Conversations with My Father (Part Deux)

  
I think sometimes I over think things when it comes to my life - the romantic aspects of it. Clearly, finding yourself rolling head first down a hill in the rain with your best friend, doesn't exactly paint a picture of the "well examined life". Then again, judging on your viewpoint, perhaps it does. But I digress.

I blame it on my parents. They have given me such high standards both in the example they themselves set and the way they raised me to never to settle, to strive for excellence and whatever you do....don't marry the wrong person. As such, I put such weight into these issues that many times i find myself staggering beneath it. It’s a hard realization to know that there's no book I can read, no test I can take, no instruction manual to follow step by step in order to arrive at a good and happy life.  

My heart has been hurt so much over the years that I have learned to instinctively distrust it, working hard training my brain the dominant & more trustworthy of the two organs. But, in the end, I don't believe there's any perfect answer. No silver bullet. No cheat sheet. I'll just have to take the best information I have and use it to make the best decisions possible. And when I still feel that information lacking, I ask my father for his advice.

My latest query was to ask if it "bothers him that he and my mother don't share a lot of the same interests" (stoic history PhD marries bubbly elementary school teacher) and whether or not he's found that an obstacle to be overcome in their marriage. 

Ever the thoughtful professor, he penned a reply which I have included below. Frankly, I believe the sentiments are universal and everyone loves a bit of fatherly wisdom. 

Thank you, dad.

Hi Sweets.  I've been a bit bothered by your question the other day, inasmuch as I do not think I answered it very well.  So I will try, briefly, to expand a little.

We like to think that we should have long-range plans for our lives, and while we are encouraged to do so and need to do so, the reality is mostly aspirational.  The reason for this is simple: we change as we grow older.  And as we change, our likes and dislikes change, goals change, financial circumstances change and so those plans must change as well. 

The future is a mystery with respect to many things, but especially with this abstraction called 'happiness'.  Most people in this world have never experienced it, I am convinced, and have made their lives commensurately miserable in the pursuit of it.  For 'it' itself is myriad in its forms and seems as fleeting as gossamer.  Yet it doesn't so much 'flee' as 'evolve' as we grow older.  The happiness of youthful passion inexorably gives way to the warmth of familiarity and sentimental attachment.  The happiness of watching a child grow, will give way in time to the stark reality of anxious nights, emotional conflict and a life-long uncertainly over the fate of that child.  The initial paternal giddiness gives way to celebration, dread, satisfaction and second-guessing, as life gives and takes its rewards and its tolls. But that's the whole point of living isn't it? 

You asked me whether I wished Mom knew more history, and the answer is: of course I do.  But I knew that history was not her strong suit when I married her.  Instead, I looked to her character, her maternal instinct, her loving nature, her eternal innocence about many things.  Where is the guarantee that a history degree would have come with all those?  Does that mean that, perhaps, I am not as happy as I could be?  Probably.  But then who is, outside the silly movies which have distorted our perspective on such things?  The familial detritus which litters the twenty-first century social landscape provides ample evidence that most people never find their ideal.  And while that may rule out attainment of the will-o-the-wisp we call 'happiness', it hardly makes impossible the more achievable, stable and nurturing objective: contentment.  And if, in the end, I can say that I am content with the way I've lived my life; that will be compensation enough. 

I hope this helps.  Didn't mean to go on.  And I certainly don't mean to tell you what to do, or what decisions you should make.  I said my piece enough as I was raising you.  It's up to you now.

Conversations with My Father (Part One)

I received the below email from my father last week following the aforementioned break up. It made me think. 

While somewhat hard to hear, I thought it was worth considerable reflection and I wanted to post it here, lest it fade into archived obscurity within the bottomless hole that is currently my gmail in-box. 

Frankly, after your wonderful comments on the last bit of fatherly advice, I just couldn't resist the urge to share this honest and heartfelt bit of paternal correspondence.
 

 

It's late and I'm worried about you getting home, so I thought I'd "scratch off a few lines", as they used to say. 

Sorry about your last minute email from [The Chef], but that in itself was revealing enough to know it was for the best.  In that context, I offer these thoughts for whatever they are worth.

Women like you, Scarlett (transparently needful of romantic love), are particularly at risk I think, because there are two ways most men will respond: (1) with reciprocal endearment and love or (2) as an invitation to exploitation.  It's just the way men are.  And, sadly, there are far more of the latter than the former.  Therefore, I think that you should try to be a little more guarded in your interactions with, and reactions to, men.  You have so much to offer the right man, but you cannot sell it too cheaply or offer it too readily.  There is an old saying I heard a long time ago and never forgot: that people tend to disdain what is thrown at them.  And that is all too true.  Moreover, by being too eager you sell yourself short.  The descriptions you have given me of your recent interactions did not convey much respect on his part, nor self-assuredness on yours.  I guess my sense is (and I don't mean to sound cliched) that you need to take ownership of your own 'personhood', for lack of a better word, in such a way as to demand that requisite respect before offering love--not after.  Real respect and love are mutually reinforcing and mutually sustaining. 

You have been through so much for one so young, but you must resist the temptation to think of yourself  as a victim.  Down that road lies immense vulnerability, not to mention cynicism.  You are in need of neither one just now.  You must take stock of your incredible assets and value them commensurately.  The question in your mind should always be whether or not a man measures up to your (preferably astronomical) specifications, not whether you measure up to his.  Meanwhile, concentrate on the requisite self-improvement we all seek.

I'm not so old that I don't understand the need for intimacy with someone, honey.  But this lurching from "candidate to candidate" in this fashion can't be good for you can it?  I mean you are so much more than that.  The mental toll, for one thing, must be considerable.  And disappointment and despair tend to reinforce each other in a cyclic, toxic emotional cocktail.  You really need to rethink your perspective, Scarlett, along with your own self regard, in order to concoct an antidote for it.  And if you do, I think you'll find that the more you redirect that energy and emotional commitment toward self-improvement and self-fulfillment, the sooner fate will take a hand with the romance.  I'm certain of it.

I actually wrote this several days ago but wanted to wait until after New Years eve to send it. 

Our trip home to the 'Promised Land' [Texas] (that really ticks Mom off when I say it) was very enjoyable and uneventful.

Love you.

A Fresh Start

2011 greeted me on the tail end of five bottles of bubbly and found me wearing a sparkly crown, tooting a noise maker and embracing two of the best friends I'll ever have. No cliched kisses for me but only the briefest of pangs for my recently severed relationship.

While it would, be typically Scarlett to bitch about the fact that I did not have someone of my very own to kiss at midnight; rant about my endless frustration with the opposite sex; or bemoan the parade of failed relationships steadily lengthening from year to year; its a new year and thus should strive to be a new outlook.

In that newness of spirit, I will simply say that endings, while often sad, are not all together negative. Rather, I suppose they could be seen as opportunities for growth. For the first time in a long while I can truthfully say that looking back at this relationship, I have no regrets. No self flagellating "what was I thinking" monologues play ad nauseum in a tortured psyche through a red wine haze. Quite the opposite.

He helped open my mind and my heart to the unknown, he challenged me intellectually, he awakened me emotionally. I am a better person for it. And there's nothing sad about that. I am not broken. Any wounds will, in fact, heal. And while I will miss his smile and his amazingly kind eyes, it is useless to wage a war on what is simply ill-fated timing. It does no good to curse that which you are unable to change.* 

And so I will put one foot, however reluctantly, in front of the other, wading into the still serene waters of 2011.

I will continue to make (and most likely break) my resolutions which include making more time for the things that make me happy, have better posture, pay off credit cards, splurge more on nice lingerie, loose weight, be a better friend, make my bed, learn to like dark chocolate, make time for Yoga and, of course, marry Russell Crowe.

Frankly,

*This new and less indignant approach to life feels a bit unnatural....but good. Kind of like walking in a new pair of Gucci platform wedges.

Landscape Architecture

I’ve never been one for jigsaw puzzles. My mother can’t get enough of them and will stare at microscopic pieces for hours, days, in fact, until she manages inexplicably to find the order amidst chaos. 

I’m not a visual person. I don’t work well within the confines of compartmentalized thought. Edge pieces, blue pieces, round, square, etc. I'd much prefer to admire a finished work of art and drill down into its individual, interesting elements of texture, style, medium rather than working from the ground up.

My very right brained style of thinking is rather limiting in that sense - needing to be sure of the forest before taking notice of the role of the individual trees, leaves and branches. I like the big picture. 

So it is with life. I like to make the pieces fit neatly together to form a seamless mosaic of complementary tiles, structured form and interesting texture. 
 

However, I'm finding it to be increasingly true that there are moments painted within the overarching canvas of life which don't quite fit in with the whole creating a jarring effect akin perhaps to embroidering Van Gogh's "Starry Night" upon the narrative of the Bayeux Tapestry* in place of Haley's Comet. Such an insertion would, if not alter the overall narrative, certainly change the setting so abrupt would be the effect.
 

So it is with the impact one might experience upon and unexpected and intentioned meeting. An unexpected connection felt for someone with whom you might never pictured yourself and were completely prepared to dismiss as nothing more than a passing flirtation. And even thought you don't quite yet know what to make of this ill fitting piece of the puzzle, you find it makes you feel alive intellectually and physically in a ways you'd forgotten. 
 

And when that happens, suddenly none of the pieces fit because you find the landscape to be fundamentally altered.

*For those of you who snoozed your way through medieval history class, the Bayeux Tapestry is an embroidered cloth (dating roughly around 1077) depicting the events prior to and concurrent with the Norman conquest of England.

Dating Sagas

Soooo date updates. I’ll give you the quick ones first then move on to more detailed craziness that only your dear Scarlett could produce.

Coffee Date. I haven’t written about Mr. Coffee yet. A friend set us up and we decided to meet on Friday afternoon. He’s very nice, really great smile. I don’t know if I’m all THAT attracted to him, but if he asks me out again, I wouldn’t be completely opposed to the idea. 

Irish Guy. We all remember the fabulous date/marathon make-out session I had with this guy. He emailed me last Sunday and said:

Sorry I've been a little flaky.  Things have been rather crazy.  I unfortunately had to work today, just me and anal retentive boss which is just tons of fun.  Are you still up for doing something soon?  Things should hopefully calm down for me this weekend.  Do you have any plans?  Let me know what you think.  Hope you had a good weekend.

So after that I said I was free on Saturday and he suggested we touch base closer to the end of the week to decide what to do.

Friday I emailed a friendly, “hi” to see what the plan was for Saturday and heard…NOTHING back. I’m NOT a fan. We’re kicking this one to the curb.

And then we have Tex. 

So Friday evening, after sharing a drink with PQ, I met him in Gtown and had a lovely dinner at Pizzeria Paridiso. Tres Yummy! We had a great conversation, I had to stop myself from literally staring at length into his piercing blue eyes. He looked like someone…but I couldn’t quite place it. 

After dinner, we walked over to Clyde’s and proceeded to talk, drink and flirt until around 3 a.m. when the bar was closing. He offered to give me a ride home and a I certainly didn’t object. 

So we pull up in front of chez moi and he kisses me ‘goodnight’. Many, many kisses goodnight. 15 minutes of kisses goodnight – and the cars whizzing by on my busy Dupont street got a little distracting. So I very cleverly suggested, as I didn’t feel comfortable inviting him upstairs, that he pull into my building’s parking lot around back. 

Incidentally, my discomfort in inviting him up stemmed from the following three rationale:

#1. My apartment was/is STILL in disarray as the ceiling has not been repaired and all of the displaced furniture/wall decorations have not been replaced. Not exactly the way to make a stellar first impression.

#2. The way this make out session was going, it would be very hard to put the proverbial sex brakes on outside of the confines of the car. 

#3. If said sex brakes were to come off, along with my clothes…my undergarment ensemble didn’t exactly match. (I couldn’t find my mega fabulous black bra…and I didn’t feel comfortable getting naked-ish for the first time in anything else). 

So….we made out like a couple of teenagers in a car with nowhere to go. That is, of course, until we fell asleep around 4:30 a.m.! We woke up around 5 a.m. when I said, “OK, the sun will be coming up soon…you have GOT to go home and I have GOT to go to bed”. He agreed. 

So we resituated and he started the car. 

Correction – he TRIED to start the car. Einstein had left the battery on. Yep! Car – completely dead.

As ya’ll know, I don’t drive. So I didn’t have a anything to help him jump his car. The rest of my date went thusly:

5:00 a.m. – We decide its time to call it a night.

5:15 a.m.  - We realize the battery is dead.

5:30 a.m. – Tex calls a tow truck.

5:50 a.m.– Tow truck shows up.

6:00 a.m.– Sun starts coming up.

6:15 a.m.– The tow truck guy tries to jump the car. It’s not working.

6:30 a.m.– Tex asks him if he can tow him to the BMW dealership in Pentagon City. The driver informed us that he gets off at 7:00 a.m. and so he’ll have to call ANOTHER truck to tow him to VA.

7:00 a.m.– The second tow truck comes. He gives me a hug, a kiss and says "we'll talk" and he and his lifeless vehicle get hauled away.

7:15 a.m. - I fall into bed, exhausted. But have lovely dreams.

Oy! Either I’ll never see him again or it’ll be a great story about our first date!!

So THIS week:

Tomorrow…I’m having drinks with…..(drum roll please)….BOSS MAN! Yep – it’s finally happening and so little time to plan! Short skirt or low cut top? Hmmmm.

Wednesday is lunch with Rugby. A new guy, friend set up. We’ve been emailing/txting/talking on a daily basis.

I’ll keep you posted!

Frankly,

Pulling the Plug

I’ve been dumped.

After a certain age…say…14...I’m guessing we all have.

Via email, phone call, Post-It or just the failure to respond to communication. These methods are easy, distant, avoidant and thus preferred. Let’s face it, the last time you probably broke up with someone in person was in the 2^nd grade cafeteria because they wouldn’t trade their Little Debbie snack cake for your carrots.

But in the end, its all the same thing - Rejection.

The statement either declared or implied is “I just doesn’t want to be with you.“ For whatever reason, in whatever context - it is always a bit of an ego blow. Because, let’s face it: more often than not, it is, in fact, you and ultimately, you’re not what they want.

And it’s fine - or at least it will be 3 glasses in.

After all, it’s the boring ones, the safe ones who never put themselves out there that never get hurt or know how to deal with the rejection, which is, admittedly, a useful life skill.

It’s a life skill and an art form that I, perhaps not so proudly, have mastered. I am the queen of the ’move on’. Being possession of such a cultivated talent you’d think I’d be able apply it more readily. Utilize my experience in a constructive manner. You would be wrong.

Sadly, and with much frustration, I seem unable to initiate a drama free break up. Then again, does such a thing even exist?

Case and point, my break up with Army in July - disaster. In fact, so disastrous that he recently de-friended me on Facebook along with an email containing the explanation that I’m a commitment phobic, heartless bitch and he never wants to hear from me again. Lovely.

On the receiving end, I was seeing LAX, off and on for a little bit…at least he had the decency to write me an email explaining why he hadn’t been in touch. That he’d met someone else and it had “progressed quickly” - my translation, she slept with him on the second date, whereas I had not so much as permitted him to steal second base after date 6ish??

So why am I so bad at the break up? Men seem to have it down to a science. I have no hesitations about not returning a phone call or even escaping out the back door if a blind date makes me wish I were back in that 2^nd grade cafeteria purely for the sophisticated conversation.

Rejection after the first or even second date leaves no scars, only minor bruises. But it’s the not calling or not picking up the phone after the third date…or the fifth. When you’ve gotten to know someone just enough to care whether or not you hurt them, even if you can’t see a future with them in it.

Because at that point, the rejection isn’t ‘we have no chemistry’ or ‘I don’t like the wine you ordered’ or whatever other petty reasons we find to dismiss someone within the first 5 minutes. By this point, its more personal, it goes deeper.

So how do you do it? What is the most humane? The adult approach - be straightforward? Leave no doubt? Or are you a fan of the disappearing act? Stop picking up the phone, change your phone number, possibly your address? Hide in your apartment and pretend no one’s home until the big, bad, scary relationship seeking man goes away?

Personally I’m a fan of the fizzle, which lets the relationship die a kind, slow death. The fizzle takes the dying relationship off life support and basically lets it go peacefully, quietly without any drama, fuss or ceremony.

The problem is that this approach doesn’t work so well on the persistent types of men. And frankly sometimes, even when the relationship is diagnosed as terminal, I’m not always ready to pull the plug.

Just Like a Circus

Apparently I miss football season so much that I'm now using sports metaphors to describe, what is quickly becoming, a very, if not complicated, definitely busy love life (see below). However, upon further consideration, circus terminology such as juggling, clowns and three rings would be much more appre-peaux. Anyone know where I can get a fire breathing midget?

In Play

No word from Lawyer Man (i.e. Sex Fiend) – neither surprised or disappointed. 

With much pushing and prodding from many circles, I FINALLY asked Boss Man (my former boss) out for drinks. Perhaps “asked out” implies a little stronger and more direct verbiage than what was actually used. Let me attempt a more accurate description.

I casually suggested that we meet for happy hour so that I could catch him up on everything happening here and I wanted to hear how his job search was going, etc. etc. Very passive aggressive – not overtly romantic. A strategic approach in my opinion. It lends plausible deniability should he indeed think of me as a co-worker and nothing more however, it gives me the opportunity to get him into a dimly lit, alcohol laced setting where I happen to show up looking effortlessly stunning thus giving him the perfect opportunity to commence with confessions of love and adoration. 

I may be living in a fantasy world – but at least I own beach front property!

He accepted my invitation and we’re trying for next week. He’s not swift with the email replies and so I’m estimating his next response suggesting time and place (I predict my calendar to be absolutely filled until Friday (wink, nudge) most likely on Tuesday or Wednesday. 

Next Half

I’ve got some potential dates lined up for next week. One with a tall, blonde, blue eyed (but I’ll try not to hold that against him) Texan, and the other with a guy for whom I have yet to come up with a clever Blog name. Hmmmmm. I seem to gravitate towards uncreative names describing the man’s nationality, heritage or profession (Canadian, Russian, Texan, Lawyer Man, Football Player….). Keeping with that somewhat mundane but effective trend, I’ll dub him “Irish” for now. And in true to both our respective heritages, we’re planning a pub-type date. 

AND – in the seemingly ever present quest to make my life even MORE complicated – Because, honestly, we all know how boring my blog is when my life is uncomplicated and happy….

Off the Bench

The Canadian is moving back to DC in August.

Army is back state side in about 6 weeks.

(Queue ominous soap opera-esque kettle drums) Bum…. Ba Bum...Bum Buuuummmmmmm!

Frankly, 

I'll Light a Candle

Do you believe in Love?

Real love? True love? The kind of love that makes all things possible and makes the world seem exciting again? The kind of love that makes you so happy that you could burst into tears at any moment? Where your face hurts from smiling and all the questions and doubt fade from your mind because you just know, in your soul, that this is right, this was the way that things were meant to be and that every hurt and struggle that you’ve gone through is all a small price to pay because it brought you to this point?

Its hard for me to even type that paragraph, let alone read to back to myself without a lump pressing urgently at my throat or the acrid blurring outlining my line of vision. 

I know this type of love is possible – but I don’t BELIEVE in it…anymore. I don’t believe in its impenetrability or that it lasts forever. 

I WANT to be that wide-eyed, optimistic girl again who believes in happy endings and that kind of love is possible again – but then again, I think that NOTHING is worth the pain I went through last year. NOTHING. 

So I’m scared. I’m scared to meet new people or to make myself vulnerable again. I’m scared to “get out there” and date because of what I not find – or even worse, what if I find it? I’m scared to let myself be happy again. 

I do WANT to be happy – everyone WANTS to be happy, right? But I found myself doing this a lot with Army – every time I even get that hint of happiness, that moment of butterflies or a touch of …. contentment (?) I stop. I pull back. I reign in. I can’t let go. I make sure that just in case I’m suddenly ambushed by sudden and utter indifference that I won’t be left in a complete state of emotional paralysis.

Recently heard an old proverb – that its better to light a candle than to curse the darkness. I do believe that, but what if that light inevitably goes out…?

Most of my friends would not describe me as timid or scared – quite the opposite, in fact. Yet, I am at a loss as to how I light that candle and still shield myself against the darkness, just in case the flame goes out? Is there some sort of emergency lighting system I can install in the event of candle failure?

 
Frankly, I still feel broken.

 

Intoxicated by my own tear's soul
And come tomorrow
When my beauty is old
Like a speckled princess
I'll try to cash in clovers for gold
So I'll light a candle and begin to
Write, turn to my work as refuge
Though my womb is a rush hour taxi
Ride, but I will try
To metamorphose pain along my plight
But I'll despise each word I write
So I am clinging to the
Edge like some soap-opera star
With her ten second fade
As the light cascades

~ Idina Menzel, "Straw Into Gold"

The Hottest Love, Has the Coldest End -- Socrates

I returned from the SouthWest rejuvenated if a bit sore…from climbing a mountain (lest you have your head in the gutter). And I will elaborate more on that spur of the moment jaunt later on – (thank you, William Shattner and priceline.com).

Reality however, waited for me at the arrival gate in the form an innocent beeping noise coming from the oh so cute CCP (cherry chocolate phone). “New Voicemail” it dinged. Not thinking anything of it I pressed the voicemail button, typed in my passcode, held the phone to my ear and out came the words ‘hi, baby’ in a northern accent. It was the Canadian. Ya know, it’s quite the trick to say goodbye to your boyfriend, fly 4 and 1/2 hours across the country only to have your OTHER boyfriend ready to greet you on the other side. 

I saw him for the first time in 9 months last night. It was very surreal. I tried to keep an open mind. An objective mind away from my thoughts and feelings for the Russian and focus solely on the problems and issues between the Canadian and myself. There I was, at a romantic corner table for two in a dimly lit Italian restaurant, sitting across from a man I thought I could spend the rest of my life with and strangely enough, I didn’t want to be there. In fact, the longer I sat there, the angrier I became. For reasons too numerous to detail in a single post, dear reader, though I suppose I could break them out into a string of posts with such titles as “I’m a grown woman and can make my OWN f*cking decisions”, “It’s been 3 years and I haven’t met your friends” and “Life in Relationship Purgatory.” 

Did he open up? Yes. Did we have a frank and honest discussion? Yes. Was anything resolved? Well….?? Mr. C thought that because he did open up to me about things he was thinking and feeling that got him out of the dog house. What he does NOT understand is that I’m tired of waiting at the end of this emotional tunnel for him to navigate his way out without a compass. 

Sharing feelings, while definitely a step in the right direction doesn’t begin to cover the amount of emotional distance between us but rest assured, I shared some feelings of my own:

Mr. C: Look at me! I’m being emotional and talking about my feelings

Scarlett: Take a look at THIS emotion – it’s called pissed off!

Mr. C: Don’t you care that I’m opening up? Doesn’t this fix everything between us?

Scarlett: Mr. C, unless your opening up involves a REAL relationship in which we function away from my apartment twice a year and into the real world where we don’t have MY friends or YOUR friends…we have OUR friends, where we spend holidays together, where we make an effort to see each other and be involved in each other’s lives…then what we have here is a failure to give a sh*t about emotional expression. 

Mr. C did not handle this well. I was belittling his emotions. Honestly, this was not my intent! I didn’t mean to be so cold. So angry. There was a time, not so very long ago, that this gesture – minute as it may be, would have sustained me through another 6 months. But not this time. And I was sorry. But the mere fact that I said ‘your friends are in town – am I going to meet them?’ and he said ‘no’. ….

I gave him an out. A way to fix it. A way to keep me. Another chance. And he didn’t take it. I think that’s what upsets me the most. That I have been running after a man who doesn’t care enough to salvage this relationship, suck it up, and do what is necessary to keep me. I’m not worth that to him. And that’s what kills me. 

Ya know what else kills me? I feel guilty. I FEEL GUILTY about leaving him. I feel guilty about wanting to be happy. I've been there for him - put up with his shit and now I feel guilty about wanting someone who wants to build a life with me. I know logically this makes no sense. But I feel like such a shitty person because I sit across the table from him and while I care, I'm not in love with him. 

So I said, can we take our relationship down a notch since you're not ready to give me what I want. And he made me feel like I was tearing his heart out. And so he got up from the table. I asked him to sit back down and talk. He took his coat. I turned.

Mr. C: I'm your boyfriend. You can't treat me like this.

Scarlett: You walk out that door and you're not my boyfriend anymore.

Mr. C turned and walked away. Leaving me stunned. Leaving me angry. Leaving me with the bill.

Frankly, 

A Narrow Escape

I’ve made no secret about the clusterf*ck of emotions I’ve been experiencing lately. They have made me feel like a PMSing lab rat on a mixture of crystal meth and vicodine running through a mad scientists’ maze-o-romance – bouncing from one emotion to another, having no clue where I’m going, experiencing euphoric highs and lows, running into walls and dead ends trying to solve the biggest relationship puzzle of all: what do I want?

The Canadian is coming into town this weekend. He’ll be here for the week.

Obviously this posed more than one moral, emotional and ethical dillemas: #1. I’ve been pissed off at all things north of the border since this year began, I haven’t seen him in 9 months, and …well…there’s a redheaded temper involved.

#2. The obvious problem of the Russian.

#3. I still care about the Canadian – 3 years is the longest I’ve been with anyone! (even if it HAS been off and on).

And so confused and bewildered, I called the smartest gals I know to chat about the situation.

After explaining the scenario – one vote was unanimous – ‘he can’t stay with you.’ ‘Well how do I get around THAT!?’ ‘Just be honest’ – wha? Huh? Honest? But I’m so worried about hurting him! A concern to which Travel Girl replied: “don’t worry about his feelings. He didn’t worry about yours.” – fair point.

Sigh. They were right. I couldn’t have him stay with me. I don’t know how I feel about him right now and I don’t think a co-habitational scenario would be an optimal setting to explore whatever feelings those turn out to be. And so I took a deep breath and told him – I don’t want you staying with me next week. (Please be advised, he lived here for many years and his best friends live here (many of which I’ve never MET - another sore subject - so I’m not exactly leaving him out in the cold).

He sounded very disappointed but can I tell you, it lifted SUCH a weight off my head. I’ve never said ‘no’ to this man. I’ve always forgiven him, shoved everything under the rug while things were going well…never said ‘I’m sorry but you can’t have everything you want when you want it’. So that was a big deal.

The bigger problem is though is that I have no idea what’s going to happen when I see him. Yes, I’m with the Russian. I love the Russian (ya, I said it, shut up). But there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to let the Canadian go. Because he’s been my safety net? Because I’ve been chasing him for SOOOO long? Because I had a plan for my life – and now it’s taken an unexpected turn and I’m not quite ready to veer off that familiar road? What if things go wrong with the Russian and I suddenly find myself stranded along the roadside!?

And then I realized, well, more like nodded along when TravelGirl reminded me: 'being single is better than settling.' And she’s right. So right.

Just when I thought running this vehicle into a lamp post would be less painful than dissecting the components of the complex variables in these relationships, Hey Pretty advised “I think the more important issue is that you don’t define your needs in terms of “option A: The Canadian” or Option B: the Russian. Even if you weren’t happy with the Russian, the situation with the Canadian would still not be good.” And how right she is.

Oh how I love you, my girlfriends.

Being with the Russian doesn’t change the fact that I cried over the phone to Canada for 45 minutes on New Year’s Eve to no avail. Or that the relationship is always defined by the Canadian. Or that it feels as though I’ve been dragging him kicking and screaming through this relationship since 2003.

So, needless to say, that when the Canadian and I DO meet up this next week – we’ll have a lot to say to each other.

In the meantime, I am doing what any gal in a dysfunctional relationship with a passive aggressive law student that is flying into Regan airport at 6 p.m. that she hasn’t seen in 9 months and has fallen for someone else would do….I’m leaving the scene of the crime at 5:55 p.m. and flying out to see the man I hope to have a HEALTHY relationship with for the weekend.

Perhaps I am delaying the inevitable. Perhaps that's the point.

Either way, my bags are packed with silky, lacy treats from Vicki’s and I go to the airport in just a few short hours.
I’m looking forward to the weekend escape because that’s just what it will be. I just hope there's a cure for cancer at the end of this maze to make it all worth while!






Frankly,

'Shot' Through the Heart

So sorry for the silence this week! Half of my problem has been knowing where to start as there are just so many things going on! How do I choose what to write about?
Current topics on To-Write List:

1. Judgemental 'Friends' - Yes, twin, its coming!
2. My first trip to the porn store
3. How to survive in a healthy relationship when you don’t speak the language
4. Adventures in Breakups
5. How not to poke a rabid dog (because really, you don't know where it's been)
6. My Love affiar with...the Cherry Chocolate Phone

Well, let me start here dear reader with some quick notes:

After a tearful goodbye, the Russian returned to New Mexico yesterday afternoon. Yes, I said tearful and it wasn't just me. I must admit, there's something mighty surreal about a 30 year old, hockey playin', 6'7, former frat boy wiping a tear from the corner of his eye because he's going to miss you.

But fear not, he did not leave before being introduced subjected to the best of the best of the DC blogging scene. The impromptu happy hour took place on Friday where redheaded sluts and good times not to mention dirty girl scouts, were had by all. In attendance were Dupont and her man, Jersey, the fabulously sarcastic Hey Pretty, the Corona drinkin' Tex and Travel Girl with her entourage in tow along with many many others who maintain their fabulousness despite their non-blogger status (St. Pauly Girl & her boyfriend, XO, Philly and a colleague of his).

We breathed in and yes, we did inhale, the drama-free atmosphere as old friends caught up, new acquaintances were made and faces were put to posts. It was a lovely evening and one we have all agreed that we must encore in the near future. The Russian came through with flying colors and the enthusiastic approval of everyone INCLUDING the very discerning and selective HP!

I was described Friday as being not-myself, being instead becoming “uber-Scarlett”, “Scarlett-on-steroids”, “Scarlett to the n^th Degree” and “Sparkle Scarlett”. This led me to think, hmmm… if I'm all of a sudden 'so happy' and everyone is commenting on it, was I lacking in the cheerfulness department before?

I mean, yes, I'm a cynical smart ass. But a cheerful cynical smart ass! Have I become, dare I say, surly? Churlish,even? (How’s that for the 50 cent word of the day?) But my fears were alleviated after talking to Dupont who, in her little Yoda-like way said: "You weren't un-happy. You seemed very 'content' with your life. Very content being single and very comfortable with yourself. NOW, you seem happy"

Sigh. Happy.

Yes, I suppose I am. But its happiness tempered with, I must admit, a certain amount of uneasiness. This is not a conventional courtship by any means nor does the term ‘whirlwind romance’ even attempt do it justice. I suppose these murky relationship waters have taken on a pallor similar to that of the Potomac in no small part due to his impending, more than messy divorce or my own ongoing romantic saga with a tall man north of the border who said to me last night ‘I don’t know whether to cry, drink or throw myself off my balcony” at the mere suggestion that we TAKE A BREAK. I’m afraid the Canadian extraction will turn out to be a more painful and complicated endeavor than originally imagined.

But more thoughts on that later. Frankly, I’m in life drama overload and I’m sick of it already.

It's Rainin' Men = Emotional Clusterf*ck

The old saying “When it rains, it pours” has always rang true for me throughout my romantic endeavors. All I have ever needed to get a date, should I desire it, is another date and boom! It’s like someone sent out a f*cking press release to ever man I’ve ever met or will happen across in the recent future

– NEWS RELEASE – Scarlett is on a date! This is the PERFECT time to renew your acquaintance, speak to her on the metro, hit on her while she’s out or declare your undying love and affection if you haven’t already!

I’m not saying it’s more men than I can HANDLE mind you, just more than is typical of the Scarlett circle-o-romance.

I have decided against the FB relationship (on the sage advice of the blog-o-sphere). However, while he’s out of the running he refuses to get out of my inbox (tres annoying). The Canadian has been unusually amorous of late and for reasons already enumerated and yet to be addressed down in this post, dear reader, these attentions for which I’ve prayed are not entirely welcome at the present time. Nevertheless, he is planning a week down here at the end of the month. Whether it comes to fruition or not is anyone’s guess.

This past week I have also been asked out on the metro, asked out by a bartender and a bouncer in the same night….in the same bar (THAT was fun!), an ex called from out of the blue and most significantly…..I fell in love lust this week.

We shall call him The Russian. I’ve actually known him for years (eight to be exact). We went to college together, he was in my brother fraternity, a year or two ahead of me. We’ve always been friendly, enjoyed mutual friends, he dated one of my sorority sisters and while we were never exceedingly close by any means but found ourselves in many social situations in college (mostly social as he was a Physics major and so our academic paths never really crossed), but always enjoyed each other’s company. I always thought he was extremely attractive (textbook Scarlett type: tall, dark, smart, outgoing and handsome) but he was rarely single and so nothing but harmless flirtation ever took place. However, I do recall an incident involving a keg stand, jell-o shots and a mid-term paper (I’m a bit fuzzy on the details) in which we became a little friendly but it was really nothing to speak of.

So imagine my surprise and delight when a ‘New Friend Request’ (oh you know it – you know it well) popped up on my Myspace inbox sometime last year! After a few email exchanges I was delighted to learn that he was living out west, doing well, recently finished a stint in the air force and was happily married (ok so I wasn’t so delighted about that last tidbit of info but whatcha gonna do?).

But as luck would have it I received yet another email a few weeks ago letting me know that he was coming to DC for work this week and that he wanted to get together.

Well, kids, to make a long story brief and PG-13 friendly he got here on Friday and I met him for drinks with friends, more drinks with different friends Saturday (where I learned he was on the front end of a divorce…so sad), Sunday was Chinese food and a movie at my place, (all strictly platonic outings btw) Monday night was the BCS game at the page followed by a marathon of conversation until 4 a.m. when he kissed me or..maybe I kissed him – anyway there was kissing….and we stayed up the rest of the night…not…talking. Tuesday was divine exhaustion, an amazing dinner of Moroccan food while doing a lot of smiling, hand-holding and goofy looks (yes – we were THAT couple. I’ve NEVER been that couple and quite frankly, I HATE that couple). Tonight it will be oysters at Old Ebbit.

Yes, friends. Your dear Scarlett is in love lust, exhausted from averaging around 4 hours of sleep a night, grinning like she’s 16 and dating the captain of the football team, and has enough butterflies in her stomach to do…whatever it is that butterflies …do.

No, we’re not ‘together’ as he lives far far away and will be spending the next 6 months even farther away….in Vienna (where I will be going this spring at his invitation) not to mention that, well, technically and legally speaking he still has a WIFE. However, we’re just going to see what happens and until then – it will be, at the risk of sounding trite: The Best Week Ever!

As for the Canadian – I have no idea. And yes, it was very emotionally confusing to hear from him today as I was receiving ‘I miss you’ txts from the Russian. I’m trying to keep them as separate entities but if nothing else comes of this emotional clusterf*ck, I have realized a few things about the Canadian. Things that I want – that I don’t think he is either capable of or willing to give me. I thought these were things I could compromise on, things that were superfluous, things I was being too demanding to ask for.

But now, I realize that is not the case and that I need, want, and deserve verbal emotional confirmation – it need not be excessive, but It needs to be there. I need, want and deserve little public displays of affection – a hand held, a kiss hello, an arm around me. I need, want and deserve to be appreciated and told ‘please don’t ever change.’ ‘Tell me more about YOU – I’d like to get to know you as much as I can.’ ‘I thought about you all day’. Etc.

And where is the cynical Scarlett you know and love? Oh she’s alive an kickin, not to worry I’m not eloping this weekend, no Elivs Chapels 'O Love in my future…my eyes are wide open.

But I’ve let go. And frankly, I intend to enjoy the ride.