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.

Blasted by the past

I had the strangest emotional reaction today. I followed a link on Twitter that led be to a website where I saw a name I recognized. The name was the husband of woman I dated in college. So I decided to read what he wrote.

It was a poem. In it, he made a reference to sex. Of course I assumed the reference was to his wife. And what I felt shocked me. I felt a pang of jealousy.

How could that be? Of course this woman was very important to me back in college. She was, I now know, my first love. She was my first really serious relationship. But that was 20 years ago.

Why would I feel jealousy now, after all these years? I haven't even scene her in probably a dozen years. It didn't make sense.

But then, feelings don't subscribe to logic.

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

Girls, Girls, Girls!

OK, so there were a grand total of three girls, but they were all wearing bikinis and I was in their midst. Now this is what living in California was supposed to be about! Sunshine, swimming pools and lots of exposed skin.

Of course, I mostly sat on my lounge chair reading a newspaper and trying to be cool about the fact that I was hanging out on the pool deck with three woman in bikinis. And it was important to be very cool, because two of the women in question were with guys who were more than capable of pummeling the crap out of me or holding my head underwater until I had not choice but to find out whether I have gills.

Oh yea, I was cool.

OK, I am not cool. I'm a dweeb. I would say dork, but Heather B. Armstrong has turned the use of that word into a high art. So, I was too dorky to even be a dork. I was dweebie. And the dweebiest part of all is I'm still all smiley about it.

I went out to the pool Sunday afternoon to catch some sun and just enjoy the day. Now, ordinarily, I am not the type of person to use the pool area if other people are there. I'm just far too self conscious for that. But yesterday was different somehow. Maybe it was the after effects of the tequila from Saturday, but I was feeling BOLD! Translation: The G-man's bold is only slightly less timid than a lamb at a coyote convention.

There were two young couples at the pool. Or I assumed they were couples. There was this whole boy-girl, boy-girl thing going on, but the guys were totally not drooling over the ladies in their skimpy swimwear. So maybe they weren't couples. Either that, or they were married. Sometimes it's tough to tell when people virtually ignore each other.

Anyway, I sat up camp in a lounge chair a good ways away on the pool deck and proceeded to read the newspaper.

Now, who the fuck reads a newspaper at a swimming pool? Well, a dweeb does, that's who. I just cannot lay out in the sun. I go stark raving mad in about 5 minutes. I need something to read, I need my portable CD player. I need something to keep my mind off the fact that I'm just laying out in the sun.

So anyway, I'm reading my paper and a short time later a young woman -- a third woman who materialized out of nowhere -- walks up to me and asks if anyone is using the chair next to me. But my mind did not actually register the words. I am not used to women walking up to me and starting a conversation, at least not unless they have to, like in the workplace. At work, I can talk to the fairer sex. Out in the wild, I mostly drool on my shoes. I said something brilliant I'm sure like "Huh?"

So the young lady repeated her queary, and I was able to somehow reply that the chair was hers if she wanted it. Hell she could have my chair too if she wanted it. Don't say no to a woman in a bathing suit, that's my motto!

I was actually a little relieved when she started to move the chair away from it's position right next to my chair. The relief was further magnified when she removed her cover up to reveal that she too was wearing a bikini. So it was a good thing she didn't sit too close, because there was a real risk I might burst into flame if a woman in a bikini were sitting next to me. Yes, there was a pool a mere 6 feet away, but I would be reduced to ash long before I could reach the water.

To further reveal my dweebiness, serveral times I ended up picking up my cell phone to return text messages to my good friend Brat and my daughter. Brat was really impressed that I was telling her about the women in the bikinis. And I'm sure the bikini clad women were impressed that I could read, text message and grown hair on my shoulders but not on the top of my head.

Women eat that shit up, people!

The two young couples left after a while, and then I got really bold! I took my tanktop off outdoors, in broad daylight, in a public place to climb into the hot tub. OK, so I made sure the brunette who had talked to me earlier was in the pool and looking 180 degrees in the opposite direction. But still, that's risky behavior for me!

I think I need to drink tequila more often! I get down right rowdy for days on tequila!

There's no big payoff here folks, no big move on my part, or the brunette's part. We chatted a little for a while. Some near flirtation if you will. You see, I never really learned how to flirt. Apparently these was this whole thing in grade school about pulling pigtails that I someone missed the initiation on, and I've been behind ever since. SunGroove Theory has been trying to explain it too me, but I'm a dweeb and the learning is not easy.

Just ask Brat. We've known each other for seven years, and I've almost worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date! OK, so we live several thousand miles apart, which has been a bit of an impediment. But that whole fear of rejection is a bitch. So I'm taking it slow. But, any day now I might break down and tell her I think she's neat!

Or is that too over the top?

Women
Bikinis

Women! Can't live with 'em...

So, my favorite late night playmate is off doing God-knows-what in a big Midwestern city, so I haven't had anyone around to be a bad influence on me this week, and I'm going stir crazy.

Just don't tell her that, she'll get a big head, and then I'll spend a lot of time trying to bring her back down to earth.

So, it's the middle of the night, and I have no real inspiration, but I have a good beer buzz, so I can't let that go to waste. So I thought I would check in and say howdy.

I've been debating on whether to add a bunch of blogs to my Blogroll list, but I haven't yet. I'm noticing a couple of themes in the blogs I frequent. Many of them are written by women, and those that aren't have a heavy sexual component to them. I'm not sure I want those on my list. Who knows what people may think of me!

OK, so I'm a bit of a pervert. I can't help it. Being single for a lot of my adult life has an effect, ya know? So I read a lot of blogs written by women. The female mind is much more interesting than the male mind, mainly because I don't understand how the female mind works.

Apparently, women like sex, but they don't want men to know that, at least not without some sacrifice or major investment on the part of the man. I don't think women and men are that much different really, but they look at the world differently.

It strikes me as odd that women will tell their girlfriends "everything" about their man, but won't tell their man much in a straightforward way. Men always seem to have to guess what their mate is thinking. And God forbid you guess wrong!

I can't help it, women fascinate and befuddle me. They are amazing creatures. The more time I spend with them and trying to figure out how their heads' work, the less I seem to know.

I obviously didn't learn enough about how to flirt and taunt and tease the opposite sex when I was on the playgrounds of my youth. But I refuse to look at this whole intergender interaction as a "game." It's far too serious for that.

Oh, I should just shut up, enjoy the beer buzz, and call it a night.

And I will. After a toast. To the fairer sex.

Cheers ladies.

Women

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.

Arms? You have arms?

Tequila Mockingbird writes: "Leave it to a couple of women to think that a man, when faced with a living breathing woman standing in front of him in a patent pleather nurse’s uniform with red crosses on the nippular places would think about her arms. Or that the fishnet body stocking she's wearing would be more flattering in a different color."

You mean we're supposed to think when a living, breathing woman is standing in front of us wearing something purchased in a sex shop or lingerie store? Oh, god, the pressure!