Randi that night, but we stopped midway through. There was someone in picture for her, who had shown up with someone else. In sense she was using me; however, for some reason, it never felt that way. Maybe it was my mild intoxication - intoxication of the mind, of the sensations - feeling another body, the tango of lips that I hadn't felt since the week before. I was craving more from my previous encounter in Connecticut the weekend before.
I left the next morning, it was awkward, it was uncomfortable; however, I tried to play it as cool as possible. I reminded Randi that she deserved to be treated with respect and what this woman had done to her last night was despicable. I kissed her gently on the lips and let one of my hands fall down her cheek. I was nervous - I had never been in this situation before. Should I kiss her more? Do I say more? Do I - ? I stopped myself short in my train of thought and let myself out.
A couple of weeks before I moved into New York City, I received two text messages from Randi. She told me I came into her thoughts that day, that she wasn't sure I would remember her (how could I not?), that she apologized for the awkwardness of the situation - that she was in a rough spot and hoped I was doing well. Naturally, I wrote her back. I emphasized that my style wasn't to go home with someone the first night of meeting them; but that I was worried about her and how she had been treated and hoped she was doing well. I also told her I was moving into New York in a few weeks. And so began our correspondence. Mildly flirtatious - at least I thought so.
It's going beyond that now. We go out to dinner and movies, we talk about our exes, we talk about our coming out stories, we lean into each other, we smile, we hug. That's just it - we end every meeting with a hug. There's a part of me that loves spending time with Randi, exploring this city that I now call home. I feel comfortable with Randi, I like the laughter we share and the warm smiles over food. But every now and then, I try to test the waters - to try to kiss her at least on the cheek to see if it triggers something else.
There are times I feel as if Randi is disinterested in me - or pretty much anything I say. She emits this vibe of boredom when I speak and perhaps I am being too harsh, but I don't know how much longer I would want to be around someone like her. I want to be around someone who laughs with me (which she does), someone who asks me about me or my work or my interests. Randi doesn't seem to take interest. Randi's even taken her phone out during conversation - a pet peeve of mine; however, I have blown it off and told her I work in an industry where people are constantly looking at something other than the person who is speaking to them (which I do and my boss does it all the time - it's rather annoying).
I guess it is this day in age. But I would like to think that most people could put their phones down for more than a half hour. Randi's not one of those people. Tonight her phone "died" and she looked at me with this look as if her dog had died. "I feel so," she paused. And I knew exactly what she was going to say so I interjected, "naked". "Exactly!" Randi remarked excitedly.
I want to kiss Randi, but there's a part of me that feels it should have happened by now. She has nicknames for me (Ginger spice is the latest). Today she called me kiddo. I began analyzing this - and then I stopped myself. It was hard not to analyze it because of the fact kiddo just seems so, well, juvenile. Not to mention that I called a number of my friends in high school kiddo. It was a term of endearment. Not to mention, my dad calls me kiddo. Yikes.
We went to Serendipity for dessert tonight. Yes, that cliched restaurant that a movie was named after and scenes were filmed. And you know what? I loved every moment of it. It was so charming, cozy and delightful. There's a but... can you tell by the way I'm writing? We were seated next to an overly affectionate couple and it was quite nauseating. As much as I look forward to having that day return, I think I would manage to curb my affection for my loved one in public, to keep people from potentially losing their appetites.
I could sense Randi was looking at the couple too - I thought briefly about what she might be thinking about looking at this couple. It was uncomfortable after awhile, especially since you couldn't escape the affection. It was visible in the corner of my eye and couple that with the mirror - I couldn't escape mentally either.
When we left and walked towards her subway stop (I was walking back to my apartment), I asked her if she would like to come back for another glass of wine. I was quickly turned down due to being tired - it was a fast denial and it stung. But I didn't let it sting for long because the reality of the situation was that Randi had only returned from the West Coast one day earlier. She had had a brutal journey back to New York City thanks to the post-Christmas blizzard. I refused to be upset.
But as I walked home tonight, with my Ipod playing in my ears and the cold wind blasting me in both directions - I felt confused. I felt uncertain. Friends? Frightened attracted women? Did I actually feel anything for Randi? Where was that spark that I felt the last night she and I had had dinner before Randi went home for the holiday? Where was my stomach flip when I looked at her over the candlelight at our table?
I know that not everyone I meet I am meant to be with. This isn't something that HAS to happen. And I'm okay with it not happening. I like the idea of dating and meeting all sorts of women to find that one. But she keeps coming back and I keep replying. Perhaps it is because I am new to the city and I don't want to lose this connection, even though this connection is far from being in the scene. We're removed from the scene in which we met. We met in chaos, perhaps by serendipity. And now, time will only tell...
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