Bésame Que Soy Mexicana

a senior moment

2006-05-31T19:57:00.000-07:00

after the date with the old guy, i confess that i was not ready to let it go, despite his mention of the other woman.

i hung on to the few flirtacious emails. but he never asked me out again.

after a couple of weeks, i called and asked him out, invited him to a barbecue. he tentatively accepted my invitation, characteristically nervous and nerdy. i thought, maybe he's just that awkward. even though he is forty.

five minutes later, i receive an email from him. these are the major components of the message:

I. i like you. i have a lot of fun hanging out with you. BUT...

II. i need to be considerate of my situation and everyone involved (meaning, the other woman he mentioned at dinner, who was most definitely not his girlfriend). SO...

III. what i can offer you right now is my friendship and, hopefully, that will be enough...for now.

i was mortified. the first thing i needed to do was to revoke my invitation to the barbecue. after consulting with my sister (also known as my dating guru), i told him that i appreciated his honesty, and that his situation did seem rather delicate. i agreed. it would be best for us to be friends.

actually, i wrote, with everything going on, maybe the barbecue this weekend isn't such a good idea. let's just plan on getting together some other time.

since the email we have seen each other fleetingly at church (but have not spoken); he's called me a couple of times (i've never picked up the phone); has sent me a few emails (to which i have responded politely). i'm not interested.

i don't understand why his "situation" with the other woman only became apparent to him after our date, after we'd kissed, after we'd exchanged these email messages and phone calls.

i wrote an email to a friend complaining about my latest romantic fracaso, and she responded with the following:

i'm sorry about the 40 year old. that's messed up. you can attribute it to a senior moment (sorry).

a senior moment. that must have been it.

the date

2006-04-16T15:18:00.000-07:00

he chose chili's for their wide selection of margaritas.

during the ten minute drive to the restaurant, though i tried, i couldn't remember what he looked like. the only recollection that i could conjure of him was of his greying hair and goatee.

when i arrived he was standing askance of the bar, alternating glances between the door and the basketball game showing on the television.
when i walked through the door, he met my eyes slowly and smiled just slightly.

i remembered my attraction to him at that moment. he wore khaki pants and a pale green polo shirt that accented the green of his eyes. i wanted to think that he had dressed to impress me, but i knew that this was what he had been wearing all day at work.

we decided to sit in the restaurant rather than the bar, and began to pour over the the margarita menu. i decided on one kind of margarita; he decided on another. together we decided to share an appetizer platter.

when the waiter came, he ordered for both of us.

the waiter takes away the margarita menu, our conversation shifts, and we find ourselves making painfully awkward small talk.

i wonder how long it will be before the margaritas will come and save us.

"let's play twenty questions," i suggest.

"twenty questions?' he asks, dubiously.

"yeah. i'll ask you a question, then you ask me one."

"ok..." he seems skeptical.

"i'll start. what's your favorite color?"

he lets out a short laugh.

"what?"

"i get the feeling the questions are going to get harder than this."

"not necessarily!"

"ok. blue."

he asks me about my favorite movie.

"when harry met sally."

"that's an interesting one," he says. "do you think that men and women can be friends?"

"no," i say, decisively.

"no?! i have lots of woman friends."

"the only guy friends i have are gay."

i tell him that it's too complicated to befriend guys. maybe you have ulterior motives. maybe they do. and then what about when you're in a relationship with someone else? will you still hang out with your "friend" of the opposite sex?

at this point the margaritas have arrived. and i have been drinking mine rather quickly.

we agree to disagree.

first impressions. recalling the *first* time we met, back in december, he tells me that he was "impressed" when he first met me. impressed because of my education, my intelligence, my "cute-ness." and he remembers that i told him i would probably be moving. leaving austin.

this is the moment that i had been dreading.

"i am moving. i got a new job out of state."

"really?!" he says, seeming genuinely excited for me. "that's great! congratulations!"

"yeah," i say. "i'm happy. happy to have this new job. i really wanted it. but i'm also sad to have to leave austin."

he tells me that, having been born and raised in austin, he has, on three separate occasions, given serious consideration to moving to colorado, new mexico, and california. "i still think i might move someday! it's just that now i have more holding me here," he says. i think that he is making reference to his new house.

"what about you? first impressions of me," he asks.

i tell him that i thought was handsome. funny. easy-going. "but i thought you might be married." i had seen him sitting with his little sister at church.

"you haven't seen me with anyone else?"

"no..."

"because i have another friend that i sit with sometimes. you probably know her. her name is ___________."

"no. i don't know her."

"oh. she's a good friend."

"is she a friend? or is she a friend?"

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, is she your platonic friend or is she your friend/maybe-more-than-a-friend?"

"maybe more than a friend."

"oh," i say and suddenly feel the margarita, the greasy appetizers, and the dessert we are now sharing swirl around in my stomach. i put my fork down.

"what's wrong?" he says. "don't stop eating."

"no. it's just that my stomach is feeling kind of gross. i think that this dessert is too sweet."

"are you ok?"

"yeah. i'll be fine."

"i wasn't lying the other day when you asked me if i had a girlfriend. she's not my girlfriend. we just have a history. and we're friends now. this--me being here with you--is not weird for me at all. is it weird for you?"

"uh. no. but i don't have a boyfriend. or anyone who is kind of like a boyfriend."

"she's not my girlfriend," he insists.

the rest of the date feels like falling action. my slight drunkenness turns quickly turned into tiredness. i tell him that i should let him go. he has to work early the next morning after all. he reminds me that we haven't finished our twenty questions. though we have not been counting, we continue.

finally, he notices the waiter wiping off booths and asks if the restaurant is closed. it is.

he walks me to my car. notices the moon, how it is almost full. tells me about his trip to teotihuacán, climbing to the top of the pyramid of the moon. i tell him that i have also been there. he talks and talks. mostly about little nothings. i feel like he's stalling.

i suggest that we call it a night.

at my car door, he faces me. we look at each other expectantly.

"well are you going to kiss me good night?" i ask.

and he does. and i wish that he wouldn't have. because it is perfect. and i want more. so we kiss more. and then say good-night.

i drive home with a pit in my stomach. and the feeling that this might end badly for me. wondering if maybe it is already over.

the set up

2006-04-12T14:44:00.000-07:00

we played email tag for a week. i was out of town. he was out of town. he wasn't at the 9:30AM mass that next sunday.

finally, monday afternoon we caught each other on chat.
after a nice little chat, i tell him that i should let him get back to work.

"it's pretty slow around here," he says.

"can you get out early?" i ask.

"nope. gotta stay til 5PM... why do you ask?"

i was not asking for any particular reason, but then it sounded like maybe i was going to say, if you get out early, maybe you and i could get together. and i was embarrassed because it was not my intention to ask him out.

not knowing what to say, i sent him an embarrassed emoticon.

"just say it," he said.

"no!," i told him. "i already told you that i don't ask guys out on dates."

"i have class tonight anyway."

"high school youth group?"

"yeah."

pause.

"afterward?" he asks.

"afterward what?" i respond, smartly.

"come on. this is hard for me, too."

"ok. afterward what?"

"do you want to get a soda?"

i laugh. "sure. where?"

from the moment he asked me, "afterward?" it took an HOUR for us to make plans. where do you want to go? i don't know, where do YOU want to go? etc. soda? dinner? drinks?

he tells me that he thinks he is going to need a drink. he tells me that his palms are sweaty as he types.

i say, "you're making me feel like i'm making you nervous!"

"it's not you," he says. "it's me."

finally i tell him, "why don't you decide? pick a place and i'll be there."

he chooses a place. we decide on a time.

i choose to wear a high necked, racer-back black shirt with jeans. i don't want to make him more nervous by wearing something too revealing. but i look good. and i feel confident. he is so clearly into me. this date is just going to be a matter of me deciding whether or not i like him.

or so i thought.

we interrupt this story

2006-04-09T10:15:00.000-07:00

i admit it. i have dating ADD.

i need a lot of attention. and if i don't get it from one person, well, there are always others.

so while i have been plugging along with the 40 year old virgin, as my sister calls him, i need more.
"more" comes in the form of a fellow blogger. someone with whom i've had a pseudo-cyber ambiguous relationship since late january.

we started talking the week before david got married. i needed him to distract me. and he did. we had this very intense, emotionally slutty week of phone conversations. staying up until all hours of the night talking and talking. about everything--families, our homes, friends, aspirations, fears, myriad intimacies.

at the end of that week, after i've basically bared my soul (and i think he's bared his), he tells me that he's not interested in anything "serious" right now.

i tried to cut him off.
he wanted us to remain friends.
i hate to befriend men with whom i've become emotionally entangled.
but he was persistent.
and patient.
so we stayed "friends." friends who might have benefits.

there have been ups and downs in this alleged friendship.
basically it goes like this. i distance myself, he pushes for more. i give in, he distances himself. i get hurt and distance myself again. and again.

over the past couple of weeks we were at the stage of him pushing for more, me giving in.

a couple of nights ago, talking on the phone, he says to me, "you are the coolest girl. you're easy going, open-minded, smart, pretty, good morals."

i smile a little to myself.

he continues, "if i were the marrying kind, it would be really hard for me to let you go."

if i were the marrying kind, it would be hard to let you go???? does that mean that--since he's not the marrying kind--it would be easy for him to let me go? that he could easily let me go right now?

i realize that this is my fault. i let him do this to me time and again. the truth is that he doesn't have to worry about "letting me go" or not because i'm here. i'm here for him. on chat. on the phone. whenever he wants some bit of emotional intimacy, i am here. and i demand nothing in return.

he gets intimacy and no obligation.
and i get pushed around.

i say this to my friends. and they nod in agreement. you know this about him. you know how he is. you know what he's willing to give. stop talking him!!!!

i know they're right. and i understand with painful clarity that i am participating in a ridiculous, co-dependent, masochistic cycle with him. so why can't i let go?

church flirt

2006-04-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

i arrived at church just minutes before 9:30AM mass was to begin. didn't have time to look for beto. i just needed to find a pew where i could sit and say a quick prayer before the procession. once seated, i looked just beyond my peripheral vision and did not see him, so i decided to focus on the mass.

at my church, during the sign of the peace, everyone stands up and walks around, saying hello to the primos, the comadres, whoever. it's a little bit rowdy. i turned to give the sign of the peace to the woman on my right and saw beto approaching. he was handsome in his white button down shirt, khakis pants, and wire-rimmed glasses.

"hey!" he said, "peace be with you."

i was going to shake his hand, but he leaned in for a hug. we hugged and i told him, "you look really nice."

"thanks," he said and WALKED AWAY.

?????

clearly he didn't know that the appropriate response was, "you look nice too!"

indignant, i scooted back into my pew for the next prayer. my mind was racing. i am so not going to wait around to talk to him after church. i'm not going to have breakfast at the hall. thanks? thanks?! ugh.

at the end of mass, i realized that i would have to go to the hall, where they would be serving breakfast, to fill out some forms. not a problem, i thought. i'll go in, do what i have to do, and leave.

i did just that. and on my way out the door, beto walked in.

"hey," he said, with a big smile on his face. "did you save me a seat?"

"uh, no. i was just. here to. fill out these forms."

"oh! i've gotta do that, too. so..." and he roped me into small talk.

and before i knew it, we were small talking in the breakfast line.
while in line, i met his sister-in-law and nephew. moments later, we were joined by a woman with whom he works in the church high school ministry. a beautiful and sweet mexican american woman, maybe a little bit older than i am. i was pleased when he told me that she was "like a little sister," and she told me, "yeah, and i'm his date whenever he can't get a real one."

we sat with his "little sister" and one of her friends during breakfast. they tallked about the housewarming party that beto was planning for the next weekend.

"you should come!" his little sister said.

"i'm not invited!" i teased beto.

"send me an email, and i'll send you the information."

"i don't know if i have plans or not for that day, but maybe i'll go."

"well. maybe we'll let you in!"

after a while, they left us by ourselves. i don't remember what we chatted about, just that it was fun and flirtatious.

finally, at around noon, i told him that i'd better get going.

"dinner plans?" he said, making reference to the reason i'd used friday at the bar to excuse myself.

"no... i've got work to do today. to get ready for tomorrow."

"ok," he relented, and walked me out the door. we rambled through the parking lot and arrived at my car.

all of a sudden i felt like we were on a date. i felt myself shifting my weight back and forth on my feet.

"well, thanks for having breakfast with me," i said.

"yeah. it was nice. to. socialize."

"yes," i tell him. "i was socializing you."

he laughs. "i guess i need a little bit of that. i have some rough ends."

almost involuntarily, i peeked around and looked as his rear end, and said, "it looks pretty good to me."

he laughed and i noticed color flooding into his cheeks.

"this is me blushing," he said.

i laughed. "i'll email you this week for the party information."

"ok."

awkward silence.

then he punches me on the arm and says, "alright. see you later!"

i don't know why, but i thought that these moments, these pre-relationship uncertainties, would go a lot more smoothly with a 40-year old. i guess i thought that his life experience would lead him to be better at this. better than me anyway. but i was starting to realize, not so much.

something new

2006-04-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

about a month ago, i noticed a handsome man at church. and i noticed him noticing me. leaning back a bit in his pew to make eye contact.

i indulged in a little bit of that small flirtation. seeking eye contact. meeting glances. smiling. looking away. repeat.

the next sunday, i saw him again as i was heading up the aisle to receive communion. we made eye contact, and i smiled at him--briefly and prayerfully--before resuming my march up to the altar. i returned to my pew, kneeled, and thought, he's cute. and, one second later, but kind of old!

i snuck another glance. he was handsome. average height, nice build. i noticed that his hair and goatee were peppered with grey. i gauged his age to be about 37 or 38. kind of old for me. but then i remembered i'm 30! kind of old, too! still, it occurred to me that he might be married. and i didn't want to chance flirting with a married man. so i stopped.

a couple of weeks later, i found myself at a birthday happy hour at an outdoor bar downtown. i had gotten to know the birthday girl--erica--over the past few months, but didn't know any of her friends. i arrived a little late, surveyed the crowd, and quickly realized that i didn't know anyone in the group (erica had yet to arrive). erica's husband, however, introduced himself and some friends. i sat down for a moment and then decided to find an ATM, hoping that erica (or someone familiar) would arrive in the meantime.

when i got back and joined the crowd at the table, i found myself face to face with the old guy from church.

someone introduced us. "MV this is beto. beto..."

"we've met before," he says.

i look at him quizically.

"after church. at breakfast. in the hall. you don't remember."

i start to remember, but ask anyway, "are you sure???"

"yes, you're from south texas, right?"

"no..." i say. "you must have me confused with some other mexican girl you met at church."

"some other beautiful mexican girl," beto's friend chimed in.

beto glances down, and i notice that his face reddens slightly. "i didn't want to embarrass you," he says.

i have to concede that we have indeed met before. he teases me and makes me feel guilty for not remembering.

i try to defend myself. "i'm new at church! i meet tons of people every week. and everyone already seems to know each other."

"ok, ok," he says and decides to take a break from his teasing.

soon thereafter, beto gives up his chair to some recently arrived women, and i begin conversation with the guy seated to my right. every so often i turn to beto. and every so often i catch him smiling at me between sips of his beer. finally, he mouths, "do you want something to drink?"

"are you buying?" i mouth back.

"yeah."

he comes over as if to take my order, warns me that the beer is warm. i ask for a margarita. on the rocks. with salt.

he is at my side moments later. and he is sipping another warm beer, and i am drinking my margarita. and we are smiling and chattering wtih each other about friends, about austin (where he was born and raised) and language and travels in mexico. about college and jobs. he gives me his business card then asks me if it's weird that he's given me his card. i assure him that it is not weird.

he tells me that he is forty years old.

we talk about names. he tells me his middle name. i tell him my middle name is __________.

"really?" he asks. "that's my brother's girlfriend's name."

"really?" i ask. "what's your girlfriend's name?"

"i don't have a girlfriend."

pause

"what's your boyfriend's name?" he asks.

"i don't have a boyfriend."

we smile and shuffle our feet. for too long.

"was that inappropriate?" i ask.

"no. it's just. smooth."

"clever," i offer.

"yes. very clever."

"i'm a clever girl!"

we laugh and talk more. when i look at my watch, i see that it is already 7PM, and i have dinner plans at 7:30PM.

feeling like cinderella, i scurry to say good bye to erica and then to beto.

"thanks for the drink!" and "i guess i'll see you church on sunday."

"see you then."

a good boy and bad habits

2006-04-02T16:04:00.000-07:00

back in august, maria, a new friend from church, invited me to visit her restaurant, a new business venture that she and her brother had undertaken. wanting to support my new friend, i opted to have lunch one day that week at their small, but cozy mexican restaurant.

mid-lunch, i noticed jacob. alto, moreno, donning a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, a baseball cap and a bright smile, i thought him perfectly adorable and a little bit nerdy.

maria introduced him to me as her brother. jacob, sweet and smiling, asked enthusiastic questions about my work. in turn, i asked him about the restaurant and he spoke to me about how difficult and exciting starting the new business had been for them. it'd been somewhat of a childhood dream: their own restaurant.

jacob said good-bye to me that day with a hug and talked about staying in touch.

i returned to the restaurant the following week and again exchanged what i perceived to be flirtacious pleasantries with jacob. i thought that if i went back once a week, jacob would eventually ask me out.

the third weekend, i decided to take a girlfriend to the restaurant for breakfast. she was curious to see my cute new friend. while we enjoyed our breakfast tacos, jacob appeared in the restaurant and immediately approached our table, seeming genuinely pleased to see me. he greeted me with a hug and chattered away.

shortly afterward, a petite young woman appeared at his side and he introduced her to us as his girlfriend. i felt my stomach sink. they were dressed for a day outdoors, and, indeed, they were on their way to a local hiking trail.

"so nice to meet you," i said to her as sweetly as i could.

i never went back to the restaurant.

(i know. i'm a horrible person. so much for supporting my church friend, maria.)

six months later, two of my friends and i were looking for a place to have a quick bite to eat for breakfast. we pass by maria and jacob's restaurant.

why not?

as my friends sat at a table, i found maria and complimented the new additions to the restaurant, feeling a pang of guilt for not having visited in so long.

midway through breakfast, jacob appeared in the restaurant. he wore khakis and a button-down shirt, the same wire rimmed glasses, and looked significantly more tired than i remembered him.

upon seeing us, he immediately came over to say hello. i could tell that his enthusiasm of six months ago had worn thin. i caught more cynical remarks about the business. no regrets, but the illusions not as bright. to add to his business difficulties, it seemed that he and his girlfriend had also broken up. he told me that he'd gained so much weight that he'd had to buy new pants! he was pretty much back to normal now. back into the pre-fat pants.

sometime during our conversation, jacob got up and returned with a taco in hand--sausage wrapped in a tortilla. we continued our conversation, and he spoke broadly about the restaurant and life in general, all the while chomping away on his taco.

he talked with his mouth open. bits of sausage and tortilla visibly rolling around in his mouth.

i cringed inwardly, not just because of the unsightly food, but because i was embarrassed for him to be chewing and talking in front of other people!

soon we were finishing our breakfast and found ourselves pressed for time to make our next appointment. my friends quickly made their way out and i trailed behind, still talking to jacob (who'd finished eating his taco). he walked me to the door.

as we are saying our good-byes, i tell him, "you seem different to me than you did back in september. you seem..."

"bitter?"

i laugh. "i wasn't going to say that."

"that's what one of the lawyers who's been helping us with the business told me. he told me that i'd gotten a taste of the bitter pill, running this restaurant."

i contemplate this statement for a moment. "i was going to say that you seem to have more of an edge to you this time around."

"do you think that's sexy?" he asks.

"do you want it to be sexy?" i ask back.

"yeah."

i laugh. "ok then."

i share with him that i will be out of town for a week.

he asks about my trip. i talk about it in flippant terms. this leads him to ask questions to assure that i have made adequate plans about travel and lodging. i tell him not to worry! i have it all figured out.

i touch him lightly and quickly on the chest and say, "we should hang out sometime."

"yeah," he says, slightly surprised.

"maybe when i get back."

"ok."

i jumped in the car where my friends were waiting and waved good-bye.

i thought about jacob for a while. he's a good boy. talks with his mouth full, but that can be remedied, right? i've been back from my trip for two weeks, but for some reason i haven't gone back to the restaurant.

a good boy. then why don't i go back? it makes me think that maybe i'm the one with bad habits.

self-censorship

2006-03-20T09:31:00.000-08:00

i decided against writing the "blogger ho" series, so i took down that first installment.

it's still a little too fresh (maybe ongoing?), and i don't want to compromise his identity. or mine!

i might just dig back into the archives for some other stories to share...

érase una mujer, érase un hombre

2006-03-07T21:35:00.000-08:00

they met each other by chance.

the woman had moved half way across the country for a new job. and in the wake of her departure there was the end of her relationship. the end that had left her feeling as if there were an enormous hole in her center. left her off-balance. and empty. it was only fitting that she move. literally, figuratively. move.

the man had also moved. returned home to this town on the cusp of the ocean. for a year he had nursed himself painting landscapes of the ocean. each painting colored by the melancholy of his failed relationship in that other city, that other life.

the woman's friend invited her to dinner.
the man's brother invited him.
her friend and his brother were old friends.

at dinner, the friend and the brother talked and laughed loudly about their past adventures. reminisced about school and travel. exchanged gossip about classmates. the woman and the man spoke little, but enjoyed the generous amount of red wine filling and refilling their glasses.

the woman felt laughter bubble from within; she was laughing at the man's witticisms. she asked him to see his sketchbook. he obliged and was receptive to her compliments. thanked the woman, almost surprised that she'd noticed his talent.

"sketch me!" she demanded in her drunkenness.

the man smiled shyly and demured. "wait," he said, and quickly drank another glass of wine.

soon he was furiously moving his pencil along the thick unlined paper of his notebook. flipping pages over, beginning anew.

"i can do better." and commanding, "close your eyes." "i can't quite get the lower lip. something about the lower lip."

she was flushed and amazed at her likeness appearing on the sheets of paper before him.
she was flustered that he could see her.

when he was done, they laughed over the sketches. a hand on the elbow. another on the knee. sloppy affection and compliments.

all the while the friend and the brother as if on another plane.

"do you want to see one of my paintings?"

the man lived and painted in the back house. there were dozens of pictures of the sea--by day, by night. from different coastlines, varying seascapes.

a sheepish grin appeared across the man's face as she admired his work.

he kissed her, and the woman dizzily kissed him back.
and back. slowly, drunkenly, sloppily, deliberately.
the man and the woman smiled into each other, laughing and testing their limits as strangers.

the woman, still drunk, slept fitfully, frequently shifting her position on the man's bed.
the man met her every movement. not a minute of the night passed when his leg was not touching her leg. or his arm her shoulder; his back hers; their feet intertwined. they slept seeking the other's warmth. they slept drawn and desiring and missing intimacy.

the next morning, the man and woman awoke bashful. the man made the woman hot tea and led her along a path near his house by the ocean. they sat on a bench under the grey morning and watched the silver glint of the early sea rush against the cliffs. talked soberly and shyly about what had brought them there.

the man found himself talking about the end of his relationship, the one that had driven him home. he found himself saying the name of his ex-lover and numbering the months that had passed since she had left him. the woman sipped her hot tea sympathetically. let his story silently reverberate with her own.

they shared a good-bye kiss under the chill of the morning. the man gifted the woman a small painting--a blue and purple night vision of the sea under dim stars.

later that morning, the woman told her friend about how the man had slept. so aware of her every movement. always keeping at least a small touch. a small tenderness.

"that's nice," the friend remarked. "sometimes," she said, "it's nice to pretend."

yes, the woman thought, grateful to have filled her emptiness for even the smallest moment. sometimes it's nice to pretend.

always the bridesmaid, part 2

2006-03-02T12:38:00.000-08:00

bachelor #2: el abandonado

one of other bridesmaids, cristina, remarked to me that she felt bad for her date.

"i don't really know him that well," she said. "i just asked him to come at the last minute. i feel kind of bad because i'm the only person he knows at the wedding. and, because i'm in the wedding, i haven't been able to hang out with him!"

"he gets bonus points for being a good date," i told her.

alfonso, cristina's date, did have a hard time of it. first, he couldn't find his namecard, which would have told him where he was to be seated. because the bride didn't know his name, he was listed as "cristina _______ date" on the card.

when he clarified that with cristina, alfonso found his namecard and proceeded to his table only to find that someone else--someone who had not sent in an RSVP--had taken his seat. that someone else did not want to relinquish her place at the table, so alfonso approached cristina again to ask where he should sit.

cristina found an unoccupied seat for him without too much trouble, but it was nowhere near where the bridal party was seated.

throughout the evening, the bridal party remained fairly intact--through dinner, toasts, cake-cutting, etc.--so alfonso had to socialize with strangers. fortunately, he realized that he was from the same hometown as the groom's family and did, actually, know some of them (small world, small town!).

after the reception rituals, wine and alcohol from the cash bar was flowing, the music a soft thunder in the ballroom, and cristina was taking advantage of both. increasingly drunk, dancing, and taking pictures, she mostly ignored her very patient date.

i wondered why she had brought him at all. it occurred to me that her ex-boyfriend had sent in his RSVP plus one. i speculated that cristina did not want to face her ex without a plus one of her own.

at the end of the night, cristina and i were the only remaining bridesmaids along with the bride's parents and immediate family. and, of course, alfonso.

cristina had drunkenly disappeared somewhere downstairs and i noticed alfonso standing quietly, nursing a beer in the ballroom.

"hey," i said. "did you have a good time tonight?"

"yeah," he said, convincingly.

"i was a little worried about you tonight. first, because there was that mix up with your seating. and then because i heard that you didn't know the families here."

"no," he assured me. "it was great. the seating worked out, and it turned out that i knew a few people here. and i get along with most people."

"good," i told him. "i'm glad."

"thanks for asking, though. it's really nice of you to ask."

i shrugged my shoulders and continued to help the mother of the bride clear items from the ballroom.

a few minutes later, we were all downstairs waiting for the limo to arrive to take the bride and groom to their honeymoon suite.

the groom asked alfonso, "hey, i hear you're from watsonville?"

"yeah," alfonso replied. "i grew up there, lived in the bay area for six or seven years, then moved here."

"did you go to college in the bay area?" i asked.

"yeah."

"which school?"

"berkeley."

"berkeley!" it turns out that we are rivals, having graduated only a year apart. so i start to razz him about being a "weenie."

i tell him, "i can't believe we're just now talking. i would have been giving you a hard time all night!"

he laughs and asks what i majored in, seems interested in my chosen profession. i ask him about his job; he works in child protective services.

the limo arrives and we start to talk more quickly. then he asks, "can i have your email address?"

"sure."

"do you have a pen?"

i look down at my bridesmaid dress. "no."

"oh!" he declares. "it wasn't meant to be." pauses for a millisecond, then says, "no! we can find each other."

"tell me your first and last name," i tell him.

"alfonso _________."

all of a sudden, cristina appears, and we stop talking abruptly, look guiltily at her.

"hey cristina," i say. "it turns out that alfonso and i went to rival schools."

she looks at me blankly.

"well, i'd better get going," i say. "bye!" and leave them--the bridesmaid and el abadonado--to wind down the evening together.

always, always the bridesmaid.

always the bridesmaid

2006-02-28T22:30:00.000-08:00

i served as a bridesmaid this weekend at a family wedding.

i don't even want to talk about how many bridesmaid dresses i own. and i certainly do not want to talk about how many times, throughout the evening, a well-meaning aunt or uncle or family friend prodded me with an elbow and said, "you're next." i just muster up as sweet a smile as i can and bite my tongue, because it would seem rude to say, through syrup-y smile, "actually, i'm probably not going to be next. but thanks for noticing!"

because this was a *family* wedding, i didn't anticipate making any love connections, but i do have two stories to tell. don't worry, they're not related (to me or to each other).

bachelor #1: the groomsman
juan was my partner walking down the aisle. tall, shaved head, puppy dog eyes, and chubby cheeks, he was handsome, especially in his tuxedo.

the bride had already told me all about him. apparently when the groom told juan that he was proposing to the bride, juan felt pressured to propose to his girlfriend, who he'd been dating for much longer than the bride and groom had been together.

"amy's going to kill me if she hears that you proposed to [the bride]," juan told the groom.

so the groom and juan went ring shopping together and proposed on the same day to their respective girlfriends.

for various reasons, the bride and amy did not get along. because i'm loyal to the bride, and because i thought he was cute, i therefore felt no guilt flirting with juan.

and opportunities to flirt were in abundance. we were arm in arm at the church. the photographer had us saddle up to each other for a million pictures. put your arm around her! move closer together. pretend you're at prom!

it turns out that juan went to the same college as my best friend. i ask if he was in the same industry as the groom. no, he tells me. he majored a history. worked as a high school teacher.

i feel my eyes widen. "history! that's so great."

what about you? juan tells me that the groom has told him how well i've done in my career (which, by the way, is a total exaggeration).

we talk, we tease. he tells me that during the grand entrance into the reception hall, he is going to twirl and dip me.

i look at him skeptically. "i don't think you're that smooth," i tell him.

he shoots me a mock wounded look.

the wedding coordinator tells us that, after we are presented, we are to snake through the room to the head table.

"snake!" he says. "i love that game. do you ever play that game on your cell phone?"

"no," i say. "what's up with guys and video games? it doesn't matter how old you are! you all love video games."

"it's because we grew up playing video games. it's a generational thing," he says. "any guy you meet from now on is going to play video games." he pauses for a moment before adding, "if he's cool."

"oh!" i say. "if he's cool. should that be how i test to see if any guy i meet from now on is cool?"

"yes!" he says. "you should just ask. 'do you play video games?' that should be the first thing on your check list. and then, does he like history?"

i laugh at how he is clearly referring to himself. "well. all the video game playing history lovers seem to have girlfriends," i tell him.

"maybe you can expand the criteria a little. you can include political science majors," he suggests.

i roll my eyes and laugh as we are about to make our entrance into the reception ballroom.

we touch base every so often during the course of the evening. we talk politics. he's a lefty (thank God!). we talk immigration policy, unions. he tells me that he's become more involved in his union lately, and i have to confess that i love this about him. who will be good candidates for president in 2008.

we also continue to tease and flirt, even though his fiancee is just tables away.

at the end of the night he approaches me and the bride to tell us that some of the groomsmen are going to a bar to have a little afterparty. "tell the bridesmaids," he says to the bride and, ostensibly, to me.

i tell him that i won't be able to make it because i'll be traveling the next day and have yet to pack. but, i tell him, "it was really nice to meet you."

"yeah," he says.

we look at each other for one moment and then he says, "you should email me sometime. to tell me how you're doing. you can get my email address. from the groom. or something."

despite all the flirtation, i'm a little surprised. he has a fiancee.

"why don't you email me," i say, and tell him my email address. "i'll reply."

i wonder if he'll remember the address. but i know that it doesn't matter. in four months, half of these people will be gathered for his wedding.

but at least i won't have to be a bridesmaid again.

story #2 forthcoming...

fool

2006-02-22T10:49:00.000-08:00

there is a saying along these lines:
fool me once, shame on you.
fool me twice, shame on me.
shame on me.

i sought him out again. bookstore boy. i called him. i let myself become excited at the prospect of seeing him.
i waited for his call.

when he didn't call saturday, or the rest of the weekend, i thought--surely--he had a legitimate excuse. family emergency. he had to drive home. bookstore emergency. broken fingers. amnesia. i have no idea. but i was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for flaking on our weekend plans.

i believed he'd call by tuesday. it would be a week from our last conversation.
he did not.
nor did he call by the next tuesday.
nor did he call by this past tuesday.

and now it's been three weeks. three weeks and a day, actually.

why did i let him do this to me again?
first time, he was the jerk.
this time, it's all me.

lunch date

2006-02-18T15:37:00.000-08:00

thursday night i return home to find a cryptic message from paul on my answering machine.
clamor in the background and paul's voice, "MV?" more clamor. click.

i do not consider that message a confirmation for our friday lunch date.

friday morning i deliberate whether or not to call him. i call from work and leave a message on his voicemail. "i haven't heard from you, so i guess we'll just catch each other for lunch another time."

back at home, i see that paul has left two messages on my answering machine earlier that morning. the first to try to confirm the lunch date. the second an apology.

later that afternoon, when we finally do catch each other on the phone, we agree that we will have lunch the next day, saturday.

i am mildly surprised that i have still not heard from bookstore boy to make plans for the weekend, but i had told him that i'd be busy through friday, so i do not worry.

everything with paul runs smoothly on saturday. he calls in the morning to reconfirm and we meet at a restaurant near my house. i arrive before paul, which i find mildly annoying. after running into my ex-boyfriend's estranged roommate in the restaurant, i decide to wait by my car.

paul pulls into the space next to me and is talking on the phone. he waves and indicates that he'll need just another minute. still on the phone, he steps out of his car, and i am surprised by how short he is.

shortness. not usually a factor for me. i'm 5'2" and tend to gravitate toward mexican guys, who usually range in height from 5'6"-5'10." but paul stands maybe an inch taller than me. it occurrs to me that the night we met, he was sitting on a barstool. during our entire conversation, flirtation, i stood and he sat. my friends later joked that maybe that was his MO, to sit on a tall barstool and wait for women to approach.

once off the phone, paul greets me with a hug and we agree to have our lunch on the patio. the afternoon is perfect in austin, full of sun and breeze.

he asks if i'm drinking. i'm not. it's noon, and he's invited me for lunch. not drinks.

i order conservatively, the least expensive item on the menu, expecting that he will pay. he does.

we exchange pleasantries, small talk. he is still mildly flattering. i find myself speaking openly about my job and insecurities about my career. he similarly talks about his career. he hasn't gone to school, but decided to jump into the corporate world. we talk about books, and i realize that we don't have much in common on that front. he talks about his upcoming vacation, a week-long cruise. he'll be leaving in two days.

overall, it is a pleasant lunch.
but there are no sparks.

once we are at our cars, he makes a movement toward me. circumventing his motion, i kiss him awkwardly on the cheek good-bye. a flash of disappointment crosses his face. i tell him he should call me when he gets back from his cruise.

almost as soon as i am back in my car, i pull out my cellphone to check for missed calls. there is one voicemail message. i am certain that it is bookstore boy.

it isn't. and the disappoinment is now mine.

a valentine's day poem

2006-02-14T14:59:00.000-08:00

i'll continue the stories a little later this week, but i thought i'd post something different today.

i wrote it about someone who haunted me for a while. someone who recently got married.

***
los muertos se ríen

not skeletal and gleeful as Posada envisioned
but rather plain of spirit and flesh, attending
to the business of every day:

shopping for soy milk and eggs
saying nightly prayers with children
paying bills and dreading
the morning commute.

they are specters occupying
their lives and watching yours:
chainsmoking outside your preferred coffeeshop
watching you dance your favorite song
browsing periodicals in your neighborhood

invisible but to those who squint to see hope
haunting as always only open hearts.

***
happy valentine's day! hope you are able to celebrate it with people you love--romantic partners or other loved ones.

big P

2006-02-12T20:32:00.000-08:00

tuesday night, my roommate and i are watching a rerun of sex and the city. it is the beginning of carrie's relationship with jack berger. he leaves a perfect message on her answering machine. she revels in those first flushes of having a crush. the initial chemistry. the potential.

almost as an aside, another guy emerges from the woodwork and asks her out on a date. she doesn't like him nearly as well as berger, and is thinking about blowing him off.

it seems to take one date to get another.

her friends urge her to go out with the second guy. just to take the edge off her upcoming date with berger.

mid-episode, our house phone rings. it is paul. we exchange pleasantries and are slightly less awkward on the phone the second time around. i remind him that he's promised to take me to that great restaurant by where he works.

let's do that.

i ask if it is more of a dinner or lunch place?

lunch, he says.

ok. and we make lunch plans for friday. he'll call thursday to confirm.

as we are wrapping up the conversation, my cell phone begins to ring loudly, echoing in the kitchen.

i say good-bye to paul and go to check my missed call.

i recognize the number. it is bookstore boy.

i immediately return the call. he answers, and i still remember his voice from when we last spoke in november.

"hi. i just missed a call from this number."

"oh, hey MV. i don't know if you remember me... my name is __________. we met at [the bookstore] a couple of months ago..."

"yeah. of course i remember you. i actually just called you yesterday. i was looking through some old papers and found your number. thought i'd give you a call since i hadn't heard from you in a while."

"i'm so glad you did. i lost your number before i programmed it into my cellphone, and i'd wanted to get in touch with you, but i didn't know how. so when i saw you on my caller ID, i thought, i have to call her back immediately."

immediately. i turn the word over in my head. he had to call me back. immediately.

he asks about my holidays. seems enthusiastic about my work, asks many questions.
he tells me about working at the bookstore. waiting for his medical license so that he can begin his residency.
in the meantime, he has creative projects. writing.
we talk about hometowns and family.
we talk about our love for texas-mexico border towns.
how culturally amazing it is to be mexican american.
i share my anxieties about having to find a new job.
he tells me, "i've been on a lot of job interviews. and so much of it is just... you're very charming. you don't have anything to worry about.

charming.

he is nervous and self-deprecating and perfect.
he tells me, "it's so funny to meet you now. i've just been in the middle of things. and kind of brain dead. and then."
he makes no sense. but i want to believe that i know what he is saying to me.

after maybe half an hour of this thrilling, perfect conversation, he asks, hesitantly, "so. do you think. that i could. call you sometime?"

"that would great."

"and maybe we can. hang out. or something."

"yeah. i'd like that."

i tell him that i have a project i need to finish by friday. but saturday or sunday.

ok.

good night.

i return to the living room and recount as many details as i can remember to my roommate.

"see!" she tells me. "you need one date to get another!"

"i feel like such a pimp," i tell her. "or is it a puta?"

who cares? the rest of my week looks bright.

moving on

2006-02-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

sunday night, back in austin.
tired, sad. tender, bruised, hickey-ed neck.

i think to call paul, the real estate agent i'd met the weekend before. he had left a message on my answering machine thursday, but i didn't return his call before going out of town.

so there i was, paul's business card in one hand, cradling my phone in the other.

i turn to my roommate and ask, "is it wrong for me to be thinking about one guy (david) and calling another? when i have a hickey on my neck from someone totally different?"

she looks at me sympathetically and says, "you're just trying to move on."

so i call.

paul's voice on the answering machine, smooth and low.
i leave a message after the tone.

+++

monday night. no word from paul.
still sad, listless.
a little bit desperate.

i think about bookstore boy.
he was so cute!
we had such cute nervous repoire!
he was a doctor!

so i decided to call him.
i'd already deleted his number from my cell phone. so i looked through my online cell phone records. dialed calls in november. i'd only called twice.
found the number and rehearsed my excuse.

i would say, "i was just looking through some old papers and came across your number!" not totally untrue. i was looking through old records.
his phone rang and rang. he didn't answer. i didn't leave a message.
i realized that i couldn't call twice with the "i just now happened upon your number" excuse.
decided that it wasn't meant to be.

decided that i was probably meant to be alone. at least for now.

wedding night

2006-02-05T14:45:00.000-08:00

that night, we got dressed up to go out. to drink and to dance.
and maybe to be a little bit shameless.

i admit it. i was looking for a target.

he was tall, lanky, preppy, and pleasant-looking. white boy from mississippi. in town for a conference.
he bought me and my friends a round of drinks and asked me to dance.

very polite conversationalist, a clownish personality with his friends.
he would dance with other girls, but come around and assure me that he was just entertaining his friends. he wanted to make sure that we had chance to "talk" before the end of the night.

mississippi introduced me to several of his friends, among them a mexican guy named david.
david looked to be in his late 30s, and he looked at me adoringly.

adoringly or not, david did not dance. i asked. he apologized, grabbing my hand earnestly. i really can't dance. i feigned indignance and danced with my girlfriends, with other guys.

after a while, i was tired of waiting for mississippi. he seemed too distracted, so i turned my attention to david, flirting between dances with other people.

as the night stretched on, i noticed mississippi and david leave the bar. i followed them out.
they stopped talking, mississippi turns to me and says, "MV, we were just talking about how great it has been to meet you. you are gorgeous."

"thanks."

he continues, "i'm gonna go ahead and go. but i definitely want to dance more with you tonight."

mississippi walks away, leaving me with david.

we talk. we flirt. i lead him down a hallway. looking for someplace discreet, we stumble upon mississippi and one of the girls he'd been dancing with that night.

david says, "i can see why you like him."

i ignore the comment and lead him outside.

i kiss him. he kisses me back. soon we are touching and kissing urgently.

"you should come back to my hotel."

"no."

more kissing, touching.

"come on. come to my hotel."

"no."

more urging, more negating.

"stop talking!" i tell him. "can't you just enjoy yourself?"

"but it would be more fun."

he kisses my neck hard and bites.

"ok. ok," i tell him. "we better get back."

david tries to be persuasive, but i'm not listening to him any more. my fingers massage my now tender neck.

"sorry," he says.

back in the bar, my friends are frustrated with me for having disappeared. i need to be more careful. i know. i'm sorry.

mississippi comes over and regales me, "i caught you!"

"i caught you," i tell him.

"we caught each other," he says.

"hey," i tell him. "i'm a girl. i've got needs, too."

"i can understand that," he says. "hey. can i give you my phone number?"

"sure," i tell him.

"and you can call me whenever you want."

i tell him, ok, he thanks me, and returns to his friends, including the girl he was with in the dark hallway.

shortly afterward, a waitress comes over and tell me, "i was told to give you this." a folded piece of paper. mississippi's name. his mobile number.

i refold the paper and tuck it into my jeans.

soon, we are ready to call it a night. i wave good-bye to david, and he follows me out. "let me walk you to your car."

all at once, mississippi appears. "hey, MV. you leavin'? can i get a hug good-bye?"

as he leans into his hug, he whispers in my ear, "do you have my number in your pocket?"

"yes."

"call me in ten minutes," he says.

"ten minutes?" i ask.

"yeah, give me ten minutes."

i am still trying to understand mississippi's request as david is trying convince me to go back to his hotel with him. trying to persuade me to give him my number. if not tonight, he promises he can be in austin tomorrow night.

"listen," i tell him. "i need some time to process all of this. you can give me your number if you want."

"do you have a pen?"

"no."

"well, how am i going to give you my number?"

"i don't know."

"fine," he says and turns, walks away.

i roll my eyes at his retreating figure and join my friends.

my thoughts return to mississippi. ten minutes? he passed me along to his friend and now he wants me to call him in ten minutes? what is he going to do with that other girl in ten minutes?

my friend and i returned to our own hotel room that night, telling stories, laughing, and poking fun at the men who had tried to charm us into their rooms.

i stripped off my sticky clothes and got ready for bed. i smelled of smoke and sweat and alcohol. looking at myself in the mirror, i could see the smudged eye makeup, the matted hair. and the hickey on my neck. the hickey that would necessitate my use of scarves and chokers all week at work. i had worn myself out.

this is how i spent his wedding night.
his name is david by the way. i've never written that before.
but that is his name.
david.
i made out with another david on my david's wedding night.

and then i slept like the dead.

sadness

2006-02-04T19:52:00.000-08:00

despite sucessfully attracting male attention friday and saturday nights, i wake up sunday morning feeling sullen.
in less than a week, he will be married.
i spend the entire day curled up on the couch, alternately watching television and weeping on the phone to sympathetic friends.

it's not fair. he broke my heart. and now he gets to live happily after.
one of my friends gently explains that the broken ones are usually not first to get back in the game. another tells me that he might not be living happily after.

i continue to insist: i don't want him to get married. i don't want him to get married.

but i know that it doesn't matter what i want.

sometime in the early evening i force myself to leave my apartment to go to the laundromat.

when i come back i find myself looking at the business card i collected friday night from paul, the real estate agent. i call him. he is awkward in his sobriety. i am awkward in my sadness. we talk about getting together for lunch. he says other things that make me think he's trying too hard to sound impressive and aloof.

i can't remember what he looks like. i can't remember why i thought calling would be a good idea.

a distraction.

"is this your mobile number?" paul asks.

"it's my landline. you can call me if you want." i say the last bit in a non-commital tone.

"i will call," he says, earnestly.

"ok," i say, and genuinely do not care.

tijuana no

2006-02-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

raining on a saturday night and we are ready to dance. the club packed with chicano/a hipsters waiting for the band to begin. my friend and i position ourselves close to the stage and near friends.

a white guy in a yellow t-shirt and jeans passes us by and says, "y'all sure are pretty." i notice that his shirt has a tropical screen print with the words "tijuana, mexico" emblazoned in red cursive. i roll my eyes and wonder if he's chosen that t-shirt for the night's spanish language rock band.

the white guy returns and stands next to my friend. he smiles broadly and tries to chat us up. i feign interest, but once the music begins, my attention is diverted to the stage. my, more polite, friend continues to engage him in small talk.

though the music cries out to be danced, there are too many people crowding toward the stage. no room to move. i dance a cumbia step in place. i feel the tijuana t-shirt guy (TT) watching me dance. in one swift movement, he grabs one of my hands, pulls me toward him, and spins me around. i look at him, surprised. he says, "you're welcome."

i am self-conscious as he dances me around the tight space on what would be the dance floor. i try to move small and am still bumping into band fans. i realize that TT is a salsa dancer, not a cumbia dancer. i find that, in spite of myself, i am having fun with him.

as the set moves along, i break away from TT to flirt with handsome chicano boys. dance once with someone who has caught my eye, but TT is always there. ready for me to be ready. another dance.

TT's friend, a tall and handsome brazilian guy, has found my friend, and they are similarly spinning around the dance floor. the crowd begins to thin and we continue dance and dance. the floor is wet from everyone trudging rain in the club and spilled drinks. broken bottles litter the floor, but we continue.

the band begins to play a song of a slower tempo. i decide to grab a glass of water and rest. in my peripheral vision i notice TT giving me the Look. i scurry to my friend and ask if she is ready to go. she requests one last dance. TT and i also dance again and then we are standing side by side. i turn and catch him casting a long sideways glance at me. he smiles.

"you caught me checking you out," he says through an unbroken smile.

the dancing has been fine, even fun, but i am not interested. i decide to play the age card.

"can i ask you a question?"

"yes," he says.

"how old are you?"

"i'm going to be 26 this year."

"oh," i say, in what i hope is a patronizing tone.

"i know how old you are," he says.

"oh really?"

"yeah. you're friend already told me she's 36."

"i'm not 36."

"27? 28?"

"can we not play this game?" i request. "i'm older than you. by a stretch."

"ok," he says with a wounded inflection in his voice. "but just for the record, i don't think you're too old for me."

i continue to stare ahead at the stage and say nothing while sipping my water.

moments later he nudges me and directs my attention to the corner. i see TT's friend dictating his number to my friend, who is punching the numbers into her cellphone.

"he's 22!" TT declares. "and she's 36!"

"she's not going to call him," i tell him plainly.

"what?!"

"she's not going to call him."

"that's messed up."

feeling slightly guilty, i recant. "maybe she'll call him." but i know that she won't.

my friend and i say our good-byes and make movements toward the door. TT takes my hand and kisses it lightly. tells me that he has had a lovely time. maybe sometime we can go salsa dancing.

maybe.

but i know that we won't.

coping

2006-01-30T17:27:00.000-08:00

friday night.

i have been mostly sullen since pouring over my ex's wedding gift registry the night before.
my friends have suggested we check a new bar in southeast austin. it is an increasingly gentrified part of town, but we are eager to discover new venues, quaint holes in the wall, to avoid the clamor of downtown sixth street.

the sign on the door admonishes patrons to be considerate of the neighbors. keep voices down.
we walk in to a large room made elegant by dimly lit by glass fixtures. it is furnished simply with white upholstered chairs and low tables glowing softly beneath candles.

the bar at the back of the room seems old fasioned with bottles of liquor lined up in front of a large mirror. we browse the menu and each decide of different drinks with hard liquor bases and sweet accents.

the three of us sit in a corner as hipsters begin to stream into the bar. they are trendy in the way that austinites are, clad in second-hand clothes, choppy and messed hair styles, impossibly casual ways of carrying themselves. as the night wears on, conversations become more loud as does laughter. i notice a long-haired girl stand and fall into a young guy's lap. he seems pleased.

we enjoy our own conversation and our own drinks. share stories about the week. laugh at each other. we decide to leave around 11:30PM because of our early morning commitments.

i want to wait for the line at the bar to become shorter before paying my tab, but it never does. so i move to stand in line and am immediately approached by a dark-haired non-hipster. he asks my name, if i've been there before, where i am going later. his name is alex. i am polite to him, but not exceedingly interested. he introduces me to a friend. we smile politely at one another.

one of alex's friends has a seat at the bar. he turns to me and says, "come here. you can stand here if you want to get the bartender's attention."

i must look at him dubiously because he assures me, "i don't bite."

i move closer.

he does not bite, however, he does engage me in small talk. his name is paul. he is a real estate agent. a little younger than i am. he is mexican american, third generation austinite. when we talk, he looks at me as if i'm the most beautiful girl in the bar. at some moments, mid-conversation, as if distracted by my face, he blurts, "your eyes are incredible," and then, "your smile is amazing."

but he is still playing cool. "we can exchange numbers," he says to me after i pay my tab.

"oh, can we?" i tease.

"yeah, we can."

"i'll tell you what. you can give your number if you want."

he hands me his business card. we talk about the location of his office, how it is close to a great restaurant i've never frequented.

"maybe i'll let you take me there," i tell him.

"if you use that card," he says, "i will." my friends later tease me that i have been given a free meal card.

we say casual good-byes, and i walk out with my girlfriends feeling slightly triumphant.

masochism

2006-01-23T12:04:00.000-08:00

after all of my bravado at the mark of the new year, i have fallen short.

a few months ago, i found out that my ex, the person i once believed to be the love of my life, was getting married.

while november was a difficult month, i have surprisingly felt fine, almost indifferent, about his impending nuptials.
until january.
at the beginning of the month i had a bit of a panic attack.
he's getting married.
january 28th.

then i did something. i got on the internet and downloaded his work schedule. don't ask questions. i'm a stalker. i have my ways! anyway, i saw that he was scheduled to work the day after he told me he was getting married.

this, of course, led me to believe that maybe he wasn't getting married after all. or maybe they had postponed the wedding. or maybe the work schedule was mistaken. but i preferred denial.

denial has been kind over the past month. it has helped me from feeling sad or depressed or any sense of loss.

but i still needed to find out if the wedding was going to happen.

my friends encouraged me to let it go.
"how are you going to find out? are you going to go around checking wedding registries?"
she was trying to discourage me, but inadvertently gave me an ingenious idea.
wedding registries!
and then another friend: "you can't check all of the wedding registries."
"i know," i say.
"just target?" she laughs.
target!

once at home, i log on to target's club wedd. and find that there is only one groom with his name in all of texas. and it is him. and it is her. and it is their city. and it is january 28th.

here's where it gets ugly.

i had honestly only wanted to confirm the date.
but then i was connected to the wedding registry.
and could see all the stuff.

you know. all of those things that a couple chooses to adorn their new home.
i could see the colors and style they had chosen for serving dishes.
the kitchen knives.
the oversized bathroom scale.
the white linens for their queen sized bed.
i could imagine them together at target with the little registry gun, shooting inanimate objects.
her eyes widen as they settle upon something she likes, "honey, do you like this one?"
"yeah. add it to the list."
i could see their excitement. their plans.
their happily ever after.

i felt nauseated. but transfixed. by envy. and masochism.

Fits and Starts

2006-01-21T12:33:00.000-08:00

Mike and I made a date to see Luis Bunuel's Wuthering Heights at the local movie art-house. I'd seen his profile online and liked his sense of humor, so we'd been emailing each other over a week. Our exchanges were tentative and polite, and when he asked to meet, I thought a movie would be a low-pressure way to get to know someone. We wouldn't have to do much talking initially, and when we got out of the movie, we'd have a ready-made subject to get the conversation going.

That day, I spent some time in the morning figuring out an outfit that was cute enough for a date, but not too over-the-top for work. I spent the day at my desk trying to focus on my work, but getting more and more nervous as quitting time approached. My best co-worker buddy, Dennis, teased me from the next cubicle. "Be gentle with him! Don't forget to ask him about his spoon."

When the time came to meet, I walked down the street toward the theater, my high-heeled black boots matching the pounding of my heart. Seriously, I was so nervous that I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. What if this was THE guy? What if I were about to meet my soul mate? Giddily, I thought that my dating days might be about to end within the next few hours.

When I got to the theater, I walked upstairs to the box office and scanned the lounge area. I thought I saw a familiar face lurking toward the back, and walked over toward him. He was studiously reading the free weekly, perhaps a little overzealously, when I stopped in front of him and asked, "Mike?" He looked up and smiled nervously.

Did he look like his picture? Well, if you remembered the broader strokes of the picture, sure. But the finer details that couldn't be made out before were suddenly very apparent. Not to say that he had doctored his picture in any way, but let's face it, it had probably been scanned in from a very fuzzy original. He was decent looking enough...yet his eyelids had these curious bumps on them that I have to confess, sorta skeeved me out.

Taking a deep breath and plunging ahead, I smiled back, and asked him how his day had been. Getting the preliminary awkward chit-chat out of the way, we went to the ticket window and bought our tickets (dutch). Finding our seats somewhere in the middle rows, we settled down for what turned out to be a very strange movie.

For anyone who's ever seen Bunuel--and if you've watched Un Chien Andalou, you know what I mean--Wuthering Heights was more on the normal side of his typical film. The scene at the end that smacks of necrophilia...yeah, sort of creepy, but it wasn't out of the realm of what you might expect from one of his films.

We walked out of the theater, and I started to talk about that weird ending. Pretty soon, I felt like I was maybe talking too much, and asked him what he thought. "Yeah, I guess it was weird." Hmmm....ok. I guess I expected a little more, but I can accept that not everyone overanalyzes everything like I do. What other movies did he like? He mentioned a handful, but didn't elaborate. I sighed inwardly. I'm not exactly the most chatty kind of person, and I wondered how long we'd be able to sustain a conversation. Since we really hadn't spent too much one-on-one time, I suggested we walk across the street to the Irish pub to get a drink.

Once there, I gamely attempted to find out his likes and his dislikes. He liked some sports, but since I never watch anything that involves ball-throwing activity, I couldn't really engage him on that topic. Somehow the conversation veered to his unemployment, and his disillusionment over that, and his bitterness over his family life. I started to feel kind of down, and thought about getting another drink to help him drown his sorrows, but thought better of it and asked if we could call it a night, mentioning an early start at work the next day.

Once I got to the office, I spent twenty minutes dissecting the evening with Dennis. Mike wasn't a bad guy, and he wasn't bad-looking, but was it up to me to help him feel better about himself? Could I really spend any more time with this guy without feeling like I wanted to drive my car into oncoming traffic?

Mike emailed me later that day to thank me for a nice evening. Very carefully worded, the email made no suggestion about meeting for a second date. It sounded like he was giving me an out, and feeling a pang of guilt, I got out.

5. el diablito: el colmo

2006-01-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

1. el encuentro
2. la borrachera and slutting accident
3. la borrachera sigue
4. la cruda

i am mildly suprised when alejandro calls the next night at exactly 8PM.

we exchange hello-how-are-yous, and polite small talk for a few minutes before he asks me if i want to go get a beer somewhere.

"i can't tonight. i have a ton of stuff to do for work tomorrow."

he tries to persuade me, but i am firm. tell him that tomorrow night would be better.

he agrees. tomorrow night. "i work until 7PM tomorrow," he says. "i'll give you a call when i get out of work, ok?"

OK.

7:13PM the next night, he calls. tells me that he'll be over within the half hour.

i wear a black, racer back top paired with worn blue jeans. chandelier earrings and chanclas.

he sits with my roommate while i finish makeuping.

when i emerge, i am disappointed to see him wearing an old white t-shirt and khaki shorts. still, the white of his shirt accentuates his tanned and tatooed arms, and his light brown eyes flash yellow in the soft light of the living room.

we leave my apartment slightly awkward in our sobriety.

"ni saludas!" i tease him.

"oh," he says, almost embarrassed, and leans over to kiss me on the cheek.

as we walk toward alejandro's jeep, i realize that he's brought his dog. with a white coat spotted brown and yellow eyes, i can't help but notice the similarities between dog and owner. alejandro introduces the dog to me as güero.

not even a block from my house, alejandro pulls over to a corner liquor store to buy cigarettes.

"do you smoke?" as he lights his cigarettes and blows smoke out the open driver side window.

"no." and almost feel like i should.

he takes me to a bar where we sit outside at a picnic table with güero at our feet. rowdy strangers frequently stop to admire his dog.

when he takes out his ID to buy the first round of beers, i notice that his official name is "alex," not "alejandro."

i ask him to explain the tatooes on his arms. he talks about their symbolism. in his old life, he used to get into a lot of non-specific "trouble;" that cycle was completed. he recounts that he has worked with former gang members, tutored inner-city youth. that he currently works at a center that helps refugees.

i sip a single beer slowly, determined to remain sober even as i am increasingly impressed, while he returns a few times to the bar for refills.

our conversation reveals his knowledge of marxist social movements in south america. liberation movements. peoples' power. i think about how i've read those theories, but know little to nothing about the practice.

he tells me about his family in california, his brothers and sisters who are married with children. he is only 30-something! too young to be married with kids.

i don't remember what i say about myself.

after the evening has stretched on for a while, he tells me that he has to work the following day. we help güero into the car and are on our way back to my house.

he walks me to my door, kisses me on the cheek nad begins to walk away.

i am stunned. what happened? did i bore him? did i stumble into some bad light? am i not as appealing when i am sober?

"hey!" i say to his retreating figure. "come here."

he returns obediently, and i kiss him. we kiss under the yellow porch light for a while.

"i better go," he says.

i let him go. he says he'll call.

a week later, tired of the mocking silence of my cell phone, i decide to change my phone number.

***

months later, we run into each other at a coffeeshop. he is infuriatingly still sexy. tells me that he's been accepted to graduate school out of state. smart and sexy. i feign disinterest, but call him a week later, ostensibly to congratulate him. i am wrong to call him beause i now have a boyfriend, a nice guy. no tatooes. no talk of marxist revolutions.

alejandro tells me he is "glad" that i called. he had been thinking about me, but had no idea how to get a hold of me.

"let's go get a beer," he suggests.

"tonight?"

"yeah."

"no, no. i'm already ready for bed," i say feeling the mounting guilt of having called him in the first place.

"so what? you don't have to work tomorrow."

"some other time."

fine.

then one evening, weeks later, he calls again.

"hey it's me," he tells my answering machine, assuming that i will know who it is. "call me when you get this message. i thought we could grab a beer or something tonight."

i am utterly tempted. it would just be a beer, i tell myself. all these months later. just a beer? i have too much to prove. i am secretly looking for redemption.

i call a friend. she talks me down from the ledge.

i never return his call.

Testing the water.

2006-01-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

After the Great Mochi Disaster, fed up with waiting to meet the right guy through some chance encounter or fate, I finally screwed up the courage to create an account on an online personals site. It seemed friendly enough--they posted a "personal of the day" on my favorite online newsmagazine, and the personal of the day that compelled me to click on the link featured a picture of a guy who reminded me of a recent boy I'd had a lot of fun with.

As much as of a cliche as it was, I stayed up late into the night after Valentine's Day, piecing together a profile. I wanted to appear smart, yet quirky, well-versed in literature as well as pop culture. I looked at other women's ads to size up the competition. Yeah, there were some cute girls, but in my narcissism, I knew that there was only one of me out there, and that my profile would surely stand out.

I didn't have any great digital pictures of myself; besides, I was slightly paranoid about having my coworkers find my profile and giving me secret, sideways, pitying glances in the hallways. Late into the night, I finally hit the "save" button, made my profile public, and went to bed.

As soon as my eyes opened the next morning, I wondered...had anyone seen my profile? Were there any responses yet? I pulled myself out of bed, shuffled across my bedroom, and fired up my PC. Skipping my early morning coffee, I slid my glasses onto my nose and waited anxiously for Windows to initialize, then for my dial-up modem to screech and wail through its connection.

Logging into the personals site, my eyes immediately went to my mailbox, and saw...zero messages. Hmmm...well, I thought, I suppose it's unreasonable to expect a response within a few early-morning hours. Sighing, I turned off the PC and decided to get dressed, run some errands, and try to forget that anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach.

What if no one clicked on my profile? Worse, what if everyone clicked on my profile, and immediately surfed past it? Wasn't I smart enough? Sassy enough? Shouldn't the strength of my personality convince anyone to shoot me a little email?

As soon as I got home, around 2, when fully twelve hours had gone by, I pulled off my coat and again ran to my computer to turn it on. I imagined an invisible bungee cord tying me to my PC, stretching just enough to let me leave my apartment, but pulling me inexorably back with a snap as soon as I opened the apartment door.

Holding my breath as I logged in, I looked to the message center and again...saw nothing. Humiliated, I went to my profile and changed my profile to make it hidden. This was somehow worse than picking teams in gym class, and I decided to take myself out of the pool.

Surfing through the ads and finding several that were intriguing, I decided that in order to take control of the situation, I could buy some credits, which would allow me to contact people, while keeping my profile hidden. That way, I wouldn't feel as though I were being rejected by absolutely everybody. It occurred to me that there might be other guys out there who were doing the same thing, and that I was missing out getting their potential response, but I finally decided that my ego couldn't take it.

I chose three profiles to respond to; all smart, quirky boys in my general vicinity (carless and a bit of an urban snob, I didn't want to leave the city limits to date anyone). Two of the guys wrote me back--two out of three wasn't bad, I would later realize, but at the time I couldn't help but take it very personally. Who did that one non-responder think he was? Whatever.

Mike had what I thought was a cute, silly picture: it looked like he was eating Chef Boyardee out of a bowl, and his caption said, "Wow. Nice spoon." He said that the celebrity he resembled most was Tim Curry, and I guess I could see that, although I also thought he looked a bit like Robert Downey Jr., on whom I've had a crush forever and ever. I know what you're thinking--Tim Curry and Robert Downey Jr.? Um, worlds apart? At any rate, I liked his sense of humor, and we agreed to meet.

Joe was also interesting...about my age, a financial consultant, and a self-described Peter Scolari look-alike. (You remember Bosom Buddies, right? Yeah, Scolari's the short, non-famous guy.) He didn't seem as funny as Mike, but he had a bit of a daredevil streak--he was learning to fly a plane on the weekends, and I begain to imagine scenarios of flying up with him in a little two seater, over the city skyline as the sun sank in the west.

Joe and I were still corresponding when I agreed to meet Mike for a movie at my favorite art-house theater.

4. el diablito: la cruda

2006-01-14T10:30:00.000-08:00

1. el encuentro
2. la borrachera and slutting accident
3. la borrachera sigue

i opened my eyes the next morning feeling green and guilty. guilty for slutting. guilty for my drunken phone outburst.

i spent the morning nursing myself with raisin bran, my sworn hangover cure, and water. by the afternoon, my girlfriends convinced me to take a therapeutic shopping trip. while perusing stacks of old navy jeans, my cell phone rang, and alejandro was on the line.

he asked me how i was feeling. i apologized for being obnoxious. he forgave me.

he didn't forgive my friends.

"i guess they felt like they had to save you from me. like i'm not good enough for you or something."

"it's not that," i insisted, though i knew there was some truth to his statement. my friends knew his reputation; they suspected that he wanted to take me home; and they knew that my jugdment was impaired.

i explained that they knew that i would regret a drunken hookup with a stranger. i'm not really that kind of girl.

"they wanted to save me from myself; not from you."

there was still a trace of hurt in his voice when he told me that he understood.

"so where does that leave us?"

"it's up to you," i told him. "it's cool if you want to call me. if not, i understand."

he didn't say what his intentions were then, just said good-bye. left me with my unanswered question. dejándome con la duda.

3. el diablito: la borrachera sigue

2006-01-12T12:16:00.000-08:00

1. el encuentro
2. la borrachera and slutting accident

the phone rings and rings sharply through the quiet blue grey of my room. i awake, agitated, still groggy, but knowing it must me him. i am too slow and clumsy. by the time i roll out of bed and find my phone, there is a new voicemail message from alejandro.

"call me when you get this message. my number is xxx-xxxx."

neither in control of my motor skills nor retaining much of a memory for numbers, i dial three or four wrong phone numbers. through sheer drunken determination, i finally get the number right. he answers quickly.

"what are you doing?" alejandro asks.

"sleeping!" i slur.

"come over."

"i can't drive anywhere. i'm drunk."

"then i'll go over there. where do you live?''

"you can't come over. my roommate and i have a rule. no boys spending the night."

he is quiet, as if in thought.

"and besides," i blurt, "i know all about you!"

"what are you talking about?"

"you have a reputation," i say the last word slowly, "reh-pew-TAY-shun."

"who told you that?"

"lots of people."

"people shouldn't be talking shit."

"well how many girls at the party tonight had you slept with?"

"just one!" he says, defensively.

amazed that he answered that question, i persist. "what about _______?" i ask, too drunk to realize that i'm saying one name but thinking of another woman.

"who?"

i insist on the name. finally he figures out who i'm talking about. "_______ (a different name)?"

"yeah, her!"

"ok. her too."

"see! i don't want to be just another notch on your belt!" i drunkenly declare.

"you wouldn't be a notch on my belt," he insists. "i like you."

he tells me how he's been thinking about me since the night we met. that he had wanted to talk more to me that first night, but that i had left early. how he had hoped that he would see me at this party. how disappointed he was when he saw me with frank.

my edge softens, and i am no longer indignant. i apologize for being rude. "i say things i shouldn't when i'm drunk."

"that's ok," he says, sounding slightly hurt. "i'll call you tomorrow to check up on your, ok?"

"ok."

2. el diablito: la borrachera and slutting accident

2006-01-10T21:40:00.000-08:00

1. el encuentro

the following weekend another late summer party. this one was an outdoor dinner on the expansive lawn of an historical bed and breakfast. round white tables graced the bottom of the lawn's slope as the daylight waned. all we could drink wine, beer, and water located at the top.

i was enjoying this last part of the texas summer reuniting with friends during these muggy and slow evenings.

over the previous week, i'd found a new crush. to divert my attention. frank and i shared friends. he was cute in a nerdy kind of way, single. i hadn't decided if he was slightly shy, socially awkward, or not interested.

i would take my chances.

i chose my seat next to frank, though i noticed alejandro and his cat eyes at a remote table.

food was abundant, white wine flowing, and mosquitoes nipping through our open-toed shoes. the wine emboldened to me to flirt with frank. laugh and tease and flutter my eyelashes while my friends rolled their eyes, she's at it again.

as the evening progressed, frank declared an early morning and made an early exit along with some other people. tables converged and soon alejandro was sitting in my circle. by this time, i was happy and clumsily drunk, still enjoying the company of friends.

alejandro stood up and interjected into ongoing conversations, "does anyone want any more beer? wine?"

"i need some water," i declared. "i'll go with you."

standing for the first time in a while, i realized that i had lost some equilibrium. zigzagged toward him. he held my arm gently and helped me walk up the slope toward the beverage shed.

"did you come here with frank?"

"nope!" i said, flirting sloppily.

he grabbed a beer and handed me a glass of water, which i drank quickly. "thank you," i said, smiling in what i hoped would be a demure yet suggestive manner.

it was suggestive enough.

he placed his beer on the table and kissed me, tentatively at first, gauging my response.

"i thought you were here with frank," he insisted, between kisses.

"no. we're just friends."

"so you're not with him?"

"no," i said, emphatically.

no more talking. just slow and dizzy kisses.

"i like your dress," he said, kissing my bare shoulders.

"thanks." i had chosen the dress with him in mind, even though i'd planned to ignore him. it was brown fitted textured material that looked like eyelet lace, spaghetti straps and scalloped edges.

"let's get out of here," he whispered.

"nononono. i can't just leave." i was not that drunk.

"come on." he tried to convince me with long kisses.

"let's just stay."

"somebody is going to see us."

"see what?" i couldn't see anything. it was dark and my eyes were closed. and i was dizzy and drunk with wine and kisses.

all of a sudden my reverie was broken.

"MV? are you up there?"

i opened my eyes slowly and was able to focus on two of my girlfriends walking up the grassy slope.

"we're leaving now," they announced.

"ok," disentangling myself from alejandro's embrace. i didn't know what else to do; he didn't either.

"well," i said, looking at him sleepily, "bye!"

my friends guided me away from him toward the getaway vehicle.

"he's soooo sexy," i slurred.

they agreed only by reminding me that he was known for his conquests.

my roommate helped me as i stumbled into the car. then, at home, helped me stumble into bed.

i fell instantly into a dizzy sleep, a sleep interrupted an hour later by my ringing cellphone.

1. el diablito: el encuentro

2006-01-04T22:42:00.000-08:00

another story from the muchacha volada archive...

i wore a red dress. a summer dress, with spaghetti straps, it hit at the knee and had one slit up the side. i wore it with glittered black chanclas for the small party we'd be attending that evening.

i had just moved back to austin after some time away and was looking forward to reconnecting with old friends. one of our friends and his wife were hosting a gathering at their house. an end of the summer celebration with food and wine, music, gossip, etc.

the night had potential.

they had cleared furniture out of the front room and turned on the stereo; an assortment of foods and drinks were arranged on the dining room table; the kitchen was loitered by guys hovering around the refrigerator--the source of their cold beer.

upon entering, i gave the room a once over. the usual crowd, mostly familiar faces. i walked over to my friend, art, the host, to say hello and to ask where to put the biscochitos my girlfriend and i had brought. art and i talked for just a few minutes, and then i noticed him. standing just behind art, askance of the kitchen, nursing a beer. i could see part of the tatoos on his arms beneath the short sleeved, loose-fitting button down shirt he wore. his black hair was cut short and his skin a pretty brown. his eyes looked yellow, like a cat peering beneath a dark brow.

he was watching us talk. i felt my stomach flip.

art noticed him, turned and said, "MV, do you know alejandro?"

"no..."

"mucho gusto," he said, shaking my hand. we engaged in about sixty seconds of small talk before the conversation dissolved into thin air. though i desperately wanted to extend our contact, i had to let it go. i didn't get the sense that he was interested.

i made my rounds at the party, talking and laughing with friends. i noticed alejandro in my peripheral vision, talking to my friends, drinking beer and laughing loudly with the guys. after some time, i could hear him, calling for someone to put on some salsa! what is this prince chingadera? mildly insulted because my friend and i had chosen to play the musicology album, i rolled my eyes and continued to pretend that i didn't care.

soon there was salsa, there was merengue being played, being danced in the front room. i was talking to a friend and one of the guys she had just met when i felt him approach. he grabbed my hand firmly, pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

"let's dance."

though i shot an exasperated look at my friend, i felt goosebumps emerge on my arms. and we danced. salsa and merengue, cumbias. we small talked through dances. him in quick spanish. me mostly in english. i couldn't place his accent.

"where are you from?" i asked.

"california," he responded.

i kicked off my chanclas, felt everything spinning. i was giddy with the music and movement and touch. and alejandro was laughing.

"your red dress is making me laugh!" he said.

we danced until there was not more music to be danced. thanked each other and returned to the party.

my friend and i decided to make our exit. i went over to say good-bye to art. and as we hugged good-bye, he said, very firmly, in my ear, "MV, no."

"what?" i asked, feigning ignorance.

"no," he repeated.

as my girlfriends and i walked out, we noticed alejandro and some other guys outside, smoking, drinking their beers.

said good-bye.

once we were out of earshot, all of my girlfriends regaled me. nonononono. not him. he dated so and so. he gets around. not him, mv.

they convinced me. probably he wouldn't be the best guy for me.

but i knew that it wasn't over yet.

resolve

2006-01-01T23:53:00.000-08:00

around this time last year, i resolved to limit myself to ten crushes in 2005.

my friends mocked me and wagered, among themselves, how long they thought it would be until i hit the ten mark. the most generous person gave me until june.

the wagering was all in good fun. these friends know me, and, well, i'm not "la muchacha volada" for nothing. ;)

but i was tired of my crushes. i felt that i had expended too much emotional energy in 2004. i resolved that i would be more careful in 2005. my resolution was in the name of greater emotional well-being.

that same month, i started going out with MS. he was a medical student and an all-around good guy. close to his family, catholic. carried little to no emotional baggage. had a sense of social justice. he was on the path to financial stability. my friends liked him. i never had to babysit him at parties.

he was a grown up.

the first few months of our relationship were difficult. i felt like i was constantly competing for his attention. not competing with another woman, but with his medical school responsibilities. nevertheless, by late spring, our relationship was running smoothly. his rotation was going well, and he was volunteering his free time to me. to us. i was beginning to believe that this relationship could really amount to something long term.

then MS was assigned a rotation outside of austin. in june, shortly before he left, he asked me to meet him for gelato. an evening date as any other. but that night he broke up with me. long distance relationships don't work, he told me, not allowing me any say in the matter. the decision was made.

i was stunned and hurt. and depressed. for months.

what does all of that have to do with my crushes? just this: i held on to MS too tightly and for too long. i always knew that his first love was his career. i could never make myself fit inside of his heart.

in 2006, i don't care if i go through ten or twenty crushes. i resolve not to hold on to any man, if he is not also holding on to me.

¡feliz año nuevo! :)

'tis the season

2005-12-27T14:00:00.000-08:00

november was a month of breakups. two of my friends were suddenly, stunningly, unceremoniously dumped by their boyfriends. another friend broke up with hers. one of them speculates that it was holiday anxiety.

december, on the other hand, has shown itself to be a season of engagements. over the past week, i received an email from one friend and a phonecall from another announcing engagements. a save-the-date card arrived via the u.s. postal service, announcing a summer wedding date for one of my cousins. finally, at our family's annual christmas gathering, another cousin announced that he and his girlfriend would be wed within the next few months.

i'm not a mathematical genius, but doesn't that seem statistically staggering? FOUR engagements in my circle of friends and family in ONE week???

if the breakups were holiday anxiety, i think that the engagements are like holiday ants in your pants. or too much eggnog. ;)

merry single

2005-12-24T13:42:00.000-08:00

¡feliz navidad!

over the past few days, i've encountered quite a few articles in the newspaper about how to cope with the holiday season as a single. reporters have apparently interviewed singles, prodding and probing about holiday loneliness. what do you do to combat loneliness during the holidays? the poor singles talk about how they rent movies, organize brunches, other activities with other singles, as if they were a brood of lepers needing to flock together.

i'm reminded of the opening scene of the movie, the bridget jones diary. i believe it's christmas morning, and there is a chubby bridget in her pajamas. singing at the top of her lungs, "ALL BY MYSELF! DON'T WANNA BE. ALL BY MYSELF!"

cut us singles a break, please! we are not defined solely by our single status. we are sisters and brothers, friends, students, teachers, poets, activists, writers, etc. etc. sometimes it's not fun to be single, but sometimes it's great. either way, it's just one part of who we are.

very few of us are actually alone; we have families and friends who love us, tal y como somos. that counts for quite a bit. for me, the past few days have been a flurry of activity, visiting with friends and family. preparing food, sharing meals, church, exchanging gifts. i almost feel like a significant other would be ... in the way. but that's me.

if all of that weren't enough, we singles do have the best stories to tell at holiday gatherings. ;)

so don't feel sorry for me this holiday season. i'm a merry single.

holidays on ice

2005-12-22T23:28:00.000-08:00

the last time i posted, i described my rationale for trying online dating. but there was one more incident i didn't describe that pushed me over the edge.

there was this guy a friend of mine sorta set me up with. it wasn't a real set-up, per se, because he was enlisted to take me to her christmas party, since i didn't have a ride. and it didn't matter, ultimately, because he and i got along so well on the way there that i forgot to be embarrassed or annoyed.

when he took me back home, he suggested dinner. with our mutual friends. of course, i said yes. it was going to have to be after the holidays, though, since some of us would be out of town.

when i got to work the next day, i emailed him to say that i'd had a good time and was looking forward to dinner. i had made a pact with myself since i turned 30 that i would refuse to play games. if i liked someone, i would let them know. i wanted to channel the bravado of all the sex and the city girls, all at once.

maybe that was too much. he didn't email me back. a day passed. two. i chewed my nails and drove my good friend, who worked at the next desk, absolutely crazy.

finally, the boy wrote back, just to confirm that yes, we would get together for dinner, sometime in the new year.

ha! i hadn't scared him off! i wrote back, waiting perhaps a whole day, to ask what i might bring.

days passed. finally, he wrote back. just to say, bring whatever. how about dessert.

as the day approached, i shopped for the perfect outfit, searching for a combination of casual and sexy. i settled on knee high butterscotch tan boots, a denim skirt, and a raspberry-colored cotton top from the gap. i spent almost as much time thinking of what to bring...when it hit me.

the boy would be making sushi. i would bring mochi! delicious balls of green tea ice cream wrapped in sweet powdered dough. i'd had it only a few times, but i knew where they sold them.

feeling very clever, i left work early the night of the dinner, to take the long bus ride up to the restaurant for the mochi. the woman handed me an aluminum to-go box and warned me that they were frozen. To eat them, I should put them in the microwave for a few seconds.

got back on the bus, excited and nervous. finally got home, changed, and waited for my friends to pick me up. as we drove over to the boy's, i tried to play it cool, as if i hadn't shopped for two days for the perfect outfit, or spent an hour and a half on the bus to get the perfect dessert. but they were smiling to each other, feeling pleased, i think, that they had played cupid successfully.

as the boy opened the door, he glanced at me once, and looked away. anything he had to say, he addressed it to all of us. the temperature seemed to have dropped. which was good only for the mochi. i explained that it was frozen, and we decided to leave it out, since the boy did not have a microwave.

at dinner, we sat side by side. i turned toward him as he talked, but he rarely looked over at me.

i was seriously confused. i simply didn't understand. why would he have asked me over for dinner, if he could barely stand to look at me?

feeling resigned and somewhat defeated, i at least still had the clever dessert to redeem me. as i opened the package, i stared down in dismay. the tray had become a beautiful abstract design in multi-colored ice cream--pinks and greens swirled together amidst the mounds of powdered dough.

we grabbed spoons and made the best of it, but i couldn't help thinking that the mochi knew all along what i wouldn't admit to myself.

so much for friendly set-ups.

washatería

2005-12-21T21:45:00.000-08:00

they are not hibernating. they are washing their clothes.

sunday afternoon i lugged my laundry to the washatería. i loaded up three washing machines and found two seats--one for myself and another for the work i had brought along with me.

feeling my lips naked, i pulled out a small mirror and a lipstick to reapply. i immediately felt ridiculous. i was at the laundromat, for God's sake.

five minutes later, i looked up and recognized the tall guy folding clothes in front of me. we met last spring at a coffeeshop. we shared a table and some nice conversation. i thought he was cute, unkempt brown hair and dark blue eyes, a little too close together. he asked me out. i had a boyfriend at the time, but offered to be his friend. we did have some friendly lunches and coffeedates, but they eventually tapered off. probably when we both realized that... well, that i had a boyfriend.

anyway, six months later and boyfriendless, i recognize him, coffeeshop guy (CG). in an instant he turns and recognizes me back. we are happy to see each other. ask and answer questions about the past six months. we trade tips on folding clothes. he asks if he can call me after the holidays. maybe we can have lunch.

why not?

CG leaves and i sit down again to work. i notice a young guy in a t-shirt, trackpants, and a baseball cap kind of hovering around where i am seated. this guy is what my sister calls a "white mexican" (WM) with light skin and freckles. his face is expressionless, and he is clearly checking me out. even though i know that he has witnessed my interaction with CG.

WM passes by once and picks up some newspapers on the seat next to me. he comes around a second time and sits a few chairs away from me.

i get up to transfer my clothes to the dryer. when i get back to my seat, WM is gone. after working for a while, most of the people around me leave, and i am surrounded by empty seats. WM comes back and plops down in the seat right next to me.

he smells like dirty boy. he has a toothbrush tucked in to his baseball cap.

i am utterly concentrated on my work.

he sits for a while, twiddling his thumbs.

finally he speaks. asks me about my work. he asks if i'm a teacher. i ask if he's a student.

"no," he says, "i haven't been in school for like six years."

i think that he's talking about high school. which makes him... significantly younger than i am.

"but i'm going to go to culinary school. here in town and then in france. my dream is to have a restaurant some day."

"do you work in a restaurant now?"

"yeah. [name of an italian restaurant]. have you heard of it?"

"no," i say.

"are you new in town?" he asks, obviously disappointed.

"no," i say, sheepishly.

"it's like a four star restaurant," he insists. "it closed a while ago and now it's a french restaurant."

i shrug. "do you still work there?"

"nah. i work at [local bbq place]."

"oh! i know that place." i do know my barbecue!

"yeah. that's what this is for," WM says, motioning to the toothbrush tucked into his cap. "to get the barbecue stains out."

for no apparent reason, this kid, WM, is making me very nervous. i'm having high school flash backs about not being cool enough for cool mexican kids. i find myself yammering about random things. then, mercifully, i see my clothes stop tumbling in their dryers.

"my clothes are done," i announce.

WM gets up and walks with me half way to my dryers.

"you should come by the restaurant sometime. when you get back."

"i do go to that restaurant sometimes."

i fold my clothes and catch WM casting another stoic look at me before i leave.

i emerged from the washatería that day with my clothes clean and my ego merry.

ho ho ho.

the poet, part two

2005-12-20T21:32:00.000-08:00

the poetry was devastatingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.

poems about coming the united states as a little boy. his mother putting him on a bus so that he could live with his grandmother on this side. watching his mother grow smaller through the bus window. all of these poems about language and love and loss.

beautiful, talented, sensitive. i have to admit. i was intimidated as hell.

pablo called me the day after our initial date. i told him which poems were my favorites. he told me which had been selected for publication. we agreed that we would see each other at a poetry reading that friday night. it would be his first time reading in front of an audience.

i walk in late; he is seated in the middle of a crowd seemingly by himself. he looks positively graceful in his light blue button down shirt and jeans. he turns and sees me standing in the back of the room. flashes me a warm smile. though i've yet to order a drink, i feel giddy and drunk.

there is a line of people signed up to read that night. by the time his turn comes around, the night has stretched on, people are tired. a little restless. though the poem--about a prostitute in reynosa--is amazing, his delivery is lackluster. no matter. he comes to me afterward. we flirt shamelessly, excited to be around each other.

he walks me to my car and we chat between kisses good night.

"i like that shirt you're wearing," he tells me.

i had taken pains with makeup and my choice of outfit that night. but his comment makes me self-conscious. i immediately think, "i won't be able to wear this again. he'll notice."

our conversations over the next few days confirm this feeling i have about him. he confesses. i do care how i look. i want to look good. i wear clothes that look good on me. he says something about his hair.

i think, if he cares this much about his appearance, he probably has expectations for my appearance, as well. i like to get dressed up as much as the next girl. when i go out, i have fun with my makeup, clothes, and accessories. but on a normal day, i'm a minimalist. i worry about pablo's perception of my minimalism.

other things are revealed in these conversations. pablo lives with his family (not totally unusual for a 30 year old unmarried mexican guy), but he's not ashamed to admit that he does next to nothing for himself. his mother (who eventually did follow her sons to the united states) cooks and cleans for him. his younger siblings do him "favors," such as washing his car. he tells me that he doesn't get along with one of his coworkers, that he nearly knocked the coworker over in the hall the other day because he wouldn't get out of the way.

nevertheless, pablo is consistent about calling and emailing. one evening he tells me, "i wish that i could over to your apartment to kiss you good-night."

"but i live twenty minutes away."

"i can be there in twenty minutes."

i hang up the phone and rush to pick up my less than clean apartment. i jump in the shower and am throwing on a huipil and some jeans when he knocks on my door. my hair is wet. i am makeup-less. minimalism at its height.

he stays for a while. we talk, cuddle, and kiss. he leaves.

and that was last time i saw him.

of course there were other emails. plans made and broken. finally, one night he stood me up. when i got home that evening, there was an email. he appreciated the time that we had spent together and would hold the memories close to his heart. he was not ready for a relationship right now.

he's still out there. his poetry on the web. he's amazingly, infuriatingly talented. and probably still beautiful. but i think that late or early, sooner or later, he might choke on his narcissism.

the poet, part one

2005-12-17T16:54:00.000-08:00

have you ever dated someone who was too beautiful? in the sandra cisneros story “bien pretty” she speaks to the dilemma of dating “pretty men:”

Don't think I haven't noticed my girlfriends back home who got the good-lookers. They all look twice their age now, old from all the corajes exploding insdie their hearts and bellies.

Because a pretty man is like a too-fancy car or a real good stereo or a microwave oven. Late or early, sooner or later, you're just asking for it. Know what I mean?

i should have heeded the warning.

***
i was running late and feeling a little frantic for this blind date when i pulled into the parking lot. we'd agreed to meet at a simple outdoor bar with a thatched roof and graceful palm trees along the outside. the bar neighbored a 70s style hotel with a chlorine-blue pool for a faux tropical effect. it was the perfect place for balmy south texas nights.

i walked up the steps to the deck and spotted him right away. he was sitting at a table by himself, leaning back in his white plastic chair. he was dressed for the date, wearing a nicely fitted olive green collared shirt and jeans. dark, wavy hair combed just right, smooth brown skin. his face like it could have been chiseled from a fine stone.

he was beautiful.

his eyes met mine almost immediately and a bright broad smile spread across his face. i caught my breath. he stood up to greet me.

we were abundantly smiling and shy and drinking in the initial hour of our acquaintance. he was more nervous than a beautiful man should be, and i appreciated it.

he suggested another bar. more of the same. we talked about poetry. he was finishing his mfa, submitting his poems for publication. had gotten a lot of rejection letters. but some acceptances. poems forthcoming in print.

it was getting late. he had to work in the morning. he would walk me to my car. almost as soon as we walked out of the bar, he quickly turned, leaned down and kissed me. when he stepped back, i was breathless. he looked for my reaction.

i told him i’d wondered if that would happen.
he had, too.
he confessed to me later that he wanted to kiss me, but was afraid that i would reject him. then he decided. it was the first date. he he had nothing to lose. if i pushed him away, he’d never have to see me again.

he retrieved a manuscript—a collection of poems—out of his car and gave them to me.

this is my final poetry portfolio for my program. i want you to have them.

i was a little overwhelmed. he was too beautiful, too dashing. and a poet.

thank you, i stammered.

at my car, more lingering kisses.

our good-bye that night under the eye of an orange streetlight. sweet. full of possibilities.

dear reader

2005-12-14T14:01:00.000-08:00

things are a little slow in the boy department around these parts.

it's winter. maybe they are hibernating.

my previous two posts are from the muchacha volada archives for your reading pleasure. ;) i'll probably be excavating more of those stories until my real time love life starts picking up again!

-lmv

blind date, part 2

2005-12-13T23:12:00.000-08:00

an hour later, i am at applebees waiting. he is late.
i go to the bathroom to reapply my lipstick.
twenty minutes pass and he calls my cell phone.

where are you? he asks.
where are YOU? i ask, slightly exasperated.

he is at the bar. i apparently missed him while lipsticking.
we direct ourselves toward each other while on our phones.

he is not my type. hair too long. slicked back. silky button-down shirt. black jeans. a large, man-necklace.

we grab a booth and order drinks.

though over the previous couple of weeks we'd had plenty to talk about, tonight we are awkward and nervous.

and for the first time in two weeks, he wants to talk politics.

when i say that he wants to "talk politics," i mean that he wants to talk. he wants to demean democrats. he wants to talk about the moral correctness of the republican party. he wants to talk about how immigrants who just "work hard enough" are able to move up the socioeconomic ladder, achieve the american dream.

i think about arguing with him, but decide against it. his ideas seem too engrained. as are mine. it seems pointless.

i try to change the subject. ask him about his graduate studies. he is a historian. what is the time period he studies? what is his area? seventeenth century. europe.

i have nothing to say about that.

he hates to tell me this, but there are a lot of "hispanics" in his department who are more interested in "politics" than history. he argues with them a lot. but he studies real history. it's not political.

i decide that things are not going well.
i disagree with him about everything.
strongly disagree.
but am not fighting with him.

i look at his beer and think to myself, when he finishes his beer, we can go.
he finishes his beer.
he immediately orders another.

then, while making a particularly strong point (about which i disagree), he gesticulates broadly and knocks over his new beer. it spills. on me.

i excuse myself to the bathroom. i am miserable. and covered in beer. should i call a friend? can i be rescued?
no.
i am an adult. i can rescue myself.

i go back to the booth and seat myself at the edge of the seat. one hand is resting on the table as i prepare to speak. he puts his hand over my hand.

i tell him that i have strongly disagreed with most of what he has said throughout the evening. those hispanic history students he argues with? those are my friends. they are me. those politics? they are mine.

don't worry, he says. my last girlfriend was a democrat, but i straightened her out, he says, smiling.

i smile tightly and suggest that we leave.

i see my car in the parking lot and think, i am only a few feet away from the end of this date.
he says he'll walk me to the car.
i tell him it's not necessary.
he insists.

i have my keys ready. i open the door.
he lingers. he advances.
i cut him short. thank him for the date. the drinks.
get in the car.
and drive.

blind date, part 1

2005-12-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

spring 2003.

i am living in a different city. i am teaching catechism to high school sophomores. one of my fellow catechism teachers, a woman in her mid-50s, decides that i am too sweet, too smart, too whatever to be single. she knows someone who would be perfect for me. he is her son's former roommate. my age, pursuing a graduate degree. very nice young man. can she pass along my contact information to him?

why not?

he calls me, and we have an awkward first conversation. not horrible. just like dancing with a new partner. i cannot yet read his style, know where he is going. we step on each other's toes a bit. but he is fine. we are fine.

i find out at the end of that first conversation that he is white. which, for some reason, shocks me. we live in an area that is ninety percent mexican. i am. my fellow catechist is. her son is. but this guy, my new dance partner (DP), is not. this is fine, too; it just takes a mental adjustment for me. i try to be open-minded.

DP and i start to talk on the phone. each conversation becomes less awkward. we move away from get-to-know-you questions and begin to talk about our daily lives. i look forward to his calls. but we still have not met. there always seems to be something that impedes our meeting. conflicting schedules.

i don't mind because i am nervous to meet DP. for all the reasons one is nervous to meet someone for the first time.

i wonder if DP and i will have chemistry.

finally i decide that i cannot wait any longer. i insist that we meet. that night. even though it is mid-week. even though it will have to be later in the evening.

DP calls to confirm plans. when he calls, i am watching tv. while we are chatting, the president interrupts my regularly scheduled program to address the nation. i'm afraid to hear what W has to say, but feel that i should listen. DP hears W's voice and asks me, "is that the president's address on TV? what channel?"

DP and i both listen for a while, and then i tell him, "i'm turning it off. i can't listen to him any more. he scares me."

"why does he scare you?" DP asks.

"it scares me to think that someone like him has so much power."

someone like him? DP proceeds to explain to me that it's important for to show stength as a nation. to defend ourselves against the terrorists. etc. etc.

i am incredulous. "are you... a republican?" i ask DP.

"aren't all intelligent and sensible people republicans?" he asks back. "are you a democrat?"

"ye-es," i say, emphatically.

we are at an impasse.

"oh, don't worry about it," he tells me. "i don't really get in to politics much."

"okay," i say, slowly.

"you still want to meet, right?" DP asks.

"yeah," i reply, unconvinced.

we agree to meet one hour later.

cutting my losses

2005-12-04T21:16:00.000-08:00

i deleted bookstore boy off my cell phone today.

it's been five days since i left that last message on his voicemail. since i returned his monday phonecall.

i give up.

my sister tells me that i messed it up from the beginning. i should never have offered to be his austin tour guide. she subscribes to the mars and venus philosophy of dating. the man likes to pursue, not to be pursued. she thinks that i sabotaged myself by making the proverbial "first move."

i don't know what else to believe.

this is not really about bookstore boy. it's about a dating philosophy that i'm clueless about. i hate the man-as-hunter philosophy. i mean, i hate to think that it's true.

it's not that i'm an aggressive girl. but i am expressive. heart on my sleeve, etc. sometimes i think that i'm not mysterious enough. maybe men need that mystery or aloofness. maybe they need to feel like they've worked to get to know me, to get to date me.

but isn't that just game playing? i'm too old to be playing games. can't give too much. can't give too little.

i'm at a loss.

my hair hurts.

browsing, part 2

2005-11-30T21:23:00.000-08:00

he called. at 10AM. one week after i called him. one week and a half after we initially met.

what guy calls a girl at ten o'clock in the morning?

he left a message on my voicemail.

hey, how's it going? it's _________. from the bookstore.

then he names which bookstore. just in case i've collected the phone numbers of a few bookstore guys over the past couple of weeks.

he's returning my call. hoped i had a good holiday weekend. wanted to see how i was doing. i should call. if i want. so that we can chat.

it was cute! obviously a little nervous, yet obviously trying to play it cool. it made me smile.

but taking a week to return a girl's call? i think that's strange. i think it's a sign that he's not that interested. but if he's not interested, why call at all?

anyway. i called him back the next day. last night. as of yet, i got nothing.

i guess we might have to wait another week to see. hmph.

of sparks and online dating.

2005-11-26T11:55:00.000-08:00

I recently broke up with someone I'd been dating for about three months. I would say that it's a new experience for me, breaking up with someone, except that it's not, really. I broke my last two serious relationships off, but I felt like it was forced on me, by circumstances that had become intolerable. You know what I mean? By men who just wouldn't commit. And what was I supposed to do? Stand by waiting, chewing my nails, and hoping that one day one of these guys would wake up and realize that I was too good to let go?

Well, that didn't happen. Because I moved away twice to go to school, I ended up in long distance relationships. Twice. The first wouldn't leave New York because his family was in New England. The second wouldn't leave Chicago, because his mother was in the suburbs. And neither of them could bring themselves to spit out the L word. One of them would tell me he loved me...in Spanish. Te amo. The other would tell me he luved me. We are talking about grown men here, not sixteen year olds.

But this recent guy, I let him go, even though he was mostly everything I wanted, on paper. The right age, the right temperament, a steady job. And he wanted me. He even made some noise about wanting to move with me, when it was time for me to move after finishing school.

But no. It wasn't clicking. There wasn't any chemistry. Not that I didn't like him, and enjoy being with him. But there were no sparks, no all-night talking sessions, no desire to reach out and grab him and keep my hand on his arm, or his shoulder, or his knee. It was always a little...awkward.

How trite is that, at the age of 36, to say that there was no chemistry? To still be looking for that intangible, unnameable something? And yet, here I am, still holding out.

R. was just the most recent in a string of online dating experiences that began a couple of years ago, in a different city. And that's the thing about online dating--if this one doesn't quite fit, there are thousands more profiles out there, waiting to be discovered. The numbers are with you, you think. Out of those thousands, there must be at least a few that would be right for me. At least one.

And you hear about success stories, all the time. Perhaps you even know a friend, or a sister, or a co-worker, who's met and married the man of her dreams courtesy of the Internet. One of my best friends is getting married next June, to a man she met on Match.com. I will be her maid of honor.

My first experience with someone else's story was when it belonged to a guy who might have been mine. My friend's brother-in-law gave me a ride to a holiday get-together, and we really hit it off on the hourlong ride to the burbs. We talked about books and movies, two of my favorite subjects.

After about a week, and after I'd come back to school, he emailed me. He hoped that I didn't mind that he got my address from my friend (mind? how about incredibly flattered?) and he hoped to continue the conversation. He sent me some questions that seemed a little odd, along the lines of What's your favorite color? how do you feel about religion? What's your ideal dream vacation?

Can you see where this is going? He'd probably started online dating, and I think these were the questions he sent to get things going. We exchanged messages for a while, but they tapered off as I became busy with school.

And he met the woman of his dreams. From an online service. The next time I saw him, he was practically engaged. And they'd only been dating for four months.

I can't say I necessarily experienced a sense of loss, but it did make me think. If my friend's brother-in-law was online, and he's a normal, goodlooking guy, then it follows that there must be other normal, goodlooking guys out there. I've never been good at math or logic, but this was a simple enough formula that I wanted to believe in.

I signed up the day after Valentine's Day, 2002.

browsing

2005-11-26T09:55:00.000-08:00

thursday night in austin, texas. my roommate has convinced me to go to a local bookstore forty five minutes before closing.

we can browse.

shortly after i find my book of the evening, the loud speaker reminds customers that there are only fifteen minutes until closing. as i head to the front, the cashier catches my eye, raises his eyebrows, and tilts his head back slightly. he has dark, wavy hair, dark, expressive and tired eyes and wears a light blue, button down shirt in the most casual way.

we greet each other politely when i arrive at the cashier station and i hand him my book.

how are you? i ask, smiling and batting my eyelashes just slightly.

he takes the bait, and we begin to chat. nervously. flirtaciously.

there are a couple of more customers in line, so i step aside, but he continues to engage me in small talk.

i ask him how long the bookstore has been open, and did he work at the previous location? no, he's just come to austin.

why did you decide to move here? i ask.

i just finished medical school and am waiting to start my residency at [a hospital in town].

medical school. i feel my stomach turn a little. my ex-boyfriend was in the middle of medical school. it was the number one thing in his life. much more important than i ever was to him.

what's your specialization? i ask him, nonchalantly.

psychiatry.

i run through everything i know about psychiatry from when my ex- did his psych rotation. it does not demand as much of a time commitment as other specializations. clinicians' hours, 8AM-5PM, weekends off. i decide that this is OK.

we chat more. i tell him that i'm finishing graduate school. he seems sufficiently impressed. but the store is closing and my roommate will be coming to get me soon.

so, have you gotten the chance to explore the city much? i ask.

not really..., he says.

you need someone who's lived here for a while to show you around.

how long have you lived here? he asks.

six years, i exaggerate, just a little. if you want, i could show you around sometime.

yeah! he says, too eagerly.

we exchange phone numbers on book HOLD! slips.

my name is ____________, by the way, i tell him

he confirms for me that he is latino, giving me the english and spanish version of his name. i pronounce it in spanish, and then ask, or, what do you prefer?

when you say it like that, he says. i think that i blush.

we are cute and nervous when my roommate comes over to the front of the store. closing time.

i make a mistake and wish him a happy thanksgiving, which is a week away. happy thanksgiving?! i hope that he does not think i am telling him i don't want to hear from him until after thanksgiving. nevertheless, we leave smiling and saying good-bye.

four days pass. i decide to call. and leave a message on his voicemail, making sure to include my phone number. five more days pass. and now i'm writing this blog post about a cute, flirtacious interaction i had with a young doctor who works at a local bookstore. the fact that he never called leads me to believe that he was probably just browsing.

a month

2005-11-22T13:46:00.000-08:00

a month since i last posted.

i haven't been feeling much like writing about my romantic debacles since the beginning of november when an ex- of mine dropped a bomb.

well, it was more like a drive-by.

my ex- and i had been emailing for the past month and a half. i used to think that he was the love of my life. but for that month and a half of emails, i told myself that i was happy just to have him orbiting in my universe again.

and then the drive-by email.

he's getting married. in january.

he hadn't even mentioned that he was seeing anyone.

but this email. he said it was important for us to both move on.

move on.

for the past two years, since we broke up, that has been my biggest challenge. there are any number of guys who cross my path with whom i'll flirt or date. but he has always been at the back of my mind. i compare everyone to him. no one measures up.

and now he's getting married. in january.

i am not a homewrecker. i am not even an engagement wrecker. so this has to be it.

after two years of muted hope and maybes, it's time to let go. to place my hope elsewhere.

plantada

2005-10-22T22:08:00.000-07:00

i met J about three years ago in a different city. tall, lanky, and beautifully brown, J was close to his family, politically involved, and often spoke passionately about community.

i developed an instant crush on him. an unrequited crush. J had a girlfriend that he didn't seem to like very much, and he gave me just enough attention to nourish my infatuation.

the last time i saw J was march 2004. i was in town for a few days and stopped by his place of business to say hello. i was trying my best to feign disinterest, breezily told him that i only had a minute to talk, that i had another engagement. he suggested that we have lunch the next day to catch up. i took a moment, as if wondering if i would be able to fit lunch into my busy day, then agreed.

i showed up the next day at his business and found his mother, who also works there.

"J's not here," she tells me.

we were supposed to have lunch, i say, with a moderate amount of conviction.

he's on a project right now, she tells me. but i'll call his cell phone to see if he's on his way back.

his cell phone is turned off.

she and i make awkward small talk. for TWENTY MINUTES. finally, trying to salvage a shred of my pride, i ask her to please tell J that i've stopped by, and i leave her (*grimace*) my cell phone number.

he never calls. EVER. though he has emailed before, he never emails again.

until a few days ago. i receive this message:

Hey, how are things going for you? I lost your email when I bought a new computer. Anyway just wanted to say hi. I saw your email on a forward I got so I thought i'd email you. I'll save it so that we can keep in touch.

it has been a YEAR AND A HALF. i wonder, did he think that if he waited long enough, i would forget that he stood me up? and now all of a sudden he wants to "keep in touch?"

i don't get it.

desvelada

2005-10-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

When I got married at 23, I thought that was it. At least that's what the Catholic Church and my parents told me. When I turned 27, my marriage had gone into the toilet and I was suddenly left to figure out how people actually go about this dating thing. You know, not the dating you do in high school where all the boys are single (usually) and they are simply swarming all over the place, everywhere you look. Once you ostensibly become a grown-up, your options drastically narrow down. You see your boss every day (usually NOT the best romantic prospect) and the nose-picking co-worker who gazes at you soulfully from over by the water cooler. You discover that in order to find an acceptable date you actually have to PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE.

Dating again for me was like almost getting to the finish line in Chutes and Ladders, but then suddenly sliding down the longest chute and finding yourself back at square one. I'm talking about learning the basics. I had to learn to actually look men in the eyes (because where I'm from, if you looked guys in the eye you were sure to get some obnoxious dude tailing you all the way down the street. since when does accidental eye contact mean, let's make out!?).

I had to learn how to have a conversation in which I tried to figure out if a guy liked me, while pretending to be indifferent, while gauging whether he was going to ask me out, and if he didn't should I? (That earlier comment about high school? I guess it never really does change.)

I never really learned any of that stuff very well. I'm still learning it.

bésame que soy mexicana.

la muchacha volada

2005-10-20T21:03:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite funny moments from Sex and the City is when a
drunken Charlotte declares, "I've been dating since I was fifteen! I'm
exhausted! Where is he?" And, moments later, "My hair hurts."

When I think about all of my flirtatious acquaintances, casual dates,
relationships, and inbetween things over the years, it is little
wonder why a show like Sex and the City resonates so much with me.
There really are commitment phobes, men with ADD, and a myriad of
other men exhibiting a high degree of emotional fuckwittage (to borrow
a term from Bridget Jones) roaming the world.

On the other hand, I have to confess that, like a character from
Seinfeld, I am plagued by my own quirks and neuroses, sometimes
dismissing perfectly nice guys for no apparent reason. No spark.
Talks too much. Doesn't talk enough. Drinks too much. Doesn't drink
at all. Bad hair. Bad clothes. Dirty fingernails. Wears socks with
sandals. You get the picture.

Then there is the issue of culture. I don't really know what that
means other than maybe it makes me a little more conservative than
other women I know. And I probably get more pressure from my family
to get married (so that someone can "take care" of me) than
other women do. Sometimes it feels impossible to meet someone who
"gets" where I'm coming from.

Too many obstacles? Maybe. Maybe it's just a matter of finding the
two wrongs that make a right.

Bésame que soy mexicana.

kissing and telling

2005-10-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

somos muchachas en busca de amor. twenty-something, thirty-something women, not unlike you, who have gone through traditional ways of finding a date and the brave new world of electronic matchmaking. we have come back with some war stories.

these stories probably aren't much different from the ones you've laughed about with your own girlfriends over glasses of wine, or cried over on your cell phones. why blog about it? because we tell stories to celebrate when things go right, and to keep us sane when things go...somewhat less than right. and most importantly, to keep us laughing.

we blog because these stories are too good not to share. go ahead and read. you know you want to. ;-)