Monday, May 5, 2008

Good Luck Chuck

Battlestar Gallactica was great.
Because just as I predicted, goddammit, my date dropped off the face of the earth.
I know, after everything I've been through in the past few months I should've known better than to give him my phone number. But he said he was driving up here. We had a date.
However, I have not heard from him since Thursday, when I sent him the email with my phone number. Total radio silence.

I also rented Good Luck Chuck, and am convinced that not only do I have a phone number jinx against me, I am the female version of Chuck. I'm no dentist, but it seems like every time I get something going with a guy, either in person or online, I serve as a conduit to lead him to the next gal. I'm a good luck charm for them.

The 'date' I never had this weekend was so attentive before I gave him my phone number. Emails 2 or 3 times a day. Every day. Long, involved emails sharing our history. I was stoked that he was such a motormouth - or motorfingers. Whatever you'd call someone who talks a lot through emails. Then he disappeared. I went back onto Yahoo! Personals (even though I've cancelled my account) to see if he had just dropped off the internet entirely. And he hadn't. He's back online, searching the personals ads again, probably communicating with another woman who was better at the cyberflirtation game, someone closer to his zip code, someone with prettier feet. He likes feet.

Well, I'm done.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Damage Control

The other day I'm driving in the car. And my kid, of all people, tells me that Toots and the estranged wife of my convict friend are having a party this weekend. MY KID. She wanted to know why I wasn't going, and why I wasn't invited.
All of my friends have been invited, even those who have come to me wondering why they they were invited, since they're not really friends with the happily tanned couple. "Damage control," I said. "You were invited because you're MY friend. And right now, he's trying to make a play for as many of my friends as possible to ward off being cut out of my social circle."
Why do I think this? Because months ago when he hurt my feelings one evening, he expressed grave concern that I might become upset enough with him to shut him out of my social circle. That he might not be welcome in my home anymore to drink my gin, relax in my hot tub, or have me make dinner for him. Yes, he said these things.
So it's no surprise to me that my formerly stingy friend is now planning to start spending his trust fund to buy off my friends. Kinda sad that all it's gonna take is a nicer hot tub, a gas barbecue and a kegerator to do that. Actually, all of that was previously purchased by my friend who now languishes in prison. The friend that Toots and I visited together, as he was planning his trip with said friend's wife out of the country. He's just buying the beer, the brats, and I figure next he'll buy the house to save it from foreclosure. What a guy.
Yeah, I know. I don't even need to continue explaining why he's a poor excuse for a friend.
It's my friends that I'm more concerned about.
The sad yet masterfully devious part of this scheme is that by inviting my friends to a party has put those in the know in the very uncomfortable position of having to decide whether to mention it to me, or to stay out of it. They have all pretty much decided to stay out of it. One said it was so he didn't have to listen to me bitch about it at Scrabble night. So they kept mum. And then they cancelled Scrabble night. You see, in order to avoid any difficult conversations with me, several of my friends have opted to avoid me. Therefore cutting me out of my own social circle.
And the rest of my friends wonder why I seem angry these days.

Friday, May 2, 2008

Date vs Battlestar Gallactica

I have a date. This weekend.
He's not from these parts.
You know I have a little trouble finding spongeworthy men in these parts.
But trying to date a man who's not from these parts has its own complications.

Twice I've been told that they can't give me the time and attention that I deserve because a 3 hour drive is just too far to maintain a relationship. Or to start one. At least that's what they tell me.

The date this weekend says that doesn't bother him. And he's willing to try it, to see if we click. To see if there's chemistry.

But I'm skeptical. Not that we'd have chemistry. I'm simply skeptical that there isn't some landmine thats going to explode sometime between now and then to divert his 3 hour drive from occuring. It could be anything from that knee injury to a delayed flight to cold feet to the most likely scenario, meeting someone else between now & our date, which I call "Good Luck Chuck Syndrome," which I hear I have a bad case of. I'm a conduit to love - with other people. Kiss me, fall in love with someone else. Maybe I could make money doing this.

My parents told me to always have another option so that if my plans don't turn out, I've got a backup plan. So I've got the entire season 1 of the new Battlestar Gallactica on DVD ready to go, and some microwave popcorn on hand. Just in case. I'll let you know how it turns out. Battlestar Gallactica, I mean. I hear it's pretty good.

Thursday, May 1, 2008


I hadn't heard from him in 16 years. 25 years ago we were high school friends. He followed me everywhere. At punk concerts, he'd stand behind me with one hand on my shoulder. Just in case. My boyfriend was jealous. I didn't see why. He was just a friend. A good, generous, caring friend. He left long, handwritten letters for me. I'd come home to find a chocolate covered cherry on my pillow and one long stemmed rose. 
"That poor, son of a bitch," my dad said. "He's in love with you and he'll never have you."
I confronted him, he denied it.
25 years later, he wrote to me, and said it.
"You were my first love."