Whiskey and friends, or the breakup cure

Theradate wrote me a very sweet email last week to tell me that, while he likes me a lot, he met someone else before he met me and feels that he needs to stop dating other people in order to give things a shot with her.

After just four dates, this news was hardly heartbreaking. It required a 12-hour recovery period, not even requiring a full day of recuperation. Theradate is a lovely person, and I hope we remain friends, as he said he wants to. I had fun with him, but was also frequently taken aback by his eccentricity, and I'm not sure that I'm meant to be with someone who is *quite* such an extrovert (an extrovert, yes, but this was really extreme). But one does get tired of having things not work out, whether it's because the suitor in question turns out to be issue-y and alcoholic-y à la Leif Ericson or is dating someone else à la Theradate or just doesn't feel like the right match à la a million other guys I've gone out with.

(In some ways, the "I met someone just before I met you" reason is particulary frustrating. It's not that you're incompatible or he's not that into you; it's just the timing. There's an implication that, if the timing of the first meetings had been reversed, you could be the one getting top priority.)

So I was happy after receiving this news to run into my friend L'il JC at the gym, fresh from her own disappointment of meeting a guy who really liked her who, try as she might, she just couldn't force herself to like back. And then M. came and joined us, and we went and baked ourselves in the sauna and I told her my newest poop story from work (the number of poop stories I've amassed this year should probably be a blog post unto itself, and this latest one managed to outdo all prior ones). Then the three of us headed to M's house for burritos and whiskey, and when I thought about it it seemed amazing how many evenings we've spent at M's house drinking whiskey after things don't work out with someone -- whether it be a big breakup or a little disappointment, like this one. It's not planned, but it seems that that's where we wind up every time. And somehow it makes me feel better every single time.

Exotic, familiar

I ran into Leif Ericson on Saturday. It was inevitable but traumatic, and I'm so glad that my friend M. was with me when it happened. He looked the same but even skinnier, still like a cross between the David statue and Gumby but a bit more on the Gumby side on that particular day, and still beautiful. He came over and talked to me graciously and pretended not to notice that I initially tried to hide behind my hat and sunglasses to avoid him. It made me really sad to see him, and I thought about him a lot all weekend.

Seeing him reminded me of how much I liked his exoticness. I've always had a thing for exotic men, ever since I was five and fell for the son of my soccer captain, who had olive skin and sleepy dark eyes that were constantly half-closed. (These days, we're Facebook friends and it appears that he works in the porn industry.)  I loved how Leif looked so exotic, almost like he wasn't really human, like a character from the film Avatar. I loved how his parents were from two different continents, neither of them North America. I loved how his house didn't follow any of the normal rules of a house, like having rooms and ceilings and doors.

But there's something to be said for the familiar, too. And that's where the Young Hottie lands: squarely in familiar terrain. There's especially something to be said for familiar when Familiar likes you and wants to see you two nights in a row and stops by to bring bubble wrap, because even though you didn't tell him you needed it, he figured it out when you told him about the huge pottery order you received. And when Familiar doesn't have weird relationship issues (at least that you know about so far).

I don't have butterflies yet, but I do have a solid, warm feeling when I think about Young Hottie. So, I think he may be in need of a new blog name, something less objectifying. Suggestions?

A walk in the park

I was only half-listening as my sister and my friend M. made plans to meet for breakfast last weekend, but gradually some of the details started to sink in.

"Ok, so we'll meet at the bakery and grab breakfast. What time?"

"Dunno... How about 10?"

At that point I had to interject.

"Guys," I interrupted, "sorry, but I'm going to have to put the kibosh on this. I have a date at the bakery at 10. So you're going to have to find another spot to eat breakfast."

"Oh shoot. But that's the only place that serves gluten-free goodies," protested M., who is in the midst of an elimination diet.

"What if we meet there at 9?" suggested my sister.

"Yes, and then we can decide whether or not to leave by 10, or hang around a bit and take a look at the Young Hottie," replied M.

So I was relieved when I arrived at the bakery a few minutes after 10, did a scan of the room, and saw no sign of my friends. Young Hottie and I grabbed a couple of baked goods and headed into the park. At the first intersection, he suggested we walk down an obscure path I had never noticed before.

Not ten minutes later, I heard a snort coming from down the path from us, and when I looked up who should I see sauntering toward me but my sister and M, giggling and averting their eyes from me. I followed suit, and thankfully my date was too busy chatting to notice anything amiss.

Sigh. The hazards of dating local.

Manland

My friend M. and I decided that we need to do more things to meet men in real life. To that end, I joined Community Boating today, because men like boats; M. is going to take flamework classes at a glass studio, since men also like fire.

We made a mental list of other things we could do as we drove to Craft and Cocktail night in Somerville. (In case you're wondering, there weren't a lot of single guys at Craft and Cocktail night, for some reason.)

"Most importantly, we need to spend more time over on this side of the river," said M. I agreed. We decided that we need to go out to more bars, cafes and restaurants over in Manland, a.k.a. Cambridge and Somerville.

Conveniently, just the day before this conversation took place, my college roommate put down an offer and it was accepted on a house in the heart of Cambridge. I'm excited to have her and her family close by -- and to have a pied-a-terre over in Manland.

Packing up, moving on

This weekend, my friend M went off to work a craft fair out on the Cape. She crashed at the house of a friend of Leif's who she met a few weeks ago when we were both there for the weekend; at the time, he generously offered her his spare bedroom when she mentioned she'd be coming back. He also said she'd be welcome to bring a friend, so she told me I could tag along.

I was tempted. So much so that I seriously considered it, despite how impractical the timing is -- I'm in the midst of packing up my apartment and moving. I might have gone for it, too, except that I wasn't sure a) how Leif would feel about it (I texted him to say I was thinking of going, and by the time he got back to me to say he felt fine about it it was too late) and b) what my real motives were in wanting so much to go. Not that I was wanting to be all stalker-y and try to get to Leif through his friend, but I've been enjoying how carefree and fun this summer has been, thanks in large part to Leif, and I wanted to extend that/recreate it a little bit.

Leif is good people, and I might like to be friends with him eventually. I would definitely like to be friends with his friend on the Cape, provided it didn't feel to Leif like I'm stepping on his toes. But I've learned that the only way to have a healthy friendship with an ex (if such a thing is possible at all) is for it to happen when you don't care so much anymore. The intensity of my feeling of wanting to go to the Cape was a red flag for me, letting me know that I'm not ready to have that kind of contact -- even though it's not even Leif himself, just his friend.

Back when Dreamy and I broke up, he felt the same intense desire to be friends with me. He told me, "All I want is to be good friends, the way you are with l'Artista" -- one of the most ironic statements I've ever heard. It's true that l'Artista and I talk, and that we care about each other. But we had little communication for a solid three years after our breakup. And it would be a stretch to describe our friendship as platonic -- when we talk, he invariably slips up and calls me "amore"; when I was in Italy last summer, I became irrationally upset when he refused to invite me as his guest to a wedding he was attending. He described seeing me again, after six years, as being like a bomb exploding -- not exactly the foundation for a healthy, comfortable friendship.

L'Artista and I want to be in each others' lives despite this tension, because we care about each other and are an important part of each others' history. Since that's far from the case with Leif, I doubt we'll actually become friends or stay in touch. Nonetheless, it comforts me to think that it could happen when I have to stay home on a rainy Saturday night filling boxes rather than watching the stars and eating fresh fish on the Cape.

Sometimes even when you know you're in the cocoon of denial it can be a huge comfort. And on that note, it's time for me to face reality and get back to my packing.

If only I had superhero powers...

My friend Surfer Girl claims to have the amazing ability to instajudge a person's character. I wish I had that superhero-like quality; it would have saved me a lot of heartache over the years. If only there were a laser, similar to the infrared thermometer Leif Ericson purchased recently, that you could aim at a person's forehead and get a reading from: "A good egg," "The Antichrist in disguise," or maybe "Meh -- nice enough but boring as hell."

Even though I've always been skeptical of SG's claim, I was curious to hear her take on Leif Ericson after meeting him yesterday. He arrived at the tail end of my craft fair, and was confronted with three of my good friends. This was an intimidating scenario, and the intimidation was probably compounded by the fact that I had asked him a couple of days before why he had been so quiet when he met my friend M last weekend. (The answer: a wacky brownie had taken its toll.)

Leif was friendly, affectionate toward me, and generous toward my friends, buying everyone a cold drink even after they declined his offer. He helped me pack up my wares and offered to buy everything at double the price when I told him I was disappointed by my sales.

Nonetheless, my overprotective friends expressed some doubts. "I wonder what he's going to be doing while he's on vacation in Asia in August," said one skeptically, hinting with her tone that there could easily be inappropriate behavior planned during his Asian jaunt. (The answer: he'll be spending every waking moment with his mom. They're even sharing a tent.) "I'm not sure if he's genuine," said someone else. And from Surfer Girl: "I couldn't get a read on if he's a really kind person. And if he's the right match for you."

She hit the nail on the head. That's exactly what I've been trying to get a read on, too. And unfortunately, since I don't have an infrared personality gauge, the only way I know to get a read on those questions is by spending lots of time with him, observing how he behaves in different situations, and thinking about it. Here are a few of my observations:

• He is incapable of passing a piece of trash in the street without picking it up. A stroll down a city street or through a park usually ends with both our arms full of empty beer bottles and soda cans. We almost tumbled into the river the other day going after a few pieces of plastic that we spotted from afar. I can't think of anyone else who I'd think to describe as "a good citizen," but Leif undoubtedly is one. 
• He's generous. When I mentioned that my cousin-cousin (the term my sister and I invented for the cousin of our cousins) who is in town from Paris is interested in going for a sail, he immediately offered to take us. 
• He wants to include me in his life. He has introduced me to lots of his friends, who I like a lot. 
• He wants to make an effort with my friends, too. 
• He likes me. He texts me or emails me every day and is always affectionate toward me, whether we're alone, with his friends, or with mine. (Remember when him not being in touch enough was an issue?? Not anymore.)
• He wants to be helpful to me. He gave me plants for the hanging planters I've been making recently and offered to come to camp to talk to my students about electricity. 
• He's smart and has a wide variety of interests, from horticulture to sailing to animals. 
• I feel really comfortable with him. I slept like a rock until 10:30 in the morning the other day at his house. 

It's been a month and a half now and ten dates, more than I've had with anyone since Dreamy. I'm still far from feeling sure about him. Sometimes the process of getting to know him can be stressful, because the reality is I don't know how it will turn out. But all I can do is keep spending time with him until I do feel sure, one way or the other. 

Sea, sun and deadlines

I had several long talks last week with my friend M in which we discussed what I should do about Leif Ericson. Leif and I have been spending a lot of time together, and things are feeling pretty couple-y. But, we're not a couple, and the flags are still there. I had to decide: should I back off and slow things down a bit, or go for it? While I do believe in some level of caution, I have also observed that my friends who behave very cautiously end up seeming to waste more time on dead-end relationships. In other words, sometimes by behaving less cautiously, you figure out the issues sooner and get the inevitable breakup over with.

With M's help, I decided not to go the cautious route. I packed my bags and headed off to meet Leif and a couple of his friends for a fun weekend on the Cape that involved lots of delicious drinks, sunset kayaks, fresh fish cooked on the grill, naps curled up together on the hammock, as well as some less romantic but still fun activities, such as people watching during Bears Weekend in P-town.

However, I am not completely throwing caution to the wind, as is evidenced by a couple of upcoming dates on my calendar. One is "Stop putting up with Leif day," to be observed a month from now. Another name I considered for it is "Shit or get off the pot day"; it is the day when Leif needs to decide if he wants to be my boyfriend or not (provided I am ready to make that decision by that point, which frankly I don't right at this time). Later, in early October, I have "Decide about Leif day" -- assuming he gets past the first hurdle, of course. This day is based on my friend Kansas' theory that you should give men four months to prove themselves. If you don't feel certain about them by the end of four months, move on. Early October is the four month anniversary of our first kiss; my new rule is to put that date on my calendar as soon as I kiss a guy I like.

I had an amazing weekend on the Cape. It was unforgettable. I didn't come away from it feeling weak in the knees about Leif, or certain that we're meant for each other. I did come away from it feeling that I know him better and have a better sense of how compatible we are, as well as still having a lot of questions about our compatibility.

I enjoyed spending time with Leif's friends, too. Last night, we hatched a plot to make dinner together the next time they're in Boston. One of his friends has gone squidding a bunch, and has quite a supply in his freezer. I suggested we use the ink in my pasta dough, and create squid ink ravioli with lobster stuffing. While Leif was using the bathroom, I had to resist the urge to whisper, "Psss -- give me a call and let's do that dinner, even if things don't work out with Leif!"