No answers

I dreamt of you last night.

You looked good. Healthy, happy, fit. In love.

In the dream, a friend and I accidentally bumped into you…and her. It was a strange situation, as dreams often are. You were parked with her in a unknown Dream Park. I recognized the car and the license plate, which oddly were the same as in real life. Maybe they’ve burned themselves into my sub-concsious, because I’m so afraid of seeing them again. I’m always nervous that I’ll see that car parked somewhere and I’ll know that there is a chance that I will see you, and I will go to pieces.

In my dream, I didn’t go to pieces.  I caught a glance of the two of you, and asked my friend if we could move along quickly. “It’s him,” I explained to her, because she’s never had the pleasure of your acquaintance.

As I was in the midst of explaining our last tumultuous evening together, the night that you broke me utterly and for the last time – you appeared. You confronted me, upset, accusing. I explained that our meeting was purely coincidental. After all, it had  been almost six months (although it was strangely summer in the dream), and this was the first time our paths had crossed. Surely this was a good indication I wasn’t some kind of stalker. After all, the last thing I wanted to see was you, canoodling in a car, with her.

Boldly, Dream Me asked you the question that I’ve been fruitlessly asking myself for almost six months.

“Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me the truth?”

Your face instantly worked itself into that big-eyed, caged animal look that I grew to recognize all too well over the past couple of years. I don’t know what you’re talking about, you said. I never lied, you said. “I told you the truth.  I told you that I didn’t want to be with you, I told you because I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“But you lied about her”, I replied. “Did you not think I would find out that she’s your girlfriend? We met her together, at the same time…or… at least I think we did. You said you met someone online, but you didn’t. You met her.”

Dream You began shuffling his feet.

“Your decision to move onto better things didn’t hurt me as much as the fact that you couldn’t even tell me the truth. After all that time, I didn’t even deserve that much respect in your eyes. And then you wiped me from your life completely – although that didn’t take much of an effort, because I was never really a part of it.”

It appeared as though you were about to open your mouth to say something in your defense, but then you stopped, and just looked at me. Big eyes that couldn’t – still can’t - comprehend why it should matter so much.

And that was when I woke up.  I still don’t have any answers or explanations. No apologies. Nothing.

Not even in my dreams.

It’s just like e-harmony, without the creepy people who paint

“But with your literary prowess, I’m curious for further descriptors.”*

Here’s an oldie, but a goodie.  Kind of like the author.

*****

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t seeking something.   Aren’t we all?

Maybe the ad would look something like this:

Female professional, 35, seeks partner(s) for fun and perhaps a little frolic.  Note the “(s)”. If this bothers you, please don’t bother reading the rest.   The “(s)” does not signify threesome (sorry, fellas) or polygamy (sorry, Mormons).  It means that I am not actively (nor frantically) seeking an exclusive engagement.   However, like most things in life…everything is negotiable.

Wait, did I say that everything is negotiable? I misspoke.

In the interest of full disclosure, here are some important things that you should know:

(1) Although I will fight to the death to ensure that everyone has the right to it, I have no personal interest in the institution of marriage, and I do not measure my self worth by its presence or absence in my life.    If marriage is your only goal, move along.

(2) At the tender age of 35, I recognize that I am reaching the far side of my years as a child-producing entity. However, I feel no particular urge to have children, and will not view my life as a woman a failure if I never reproduce. If your only plan is to impregnate me in the next five years in order to ensure your legacy, please look elsewhere.

(3) I may have the random urge to kiss you passionately while walking down the street.  I rarely suppress these urges, especially in the evenings when a light snow is falling.  Or in the summer after a pitcher of margaritas on a patio. If you can’t handle being kissed in public, you should find another woman.

(4) I enjoy a glass of red wine after a long day at work. I like to take my shoes off, wiggle my toes, and feel the explosion of a big California zinfandel on my tongue. I hate drinking alone, and quite frankly, I view the dislike of red wine as a kind of character flaw.  As a side note, please don’t hold back if you feel the need to massage my aching feet.   If you cannot appreciate red wine, you and your bottle of Pinot Grigio should go home.

(5) The chances are good that I earn more money than you.  This doesn’t bother me, but it bothers some people.  If it hurts your ego when I pick up the cheque, I’m not interested.   Alternatively, if you always expect me to pick up the cheque, don’t count on hearing from me again.

(6) I endeavour in all instances to be reasonable and not make excessive or outrageous demands on the people I care about, and I understand that time is a precious commodity.  I’m busy, you’re busy, everyone is busy, all the time. However, I do expect the same courtesy from lovers as I do from colleagues, friends and family – return my calls, reply to my emails, and show up on time.   If you cannot reciprocate the courtesy and respect that I show you, or don’t understand why it’s important, you definitely should not have wasted your time reading this list. And you need to grow up and stop being such a narcissist.

(7) Sometimes my best endeavours fail.  Occasionally, I have passive-aggressive tendencies (thanks, Mom!), and I may argue with you over the most unimportant of issues (thanks, law school!).  I may hold a grudge, or pout like a child.  Sometimes wit devolves into sarcasm.  But I promise that I will always apologize, and I will never stop trying to correct these faults.   If you cannot forgive my carelessness from time to time (as I will with you), it would be best if you walked away now.

(8) As for frolic**, it will be prolonged, playful and passionate.   Time of day is not important. Locations are not limited.   However, I do have a preference for long, slow and tender over frantic and punishing – with the recognition that sometimes urgent fumbling can lead to the sweetest of pleasures.   If this sounds in any way distasteful to you, apply elsewhere.

Unfortunately, as stated explicitly up front, I cannot guarantee exclusivity, or length of commitment.  But if you enjoy the finer things in life and want to share some time with a more thoughtful companion, for a drink, for a meal, for a weekend in bed, for a week in London, or maybe even for a lifetime – perhaps this offer merits more serious consideration.***

*****

* For a further explanation, please see yesterday’s post.

** When originally published, I took some ribbing over the use of the word “frolic”.  But I kinda like it.

*** Offer not valid for married men, politicians, restauranteurs, blonds under the age of 30, Bay Street lawyers, men who take pictures of their genitals with their Blackberries, regulars of the Spice Route and anyone who lives within a 50 mile radius of the White House.

Square peg

I peruse the rows of books.

Why Men Love Bitches:  From Doormat to Dreamgirl

What Men Won’t Tell You But Women Need To Know

I shake my head and move on.  The rows are categorized alphabetically by last name.

Become Your Own Matchmaker:  8 Easy Steps for Attracting Your Perfect Mate

Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man

“It’s not here, of course it’s not here,” I mutter under my breath.

An overly-eager sales clerk pops up.  “Can I help you find a particular title?” she chirps, like some kind of mechanical bird.  Oh come on, she knows what section of the bookstore this is. 

The Loser section.  The section people turn to when they are looking for justification.

“No, thank you,” I mumble.  I hope she hasn’t heard me talking to myself.

The truth is, I have no idea what I’m looking for.

Why Mr. Right Can’t Find You:  The Surprising Answers That Will Change Your Life

How To Make Someone Fall in Love With You in 90 Minutes or Less

I laugh despite myself.  This is not my section.  The book I’m looking for isn’t here.

The book I am looking for will explain why I don’t want what everyone else seems to want.  The book will explain why it’s very common, but no one ever talks about it. 

I began searching in the bookstore after I read the following on Salon:

At 29, I’m not looking for a man. I’m six months out of a nearly two-year relationship so void of passion and emotion that I might as well have been alone the entire time. For the past few months I have enjoyed traveling by myself in Asia, avoiding all offers of romance. One pale Englishman in Laos asked me, his eyes wide and moist, if I wanted to have a bit of fun with him.

“Fun for whom?” I asked and went to bed early that night with my book, happy that I only had to share my room with the large frog on the wall of my bathroom.

“Oh my God,” I wrote to a friend.  “Is this what people think I believe?”

It is not what I believe.  Far from it.  In fact, it may be the saddest thing I have ever read in my life.  Claiming to prefer the company of an amphibian over an Englishman (however pale), or any other human being, is a bit much, don’t you think?

Blame it on thousands of years of conditioning.  Blame it on “Eat, Pray, Love”.  Blame it on feminism, or any other “ism” you prefer.

But I don’t believe in it.  Not for me.

Women imposing abstinence upon themselves, telling themselves that surely some kind of enlightenment will come from not acting upon their sexual desires.  Where is the choice, exactly? 

Where is the joy?

Are we simply wives and mothers?  Or sluts?  Or celibate singletons, proving our self-worth by denying our sexual pleasure?  Where do these perverse ideas come from?

I want to read the book that tells me that it’s alright to enjoy a life that includes love and yes, perhaps sex (gasp!), without the confines of tradition.  I am still relatively young, independent, successful and intelligent.  If I don’t want a traditional full-time committed relationship, does this mean that I give up a lifetime of love and passion?  Must I sign up for the whole package or walk away, empty handed?  If things don’t work out with the Prince, must I choose the frog? 

There must be another choice, I tell myself.  There must be another way.

And so, I continue to search.

What a difference a year makes

I can’t recall where we first met
A cafe or the cigarette
The month the week the day the hour
If the bells rang out from every tower

And I can’t believe the streets were gold
And you wanted me so I am told
When the laughter wandered down that road
We’d go

Hey, I’m no prize, no gigolo
When the market’s high, baby, I sell low
And I missed the train my heart was riding on

So I walk these streets we used to know
Where Christmas lights are blinking stop and go
And I think about you every time it snows

I was always wrestling
I was always chasing spring
When the rain was falling from the sky

Now the moon is shining in
The empty room where we had been
And the skyline sings a Broadway lullaby

Now I feel the cold down to my toes
I loved you but that’s how it goes
And I think about you every time

I think about you every time

I think about you every time it snows

“Every Time it Snows” by Marc Jordan – go listen to most of it, here, right now. 

If it’s possible to fall in love with a song, I fell in love with this song last year, on my first New Year’s Eve by myself.   And yes, if I recall correctly, it was snowing.

I wonder if it will snow this year.

 

Honour amongst thieves

Dear friend.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for you tonight.

I lied to you.  Instead of helping you, I decided to take a chance and open my heart to someone who probably never deserved it in the first place.

As expected, he ripped it out and left it lying on Yonge Street, somewhere between Wellington and King.  If you go there, you may still see the bloodstains.

Because you love me, I know that you will understand.  And I know that if you were here right now, that you would comfort me, because that is just the kind of person you are. 

Actually, you would probably order me a glass of wine, and tell me that I’m gorgeous, but my sweater isn’t made of cashmere.  That’s why I love you so much.

I wish I had made a different choice, and I know that I will never be so foolish again.

Forgive me.

The Price of Catching a Butterfly

After suffering from brain fever and forgetting all about my tickets, I finally saw Madama Butterfly.

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it’s about a young Japanese woman who falls in love with an American, marries him, bears his child*, and then waits three years for him to return to Japan. 

Of course, he does return…with his new wife.  Oh, and he wants to take the child back to America, too.

Everyone in the show knows that Pinkerton will break Butterfly’s heart. 

Everyone, of course, except for her.

The singing of Cio Cio San was exquisitely heartbreaking, but the line that will stay with me from the show belongs to Pinkerton:

 

“I am seized by a wild desire to pursue her, even though I should crush her fragile wings in doing so.”

 

When we are children, we chase innocently after butterflies, blissfully unaware that we are likely doing permanent damage to the object of our desire.

When we are adults, we chase with our eyes wide open, yet wilfully blind to the repercussions of our actions.

The caught butterfly trembles almost as much as the hand that encloses around it.

If you hold onto it, it will die.

If you let it go, it will never fly again, not as it did before.

 

* As if the little guy who played the son (named Sorrow, of course) wasn’t adorable enough, he clearly had the hiccups during last night’s performance.   Watching his little shoulders go up and down while the adults sang on stage was hilarious.

Everything changes

 

It can happen in an instant.

 

A moment of wordless understanding.

 

One shared look, unbroken.

 

A spark so hot that it burns despite the smothering blanket of doubt.

 

Suddenly, your perspective on the entire world is different.

 

My sleeve is bloodied, again

My instincts have been off lately*, so I am reluctant to trust them.  As such, I ask if I can meet one more time, to talk.

He agrees.  And then he writes:

“Meanwhile, I am actively looking for a girlfriend.  I want it and I will get it.  So time is a factor.”

Seriously?

“What an oddly definitive thing to say,” I respond.  “I was out of the dating scene for a long time, and perhaps things have changed quite a bit, but doesn’t anyone look for love anymore?  Maybe meeting with me will be a waste of your time and money because I’m admittedly unsure and muddling through.”

Apparently, I am an anachronism. 

I believe in sparks and chemistry in a world of “compatibility on 27 dimensions”.  And since most of the people who read this blog probably already think that I’m slightly unhinged on some level, I’ll put it right out there and say that I believe in lightning strikes and diving straight into the deep end, and I believe that settling for anything less than passionate in a relationship is not acceptable.

Comforting, yes.  But given that we only have a short time on this earth, not acceptable.

Perhaps this is Love For the New Millenium.  Maybe it’s all about a good match percentage, and a witty, well-written bio.  Or as it was explained to me by a man I met online, making sure you include a full-body picture on the online profile, to prove that you’re not unattractive from the neck down.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against people meeting people in any medium they choose.  Far from it.  What I don’t understand is the cold-blooded mindset, the competitive attitude, the whiff of desperation that permeates dating culture, especially amongst those – men and women - my own age.

Where is the joy?  Do we all just carry too much baggage?  Are we so afraid of being alone?

I wear my heart on my sleeve because I don’t know any other way to live.  It’s also why I write.  It’s messy, and it’s complicated and sometimes, it fucks up my life, and causes me to feel unimaginable loss and pain.

But sometimes..

Sometimes it is so mind-blowingly powerful that it alters my perception of the world and my place in it.

Why would I ever settle for less?

 

 

* I was looking for China, and instead found the New World.  Yeah, that far off.

Saturday Afternoon Repeat: The Breakthrough

“Games People Play” – Sex and the City, Season Two*

Carrie:  So why are you in therapy, seriously?

Seth:  I’m really fucked up about women. After I sleep with them, I completely lose interest. What about you? What’s your problem?

Carrie:  [narrating] I believe in therapy, this moment is called “the breakthrough”.

Carrie:  I pick the wrong men.

 

* For the uninitiated, this conversation between Carrie and Seth took place in bed.  Seth, of course, was played by the always delicious Jon Bon Jovi – not a bad mistake for Carrie to make, in my opinion.