Motorcycle Guy…..sigh. Quite possibly one of the most engaging people I’ve met in a long time. Smart. Introspective. Intuitive. And so dreamy. Like dreamy. Soft blond hair, blue eyes you have to turn away from now and then because it’s just too much. Yet so comfortable to be around. Cozy. Like a teddy bear. A really, really hot teddy bear. You just want to curl up with him on a couch in the thick of the evening and make hand shadow puppets on the wall in the moonglow. (more)
Monthly Archives: August 2007
Motorcycle Guy was supposed to be my distraction when Jeb decided he couldn’t date me two months ago (because of the book). I was sad. I needed a crush. So I picked Motorcycle Guy. He parks his ride on the street outside my apartment. He’s blond, cute and smoldering, but not dangerous. He’s just like cool riders are supposed to be. (Michael in Grease 2. Above. Below.) Unfortunately, I’ve only run into Motorcycle Guy once since June. I was on my stoop picking herbs, he was walking by, with his motorcycle helmet in hand. It was my chance. But all I could eek out was a pitifully bashful “hey” with my head down.
I’d all but given up since then. (And I suppose I also was preoccupied with Simon, who I haven’t talked to since he left—except for the 5-minute call. I want him to call me. I can’t make contact. I think I would just expect to much out it/him right not. And that’s not fair to anyone.)
“I talked to Motorcycle Guy. Take down his email.” Not only had Roman asked if he was single, which was all he supposed to find out if he ran into Motorcycle Guy based on our pact two months ago, Roman told him he should meet his friend (me). So Motorcycle Guy handed over his card, and told Roman to tell me to email him.
I waited four hours to make contact. Didn’t want to seem too desperate. And he waited one hour to reciprocate, though I doubt it was a premeditated delay because guys just aren’t silly like that. It was a long, cleverly crafted email. He put thought into it. Motorcycle Guy is hot and he’s smart. Just like Michael from Grease 2! But not nearly as cheesy or gay. He wanted to meet up tonight.
“You better go out with him hooker.” I told Roman I already had a date set up with another It’s Just Lunch match. “Cancel your date and go out with him. You have to. And I’m gonna want to know all the details. All of them.”
I canceled my date. A better offer is a better offer.
We’re meeting in 25 minutes on my stoop and we’re going to Tryst for tea. Hopefully he hasn’t seen me making out on my stoop before (the curse of writing a book about dating—everyone’s seen me make out on my stoop) and hopefully no one at Tryst will recognize me as “the girl who was cuddling with that guy on the couch over there two weeks ago.”
I’m so nervous. My stomach is turning…deep breathes. Motorcycle Guy!
D.’s flags are indeed red. Conservative. Said he would sign up to serve in The Iraq (the country changed it’s name. see below) if he were younger because he wants to do his part. I think this is admirable, but, ugh, I don’t agree with the war.
I didn’t say this on our date the other night. I didn’t tell him about my love for Kucinich. And I didn’t tell him about the book. I actually didn’t say much of anything. I was off. So off that I almost canceled last minute. Fatigued, sick to my stomach. I thought it might have been the spinach salad followed by enormous bowl of organic cocoa krispies.(Koala Crisps. Yum.)
Actually we were both off, which I attribute to the full moon eclipse that night. Astrologists say (and I believe them) that full moons are associated with temporal insomnia and insanity—the eclipse supposedly enhances the effects, kinda like drinking a bottle of merlot on top of a Valium. Despite the lunar lunacy, it wasn’t a bad date. D. is funny and goofy. And very direct. And much cuter then I remembered. And he seems to like me a lot. I don’t know why. I couldn’t have acted more weird. I had a constant look of confusion on my face, I yawned the whole time and I practically ran away from him when he kissed me goodbye. (Just a little peck, but I’m pretty sure he’s a good kisser. Tres important. Might cancel out the Christian-boy comment.)
This was after, of course, I leaned in for a hug. We were too far apart to make it natural and I had this pitiful, desperate smile on my face. It was all just so … weird. I can’t even explain it, it was that weird. I think part of my problem is that I’ve been so used to being comfortable and familiar with someone, now that I have to revert back to strained physical and social boundaries, I’m all out of whack.
But he wants to go out again, and followed up with a really nice email about how he didn’t plan the date well and it was all his fault and he wanted to see if I’m available this weekend for an “active” date where we’re just not sitting across the table staring at each other.
I think I ruined it though. I told him I could only be free for a couple of hours because I am under deadline, which is totally true. But I haven’t heard back. I kind of care. I kind of don’t care.
D. called last night. He called a day later than he said he would. I actually was thinking he wasn’t going to call at all. (Was that a tinge of relief I was feeling?) But he did, and he was eager to get together again. We talked for almost an hour, which is great. And we laughed a lot. Even better. But he said some things that raised a crop of waving flags. They’re not red. And I don’t even know if they deserve to be there. (Except for the “Christian-boy” comment from our first date last week, which is definitely a red flag for a variety of reasons starting with: who calls themselves that?) The new flags are smaller than those paper umbrellas you get in pina coladas, and they were only swishing around in my periphery.
First, there’s the fact that D. was in the armed forces, which, indicates to me a highly structured being who likes precision haircuts. That’s all fine and well, except I’m lucky if I brush my hair. Ever. And that messiness is somewhat akin to how I lead my life. I dance to a tune with a beat as erratic as Meg White’s drumming. D. sounds like he marches to “Taps.”
Second, he doesn’t believe that we, as humans, are causing global warming. I completely disagree with this and think this is a probably an indicator of greater divergence in ideologies. But it’s not so much what he said as much as how he said it, kind of laughing like, “those stupid fucking Al Gore groupies are so fucking stupid.”
Third, I have a prejudice against people who use matchmakers to find dates. (I met him through It’s Just Lunch.) Seems so cheesy. (And yes, I’m using the matchmaking service, too, but I only signed up because I was investigating it for the book. And since I invested $1300, I might as well get my money’s worth. So hypocritical, I know.)
Maybe I don’t really like him and I’m just looking for things to pick on. I mean, I was caught in a whipping frenzy of red flags with Simon and didn’t seem to mind. From our very first date when he told me he was probably moving, a red flag the size of Rushmore went up and I got slapped across both cheeks with it. That was my cue to run. But I didn’t. (Even knowing the outcome, I don’t think I would have done anything different. He hasn’t called since our five minute conversation last week, by the way.)
Maybe instead on putting all of this energy into dissecting “issues” I know nothing about because I’ve only been out with D. once, I should just let things evolve and see. And maybe start divulging potential red flags about myself (i.e. writing a dating book). Let him do some red flag batting. I wonder what would happen if I just threw out that Dennis Kucinich is my favored presidential candidate. I’m gonna do it tonight when we meet for dinner. Might as well just put it all out on the table and serve it up with dinner. No half-stepping. No half-masting.
The Psychic indicated sexual longing might be an issue of imbalance for me. (I believe sexual repression was on the table, too, but I choose to ignore that one.) Good thing Coopie doesn’t have the same problem. He banged his monkey-faced girlfriend silly tonight as Roman (Coopie’s dad proudly yelling “Fuck that bitch. Just like that!”), Baxter (Coopie’s brother whining in the corner), and I (wielding the camera, of course) looked on.
The Psychic always knows when to call me. That’s cause he’s psychic. (He calls it intuitive, but that’s just semantics.) He calls when I’ve been talking about him, thinking about him, or just has something to say that I happen to need to hear at the time. I met The Psychic while I was researching dating in Chicago. He was one of my dates. We had “a connection.” I couldn’t tell if it was romantic (he sure was cute), but as a psychic, I suppose, he would probably have a connection with most people.
Anyway, The Psychic established his street cred when he knew my sister’s name. There’s no way he could have known it. He just knew. It’s not an uncommon name, but coupled with the fact that he nailed her personality and my relationship with her, I give him psychic props.
The Psychic called two nights ago and, as always, it seemed like he knew I’d been sad and confused and stuck because he told me about this healing class he’s taking where he’s learning how to use kinesiology and the power of infinite love and gratitude to “reconnect and balance emotions that have been trapped within the subconscious mind.” He suggested it as a potential for me if I was having writer’s block, which in fact, I have. (See how he knows?) I was into the idea, but worried about him stopping up my creativity even more.
The Psychic was prepared for my concern (psychics are like boy scouts—they’re prepared for everything). He suggested we do a trial run where we work on another issue. Something I was feeling unbalanced about. I told him I wanted to work on my feelings of sadness, loss, abandonment, confusion blah blah blah over Simon leaving.
And so my healing began. The Psychic opened up my electromagnetic fields by having me do a series of poses, like cupping my head with my right hand and pointing to my chest with my left pointer finger. Then he “muscle tested” me through the phone (talk about telecommuting), and addressed imbalances with my earth and fire elements that were all out of whack. For the first 5 minutes, I tittered on the other end of the call, not quite buying into it.
But then The Psychic started throwing out concepts that, looped together, form my relationship albatross, many of them having reared their ugly heads during my time with Simon—need for attention, vulnerability, not feeling good enough (permeates my days), sexual longing (didn’t seem like an issue…), fear of failure (always the issue), fear of being abandonment, stubbornness, control etc etc (there were, like, 50 concepts). He’d throw one out, I’d connect with it and say “infinite love and gratitude” and then he’d connect with what I’d connected with and wash away the imbalance with three more”infinite love and gratitudes.”
Infinite love and gratitude was repeated at least 325 times, I think.
It’s been a day and a half. I do feel better, though I’m still confused about what just happened with Simon. (“Thwarted” was another concept. Even though I always knew he was leaving, it still whacked me upside the head. I mean, how are you ever ready for that sort of thing?) But I have to say, the cloudy feelings have dissipated. I sense myself actually coming to peace with the whole damn thing. And my creativity has been flowing like a dam let loose.
Is this infinite love and gratitude? Or is this just time passing?
Susan Miller, the master behind astrologyzone.com, is the Dalai Lama when it comes to astrology. I mean, she predicted Simon leaving and the confusion I’ve been feeling over it. She’s magic.
I’ll check out my monthly horoscope either at the beginning of the month for fun or at the end to see if any “predictions” came true. I also check my horoscope when my life feels out of whack just to see if maybe there’s an answer for WHY in the stars, because rarely is there ever an answer on earth.
So anyway, she couldn’t have been more right on about August. See?
“August 21 could easily turn out to be the lowest point of your month or even of the year, although August 18 is not due to be much fun either. You may make a final break with someone [FYI: Simon left on 8/19] …
…If anything untoward happens at this eclipse August 28, be philosophical. Are you really sorry about what was lost? I say “lost” because this eclipse seems to bring on a very sudden ending with one individual or situation. Honestly, do you feel relieved? If so, this situation was not for you, and you will find something more suitable for the “you” that you’ve become.”
She got the whole sudden break thing. The relief comment is an interesting one. I don’t feel relief, per se. But I do feel slightly more free. I knew my relationship with Simon wasn’t for the long run. I knew it all along. I knew it the night I met him. Mostly because that’s when he told me he was probably moving, which couldn’t have been a higher flying red flag that blatantly chose to ignore. I think my relief is from not having to anticipate anymore.
It’s just so weird to be so involved with someone—and then not be. I feel like a fucking light switch in a summer cottage at the end of Labor Day weekend.