Flashbacks

"You're so pretty," he said. And he meant it. I could tell by the look in his eyes, he really did mean it.

I blushed. I could feel it happening. And I closed my eyes and tucked my face into his hand, and shyly smiled, eventually looking back up into his eyes.

"No, you really are," he said. "And the thing is," he continued, "you have absolutely no idea how attractive you really are....which just makes you all the more attractive."

We kissed. A long, deep kiss.

It's ironic that the thing that jogged this memory from more than a decade ago, was an advice column in which a woman admitted that altho she had been with her now ex-boyfriend for a year, he had never once told her she was pretty or beautiful or even attractive.

I felt sad for her.

What woman doesn't want to be told by the man she's in love with that he finds her pretty, or beautiful?

While my failed relationship left me with a multitude of emotions, many of them bad, there were also alot of good memories. Especially the memories of when he was totally enamored of me and told me often how he felt, that I was beautiful, that he loved me, and we shared our ultimate hopes and dreams.

God, I loved him! I really, really did. I thought he was The One! And even as our relationship started its downward spiral, I still truly believed that in the end, things would work out and that we would be forever together.

But it wasn't meant to be.

(I still remember how he used to hate when I'd start a statement with the word "But". lol)

There's no chance of us ever getting back together. The last time we were together, the night things ended, was awful and heartbreaking. And despite the good memories I have of him and our time together, that last nite overshadows them all.

I can't think of him now without remembering that nite; how he told me he wouldn't consider trying a long distance relationship; how he wanted and needed a clean break; how he didn't have time for the relationship any more -- he had other things to worry about -- like his upcoming move and in addition to that, how that move was going to be stressful on his dog. (yeah, he really said that). The dog meant more than me. I had my answers.

It ended with me sobbing uncontrollably for what seemed like a lifetime, and him, sitting on the couch with cold, distant eyes, not saying a word. How when I left, his last words to me were to ask if I could shut off the downstairs light and lock the door! Seriously. And ya know what? I did! I actually did.

I've recently learned that he is still living in the city he relocated to all those years ago. He's married now, with kids.

And, truth be told, it probably is better that things didn't work out between us. I like who I am today and had we ended up together, I know for sure that I'd be a totally different person. And I don't know if I would like that person.

I like who I am now. I'm grateful for the experiences that I had because of our failed relationship. I reached out, made some great friends, traveled. Faced some demons. Proved to myself and to others through a revved up career focus and attitude that I had gumption and could succeed all on my own.

Still.....the path not taken.........

None of us ever really know the path that Life is going to take us down. Even when we plan or assume, Life is always there, ready to throw a wrench into even the most carefully laid out plans.
I used to dread the flashbacks I had of my relationship with M. They tended to be a reminder of loss. Of a way things used to be. And I'd always end up in tears.

Now, I don't look at them the same way.

The experience, while heartbreaking, made me stronger. More self-sufficient, while also showing me that I had friends who would rally around me when I needed them most.

(That's another post -- how friends who had faded into the background when I was with him and didn't need them and didn't really interact with them all that much, rallied around me once they learned what had happened.)

My memories, while sometimes debillitatingly sad, are also heartening because I was able to pull myself up by the bootstraps, eventually, and move forward in leaps and bounds.

I can't help but think that M would be proud. Quite honestly, I don't believe he thought I had it in me. But I did!

So now, I can look back on the relationship with some bittersweet memories, as well as some triumphant and tender ones.

Still, I wish things had ended differently.

After all this time, some 13 years later, and despite everything that happened, I still miss him. A part of me still wants his approval. I wish we could have ended things as friends, but that was his choice, not mine.

Maybe it was for the best; maybe not.

Had things ended differently, they would have been alot less painful, and I'd be able to think about him, about us, without that last, painful memory always surfacing and being the last thing I think about when I do think about him.

Unfortunately, that is not the case and my memores are what they are. I can't change them and besides, they're now part of the fabric of my life; a big part of who I am; who I've become. And that is something I wouldn't want to change.

Midnight Cravings

Okay, so it's not quite midnight, but the smells coming from my downstairs neighbor's apartment are downright intoxicating!

I'm an adventurous eater. I love just about all cuisines -- Thai, Japanese, Indian, Mexican, Greek, etc. My palate is a venerable United Nations!!!

So tonite, as I sat in my apartment -- reading, listening to music, surfing -- I didn't anticipate the smells that would be coming from my downstair's neighbor's apartment.

Up until now, he had been a quiet guy. Friendly enough, but never seemed to cook. Much like my next door neighbor, who is a single lawyer and obviously eats all his meals out.

Anyway, about two weeks ago, downstairs neighbor was nowhere to be seen. Rumor had it he had returned to India to take a wife. A pre-arranged marriage. Well, he has returned and there is definitely a female presence.

I now hear a woman's voice when I pass by their open window, and now, there is more activity and more cooking.

Tonite, there are smells emanating from their apartment that almost make me want to go downstairs and ask exactly what they are cooking and if I can have a taste. First, their was the aroma of seared beef, now, a smell of burnt soy sauce, which may sound gross, but actually smells reallly, really good!

And, it is not dissipating, nor getting stronger. It is simply remaining. And, it smells delicious!

That is part of what I like about living in the complex that I do. There is a variety of lifestyles and nationalities. For some reason, the aparment below me always seems to end up being middle eastern -- and their cooking gives me a glimpse into their lives.

The guy who lived their before was Saudi, and the cooking smells were always spicy - and filled with the intoxicating scent of curry and cumin and seared vegetables being stir-fried with the skins on.

Now, there is a guy who hails from India and recently married, and altho I still get the smells of seared onion and ground beef, I get both curry and a burnt sweet smell that makes me salivate!

Since he brought his wife home, he has kept a low profile, but I hope to get to know him better (and get some of his new wife's recipes!)

Weirdest Date EVER!

Okay, so last Friday I had a second date with a guy I had first met two years ago online. The initial meeting went well, except for the end of the date; as we left the restaurant and stepped outside, he stopped dead in his tracks.

I asked him where he was parked; he asked where I was parked. So, I assumed he was going to walk me to my car. Well, he then said he was actually parked behind the restaurant, in the total opposite direction and then started walking that way.

I thanked him for dinner, and went to my car. Well, when I got back to my car, I didn't immediately pull out -- it was cold so I opted to wait for a minute or two to let my car warm up. Well, less than a minute after starting the car, the guy appears in front of my car. No, he wasn't stalking or following me -- he was parked directly in front of my car. Totally lied about being parked behind the building.

Feeling brazen, I rolled my window down and called to him, "hey, I thought you said you were parked out back..." He said nothing. Had the deer in headlights look, shrugged and quickly got into his car.

A couple of days later he emailed to say that he had had a nice time, but had recently met another woman a week or two before meeting me and was opting to pursue a relationship with her. However, if things didn't work out, he'd still be interested in then seeing me again.

UGH. I never replied.

Since then, I had seen him out at different social events, at bars, etc. and always said hello, was pleasant.

A week ago, he asks me out again. I agree and we meet for drinks. Well, drinks turn to dinner, which turns to an after-dinner drink and the date ended up lasting 5 hours. And we had a nice time. I wasn't crazy about him, but liked him enough to spend that much time with him and as the date was ending, I was thinking, hmmm -- no major fireworks, but I do kind of like him, so if he says something about getting together again, I'd be interested.

So we leave -- and the same damn thing happens again. As soon as we get to the parking lot, he freezes, and so I say, "well, I'm parked just over here -- that's my car there." He says, "Oh, okay." And that's it. So I ask where he's parked, he says across the street. Deja Vu!

I don't question it, I simply thank him again for dinner, gave him a quick hug, and go to my car. Within 30 seconds, I'm pulling out of the lot -- but here's the rub. As I am pulling out, there is no sign of him - he totally disappeared; I don't see him walking through the parking lot or out of the lot's exit and as I exit the parking lot, there are absolutely no cars parked across the street from the restaurant.

WTF?!? I couldn't believe he would pull the same thing again. I mean, okay. I didn't even care that he didn't walk me to my car; but why lie about where you're parked? Why not just say good nite and simply go walk to your car then.

Next day, I text another thank you, curious to see what he would do. He responds quickly and says he had a nice time. Maybe we could do it again sometime. I say sure.

This week, I get an email from him -- telling me, in detail, about how he injured his foot the day after our date, and his doctor visits and antibiotic, etc. REALLY?!? Seriously.

Then, I get another email -- So, how've you been?

I swear -- I am a weirdo magnet.

This guy is 50 years old. He's not a teenager on his first date, or a college guy still not experienced in dating and protocol. And this is how he acts.

I mean, even dates that were disasters, with both of us knowing before leaving that we wouldn't be meeting again --- even then, those guys either still walked me at least part-way, if not all the way to my car, or said goodbye and simply walked to theirs.

There was no lying about where they were parked and quickly loping out of my view.

And to do it a second time!

I definitely have to write that book about my dating experiences that I keep telling my friends I'm going to write one day.

I Am FAT!

OMG!

There is no denying it. I am officially fat.

I have been in denial for quite some time now. I always blamed it on the camera angle, or the fact that the camera adds 10 pounds. Or the fact that I have always photographed horribly.

But I can't deny it any longer.

I am FAT!

I can't deny it because I can FEEL it, dammit!

A couple of weeks ago I was at a birthday party. There was dancing and while for most of the night I refrained from dancing at one point the DJ played "I will survive." A song I love. A song I almost always dance to. My cousin's girlfriend was there -- a wisp of a girl and she skipped out onto the dance floor. My other cousin and I followed.

I anticipated having fun....but as I started to bounce and sway to the music I felt as if I were in a body that was not at all mine.

Yes, it had been that long since I danced. But as I did my best to hold my own, dancing to the rhythm of the song, I felt as if I were in a body that was not mine. OMG! how I hope no one caught it on video! I felt clumsy and awkward. I felt out of tune, out of rhythm and like a fish flopping on dry land.

Ten years ago, I could have given my cousin's 20-something girlfriend a run for her money -- even though I was much older than her. Now, I felt like Shamu, a tired, beached Shamu, trying fruitlessly to show my power and my grace.

I made it through the dance and was 'oh so grateful' when the DJ then decided to play an old, slow-dancing song.

A chance for this overweight single gal to go back to her seat, catch her breath and take a few sips of her vodka and tonic.

But as I left that evening, I resolved to make a change. I had to lose the weight. I had to get back in shape. Because I wasn't happy as I am. The realization hit me. I didn't want to be the happy, fat, single girl.

I miss my old body (never thought I'd be saying that). But when I look at old pics of myself, at times when I thought I was fat, I realize now, how fabulous I really looked!

I want that girl back. Granted, I wouldn't want to exchange the experiences -- I want the 'old girl' back with my current wisdom and knowledge, but with the old girl's body and drive.

And I realize I can actually, now, have that, albeit with some work.

My God!!! In my 20's, when I didn't need to, I went to the gym 4 or 5 times a week; I did a skincare regimen, I took care of myself. Now, nada!

Not sure how or why all that fell by the wayside. But, no matter ...... this one night, where I got up to dance and felt like I was in someone else's body...it made me realize.... on some level I am NOT being true to myself. And, most importantly, even tho I didn't realize it until now...I am paying the price in a variety of ways -- my health, my self-esteem, my potential.

No more.

From here on in I am officially turning over a new leaf -- and going back to that high-maintenance girl I used to be.

Longing To Be Held

I woke up this morning from a dream in which I was being held in an unknown and faceless lover's arms.

It was so vivid that it actually felt real, and even though as I woke, I knew I would be alone, a part of me half-expected to be with someone.

Who that someone would be is anybody's guess. I haven't even had a date in over a year, let alone someone in my bed. But the feeling was nice and got me to longing in a way I haven't for quite some time.

See, I'm one of those girls who are totally okay with being single and alone. I'm blessed with a close, tight-knit, albeit perpetually frustrating family; a job I love and that fulfills me; and great friends who comprise the foundation of my social life who I do a wide variety of things with -- from book clubs to happy hours to concerts and lectures and movies.

I'm also very picky when it comes to being interested in a man, and I'll admit, there is a part of me that I guess is a relationship-phobe. My current life is comfortable, happy, predictable, simple and I like it. Relationships on the other hand, can be complex, gut-wrenching and infuriatingly frustrating at times.

So even when I do find myself missing a man's presence, and let's be honest, the sex -- it usually passes, sometimes via a few cocktails and commiserating phone call with a friend in similar circumstances, or I get through it myself.

This morning was different. After awakening, I wanted to immediately plunge myself back into a deeper sleep, so I could enjoy being held a few minutes more.

That wasn't happening. I spent an additional 10 or 15 minutes lazily lounging in bed, arms wrapped around my pillow, letting myself slowly wake up and daydreaming about several past boyfriends and lovers and the ways they had held me -- in bed, lounging on a couch, while hugging.

Sad? Maybe. Would I have prefered a pair of real, male arms at that moment? Definitely.

But I'm a realist. Wasn't gonna happen, and allowing myself to wallow and get depressed would only ruin a gorgeous spring day, which so far, I am thoroughly enjoying. So I lolly-gagged in bed awhile, then got up and did my normal Sunday routine -- pot of coffee, the paper, big breakfast.

Yet, even as I sit here blogging, a month after starting my clean slate here and my broken vow to blog much more frequently, I'm still thinking about waking up hours ago, feeling as though I was being held, and the fact that during that dream, I was soooo loving it!

Perhaps it's a feeling of long and deeply buried loss finally making it to the forefront of my mind; maybe it was the final scene in a movie I had watched the night before; or maybe a premonition of things to come?

Or, more realistically, maybe it's my subconcious telling me that I'm finally at a point in my life where I'm ready to accept a relationship, a commitment; at a point where I'd actually get more enjoyment from one, than fear or upset.....

Starting Over

Can't believe five years have passed since I started this blog. Can't believe I was so bad at the blogging!

But now, my desire to write on a regular basis is renewed and so, I'm starting over again. Hoping that this time, I'll stick with it, because, see, writing full-time is what I really want to be doing with my life.

Years ago, I had worked in newspapers as a reporter. Eventually, though, I got tired of the late nite shifts, low paycheck and the management changes taking place where I worked, so I jumped ship and took a 9 to 5 job with a non-profit that actually did pay more and allowed me to use a variety of my skills -- writing, love of outdoors, and public speaking skills.

Now, I want to write that book -- not just start books, or write a couple chapters or outline characters that I hope to one day include in a novel -- seriously write something worthwhile, shop it around and have it published.

So, I'm starting with this blog. I'm encouraged by the women recently who followed their passions, started with a blog, and realized big-time dreams and success. I'm talking about Julie Powell, Stephanie Klein, Jen Lancaster.

While I totally do not consider myself in their league -- they have proven that all you have to do is start something and stick with it, doing it for yourself first. And hopefully, if you keep at it, success will follow, along with being able to live your ultimate dream, not just keep dreaming about it.

Of course, I don't have their courage; I will remain anonymous.

For me, that is the only way I can truly write honestly and without inhibition. While I'm not one who particularly cares what others think of me, I do care about those closest to me, and wouldn't want to cause them any undue hurt or embarrassment or harm.

I also fear that if I were to reveal myself either by name or with a photo, I would find myself editing what I wrote, which would defeat the purpose of my newfound need to blog.

So, from here on out -- I'm starting over --and will be blogging regularly on just what my blog promises -- random musings, observations, feelings, the trials and tribulations of a single, 40-something.

If anyone out there is reading, I hope you enjoy.