Over

Heidi called me Friday afternoon and asked about my plans for the evening. I’m tired. Trying to charm her is exhausting, I’ve been having trouble sleeping and I’ve been getting cranky easily lately. Anyway – for the first time, I lied to her. I told her I was going to work late.

Paddle girl invited me to a party – a pot luck and bon fire for her rowing team on the beach down in Santa Cruz. She assured me that there would be other geezers there - coaches, parents, and the like – but that just didn’t seem like a good idea.

I was planning to head over to HMB brewery and have a few IPAs and then spend the night at motel down the street. I needed to tie one on in the company of my old friends. I was headed to my favorite local watering hole.

I knocked off work at about 6, and headed over to Half Moon Bay – there was a lot of traffic and it took over an hour. Once there I found a few friends and we downed a couple of beers and I ordered dinner.

Laughing and having fun with my drinking buddies, my phone rang. Now, I’m just not experienced enough at sneaking around. I don’t normally screen my calls – and I don’t have distinctive rings for everyone I know, and with loud happy chatter in the background I answered the phone without looking at the called ID. You guessed it, it was Heidi.

“You’re not at work.” She accused.

“Uh, yeah” I said sheepishly.

“I’m outside your office. I saw Pete leaving. He said you left hours ago.”

Oh, crap. “I, uh…” I was searching for an excuse.

“Don’t bother making anything up. I think this tells me everything I need to know.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You” she interrupted “can pick up your jacket, hat, and CDs from the receptionist at my office. I’ll expect my things back on Monday.” I’m on a plane to Tokyo Monday morning, I need to figure this out.

“The CDs were a gift.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want ‘em.”

“OK.”

“And don’t you go off thinking I dumped you. You shit.”

Um, hello, you are dumping me.

She hung up.

Two minutes later the phone rang again. This time I checked the caller ID. It was her. She started yelling at me again.

When she stopped I said. “Heidi, I’m really sorry things didn’t work out. I really appreciate all the things you did for me. I wish you nothing the best.”

“I don’t give a shit what you wish…” she went on yelling. I listened. It seemed rude for me to hang up. She yelled some more. She cried. She hung up. I turned off my phone and ordered some bourbon.

I really didn’t want to end things with her like that. Man, I handled that badly.

I'm really going to miss that wonderful accent.

Liar, Liar, Yada, Yada

Paddle Girl is a big fat liar!

She invited me to a beach party on Friday night with her paddle club. It sounded interesting, so I decided to google the group and learn a bit about them. They have a website. Looks like a pretty cool club. It’s for really anyone that wants to get out and paddle in the SF bay area, but there is an emphasis on competition. The head of the club is the rowing coach at a local college. I think I’ll join. I could use some coaching and I definitely could use some more paddle buddies. Occasional competition would be good, too. They have folks all over the bay area, so I should be able to get out in a group more often than I do now. I really should not paddle solo as much as I do. Looking at pictures of their past events, most of the membership is guys – but that’s fine, I’m not using it as a dating club.

Anyway for the members that are competitive, there is a database of their results in officially sanctioned events. So I took a look at paddle girl. She’s been in a lot of races with the college team over the past 3 years. Which I found a bit unusual for a 17 year old. One link I looked at has results posted on the USA Canoe and Kayak website. This is the organization that fields US competitors in international competitions – and the Olympics. Thing is they list the ages of the competitors with all the results.

Paddle girl is 24.

I thought she looked older than 17.

A bit more googling and I found that she is an undergrad at the local college, and she is on their paddling team – she is seriously competitive and has raced in an international competition (women’s flatwater K-1 1K sprint, K-1 10K, and a K-4 500). Now I don’t feel so bad that she can out paddle me.

I also feel like less of a perv.

Insecurity and Drunkeness

Hello loyal readers - yes both of you. Sorry I've not posted for a while. Life has been hectic. Let me catch you up on the high points.

Next week: Japan and China. Yes, Kristen wrangled me a trip to the far east for a promotional marketing tour for our latest release. Pete's headed for Europe, the CEO to NY, Kristen's taking Silicon Valley and Boston. We are going to spread the word about all the great things we've been doing at work. I leave on Monday for Japan. Two days in Tokyo, one in Osaka. Then on to Shang Hai and some other places I can't pronounce. Should be fun.

On Saturday night Heidi and I dined at MacArthur Park in Palo Alto, a venerable steakhouse. Not my favorite place, but Heidi likes it. Despite a fall chill in the air we took the new ride and left the top down. Valets were suitably impressed and left it right by the door, to create an ambiance of elegance - well that's what Heidi said.

Dinner was good, accompanied by a great bottle of wine. After dinner we took a stroll through downtown Palo Alto and then went back to her place. We sat outside of her cottage by the pool and had some more wine. If she was not going to have me over for the night I would sleep in my car around the corner. I had had too much to be driving.

"Why are you with me?" she asked, after a lull in the conversation - I knew I needed to keep things moving, oh well.

"I've grown rather fond of you. Haven't you noticed."

She scoffed mildly. "Yeah, the secretaries at work are jealous. You kind overdid it with the flowers."

"The two dozen roses were a mistake - I only ordered one."

"Rich, but why me?"

"Why not you? You have an amazing accent that makes me want to just eat you up. You're beautiful and witty and ..."

"So why do I feel so insecure?" she interrupted.

Oh, crap. How do I answer this one? Because you know I'm in love with Lynn. "Because you're silly." Let's hope some wine and that answer do the job.

"Seriously. You have it all. The job, the car, international travel..." I told her about the trip. She sighed. "You're gorgeous and you're hung like a north wood's bear." OK, that cognacs gone to her head. I'm not even sure if bears have big penises - was that an insult or a compliment? "You know that Greg - he respects you. I can tell." Greg is a guy I've known for a while - before he got famous - but if you read Forbes or Wired you've head of him. He is an internet gazzillionare. Heidi and I had dinner with him a few weeks back. "My dad respects you. He has 4000 people working for him. And he respects only about 10 of them. They all make over a million a year." I thought about asking if he had any openings... "My dad has never respected any of my boyfriends." Ah. Now I get it.

I looked her in the eyes. "I am not going to leave you for Lynn. I promise. Guys do a lot of stupid things for girls. But I'm not going to do that. I've been very honest and open with you. I've never given you a reason not to trust me. Please trust me."

She kissed me. Yes, she was drunk, more that I was. She took me into her cottage and then into her bed. "Come here you big bear" she said as she pulled me into her bedroom.

At 3 in the morning, I remembered. I had made arrangements with paddle girl to go paddling on Sunday morning at 5:30. I wanted to text her - "Got lucky Saturday night, go without me - hung over." I never got her number. I could just stand her up. It's not like it's a serious commitment or anything - this is just paddling. But I wanted to go.

I dragged my butt out of bed a bit before 4 (to Heidi's sleepy protests, "Aren't you going to make me breakfast" she whined, "You're going paddling? You're crazy") headed home, took a shower, loaded up the truck with all my paddling gear and headed down to Santa Cruz.

I got there just at about 5:30. Paddle girl was doing her stretching exercises on the dock. I dragged my boat down. "Morning."

She looked up at me. "You look tired."

"I was out late last night."

"Yeah?" She was expecting details. It was hard not to think of her as one of the guys - and this as a locker room.

"I got lucky."

"I thought you were getting over your runaway bride? Now you're sleeping around?"

I was about to say it's complicated. "I'm kinda hung over, too."

"We'll take it easy." She told me. Of course, her taking it easy isn't that easy. "Was she cute?" She was prying for details, like one of the guys.

"Big boobs." The conversation struck me as absurd.

We paddled about 5 miles in an hour and 10, by my watch. When we got back to the harbor, I hurled up my breakfast and coffee - well never mind the details. I did manage to get everything in the water - so there was nothing to clean up.

"Sorry" paddle girl said. "I didn't mean to make you do that."

"Don't worry" I said and rinsed my mouth. "Hell of a night."

We cleaned up the boats and loaded them on the cars. As she was getting into her car she called me over. "Hey - my paddling team - we're having a party on Friday at ---- beach. Bon fire, barbecue, beer. Wanna come?"

"You can't have beer."

"No not me, you know, parents, coaches, old folks from the paddle club. You'll fit right in."

Uh, thanks, yeah, me and the old folks can compare walkers and depends. "I'm not sure. Can I call you?" She gave me her number. "I wanted to call you this morning - and cancel."

"So you could stay in bed with big boobs?"

"Yes, actually."

"The workout was good for you. Sweat out the hangover, that's what I do. See ya." She drove off. 17 years old and she has hangovers??

Martinis

“I can’t lose her. I just can’t.” I was sharing a martini with Kristen after work. I was referring to my relationship with Heidi, which seems to be on its last legs.

“Why not, you don’t seem like you’re that into her.”

“I’m not” I sighed, “but if I don’t have her, there’s no reason for me not to go back to Lynn. And I really don’t want to go back to Lynn. But damn it, I’m still in love with her.”

I took a long sip of my martini and signaled the barkeep for another.

“Oh, and I’ve got a new paddle buddy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. 17 year old girl from Santa Cruz.”

“Oh Rich.” Kristen gave a good belly laugh. “Keep yourself out of jail.”

“She’s my paddle buddy – not my f-buddy”

“I know, but Rich…” and she laughed and shook her head. Yeah I know, I’m a guy and she’s a 17 year old girl.

“She’s a great paddler – better than I am. You know I could paddle rings around unmitigated beast. But I can barely keep up with this girl.”

“Welcome to getting old, Rich.”

We commiserated over bad relationships for a while and finished our martinis. As we were leaving, Kristen said “So you can stay away from Lynn for Heidi – someone you’re not that into.”

“Yeah” I replied.

“You really ought to be able to stay away from Lynn for you.”

Heidi Update

I’ve been obsessively trying to get back into Heidi’s good graces. Extravagant floral arrangements delivered to her office. Out to her favorite restaurants. Even a drinking session with her Dad – it seems to please her that I get along with him. His approval wins me some brownie points somehow. However, I can’t stand her mother, but that’s a different story. And I don't think its a problem.

I’m not sure why I am so afraid of losing her. It’s just irrational. I fear that subconsciously I think losing her might hurt just as much as losing Lynn. Maybe if I lose her I won’t have a reason not to go back to Lynn – and that thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Anyway, on Friday night we went out for a ridiculously expensive dinner in San Francisco. We ended the night at her place, where I was invited to spend the night, but just for cuddling purposes.

She seems to be forgiving me.

Sunday Paddle

So today I did an early paddle in Santa Cruz – same as last week, and yup there she was, paddle girl (we’ll see if she needs a pseudonym for the blog). This time she wanted to go east, towards Aptos. And she wanted to go faster, and farther. It’s actually really nice to have someone to paddle with. I’ve been going solo for the past 8 months or so and that is both dangerous and stupid. Seems paddle girl has been doing the same for a shorter period of time. Except she trains during the week in the afternoons with a coach.

She was on the dock next to her boat doing some stretching exercises. Waiting for me? I pulled down my boat and dragged it over to the dock. “hey”

“Morning. Looks like a good day for a paddle.”

“Where you headed?”

“East, Aptos. Maybe 4 miles out.”

“Looks like a good breeze today, don’t you want a downwind return”

“Nope. I need a challenge. You coming?”

“Yeah. Can’t let you paddle alone.”

“Better stretch.”

I set up my boat and did some stretching exercises. Then we set off. The seas were getting pretty rough. She was in front of me heading out of the harbor where we go past some breakers. She got caught by a wave, and went over. “Oh, shit” I thought to myself. I pulled a few hard strokes to catch up to her so I could do a rescue, and she pops out of the water, in her boat, laughing. She executed a perfect Eskimo roll. If I went down like that I would need a rescue. Wow.

We did 8 miles in less than an hour and a half. It took everything I had to keep up with her. I am going to be a hurtin puppy for a few days.

Once we were back in the harbor she set a slow pace. We leisurely paddled back to the dock. Even with a cool down, I was still out of breath. We threw our boats up on the dock. I took off my dry top and lay down on the dock with my feet in the water. She sat down next to me. “You OK?”

“Yeah, fine, no problem” gasp, gasp.

“You’re a pretty good sport. I’m impressed you can keep up with me. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

I guess there’s going to be a next time. Looks like I have a new paddle buddy. “You know, when you spilled on the way out of the harbor I thought we were done.”

“Don’t know where that wave came from. But I got a bomb-proof roll. You think I’d go out in these conditions with out it? Can’t you roll?” Maybe she’s not as suicidal as I thought. If you have an expert Eskimo roll these conditions are not nearly as dangerous.

“In good conditions.” I replied

“Oh. I didn’t know. I’ll keep a better eye on you.”

OK, I’m humbled. This 17 year old school girl is a way better athlete than I am.

We sat there on the dock talking amiably for about 20 minutes. And then she said “He got me pregnant.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, you are not telling me this. “I’m really sorry to hear that – but, you know, you should not be sharing this with a 30 something guy you met at a dock.”

“You seem pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I am, but this is getting into an inappropriate area.”

“So were you married?”

“No.”

“Commitment phobic?”

“I was engaged.”

“You got cold feet?”

“Nope - she did. 2 days before the wedding. She just disappeared.” I knew I shouldn’t go on, but it was so easy to talk to her. “We had the church booked, the reception paid for, flowers, non refundable plane tickets, the works, and she ran away.”

“Wow, that’s cold.”

“Yeah. I call her the runaway bride. Now I think all women are scum.”

“Hey!”

“But paddlers are cool. And you, next time, birth control. They have pills for that kind of thing.” I stood up. Damn, I’m not getting involved with a teenager. My life is f*cked up enough as it is.

“God, you sound like my mother.”

“Yeah, well your mother sounds pretty smart. And I’m your paddle buddy, not your relationship coach. You want to talk about boys pick on someone your own age. OK?”

She shook her head.

“Next Sunday?” She asked.

“I’ll be here.”

Tomato Sauce

Yeah, it's late Saturday night and I am posting recipes on the internet. Sigh. How sad.

Anyhoo... My usual tomato sauce recipe is from Alton Brown (Good Eats) you can find it here. It's pretty fool proof and I like the way it comes out.

But when I have an abundance of fresh Roma tomatoes I make a filetto sauce. You can't make it with anything other than fresh Romas (or other paste type tomatoes). I tried it once with store bought tomatoes - and it ended up way too watery. And if you cook off all the extra liquid, you lose the fresh tomato taste.

So, here's the recipe:

2 Tablespoons of olive oil
2 cloves of garlic finely minced

Put the garlic and oil in a pan cold, cook over medium low heat until the garlic starts to sizzle. I found that starting with a cold pan and applying the heat slowly extracts a lot more flavor from the garlic.

Once the garlic starts to sizzle (and way before it browns) add:

1 1/2 teaspoons of salt
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fresh oregano (or 1 teaspoon dried)

Cook until the onions are translucent - about 7 minutes over medium heat. The add:

2 lbs fresh Roma tomatoes, milled
1 teaspoon sugar
some basil leaves sliced fine

Simmer for up to 1/2 hour - no longer.

Before serving add:

1 splash vodka
more basil, salt, and pepper to taste

If it ends up too runny (which happens if the tomatoes were not absolutely fresh) do not try to cook it down, you'll lose the really fresh tomato taste. You can save it by adding a cream bechamel:

In a separate saucepan

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour

Cook over medium heat until bubbly

Add 8 ounces heavy cream

Bring to a boil stirring constantly. It will get really thick (but that's the point).

Add to filetto sauce (turning into a tomato vodka cream sauce, which is something completely different - but really good, too). Add some grated parmesan cheese and serve over pasta.

The End of Summer

Today I harvested a bunch of tomatoes. (yeah crappy picture) Despite lots of neglect this year, there's a ton of fruit on my 4 roma bushes.

Made tomato sauce.

Delicious. Served over homemade angel hair.

The nights are starting to get cold and that ruins the texture of the tomatoes. I'll probably pull them out in a couple weeks.

Goodbye, Gourmet

Today I received my last issue of Gourmet magazine. And I just reupped my subscription. They are shutting down and the November issue will be the last.

San Jose Merc reports that foodies (like me) are stunned.

I'm going to miss that magazine. Seems that the advertisers of luxury goods have scaled back too much. Ad revenue was too far down.

I remember one issue that had a centerfold. I can't recall what it was showing, but it was interesting. I was holding the magazine up sideways and staring lustfully at the unfurled centerfold pages. Sarah came into the room and accused me of looking at food porn. Yup, I was. She got a good laugh out of it.

Now I'm going to need to find my food porn on the internet.

I'm sorry, Heidi

Yeah. I said it.

Over and over again. But I’m not sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong. I thought she needed to hear it. She probably did.

It didn’t make a difference.

I’ve spent the last week trying to balance mollifying Heidi and kicking off the next project at work. I’m tired.

Heidi is pissed – understandably so. So, she cut me off (sex wise) which is OK – I probably deserve that. I think we’re sort of falling into the classic definition of “we can still be friends” state – which means we can go out and spend my money, but I will never touch her body ever again.

I don’t know where we are. She comes over, but acts like she doesn’t want to be there. We’ll go out and I’ll get the silent treatment.

So Sunday I decided to ignore her. I woke up at 4 a.m. and my mind was racing the way it used to. Going over the Lynn break up over and over again. Wondering what I did wrong. What could I have said that would have made things come out differently. What did Tim have that I didn’t have? Why? Why? Why?

I thought I was past this. Probably comes from seeing her again.

Of course, when this happens, I know I need to roll out of bed and do something. Otherwise it will never stop and I’ll be depressed for a week. So tired and grumpy, I rolled out of bed. I decide to go paddling. I made a thermos of French roast and grabbed a few granola bars and some fruit and head out to the truck to load up the kayak. I usually paddle in the bay, but the sun wasn't yet up and wouldn’t be for a while, so I decided to go down to Santa Cruz. Dawn will breaking by the time I get there.

There’s a small dock in the yacht harbor near Aldo’s where folks launch their kayaks. There’s some kayak storage nearby, so occasionally I’ll see another paddler. I was surprised this morning, when at 5:30 someone was out on the dock setting up their boat. The streetlights were still on, it was fairly foggy out, but a dull gray light was starting to make its way through.

I pulled my boat down and hauled it down to the dock and said “hey” to the other paddler. I think I startled her.

“Morning” she says.

“Good day for a paddle”

“Yeah” she snorts. “Whatcha got there, a 16?”

“Yeah, good eye. Zoar sport. Plastic.” I nod at her boat “18?”

“18-5” she says with pride. “Glass” (fiberglass construction, she means) Show-off, I think to myself.

I almost quip “size doesn’t matter” but it seemed too flirty and well, with kayaks, size does matter. The longer the boat the faster you can go. Of course, fiberglass goes faster than plastic.

“Where you going?” I ask her.

“Up past the wharf, past the lighthouse, probably to bridges (beach park). Maybe 3 miles out.”

“Want to paddle together?” I ask.

“You should know, I’m only 17” she has her arms crossed.

Seriously, I was not trying to pick her up. I suddenly realize I’m more than twice her age. OMG, I’m getting damn old. “You look older.” She really does – 25 maybe. Her face is – weathered maybe.

“Yeah, I can get into bars without getting carded.” She smiled (I think for the first time)

“Anyway, there’s no age limit on paddle buddies. You shouldn’t paddle alone.”

“You sound like my mom.”

Feeling even more ancient “Yeah, well, your mom’s right. It’s rough out there and you should have a paddle buddy.” Frankly, under these conditions I was going to stay in the harbor. It’s too rough for me to go out solo.

“Well, I paddle fast. Are you up for a workout?”

“Sure, I think I’ll be able to keep up.” Old man that I am.

She was one hell of a paddler. She set out at a really fast pace and kept if for the whole paddle. We went six miles. Going west, we were against the wind and waves, it was hard and she kept a fast pace. Returning, she settled in between the crest of two waves and surfed back. It was easier, but still took a lot of effort. You have to paddle fast enough to keep up with the waves – but they do give you a bit of a push. The whole time we were too out of breath for small talk. We finished in just over an hour (OK, say Wow! here) My arms were burning as we pulled back into the dock.

“Wow, you’re quite a paddler” I said through gasps for breath.

“Thanks, I’m surprised you could keep up.” old man - I suspect she was thinking this, but was kind enough to leave it off.

At least she was seriously out of breath, too.

“Are you training for the Olympics or something?”

“Or something…” she replied. She pulled off her paddle jacket – her fleece layer was wet with sweat and she was literally steaming in the cold air.

“What the hell are you doing going out in conditions like this solo?” I asked still gasping. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She looked off toward the surf “No one cares if I live or die.”

“You’re got your whole life ahead of you” but then I remembered writing those same words in my blog. “bad break-up?” I asked. Or was it just suicidal teenaged angst.

She swung her head towards me, surprised. From the expression on her face I knew I was right. Oh, man, how bad can a break-up be at 17? “Yeah.” she admitted.

“And you paddle like hell to dull the pain.”

She nodded slowly “Yeah. It works for me.”

I reassured her that folks do care about her and do care if she lives or dies and that when she looks back on her life she’s going to wonder what all the fuss was about. I regurgitated much of what folks have been telling me – life coach stuff. Funny, I thoroughly believed that what I was saying to her applied to her – but not to me.

“So what are you doing out here so early in the morning?” she asked me.

I scoffed and shook my head “Bad break-up, can’t sleep, paddle like hell to dull the pain.”

“I thought you told me you had a girlfriend or something” I had mentioned Heidi.

I gave her a scowl, “It’s complicated.”

“It always is” she replied. Damn, she’s wise beyond her years.

“Help me with my boat?” I asked. My arms were burning and there was no way I could lift it onto the truck by myself.

She shook her head. “You use your arms too much, you need to get your power from your torso. Here…” she grabbed her paddle and demonstrated a proper forward stroke. “As you come around you’re pulling with your shoulder. Like this. You’ll never get decent speed like that.” She tried to show me where I was doing it wrong. She’s had some serious coaching.

“Got anything left in that thermos?” She asked after helping me load my boat onto my truck.

“You drink coffee?”

“Yeah”

“It’ll stunt your growth.”

“It will not,” she said as I poured her some coffee. “I stopped growing years ago.”

After she gulped down some coffee I helped her load her boat onto a 20 year old Subaru and watched her drive away.

Sunday Drive

It was about 11 at night. I was driving up highway 85 with the top down. It was surprisingly warm for October in the bay area. The phone rang and I answered it. It was Heidi. She’s up in Ashland Oregon where they do some kind of Shakespeare thing. Heidi and her friends make an annual event of it. So I was on my own for the weekend. Normally I would work, but we just finished a large project, and the next one hasn’t started. I slowed the car a bit to reduce the wind noise. “Hey how were the plays?”

“Great.” She regaled me with some highlights. “You driving?” she asked.

“Yeah, headed home.”

“Where’d you go?”

Ooh. I got a knot in my stomach. I have been really honest with Heidi, and now was not the time to start hiding things from her. “I was over at Lynn’s” I said as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh.” She said, disappointed, but not surprised. There was silence for a moment. “It’s late.” She said, stating the obvious, but her accusation was clear.

Shit. I should have sent this to voicemail. “Nothing happened.” I tried not to sound defensive. Hey, you’re the one who went away for the weekend – with guys tagging along, I might add. I left this unsaid. I have no claim at all on her. I’m lucky she talks to me. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“When it comes to her…” she didn’t finish her sentence.

“I had dinner with an old friend. That’s all it was.”

“Should I come over tomorrow? You have time?”

“Yeah, things are slow at work.”

The Friday before this conversation, I had gone home early and continued to be in a foul mood. I decided to go for a long paddle on Saturday and headed out early in the morning to Sausilido. Maybe a change of venue would cheer me up. There’s a nice yacht harbor there and still enough wind and waves to get a good workout. I needed to go either early or late to avoid the tides. I paddled angry for a good 3 hours and exhausted myself.

I hosed my boat and myself off and then had lunch in the park near the waterfront. Watched the people go by.

Went home and made myself a bowl of risotto – my favorite comfort food. Downed it with a bottle of chianti, and still had a hard time falling asleep.

Sunday morning, I called her. (Lynn for you new readers, the woman who put my heart through a meat grinder, now dumped by the guy she left me for.)

It was about 10 a.m. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been better. It’s been a while.”

I didn’t know what to say – you threw me out. “yeah” I lamely replied. I’d let her steer the conversation.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been better, too.”

Now I was wondering why I called. This was awkward. We had talked after our break-up, but not since she got dumped by Tim. “I hear you and Heidi are quite the item now.”

“Oh?”

“Well the office gossip is all about a weekend in Monterrey.”

“Mmm”

“She asked me about you.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I told her you were a great date. You really know how to take good care of a woman. And to be kind to you, cause you’ve been through a lot lately.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t give her any details.”

“I did.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, well…” I explained how things happened with Heidi. And there it was – we were back in our groove. It was not awkward. We were talking about our love lives. And then I did remember why I called. I just really needed to hear her say “Rich, I’m sorry.” Don’t know why. I just needed to hear it.

We talked some more. We both laughed at something. “I’ll buy you a beer.” I said.

“Crows nest?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Well, come get me.”

I drove over to her apartment. I walked her out to my car. “Where’s the truck?” she asked.

“I bough this, it’s more fun.”

“This is yours? Oh my god, Rich, you bought this?” She knew in an instant.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t suppress a grin.

She looked at me and took my hand. “You were really in love – weren’t you?”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yeah.” She looked away “And it scared me. I really wasn’t ready for that.”

I waited for it “I’m sorry, Rich”, but it never came. I opened the car door for her.

“This is crazy, Rich!” She called out as I got in.

Yeah, this is crazy, I thought.

We had a nice lunch at the crows nest and had a couple of drinks while watching the boats go in and out of the harbor. Driving home, we took the car up highway 1 then over 84 – winding through the Santa Cruz mountains. It was a wonderful day for the drive.

As we got towards Los Gatos she asked what we should do for dinner. I volunteered to make a fettuccini alfreado with chicken. She put her arm on my shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “That would be so nice. I am so tired of cooking for guys.” I almost smacked her. For Tim you cook, for me you lounge on the couch and watch!?!? WTF, that’s not right.

Guys, do not be the one that cooks. Be the one that is cooked for.

There’s a lesson to be learned here, but I’m too thick to pick it up. We stop to get ingredients for dinner. And a bottle of wine.

I cook her dinner, and we eat sitting on the floor of her breakfast nook. She still has no furniture but what we extracted from her home with Jim (and the bed).

Late in the evening, lingering over the last of the wine, she asks “So where does that leave us?”

“Well, I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you.”

“And you can’t throw me very far.” She's probably all of 95 pounds, I could get some good distance on her, I thought, not that I would.

“And I’m not sure I want to be your second choice.”

“Yeah,” she said “I can understand that.”

And again, I waited for it. “I’m sorry, Rich” but it never came.

I seriously wish she had not gotten dumped by Tim. This is hard, in so many ways. But, I am not going to get entangled as long as I am with Heidi. And with that thought I got up and walked out the door. 10 minutes later, Heidi called.

Scars

Badges of honor, or ugly disfigurement??

Today, at work, we recognized a significant accomplishment. To mark the occasion, the company passed out commemorative T-shirts and we took a company photo on the lawn out in front of the building. All were required to don the new T shirt and pose.

The T-shirts were short sleeve.

I have some very bad scars on my left arm from a car accident. As a result, I usually (well, always) wear long sleeved shirts - so no one needs to see the ugliness.

So for picture taking day, I brought along a long sleeve white tee shirt, which I wore under the company one. Kristen, VP of marketing and company fashionista, did not approve. "Rich, that just does not work. Take off the long sleeve shirt." She ordered, before the photo shoot.

"I can't"

"Why not?"

I rolled up my left sleeve to expose some of the scaring.

"What?" she asked.

"The scars. They're all over my arm. I don't want to ruin the picture."

"What happened?" She asked.

I explained about the car crash - the drunk driver (it's all in some old post).

"Oh, for goodness sake." she scoffed. "No one will see it. There are 40 people in the picture - you won't be able to see the texture of the skin on your arm."

"I'm really not that comfortable exposing it."

"Rich, people with scars are much more interesting. You should wear it proudly as part of what made you who you are today. Don't hide it. Scars are a badge of honor."

No, scars are just an ugly disfigurement. They are not a source of pride. At least that's my point of view. There's nothing cool about looking ugly, and nothing cool about almost losing an arm.

I left my shirt on.

The CEO was wearing his jacket (over the T shirt - that didn't work either)

But what about the scars you can't see? The ones on the inside. I doubt I'll ever get over what Lynn did to me. It's a scar I'll carry on my soul forever.

Badge of honor?

Ugly disfigurement?

How does one tell the difference?

More Blunk Drogging

Hrmpph.

Heidi's gone.

We just finished up a big project at work. Went home early. Tomorrow looks like a slow day.

All dressed up and no where to go.

So here I sit - looking at my cell and not texting or calling anyone. I want to call Heidi. I want to drive up to Oregon to get her. That would end badly. I want to call Lynn. I want to drive to Los Gatos to get her. That would end badly. I want someone to want me. Phone, ring, dammit.

I recently turned 35. There are crow's feet around my eyes. Sadly, more frown lines than laugh lines. That says more than I want to admit. I'm getting old. Some guys age gracefully. I don't think I will. Sean Connery is 80 and is hot. How does that happen?

Fuck. I'm tired of hurting. I was once happy. I was once loved. There's no light at the end of the tunnel.

Is this it? Is it over? 3 fucking weeks. That's all. But they were beyond belief.

So I open a really good bottle of Merlot. And drink it all. Put one some jazz. Check gmail again - no one's sending anything. Read the blogs over again. Fade into oblivion.

God, I would give anything for one of Mina's Kobe beef cheeseburgers right now. Fries done in rendered duck fat. Too late - he's closed.

I wonder what Sarah is up to. She was a wonderful person. I google her. No new pages.

Seattle is 461 miles father than Ashland from here.

I am so tired of being sad. And I know you're tired of reading me whine.

I have gained almost 15 pounds in the last six months. Yeah, in a weird way, that's an accomplishment. You can't control your body. Not much, anyway. It is what it is.

I wonder what's next.

It can't be worse than pondering what I have lost.

Thanks for reading. I'll be cheerful next time.

After hours office visit

Well, I guess Heidi picked up on my bad mood over the last couple of days. Or maybe she was feeling guilty about going off for the weekend without me. Not sure which. But tonight she stopped by the office at about 8. She knew I would be working late (we've been in a real push lately, so everyone's putting in long hours, hence the lack of posts - too much work and nothing of note happening in my life.) Anyway, she called from her car and said she was in the parking lot, and asked me to open the back door for her.

I met here there and let her in. We went up to my cubicle, where she produced a bottle of champagne and a quart of very delicious looking strawberries. Hmm, she's picking up this decadence thing pretty well.

So there I am with a flute of champagne in my hand and Heidi is putting a big fat strawberry in my mouth, and who walks around the corner, but the executive VP. This guy basically runs the place. The CEO is the leader, but day to day operations are handled by the Exec VP. He looks at me and says (rather loudly and in an accusing tone) "What the fuck is this?"

Which is OK, every third word out of his mouth is an f-bomb. That's just the way he is. And he's good enough and rich enough not to care. Yeah, it's not very professional, but that's the way he expresses himself.

Heidi, who has never met him, goes pale. She must have believed that she just got me into a world of trouble. That was not the case and I knew it.

I gave the VP my best confused look (I'm really good at that) "What do you mean?"

"Strawberries? Champagne?" he replied.

"I thought... " I paused for dramatic effect "I, I thought that was company policy. When you work late you get a beautiful blonde with strawberries and champagne." (trying to look confused again) "This happens every night, right?"

The VP laughed. "Only thing I get when I work late is a ration of shit!"

He proceeded to introduce himself to Heidi and was quite charming. He took a strawberry, and moved on.

Heidi whispered to me "I almost peed myself. Is he always like that?"

"He's harmless." I told her.