2006-12-04 @ 2:48 p.m.
Since I'm missing my empowerment group today because of snow...and Lord knows I need some empowerment at this juncture...I thought I would try and figure out what went wrong with my fledgling relationship. Naturally last night as I was driving home in tears, vowing to stop off at the store to buy vast amounts of chocolate and tapioca pudding, I took all the blame myself. I'm a total loser dipped in cow poop. I'm fuglier than Richard Simmons during sex. I'm Hulk Hogan's armpit. All sorts of things were going through my mind, because that's how I work. I always blame myself (thanks Mom) for everything.
I then got home and called my mom and I got about 5 minutes before she had to tell me about her FABULOUS Christmas party with Gay Elvis and the gang. Okay, in the scheme of things, I guess Gay Elvis' Christmas party is way more important than her daughter's broken heart, but....
And what's weird is that I had had two very distinct dreams the night before. One was about going somewhere with my Dad, who of course is dead. We were going to Disneyworld and he was buying the tickets and they were about $49. (not really sure how much they are these days, since I haven't done anything Disney since 1976). So I was telling him, "Oh no, that's way too much money to spend on me" and then someone I didn't know said, "This is the last time you're going to see him, so just go!" So I did.
The second dream had me walking along my favorite canal. It was a beautiful day. I was alone and suddenly a huge grizzly bear sprang out of the water and I ran and hid inside a tree hollow, hoping he wouldn't find me and want to have a witty sandwich, but what's a witty sandwich without some Grey Poupon and a few pickles? And amazingly, I was safe from the Grizzly
So how did I interpret these dreams? Well, rather stupidly I thought I was finally actually saying good-bye to my Dad after he'd been dead for three years, because I had met someone new. I still have a very strong bond with my Dad, and sometimes I wonder if perhaps I wanted and/or needed to find someone he would approve of, before he could "pass-over" as psychic $ylvia Br0wne would say, into the Other Side. It seemed perfectly logical to me.
The bear jumping out of the water? Meh, probably just my usual anxiety.
So when Handyman finally called late afternoon Sunday, I felt very relieved. He asked if I wanted to come over for leftovers. Me (panting like an excited puppy): "Oh yes!! Yay!! Whee!" When in reality I should have been going "Leftovers? WTF? You wouldn't feed Carmen Electra leftover!?!" But since I'm such a study in apparent desperation, I was all over that. It was sorta like when Harold the Geek came to pick me up for my date and I made him carry out a bag of garbage for me and he was all "Its an honor to carry your garbage, ms. witty" when in reality, I was actually being a little mean. So I'm sorry Harold. Truly. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.
So I get to his house. He was pleasant as usual. That was the thing about Handyman. Always pleasant and down to earth. He actually reminded me of my Dad, which might have been part of what made my heart react to him. So he had a bunch of leftovers all over the table. Pizza. Spaghetti. Garlic Bread. Remnants from another date? Kinda looked like that way. But hey! I'm all right with that. I was in love with a Married Man for 5 years. I'm used to remnants. Crumbs are groovy. So he heated them all up, although not very well since the spaghetti was cold inside.
After dinner he once again had me play the piano . This time my music wasn't so well chosen. I just brought "Chicago" and "Pippin". We both played the piano and he lavished me with praise. "Wow! How come you don't do this for a living? You're so good!!"
We need her to come play the piano while Joe is on vacation!
Anyhoo we then retreated to his living room and this is where it all went in the proverbial crapper. I was told I wasn't a "charmer" and that he was only romantically attracted to "charmers". So I was sitting there going....What the fuck is a charmer? You mean like a woman who dresses like a hooker and attends to your every need? Because God forbid you should ever try and get to know someone and see what you have in common and maybe interact with them more than once every 10-12 days by e-mail.
Because one of the reasons I was unable to really flirt with him, was because he kept bringing up the fact that he was dating several women simultaneously. Like wow...Am I supposed to be wildly impressed, like geeze, he could be snatched up any second, so I better crank this up? Or maybe more realistically, Mr.-Legend-in- Your-Own-Mind, did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't be talking about other women when you're on a date? Yeah, I know its all very exciting, and you're like a total stud, but for god sakes, did you ever think about HER feelings? Because to be honest, everytime he started talking about the other women, I would just sort of glaze over and go "la, la, la, la, la" in my head until he finished. Why? Because.I.didn't.want.to.hear.about. it! I liked the guy!
So lets now look at my failure at being a charmer, which I guess implies being flirtatious and going ga-ga over the male product. First off, he never flirted with me. Complimenting me on playing the piano is not flirting. Its just stating the obvious. Secondly, he never once said, "Gee, you look nice tonight. Your hair looks great. You smell good. You look hot." Charlemagne says this shit to me all the time. And we're not even dating. And that's why I flirt with him. He sees me as a sexually attractive woman and is not afraid to say it. True, he's a player, but it invokes something in me, that truly needs to be invoked. Hot blooded flirtiness. Handyman never did any of that. We just had lengthy talks. We had brief kisses. But it was never anything that made me feel like a goddess. And I am a goddess, you know.
He said he just felt like I was his buddy. His writing buddy. His piano-playing buddy. So lets now cut to the Official Dating Manual and see how HE was doing. For instance, he never once walked me to my car or my door after a date. He grumbled about having to drive out to the Village to pick me up for dinner and it was only about 5 miles. Gee, I'm unemployed and drive a car with 218,000 miles on it. I had no problem driving to his house. Maybe if I was a charmer, it would have been easier. He also never once touched me softly or flirtatiously. Just big bear hugs and granny kisses. In other words, no attempt was ever made to make me feel like a woman.
Yeah, so you're all probably wondering why I got birth control. Heh! Me too!!!
So last night after he told me I wasn't a charmer and he wasn't interested in me, instead of getting up and leaving like I should have, I stayed another hour and listened to how interested he was in a certain soccer mom and how he has followed her all over and really wants to meet her and about his ad on a certain internet website and then I had to watch yet another of his not-very-interesting videos from the 1970's. He did put a blanket over me and gave me some ice cream, but I just sat there like a cadaver.
I guess I was just practicing for my UN-Charmer pose, you know, the one that can evidently entice certain unsuspecting men. But only if they're not turned off by say sparkling, intelligent conversation with a woman who is wearing lacy purple panties and a sexy, lacy underwire bra holding back pale, lush, heaving breasts with extremely ripe, tender, pink nipples.
You snooze, you lose, baby.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty