Now I know a talk a big game about s*x and all that, but really, when it comes right down to it, I’m a romantic. Yeah, lately I’ve been obsessed with giant c**ks, but that’s only cause I’m not getting any (in the Clintonian sense, that is.) Or rather, the boys who wanna give it to me won’t commit so they’re not getting any. Ha.
But I digress.
Tonight, I let myself have fantasies of a kind that I haven’t had in a long, long time. And not about giant c**ks. These were wedding fantasies. Oh-my-God-you’re-such-a-beautiful-bride fantasies. Kid fantasies (two brunette daughters). Fancy-house-on-Lake- Washington-with-hardwood-floor fantasies. Honeymoon -in-paradise-fantasies. Happily-ever-after-fantasies.
There was absolutely no justification except, perhaps, boredom. It was a long car ride home from the mountains after our family holiday trip. (All went well except I called my mother a bit*h on Christmas Eve, which is not bad considering five years ago on Christmas Eve, I threw a spoon that hit her in the face. That was after she had called me "sl*t." This time she had only called me a “pain in the neck.” We’re all a little mellower now).
Maybe it’s because for the last two years I thought I was going to marry Loser, yet I could never bring myself to fantasize about our wedding. I got as far as my hairdo (French twist), the guest list (50 on my side, 2 on his), potential locales (Orcas Island, Port Townsend) the music (karaoke) and then bam – I hit a wall. I couldn’t picture the saying-vows part, much less the happily ever after part. And for good reason, I guess. Because he was a lying, cheating SOB!
But I digress.
Maybe I'm just tired of being so cynical about relationships lately. So clenched with fear, and so certain that things will end badly, no matter who I'm with. I think a good wedding fantasy might be like a good cry; you just need to have one once in a while. And so I did.
For a good hour, I fantasized all about you-know-who (and if you don’t I’m not going to tell you because you'll just be disappointed in me), and really, it’s my mother’s fault because all weekend she was asking me questions about him, encouraging me to pursue him despite every red flag known TO MAN.
And not once in that hour did I think about s*x or the size of his c*ck (which of course I haven’t seen, so can only imagine how big it might be). No, it was all about love and kisses and white dresses and bliss, with absolutely no realism—much less cynicism—whatsoever. And all I have to say about it was this:
It rocked.
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Good Things About My Last Date with the Doctor (Monday night)
- Doctor is flirtatious, warm, and affectionate
- Doctor is serious, smart, kind
- Doctor wears tacky Polo shirt that makes him less godlike
- Presence of older, married couple who accompanies us provides calming buffer
- Doctor has progressed to kissing me on the cheek
- Doctor laughs appreciatively at all my jokes
Bad Things About My Last Date with the Doctor
- Doctor is flirtatious, warm, and affectionate
- Doctor is serious, smart, kind
- Doctor laughs appreciatively at all my jokes
- Doctor kisses me on the cheek only
- Presence of calming couple prevents The “You’re hard to get to know” Discussion I was planning to have with him, in the vain hope that he would see the error of his ways, shed his defenses, and declare that he has been waiting his entire life to meet a beautiful, brilliant Jewish woman like myself, and that he will stop lagging IMMEDIATELY
Good Things About My Last Date with Silent But Deadly Boy (Tuesday night)
- Dancing with wild abandon til 1 a.m. on a work night
- Doing other stuff with wild abandon til 3 a.m. on a work night
- Abundance of affection from SBDB makes up for very bad Loser-related day
- Abundance of affection from SBDB makes up for a lot of things
Bad Things About My Last Date with Silent But Deadly Boy
- Note from downstairs neighbor complaining about the noise in my apartment from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. Tuesday night
- Fear that something that feels this good can only end badly
Sunday, December 8, 2002
OK, so Galpal #1 was right. Eminem is a smoldering sex god. And it sucks that I will never get to f***k him.
But you know, SBDB ain't bad either. He came with me to my holiday party on Friday night and then we had a little party of our own. And, while I plan to keep my vow of chastity until we’re married, or at least until he’s my boyfriend, I have to say girls, it's not gonna be easy. (Note to A.B., stop reading now!)
Let’s just say this. When I decided to call him Silent But Deadly Boy (thanks for the acronym A.B., even though you’re not supposed to be reading anymore!) I didn’t realize quite how deadly certain parts of him might be. I mean, really! Normally I don’t obsess about such things, but when you see something that beautiful and that big…how can you not want it?
But he says he doesn’t want a girlfriend now, so fine. WHATever. I thought I might want a boyfriend now but I guess I was WRONG. Until he does want a girlfriend, though, that big, beautiful thing will just have to wave sadly in the wind, cause this window is CLOSED for deposits (though still accepting other transactions, thank you).
Meanwhile, I’m not going to tell you whether I accepted the date with the doctor because I know you’ll all be so horribly disappointed in me. But please. Believe me when I say: it is not my fault. He is hardcoded into my genes. Get: Jewish: Doctor: Reproduce: Daughter: Get: Jewish: Doctor: Die: Happy: End.
But you know, SBDB ain't bad either. He came with me to my holiday party on Friday night and then we had a little party of our own. And, while I plan to keep my vow of chastity until we’re married, or at least until he’s my boyfriend, I have to say girls, it's not gonna be easy. (Note to A.B., stop reading now!)
Let’s just say this. When I decided to call him Silent But Deadly Boy (thanks for the acronym A.B., even though you’re not supposed to be reading anymore!) I didn’t realize quite how deadly certain parts of him might be. I mean, really! Normally I don’t obsess about such things, but when you see something that beautiful and that big…how can you not want it?
But he says he doesn’t want a girlfriend now, so fine. WHATever. I thought I might want a boyfriend now but I guess I was WRONG. Until he does want a girlfriend, though, that big, beautiful thing will just have to wave sadly in the wind, cause this window is CLOSED for deposits (though still accepting other transactions, thank you).
Meanwhile, I’m not going to tell you whether I accepted the date with the doctor because I know you’ll all be so horribly disappointed in me. But please. Believe me when I say: it is not my fault. He is hardcoded into my genes. Get: Jewish: Doctor: Reproduce: Daughter: Get: Jewish: Doctor: Die: Happy: End.
Friday, December 6, 2002
Great. Mr. Full-of-Himself-Pediatrician-Weeny-Boy (aka the doctor) asked me out for Monday night. To some fancy thing at the symphony.
After cancelling our date on Saturday because of his "infectious diseases holiday party" (to which he did not invite me, THANK YOU, but I didn't invite him to my holiday party either, SO THERE.) I know I should say no. I know I should say no.
I should say no, right?
After cancelling our date on Saturday because of his "infectious diseases holiday party" (to which he did not invite me, THANK YOU, but I didn't invite him to my holiday party either, SO THERE.) I know I should say no. I know I should say no.
I should say no, right?
Thursday, December 5, 2002
So. Silent but Deadly Boy. You haven't heard much about him because I've been going on about that cursed doctor. You know, the one I can't have, who doesn't want me? But I think SBDB might be a keeper.
I don’t know for sure, of course. I have been known to make bad decisions. To get crushes on the wrong people. People with intimacy issues. People I have nothing in common with. People who smoke pot five times a day. People who cheat and lie and wear tighty-whities.
BUT. SBDB seems…SOLID. Yeah, I know, boring, right? Well, that’s what I thought the first two times I met him. Bland. Boring. Yawn. And certainly not glam. In the immortal words of Sleater-Kinney, call the doctor! The third time I met him, it was like “oh!” You are kind, and real, and hot! And seemingly not afraid of me!
Lemme tell you a little story. Two weeks ago, in the sleep-deprived thrall of my karaoke date with the doctor, I wandered down the street for coffee. All I could think about was the doctor this, the doctor that.
Then, from a block away, I saw the most beautiful cat. It was sleek and black and delicate. Suddenly, all my energy became focused on that cat. I wanted to pet it. To pick it up and nuzzle that glossy fur.
So I made kissy noises. The cat whipped around. It looked at me expectantly and my heart leapt. A friendly cat! I slowed my pace so as not to scare it.
“Hey kitty kitty,” I cooed, holding out my hand. As I got closer, I saw it was even cuter than I’d imagined, with a red heart collar, and huge aqua eyes. “I love black kitties,” I was thinking. “I miss kitties. You’re so pretty, don’t run away! Please let me pet you!”
I approached and the cat ran towards me. I breathed in sharply as it brushed against my fingers and then skittered away up the little slope that led to its owner’s gate. Oh no.
“Kitty! Come back! Don’t do this to me!” The cat turned to look at me. It’s eyes were longing, but it was scared. I tried to be still. "Don’t frighten it," I thought. "Don’t breathe."
It meowed. Several times. Watched me with its wide-set eyes.
I talked to it low, seductive tones. “Kittttyyy….come here... I just want to pet you.” And the cat would make a motion forward, then jump back. It didn’t know whether to come or go. Then finally, with one last anguished look, it slipped under the fence.
That, I thought, as I walked away, is a sign.
Tonight I was running down my street. Trying to calm my nerves because, suddenly, now that I liked someone, now that I was, perhaps, ready to try dating one person for a while, I was utterly afraid that that this person didn’t like me – despite every evidence to the contrary.
Maybe I had scared him already. Maybe I had asked him to do too many things. Maybe I seemed too eager. Maybe he doesn't want a girlfriend.
The anxious thoughts were circling like sharks, when suddenly, I came upon a black cat -- in almost the same location as before. Because it was dark, I didn’t see it until I was almost right on top of it. But, as I came barreling towards it, it didn’t run away.
This was a fat black cat, with speckled fur. Not the sleek, glossy creature I’d seen before. I was going to run right past but it looked so friendly, so unafraid, so solid, I stopped. I petted it. It arched into my hands. Then it looked at my face, as if it wanted up.
So I reached down and scooped it up – all 13 or so pounds of it. I took the risk of getting scratched, of having it run away, and picked that cat up and cuddled it. It purred. It let me squish it up against my face and whisper in its ear. It let me kiss it. And when I finally, reluctantly put it down, my anxious thoughts were not so anxious anymore.
This cat knew who it was and knew what it wanted. It wanted what we all want. But some of us are comfortable asking for it and some of us are not. Some of us are comfortable getting it and some of us are not. This cat, though, was all about love.
And that, I thought, as I ran away, is a sign.
I don’t know for sure, of course. I have been known to make bad decisions. To get crushes on the wrong people. People with intimacy issues. People I have nothing in common with. People who smoke pot five times a day. People who cheat and lie and wear tighty-whities.
BUT. SBDB seems…SOLID. Yeah, I know, boring, right? Well, that’s what I thought the first two times I met him. Bland. Boring. Yawn. And certainly not glam. In the immortal words of Sleater-Kinney, call the doctor! The third time I met him, it was like “oh!” You are kind, and real, and hot! And seemingly not afraid of me!
Lemme tell you a little story. Two weeks ago, in the sleep-deprived thrall of my karaoke date with the doctor, I wandered down the street for coffee. All I could think about was the doctor this, the doctor that.
Then, from a block away, I saw the most beautiful cat. It was sleek and black and delicate. Suddenly, all my energy became focused on that cat. I wanted to pet it. To pick it up and nuzzle that glossy fur.
So I made kissy noises. The cat whipped around. It looked at me expectantly and my heart leapt. A friendly cat! I slowed my pace so as not to scare it.
“Hey kitty kitty,” I cooed, holding out my hand. As I got closer, I saw it was even cuter than I’d imagined, with a red heart collar, and huge aqua eyes. “I love black kitties,” I was thinking. “I miss kitties. You’re so pretty, don’t run away! Please let me pet you!”
I approached and the cat ran towards me. I breathed in sharply as it brushed against my fingers and then skittered away up the little slope that led to its owner’s gate. Oh no.
“Kitty! Come back! Don’t do this to me!” The cat turned to look at me. It’s eyes were longing, but it was scared. I tried to be still. "Don’t frighten it," I thought. "Don’t breathe."
It meowed. Several times. Watched me with its wide-set eyes.
I talked to it low, seductive tones. “Kittttyyy….come here... I just want to pet you.” And the cat would make a motion forward, then jump back. It didn’t know whether to come or go. Then finally, with one last anguished look, it slipped under the fence.
That, I thought, as I walked away, is a sign.
Tonight I was running down my street. Trying to calm my nerves because, suddenly, now that I liked someone, now that I was, perhaps, ready to try dating one person for a while, I was utterly afraid that that this person didn’t like me – despite every evidence to the contrary.
Maybe I had scared him already. Maybe I had asked him to do too many things. Maybe I seemed too eager. Maybe he doesn't want a girlfriend.
The anxious thoughts were circling like sharks, when suddenly, I came upon a black cat -- in almost the same location as before. Because it was dark, I didn’t see it until I was almost right on top of it. But, as I came barreling towards it, it didn’t run away.
This was a fat black cat, with speckled fur. Not the sleek, glossy creature I’d seen before. I was going to run right past but it looked so friendly, so unafraid, so solid, I stopped. I petted it. It arched into my hands. Then it looked at my face, as if it wanted up.
So I reached down and scooped it up – all 13 or so pounds of it. I took the risk of getting scratched, of having it run away, and picked that cat up and cuddled it. It purred. It let me squish it up against my face and whisper in its ear. It let me kiss it. And when I finally, reluctantly put it down, my anxious thoughts were not so anxious anymore.
This cat knew who it was and knew what it wanted. It wanted what we all want. But some of us are comfortable asking for it and some of us are not. Some of us are comfortable getting it and some of us are not. This cat, though, was all about love.
And that, I thought, as I ran away, is a sign.
Sunday, December 1, 2002
OK, I know you’re all desperately waiting to hear what happened on my last date with the doctor. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you’re constantly on edge. What happened?, you cry out to anyone who will listen. Why won't she tell us?!
Well, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. I’m going to tell you what happened on that fabled last date. NOTHING, OK? Nothing! Jesus, I wish you people would leave me alone.
In fact, I’ve got much better stories to tell about Silent but Deadly Boy (SBDB), whose been “watching videos” with me a lot lately, but since you people can’t get enough of that damn doctor, here it is:
1)Doctor comes over to my house. Looking. Utterly. Drop-dead. Gorgeous. Exclaims over the great beauty of my apartment. Of my APARTMENT. Talks about himself. Lets me get a few words in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality, which makes me want to boot him out the third floor window, and kind seriousness which makes me want to curl up in his lap and stay there forever.
2)We go to dinner at intimate restaurant. We act intimate. I get a thrill pretending I actually know this stunning specimen of manhood.
3)Get st**ed in Seattle back alley. Doctor teaches me extra-special technique learned in medical school for getting super-duper st**ed .
4)Go to to Doug Martsch (musical god) show. Doctor immediately becomes serious. Every single song is heartbreaking. Turns to me, when D.M. starts another crazy-sad cover, and says “I might actually cry.” Finally, FINALLY, wraps his arms around me. At the very end. The last two songs to be exact. I love the doctor.
5)We leave show. Doctor loses serious aspect and immediately becomes fount of obnoxious superficiality, made worse by the fact that he is super-duper st**ed , and I can’t follow a thing he is saying. I hate the doctor.
6)We approach my apartment. The eternal debate begins. Do I invite him up? Will he come up? What if I invite him up and he says no? Wouldn’t it be best NOT to invite him up? I invite him up. He says yes. I love the doctor.
7)He comes up. We drink water and eat ice cream and sit on opposite corners of the red Couch o' Love. Doctor talks about himself. Doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality and kind seriousness, but focuses on the former. Feel myself carried along on a conversational wave that I cannot control and do not want to participate in. This is not me, I’m thinking. He’s not getting to know me, and I’m not getting to know him. I hate the doctor.
8)At one point, doctor looks at me with that LOOK. That shy, sparkly-eyed look that says “Gee whiz, you are so pretty and great and I want to kiss you!” I love the doctor.
9) The moment passes. He doesn’t kiss me. He leaves and gives me a long, warm hug. Says “see you later.” I have a big ache in my gut. I hate the doctor.
Well, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. I’m going to tell you what happened on that fabled last date. NOTHING, OK? Nothing! Jesus, I wish you people would leave me alone.
In fact, I’ve got much better stories to tell about Silent but Deadly Boy (SBDB), whose been “watching videos” with me a lot lately, but since you people can’t get enough of that damn doctor, here it is:
1)Doctor comes over to my house. Looking. Utterly. Drop-dead. Gorgeous. Exclaims over the great beauty of my apartment. Of my APARTMENT. Talks about himself. Lets me get a few words in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality, which makes me want to boot him out the third floor window, and kind seriousness which makes me want to curl up in his lap and stay there forever.
2)We go to dinner at intimate restaurant. We act intimate. I get a thrill pretending I actually know this stunning specimen of manhood.
3)Get st**ed in Seattle back alley. Doctor teaches me extra-special technique learned in medical school for getting super-duper st**ed .
4)Go to to Doug Martsch (musical god) show. Doctor immediately becomes serious. Every single song is heartbreaking. Turns to me, when D.M. starts another crazy-sad cover, and says “I might actually cry.” Finally, FINALLY, wraps his arms around me. At the very end. The last two songs to be exact. I love the doctor.
5)We leave show. Doctor loses serious aspect and immediately becomes fount of obnoxious superficiality, made worse by the fact that he is super-duper st**ed , and I can’t follow a thing he is saying. I hate the doctor.
6)We approach my apartment. The eternal debate begins. Do I invite him up? Will he come up? What if I invite him up and he says no? Wouldn’t it be best NOT to invite him up? I invite him up. He says yes. I love the doctor.
7)He comes up. We drink water and eat ice cream and sit on opposite corners of the red Couch o' Love. Doctor talks about himself. Doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality and kind seriousness, but focuses on the former. Feel myself carried along on a conversational wave that I cannot control and do not want to participate in. This is not me, I’m thinking. He’s not getting to know me, and I’m not getting to know him. I hate the doctor.
8)At one point, doctor looks at me with that LOOK. That shy, sparkly-eyed look that says “Gee whiz, you are so pretty and great and I want to kiss you!” I love the doctor.
9) The moment passes. He doesn’t kiss me. He leaves and gives me a long, warm hug. Says “see you later.” I have a big ache in my gut. I hate the doctor.
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