Long lost Valentines

This may be the most unoriginal phrase ever typed: Valentine's Day sucks when you are single.

I blame Valentine's Day, and all the hype about perfect gifts and romance for getting me thinking about past relationships. Even the Google doodle is tormenting us single folk.

Tonight I found myself thinking about old girlfriends, lost opportunities, past mistakes.

One woman in particular has been on my mind lately. While I have spend much of my dating life (when not single) in monogamous relationship -- at least the were monogamous as far as I knew -- there was one woman in my life who I think of as a lover, not a girlfriend. Perhaps that is because she was actually involved with someone else when we had our adventures. I never let myself think that a relationship was possible, even when she got to the point where she made it clear that is what she wanted with me.

So, I never intentionally put my heart into the relationship, but that is not to say I was not emotionally invested. The woman -- let's call her her Tracy -- and I shared an emotional intimacy I had never shared with a woman up to that point. We could talk about most anything. We shared fears and fantasies. We talked. Really talked.

Maybe that was because the relationship started as an online relationship. We talked on chat and on the phone long before we ever met. And for some reason, I find it much easier to confess my secrets at the keyboard rather than face-to-face.

One day, a few months ago, I got an email from Tracy out of the blue in honor of milestone. While we both moved on, long ago, it was great to hear from her. It seemed like old times. She asked a few questions in her message, and I wrote back. But there was no reply.

Blackness. A flash of bright light. Then blackness again. Only the lingering afterimage of the light remained, before fading away.

Things would not of worked with Tracy for many reasons, not least of which was that I was not ready. But I miss the friend. I miss the friendship. I miss the adventure and the daring taboo nature of it all.

I've been playing life safe for a while. Not sure I would recommend it. A crisis of confidence, perhaps. In love. In work. In play.

Valentine's Day is not for the timid of heart.

Yes, I miss Tracy. But perhaps as much as anything, I miss the me I was willing to be back then.

Scared of the water, yet dying of thirst

I'm not sure I'm equipped to be in the dating pool in 2010.

In reality, I'm not anywhere near the pool. I'm sort of outside the fence, looking in at the water and daydreaming about floating on the waves, while still being scared shitless to get dunked under and drown.

I know I'm way past the bar scene, where I'd be more likely to come away with a hangover than a phone number. Friends have suggested I try an online dating service. I did finally create a profile on one of the sites, but I'm not getting much out of it. But then I'm not putting much into it either. It doesn't seem significantly better than the bar scene, with everything based on a first, visual impression and a few lines of small talk.

I don't know what all the factors are that create attraction, those tangible and intangible things that spark that chemical reaction. It just doesn't feel like I'm going to find it in an online profile.

As my daughter would say, I'm a serial monogamist. I also hate (fear) rejection. If I'm going to run the risk of being shot down, I only seem to be able to put myself out there if I have already developed interest in a woman. That doesn't mean I need to be in love, but I have to have a pretty strong and persistent crush, so the drive to spent time with the object of my desire overpowers the flight reflex.

One side effect of my financial plight has been that my world has gotten pretty small. I've become a homebody in an effort to keep my dollars in my wallet, but it's not very conducive to making friends and meeting new people. I'm not sure I have the money to spend on a relationship anyway. Not that every night has to be fancy dinners and extravagant dates. I learned the hard way a few years back that you can't buy love. But it sure doesn't hurt either.

Gifts from the family

The family has returned from their holiday festivities and my pet-sitting duties have ended. I've turned over the leashes and am now left alone in my apartment. I think I'm going to miss the cuddly company.

Perhaps I read too much into it, but it was almost as if the critters knew our time was short today. The cats kept close to me today, taking turns napping on my lap or next to me on the couch. Or maybe they were just cold and taking advantage of my body heat. I choose to think they were sensing something unseen, like the way animals are reported to sense earthquakes before they are felt by people.

That's the wonderful thing about pets. Humans imbue them with emotions and characteristics that we hope they are displaying. I'm going to miss my furry friends until out next visit, no matter how long or short it may be.

It was also good to see my daughter today too, and hear about some of the things happening in her life. The details of boys, school, family and the events of Thanksgiving I missed out on.

I also got a bit of "payment" for my pet sitting. My daughter's mom and her partner gave me an extra TV they had that they don't really use anymore, so now I have access again to television, just in time for NFL football on Sunday! So, I may not have warm furry bodies to cuddle up with, but at least I have a new electronic companion for company.

The gift of time with my family's pets, my family and the generosity of the family leaves me feeling very warm on a chilly night. The calendar may have said Thursday was Thanksgiving. But for me, today I have even more reasons to be thankful.

Nurse, what a hairy face you have

I am beginning to feel like I'm finally on the mend. The cold or flu or whatever it was seems to finally be in retreat. I'm no longer living from dose to dose of cold medication. After days of getting by on the nourishment of one meal and glass after glass of orange juice and water, I am finally getting my appetite back.

I didn't exactly have a traditional Thanksgiving, but after days of not eating, the decadent bowl of chicken soup I consumed, and mounds of crackers, hit the spot quite well.

I also finally got some nursing care, so to speak. Actually, I ended up playing nurse for family pets. Because I was not up to traveling to a family gathering for the holiday, I got some company from my daughter's pets -- two dogs and three cats.

One of the cats, a rather elderly male, is suffering from diabetes and now requires insulin shots. So, after days of medicating myself, I also got to medicate a cat.

I hate needles, and even though the needle wasn't going into me, I felt ill-prepared, and a bit squeamish about sticking a needle in another living creature. But overall, the cat probably handled the whole ordeal with less stress and discomfort than I felt.

I wasn't too thrilled with playing nurse, but in reality I think I got more care than I gave. After spending the better part of several days wrapped up alone in bed, it was nice to have the company. With so many critters, they all took turns cuddling up to make me feel needed and loved and warm. And they are all pretty much lazy as hell, wanted to do not much more than nap all the time, so we got along famously.

They were a little hairier than the nurses I had envisioned, but I appreciated the cuddly pampering none the less.

I didn't mean to clean

Perhaps I managed to sleep through it for a while, but immediately upon waking this morning I noticed a high-pitched, mechanical "chirp" outside my bedroom door. The intermittent sound was the annoying call of a dead battery in the smoke detector.

OK, I admit I didn't do the whole safety thing that fire departments advise when you set your clocks for the time change, where you also change your smoke detector battery. Not this fall. Not earlier this spring. Not ever in this apartment. That battery has been in there since virtually my first day in this apartment more than two years ago. But I'll come back to that.

So, in my groggy first-awakening state, I made the most rational decision I could deduce at the time. I crawled back in bed and pulled the covers up over my ears. That definitely didn't solve the problem. The blanket did not block the sound. If anything it seemed as if the chirping was happening inside my scull. I thought briefly that if I had a thin stick, maybe I could go in through my ear and make that sound stop. Something prevented me from trying that, but it sure wasn't any form of rational, cognitive thought process.

So I got back up.

Maybe I should stop the sound at the source, rather than inside my head.

I decided to scavenge a battery out of my answering machine. I knew that battery was fresh because I just put it in there a few weeks ago after canceling voice mail service on my phone and dragging my old answering machine out of mothballs.

So, using a kitchen chair, I fumble around with the smoke detector and unfasten it from the ceiling mount. So far so good. But I can't get a very good look at it because the electrical wires running to it are still connected and keep me from pulling it down to eye level. I twist the thing around, scanning it from side to side, front to back, apparently looking for some big arrow or something or bold directions on how to open the thing. In my groggy state -- attributed to just waking up, cold medication hangover and the lingering effects of the bug that's been kicking my butt -- I see nothing. There is no way to open the damn thing. None.

So I put it back, climb down and wonder what to do next. So, I decide to call the apartment manager's office and see if they can send a maintenance person to either fix it or show me how to fix it. But of course when I call the office wasn't yet open, so I left a message on their answering machine/voice mail.

Then I look around the living room and kitchen and see evidence of my poor housekeeping skills strewn all about the room, spilling off the coffee table, overflowing the garbage can and collecting in the sink.

If company is coming, I need to tidy up, I thought, and set about doing just that. Obviously, I was still not fully awake, because when thoughts of house cleaning occur to my conscious mind, I sit down on the coach, put my feet up and wait until those thoughts pass. It usually only takes a few moments. Particularly if the TV is on and the remote is handy. But the TV is still broken, so my procrastination device of choice was not available.

So after an hour or so of tidying, I was content that the place no longer looked like a rat's next. Just a bachelor's apartment which hadn't been cleaned in a few weeks. The perfect look I was going for.

All that physical exertion, besides bringing on a coughing fit, also severed to wake my up and get my brain functioning. I remembered that when I first started moving stuff into the apartment the smoke detector was chirping. I told the office about it, since I figured it was their problem and something not working in my new apartment. But a day or two later, when I was moving in and planning to spend the night in the place for the first time, the detector was still chirping. I didn't remember how I figured out how to open the thing, but I knew I replaced the battery in there, because I remember the office staff telling me they still needed to send someone to check it out even though I told them they took to long and didn't need to send someone anymore.

So I knew it could be done. I knew I could do it, because I had done it before. So, being more fully awake, I took another crack and the annoying safety device in the hall. And this time, I could clearly see the battery cover door. But the door was blocked by the plastic housing the electric wires from the ceiling went into. Well, obviously, that housing must detach I thought. Where was that logic and reasoning skill an hour earlier, when I really needed it, before I was forced to clean! So, I squeezed the plastic housing on each side, and sure enough, the sized retracted and pulled free from the device. Then I was able to easily access the battery.

In a few minuted I had swapped out the battery and put the device back up on the ceiling.

This adventure proved a few of my long-held theories.

1. I am not a morning person.
2. My brain doesn't function correctly when I'm sick. In technical terms, it's know as feeling ooogie and blah, or having a brain cloud.
3. Housework really can be avoided if you are willing to work hard enough at it.

Well, I'm hoping the worse of the brain clouds, nasal congestion, coughing fits and other assorted ickiness, which need not be divulged here, are soon to be behind me (especially the undivulged ickiness).

Here's to hoping you are suffering no brain clouds or other ickiness for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving all.

Kid, can't you see I'm trying to be pissed off here?

I strongly suspect this cold I'm suffering through may be more than a cold. I fully expected to be getting better by today, which didn't happen. If anything, it may be getting worse. The hacking cough and raw throat are an added joy compounding the overall misery.

I have very little patience when I'm sick. I can be a very patient man, but times like these take it out of me. On my way home from work I swung by a bank to hit an ATM to get some cash for things like cold medication and food. When I pulled up to the drive-through ATM there was already a car sitting in front of the machine. I didn't think much about it, until I realized the attention of the chick in the car (yes, I said chick, get over it). was directed more toward her passenger seat than out the window.

So I started paying more attention to what was going on in front of me. After several moments I realized that she had not once had her hand out the window and in contact with the machine. As I caught a glimpse of her in her rear-view mirror, it looked like she had a cell phone cradled under her chin. Several more minutes passed before I could see her licking the sticky flap of a deposit envelop. Apparently whatever banking transaction she was conducting was exceedingly complex and took telephone instructions. Of course, my reaction was, "That's what the teller windows inside the bank are for BITCH!"

About that time, the cutest little girl pops her head up over the back seat and looks at me out the rear window of the car and smiles the most disarming smile.

I smiled back.

Cute kids do it to me every time.

I was tired, cranky, feeling awful and impatient. I wanted to be pissed at the person keeping me from getting potent cold medication. I was enjoying been angry! Then the cute kid smiled at me.

I really should not be allowed out among the public when I'm ill.

Wrapped in a comforter and still uncomfortable

Spending the weekend home alone and sick, without even a television for company makes me realize how much I rely on the television as a surrogate for socialization.

I didn't get to hang out with my regular Sunday friends like Terry, Howie and Jimmy and Bob, Cris, Al and John, not to mention Faith. And the day has not been complete since I didn't get to cap it by spending quality time with my Brothers & Sisters.

Today, my closest companions have been a glass of orange juice, a box of cold medicine and the comforter on my bed.

Cold comfort, that.

Nurse wanted: Inquire within

I'm coming down with a cold. I started the day feeling fine, but this one came on fast. And it's already feeling like it's going to be a nasty one. Hopefully, it's not the deadly one.

OK, maybe that's a bit melodramatic. But I get that way when I'm sick.

Most of the time I'm fairly well adapted to being single. Not that it's always great and not that I always like it, but I'm used to it. But there are times when I realize that as social creatures, people just aren't built to be alone. Sometimes we need someone to look after us, pamper us. Protect us. Reassure us. Reassure me that I will get better, served up on a silver try with a glass of juice to wash it down and a side of cold medication to clear the head. Oh, and tissues -- lots of them.

Sometimes you just need a woman in your life

I need to rent a wife. No, not for THAT, but if THAT was part of the package, I wouldn't object.

No, I need some new clothes, and I need a shopping consultant. OK, maybe I don't need to rent a wife, maybe I just need a stylist. But a stylist sounds so, well, so not me. OK, so I've never been married so, maybe having a wife, rented or otherwise, isn't me either.

But I could use some help in picking out some new clothes. as much as anything, I need someone to make me try on the clothes I'm shopping for and someone to give me a candid opinion if things don't fit correctly.

I know what types of clothes I like and want, I just hate shopping and take a lot of shortcuts in the shopping process, I may try on one pair of slack or one shirt and then grab other clothes the same size, even if they are made by a different manufacturer, which may mean they won't fit the same.

Also, something odd overcomes me when I'm in a fitting room. I tend to go with slacks that are too long. I think it comes down to a fear of getting slacks that are too short and I'll end up parading around like the floodwaters are about to flow over the tops of my shoes. Jeans that are a bit too long works OK. Slacks that drag on the ground -- not such a good look.

Of course, wearing thread-bare shirts with worn-out collars and cuffs is not a good look either. Fortunately, I take full advantage of casual Fridays and wear jeans one day a week because I don't have slacks to span 5 days.

It's time for new clothes.

Maybe I can post an ad a rent-a-wife on craigslist.

Nipples and other things exposed that people intended to be kept covered

You never know where you are going to see nipple.

I was standing at the bar on the edge of the dance floor at a wedding reception in a ballroom of a downtown Portland hotel when one popped out to say hello.

The nipple, in fact the entire breast, belonged to a young woman who had been dancing with her male companion. She was wearing a black dress with spaghetti straps, and she was apparently having a difficult time keeping the skinny straps atop her skinny shoulders where they could do their job holding the top of the dress up. The top of the dress was something of a halter style, with the fabric covering each breast divided by a plunging neckline.

The strap on her right shoulder made a break for it, diving toward the floor and taking the flap of fabric covering her right breast trailing behind it, leaving the breast and aforementioned nipple exposed in the subdued light of the ballroom. The woman's eyes got wide, and swept the area around her, including the eyes of her companion, to see if he or anyone else had noticed as she quickly pulled the strap back up onto her shoulder. I'm not sure if anyone else noticed and she didn't know that I saw as I was several feet away, separated by a few people who were talking and drinking, wrapped up in their own conversations.

I spotted the young woman several times throughout the evening, often on the dance floor. She seemed to spend a significant amount of her dancing time trying to keep the straps of her dress in place.

Obviously, I crashed the wedding that a wrote about in my Mayor of Dweebville post. And one of my regular readers, one of the few people I know who I've let in on the secret of my blog, was at the wedding as well. M made sure to give me a hard time about my ineptitude at handling the RSVP for her step-brother's wedding. And obviously she told at least one of her sisters about my blog post as well, as she brought it up at the reception too.

I briefly contemplated strangling M, except for two little details. One, we were in a hotel ballroom surrounded by a delegation of her rather large family and their friends. And two, her husband, who is also a regular reader, is a Marine Corps officer and undoubtedly has been trained in more ways to do away with an individual, and trained in using more weapons to accomplish that with, than I can even imagine.

So, I let her live. But as punishment, I made her dance with me at the reception.

That'll teach her!

But, all things considered, in spite of the brief exposure of my private parts, I was glad I crashed the wedding. I've been fortunate to spend time now at two weddings, a couple of holiday dinners, and one holiday party with this family, which was very much like my extended family as a child. I probably spent all most as much time at their house or with that family as I did my own as a child and young man. And at the wedding last night I got to see two more of the family members I had not seen in years -- the groom's sister and mother.

It's good to be with old friends. And if you get to see a little nipple, that's just a bonus!

Nipples
Wedding crasher
Blogging

A happy and gay new year

It wasn't how I pictured spending the start to the new year.

I didn't have any grand plans, but I knew I didn't want to sit home alone to celebrate the start of 2006. So I went out for a drink. While I was out at the bar I got a call from a friend at work. My friend from work was out with some people at another bar and if I was bored I should meet them there.

Well, I was indeed bored. So I set out looking for their bar I'd never heard of. All I knew was that it was near the Salem airport. So off I went. After driving all around and watching the New Year come and go, I still couldn't find the place, so I went home. I tried looking for the place in the phone book but still couldn't find it. So, I decided to try Google. And I found it. So between Google and Mapquest I found an address and directions. So I finally got to this bar in an industrial park near the Salem airport at about 12:30 a.m. Too late to celebrate the new year, but enough time to get a drink or two.

But when I walk into the front door. I notice something, um, different. For a little bit I can't quite put my finger on it. But then the difference starts to come into focus. There seems to be a lot of gay people here.

For whatever reason, I seem to have pretty good gaydar, not that it does me any good. By friend B from Palm Springs used to turn to me and our friend H when we were out somewhere whenever he saw a hot looking guy. B would ask us whether or not the guy was gay, because he couldn't tell. If the guy was attractive he wanted him to be gay, but that didn't necessarily mean he was gay. B always jokes that he has the Japanese beta version of gaydar.

Well, my gaydar was pinging like crazy, but I wasn't sure if it was the real thing or a false alarm. So, I pay the cover charge and go inside and walk up to the bar to get a beer. And a short while later I recognize a guy I know from work. So I get my beer and walk up and talk to him. Then a little while later, the other friend from work who called my cell phone earlier walks up. So at least there were two people in the place I know. A short time later I notice the unmistakable rainbow flag hanging on the wall. Yep, this is definitely a gay bar.

It certainly wasn't my first time in a gay club. I've been to one in Portland and to a couple of gay establishments in Palm Springs. So now I am 1,200 miles from Palm Springs and in a gay club and out on the dance floor with probably the most innocent young women I've ever met. It was a kick to watch her facial expressions as two gay men are grinding against each other on one side of us and two lesbian women and groping and grinding on the other side of us. She looks like she doesn't know whether to laugh or faint, and leaning severely toward fainting.

It was certainly not how I expected to ring in the new year. But then again, it was better than sitting home alone, if for no other reason that to see my friend's face while two guys not 4 feet away were sucking face.

Maybe if I had looked a little deeper into my Google search, I would have realized just where I was going when en route to the Southside Speakeasy in Salem.

New Year's Eve
Salem gay club

Holiday hangover

I hope everyone had a great holiday. I did. But I have to admit, while driving home last night, I found myself in a pretty melancholy mood. After a busy weekend with family and friends, the prospect of returning to an empty apartment was a bit overwhelming. It's probably a good think I didn't make a post last night, it might have been a real downer and not a true reflection of the nice Christmas holiday I was fortunate to enjoy. It's also a good thing that the mini-market I planned to stop at on my way home was closed as well, because booze would not have been good in that state of mind.

There are just some times when you don't want to be alone.

That said, I can't feel too sorry for myself. I was very fortunate to spend the better part of three days with friends and family, even if it required criss-crossing the northern tier of Oregon on consecutive days. I got to spend time with my parents, my 91-year-old grandmother, my two brothers, my daughter and part of her family. I got fed two amazing Christmas meals, and I got to spend Friday night with some old and dear friends.

It was a good Christmas. But what surprised me what that it was also a tougher Christmas than I expected. I kept getting bombarded by memories of my ex all throughout the season, and over the weekend in particular. I wasn't expected that. After all, this was the second holiday I've spend as a newly single man. I knew last Christmas would be tough, but I didn't expect to be assaulted by so many memories this year. I thought I was over the worst of it. And I suppose I am. But please, dear God, remind me if I ever do something as crazy as asking a woman to marry me again, give me the good sense to do it on a date not tied to some other holiday. No Christmas or Valentines or Independence Day engagement.

I friend of mine who has a Christmas Eve birthday was hoping to get an engagement ring this holiday. I don't know if she got it or not, but I sort of hope she didn't. I don't say that because I wish her and her beau ill. I just think that, based on my own experience, I would wish that her engagement, if it is indeed coming, would be its own occasion with it's own special date to celebrate. And if, God forbid, the engagement or marriage doesn't work out, her birthday or Christmas would not then be an ongoing reminder of that heartbreak. And if it did work out, then there is another special date on the calendar each year for them to remember and celebrate as a couple.

As for me, I'm looking forward to putting 2005 behind me. It's been a big year, full of major life changes. Certainly enough for one year. I'm ready for a new year and a new start. New Year's Day is easily my favorite holiday. It's a day full of promise, possibility hope and anticipation.

I also have a confession when it comes to this blog. For those of you who have been reading this site for a while, perhaps you've already been able to tell. But I've been holding back on the things that I write here.

Perhaps my reason for doing this is unjustified paranoia. But I've had this feeling that someone who knows me here in Salem has discovered, or may discover this site, and that has made me uncomfortable. I have grown afraid to say too much, so I've found myself not saying much of anything at all of late. I'm not happy with that, but I have not yet decided what to do about that. I've entertained thoughts of abandoning this site and starting over. I've debated whether to stop blogging all together. Neither prospect appeals to me very much. But I do know this, for the last year this site as been something akin to self-therapy and a bit of a creative outlet. It has also been something of a tool for social interaction as well, with some close friends having access to this URL and a few friendly strangers stopping in from time to time to share a thought or a word. And that interaction has been welcomed and appreciated.

Where I go from here I don't know. But for now I don't plan to abandon this site. However, I will let those of you who may care know if something changes.

Holidays
Blogging

Now that's ironic

Earlier this week, I wrote a post entitled "Leaving Las Vegas," and now I just got done watching the movie by the same title. It was perhaps not the best movie to watch in my current frame of mind.

"Leaving Las Vegas" has to be one of the most tortured love stories every filmed. It's truly beautiful cinema and painful to experience at the same time. The movie and I have a bit of a dark history. It reminds me of some of the best and worst times of my life. And this is probably about only the second or third time I've ever seen it, even though I own it on DVD.

On the positive side, it is a beautifully shot and acted film. And Elisabeth Shue reminds me of a girlfriend from college -- similar facial features, figure, it's almost uncanny the resemblance. And Vegas is certainly a favorite place.

But on the negative side, it's a very dark story and perhaps not the best piece of cinema to watch when drinking your third glass of Oro Azul reposado tequila of the evening, given the fact that Nicolas Cage plays an alcoholic bent of drinking himself to death.

I think when I watch the movie before I felt sorry for Cage's character. Why couldn't he see the love Shue's character had for him? Why couldn't he pull himself out of his fatal dive and appreciate the person who was right in front of him. But after this viewing, I felt most sorry for Shue's character. So lonely. Just wanting someone to be with. Someone to love and care for. Men treat her so badly throughout the film and yet she years for that closeness and compassion of another.

Sometimes you just want to crawl into bed and have someone hold you, or have someone to hold. I simple thing, sometimes so hard to find.

M*A*S*H reruns may have been a better choice for viewing tonight.

Movies

Seize the day

There was a woman in my bed.

This is not an everyday thing. I had been single again for nearly 16 months, sleeping alone and frankly that solitude, once a cruel necessity, had become a nagging annoyance.

It’s been a fucking long time since there was a woman in my bed. Well, there was my mother when she came to visit me a few months ago. But this was not the same.

The woman in my bed was a woman I’ve had sex with before.

Now, if I learned anything from the movie “Dead Poet’s Society” it’s the Latin phrase carpe diem, which – if you haven’t studied Latin, or seen the movie, or spent time with a snooty hedonist – means seize the day.

Was this it? Was this the time?

As S headed toward the bedroom, I hung back on the couch under the auspices of watching the CNN coverage of Hurricane Rita, which was at that hour making landfall on the Texas/Louisiana coast.

Should I join her?

No words had been spoken about it. No implicit invitation. But I knew that I would not be turned away. Carpe-fuckin’-diem buddy boy!

Not that that was necessarily any indication there would be sex. My guest and I had found ourselves in the same bed several times before and the last several occasions were mostly, if not completely, innocent.

The last time was in Palm Springs several summers ago. S was traveling on business in Southern California and detoured to Palm Springs for a couple of days – and nights.

And it was hot as fuck. Too hot for covers or pajamas even. So S stripped naked. And since I normally slept naked when I was not sharing my bed, I thought “this could be much more fun than being naked in bed alone.” So I shucked my shorts and demurely slid under the covers. It was too damn hot to cuddle or even touch when we went to bed, but by the time morning arrived it was much cooler and I cuddled up to her naked back, wondering if she could detect my obvious arousal.

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t seize the arousal. And I didn’t carpe diem either. And all too soon she was heading back to L.A. for a return flight to Oregon.

And life went on.

I don’t know how you describe a relationship like that. Do friends share a bed? Do people in platonic relationships share their nudity? And why didn’t we become lovers again, even if only for a brief moment or two.

S and I have each wanted to pursue a relationship with each other at different times, but to no avail. We are victims of our own bad timing. When we met, I was living with a woman in a doomed relationship. S undoubtedly played a part in me realizing that merely existing with someone in a relationship was not living. By the time I ended the relationship and my former girlfriend moved out and moved on, I had been offered and accepted a job in California.

S and I had a brief, passionate fling before I abandoned her and my home state for the Golden State. Several months later S and I met up for a passionate holiday weekend in Las Vegas. But I fell in love with the California desert, and she loved the Oregon Coast and we couldn’t figure out how to melt the miles. We were still pursuing our individual, and separate, professional and personal dreams and our desire for each other just didn't fit in those plans.

I stopped to see her a couple times on return trips to Oregon and she made a couple of trips to California for business, but the sexual part of our relationship was over.

So, how did she end up in my bed last weekend?

Since my return to Oregon there have beed a few e-mails, a few phone calls. And I had a pair of tickets to a concert and needed – wanted – a date. So I asked S. She lives several hours away from Salem, so she drove up here Friday. We had dinner then went to the show in Portland before returning to Salem. Of course she could and would stay. It was far too late to even think about letting her head back. And I am not about to make a guest sleep on an air mattress or the couch.

So, she was in my bed. Waiting.

And I fell asleep on the couch.

S came out about 7 a.m. to see where I was and why the TV was still on. We chatted for a bit. But it was far too early in the morning and we had been up far to late for either of us to be ready to start the day yet. S said she was going back to bed. I turned off the TV and the lights. And I followed her.

She was already under the covers when I climbed into the empty side of the bed, wearing my new “lounge wear” pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. When my arm came to rest against the curve of S’s back, it was readily apparent that her shirt was missing.

Talk about having a hard time drifting off to sleep. It’s amazing how a nearly nude woman lying by your side can be such a distraction to the mind.

I eventually did doze off, but somewhere in the haze of the half-dreaming state, I felt S shifting beside me. And she took my arm and wrapped in around her. My arm draped over the warm flesh of her bare midriff.

When I awoke later, we had shifted positions somehow, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, my arm draped over her shoulder and wrapped lightly around her back. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

I woke up around 10 a.m. S was still sleeping. I quietly made my exit and returned to the living room, letting her sleep. She emerged a while later, her formerly bare skin now covered. We shared a comforter on the couch for a while before heeding those primal urges – for a hot shower and for food.

I’m sure men and women probably have different views on what happened or didn’t happen. In my head and heart, nothing happened. It was all innocent. Perhaps more intimate that most friendships, but nothing I felt ashamed of doing.

But there is one person, the person I tell everything to, who I hadn’t shared these details with – until last night. And that woman is the reason that nothing happened. She’s the reason I did not seize the day.

I made her a promise.

D and I have known each other a long time, and I’ve turned my back on our friendship, our long-distance relationship, a couple of times to pursue other relationships in the last seven years. But I made a promise to her and to myself. Actually, we promised each other that we would finally seize the day and find a way – check that, create a way – to get together.

We’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer.

S and I have had our chances. And I am glad she is still a friend. I sense that she may be willing to try again. I supposed I entertained that notion too not long ago. But the requisite spark is not there.

But for those few hours it felt good to share time and space with someone. It felt good to share my bed, to offer a shoulder to sleep on. It felt right and normal and nice.

It wasn’t the right someone. It wasn’t the right day.

Dating
Relationships
Single life

Covered in cat fur and sweat

Tonight after work I'm going up to the big city of Portland for some excitement!

That's right ladies and gentlemen, it's going to be a hot time in Stump Town to be sure. The wild and wacking activity for the weekend is, you guessed it, pet sitting.

My daughter and her mom are out of town, so I have been suckered, I mean talked into, house sitting and taking care of two dogs and four cats for 48 hours.

Why do people have that many pets? Shear insanity I swear.

But I might sneak out of the house for some R&R of my own. And if I can fit it in (and their computer isn't locked down) I might even log on and make a blog post or two.

... And to steal a page from the Monty Python troupe's book... now for something completely different.

"I'm gonna smile my best smile
And I'm gonna laugh like it's goin' out of style
Look into her eyes and pray that she don't see
That learning to live again is killing me"

"Learning To Live Again"
by Stephanie Davis and Don Schlitz from Garth Brooks' 1992 album "The Chase"

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I had a pretty major breakup a little over a year ago. In all that time I really haven't been much interested in getting back on the horse as they say. I've just been content to get my career back on track and then had a major job change and a move to a new city, state and job.

To be honest, there haven't been many prospects for dating anyway. There is one very special woman that I spend a fair amount of my free time chatting with, on the phone or online, but she and I are still separated by a couple of time zones and half to two-thirds of the American mainland. I thought we were finally going to get a chance to get together this summer, but the summer is rapidly slipping away, so who knows when we might get our priorities and schedules aligned.

And I haven't met someone I want to date either. But I can tell that something has changed. I've changed.

I've started looking again.

The realization hit me today (or I should say yesterday). A woman who works in the office of, um, let's just say an elected official, visited me at my office Thursday as a representative of her boss. Just in the neighborhood, touching base with constituents, and stopped in to see if her office could do anything for my office. My boss was out of town, so I was asked to take the meeting.

When the young woman arrived and I escort her back to my office and we sat at a small table and chatted. During the conversation I caught myself looking at her left hand to see if she was wearing a ring.

There was no overt intent to be anything but professional. I hope she didn't notice that, or the fact that beads of sweat were building up on my forehead shortly after we sat down to talk. For some reason the temperature in my office, which was perfectly comfortable before she arrived, shot up to what seemed like 80-plus degrees.

I'm such a geek.

So, even if I wanted to date, I probably couldn't pull it off. And then of course, there is the whole meeting a woman in a town where I hardly know a soul, which would then be followed by working up the courage to ask a woman out on date.

For much of the last year, I haven't been the slightest bit interested in plunging into a new relationship. Oh, sure, I would have gone for tawdry, no-commitment sex, but just how often do those opportunities come about? And if they do come about regularly for you, please share your secret.

But there are signs that I'm coming around to appreciating the fairer sex again. I'm not a no-strings guy, as much as my libido might like that. I'm a one-woman man. I can't help it (damn it anyway). And, from what I'm starting to notice there are a few women around, even here in Salem, although I'm surprised at the seemingly high proportion of them who have no teeth. Come on people, if you go out in public at least wear your dentures. Is that too much to ask?

The woman who visited my office today had teeth. And a sharp mind. And sparkling eyes. And a ringless ring finger on her left hand.

Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

Weekend
Women
Learning to live again

Liquid guilt

It's raining.

Again.

In Palm Springs.

This is definitely the wettest winter I've spent here, and this is the sixth one in the Coachella Valley for me. Although it does remind me of another wet El Niño year I spent up in the high desert.

But I'm tired of the rain this year, in spite of how green the hills and mountains are and the explosion of wildflowers that is beginning here.

The rain makes me feel guilty.

My roof leaks when it rains. Right near one of the fire sprinkler outlets in the hall outside my bedroom. I need to tell the landlord about the leak, but (and here is where the guilt comes in) my apartment is, um, well, it's a mess. And I would be embarrassed for the manager or maintenance guy or whomever to see that. So I need to clean before I call the manager.

I'm a terrible housekeeper. I have a high tolerance for clutter and a lack of skills, and interest, in household chores. Every time I start to clean I get distracted. I stop part way through. My attention wanes. I find something else to occupy my time and my mind. I procrastinate.

It might explain why I'm still single. Can't invite hot chicks over to the swinging bachelor pad with piles of newspapers scattered about. Stacks of mail cluttering the counters.

Yuck.

OK, maybe I'll tidy up a bit before bed. But I feel a cold coming on. Maybe it's best to rest now and clean in the morning. Yea, that's the ticket. And I'll have more energy too.

Unless I'm sicker tomorrow.

Weather
Palm Springs
Housework

Never a naked woman around when you need one...

Just a quick post this early AM, since I can't write about the weather for fear of getting hate mail from ak. And I've been working too many hours, so my brain has turned to mush. Nothing clever or insightful in there. Nope. Just a big glob of goop.

But I was on the site, doing a little housekeeping. You know, adding some new links for some blogs I've been scoping out, and adding a few other links to my 100 things list. Why? Because I'm a geek, and there was not a naked woman waiting on the couch for me after work. So, what else did I have to do?

Of course, I'm not sure what I'd do if there was a naked woman waiting for me on the couch. I'd probably:
A) Check the number on the door to see if I was in the right apartment.
B) Stare! You know, that bug-eyed, open mouth, drool on your shoes stare that always impresses naked women on couches.
C) Pop a chubby and then pass out from the rapid flow of blood from my brain.
D) Giggle, laugh, snort, cough, choke, puke.
E) Oh look! Panda Express chow mein.
F) Trip over the table en route to touch the boobies!
G) Headbutt the hot chick because of the stumble.
H) Pass out.
I) Wake up with a head ache and a chubby thinking it had all be a wonderful, horrible, tragic dream.
J) Never speak of it to anyone.