February 5

Re-reading my last post on my blog site, I came to a disconcerting reality. Actually, I came to a few. The first one being that it was horribly written. I don’t like the column format that displays on my blog. The flow and rhythm of what I write reads entirely different in the broader format of Word. I’m not making excuses for my shitty writing, don’t get me wrong. I’m just, nettled by this. The second disconcerting reality is the fact that by disclosing so many personal things about my life and opinions has consequently given me the feeling that I’ve taken off all of my clothes, and I can now feel the eyes of everyone looking at me, scrutinizing my patheticness, viewing all of the dimply areas of my nakedness that I try so hard to keep secret. There’s an overwhelming feeling of, “Oooooh, crap. You’ve really done it now.” And that’s just it. I really have done it, and now I have to finish it with as much grace and dignity as I can afford. However? This is me. This is my pattern. I have a tendency to jump in with two feet, recklessly, often into a pool of gaping gators that I didn’t know were there until it was too late. I either jump back out, back-pedal to a comfort zone, or? I swim across in hopes the other side of the pool is worth reaching. I’m already naked, a quarter of the way through the gator pool, so I might as well keep moving forward to the other side. I’m hoping to redeem myself in this post, making up for the prior. I’m also going to try to lighten things up a bit, so try not to take this next post too seriously. I’m about to do some serious self-deprecation, sharing of some intensely embarrassing and revealing things all in hopes to connect with an audience that is hopefully relating, not judging.

So, because I have to keep certain people (men) anonymous, I’m going to refer to them as numbers. I don’t mean to be degrading. I’m trying to be considerate. Continuing from what I wrote in my last post, I’m now going to go through the list of men I pined for, the few I put the moves on, and the couple that I crossed humiliating lines to express my free-flight of make-fun-of-myself desperate attempts to do more than just “make a pass”. This makes me sound a little trashy, so let’s just get right to it so you can see how tame and sort of funny all of this really, really was:

Man #1: ‘Friend of someone who was close to me; made me laugh; attracted to when drunk; often slept on his couch when the bourbon was passed around; and couldn’t have been more wrong for me in so many lights. The alcohol played a large factor in my chum girly girl fantasies of him. Sober, awkwardness was on the forefront. He made me laugh. I liked that. He was someone close to someone who was close to me, and that was a comfort zone I clung to. Time line of pining? Let’s see….I’d have to count all the times we drank together….. Close the door on this one!

Man #2: Ah. Man number two. Let’s see… I saw him for maybe a total of three hours at a friend’s wedding. I hadn’t seen him since I was twelve and ugly and awkward, and here I was twenty two years old and back into an ugly, awkward phase again (remember? The bad haircut and the twenty pounds?). I was petrified. And it really didn’t help that I was physically attracted to him. Feeling like a petrified infant rabbit about to be eaten by a wolf, I was searching the entire building we were in for the nearest exit, the closest excuse to get away, unable to look at him when he was trying to make re-connecting, catch-up small talk with me. He caught on quick, but misinterpreted my eye language. Heart pounding, I was looking for my brother, or someone, anyone, who could come up and take over the conversation, but to no avail. He thought I was being a snob. He mumbled sarcastically, “Yeah. Nice to talk to you too. Haven’t seen you in years. See ya later.” And right when I was about to ball up the courage to ask him something, he rolled his eyes and took off.

Embarrassment is an understatement. The need to resolve the issue, another understatement. The cruel irony of it was that I had suddenly found myself ridiculously attracted to him. This, was madness. In the bad way. During the wedding reception and the after party I was able to redeem myself slightly. A few bottles of Corona helped this along… I was able to make eye contact now, and keep up a semi-conversation. We hugged goodbye when it was over, and I found myself unable to stop thinking of how much he reminded me of the man I left back in Minnesota. This? Yeah. I was convinced by this point that I had a serious problem. I wanted to plug this new man into my life so badly that my fantasies retreated to all sorts of insane scenarios of happily-ever-afters. ‘Another pathetic consequence of loss and loneliness. Time line of pining? A month, tops.

Man #3: I can’t write about him, so you’re just going to have to wonder.

Man #4: Here’s the story I know you’re all waiting for, the one I’ve been avoiding but feel like I have to share for not only therapeutic reasons, but because I promised it to my readers. Remember that subtle mention of the dude at the club? I had never been to a club in my life. I had never done a lot of things in my life, let’s just say, up until Pittsburgh. This event, this story I'm about to share, was slightly pivotal for me because I was consistently, obnoxiously, surrounded by couples left and right, and when you’re missing someone you thought you were supposed to be with, this can play a toll on you, emphasizing loneliness. But this night? It was a girls’ night out. I don’t think I had ever even had a girls’ night out before this particular night. I can’t even remember exactly how it happened, but I ended up hitting the town with two women that my brother worked with, and he was supposed to meet up with us later. But he never came. And I was left to my own devices… er… vices.

I love to dance. 'Understatement number three. I really, really, really love to dance. But when I say I love to dance, I don’t mean I love to gyrate on the dance floor and get felt up by random guys. I mean: I love to let my body move to music because it frees something inside of me that otherwise dormant is always knocking on its walls wanting to be let out. However, in a club? Club dancing is pretty much a watering hole for people who want to do nothing more than find someone to mate with. Naïve, twenty two years old, sheltered and brought up to never break rules lest you burn in the fiery pits of hell, something sort of snapped inside of me. Well, that and a lot of booze were involved. I’ll tell you now, Reader, that this was not one of my shining moments, and if there is anything in my life that I could say was the most embarrassing moment, this would be it. Well, with the exception of the Philly stories soon to come (stay tuned, I guess….).

Now, here I was after a few cocktails, really enjoying myself on the dance floor when some guy came up out of nowhere and started dancing with me. And when I say out of nowhere, I mean it. I can remember it exactly, as if he was gunning for me. He parted the waves with his flailing arms and was upon me like an extremely horny warthog. Lucky for him, he was cute. So, I kept dancing. This was new to me. I was feeling rather grown up and rebellious, and without a brother (I have three) to keep the boys away, I found myself getting a little handsy with my contender. Before I knew it we were lip-locked and doing things that should only be done in private, even in a dance club. Allow me to reiterate, Folks: ‘not a shining moment for me. It gets worse.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see the two women I came with (who were graciously non-judgmental), and they wanted to introduce me to someone: one of my brother’s clients. This in and of itself was only slightly embarrassing. Well, more than slightly. Coming-to, peeling myself off of the stranger I was molesting, and trying to appear as sober as possible, I said hi to the woman who knew my brother. I remember a few words were exchanged, but that was it. The real embarrassment comes later in the story.

I’m extremely grateful to have been in good hands in terms of my company (not the stranger). My brother’s co-workers took good care of me. I had sort of gone off of the deep end, not knowing how to compose myself with a whole lot of dignity. I had been caged in loneliness, grief, a loss of faith, enduring a serious identity crisis, and then added a whole lot of free drinks. This night of letting loose was proof that I had really lost all of my good sense altogether. I danced with this stranger all night, had him write his number on a napkin (how many cliches are we on, now?), and almost went home with him if my company hadn’t insisted I come home with them instead.

Monday came along and my brother told me about how his client mentioned she had seen me at the club. My eyes went a little wide as he began to tell me this with a smirk on his face. My eyes were wide for good reason. Sober now, I remembered exactly what I was doing when I was tapped on the shoulder, and I remembered more than I wanted to… I remembered wiping the spit off of my mouth when I had to re-compose myself… I remember the look of shock on her face when I was introduced to her. My brother re-tells what she told him, which was this: before she knew who I was, she had seen me lip-locked and handsy on the dance floor and had thought to herself, “Geez! Get a room!” Hence the look of shock on her face when we were introduced. I don’t think my face has ever turned a brighter shade of red in my entire life. My brother thought it was funny. I, however, wanted to crawl into a hole.

Not long after this pivotal event did I move to Norristown, Pennsylvania, just outside of Philadelphia. My adventures of embarrassment failed to cease, and if I’m not mistaken with my own judgment, worsened.