Casually Dismissed

Solstice

2009-12-23T18:36:00.000-08:00

Monday was the winter solstice. And, as you regular readers know, I take any opportunity that I can to be decadent - so this year it was a pesto lasagna shared with Lynn and a really good Italian red to celebrate the changing of the season.

I first had pesto lasagna at a small hole in the wall restaurant in Paris. Yeah, it's not French food, but at the time I was craving some pasta, and this looked intriguing. It was absolutely wonderful. I tried over and over again to make it - but the secret eluded me for quite a while. You'd think that you could just leave out the meat sauce and replace it with pesto and voila - pesto lasagna. No way. Turns out when you cook pesto, the olive oil separates out, and you end up with noodles in an oil slick - nasty. Next I tried putting chopped up basil leaves in between the layers of noodles. Bad. Then I though it might work if the basil was chopped up and put in the ricotta - like you'd add spinach. Nope.

I finally came up with this, which pales compared to what I had in Paris, but is still pretty good.

One of the nice things about lasagna is that you can do all the prep work and clean up before dinner. So rather than doing dishes after dinner, you can focus on more enjoyable pursuits.

We had this for dessert - in some very creative, uh, positions. Yum ;-) God I love dessert like that (aside from the obvious recreational aspects, that is some really good chocolate sauce).

Friday was the company party where Lynn works. She invited me. I really did not want to go - I first politely declined. She was, however, rather insistent. The event was being held in one of those chain hotels in Sunnyvale near Lawrence Expressway. They took up one of the ballrooms and there was a no-host bar, an appetizer/finger food buffet, and an area set up for dancing - so that folks who wanted to embarrass themselves in front of their co-workers could do so (probably after lots of alcohol).

The party was officially from 7 to 11. Lynn and I agreed to meet there after work. I decided to arrive fashionably late. I was really not looking forward to seeing either Heidi or Tim, both of whom Lynn told me would be attending. I stayed at the office until almost 8, when I got a call from Lynn. "I'm just leaving the office now, a few last minute details to take care of. I should be there in 15 or 20 minutes."

I went to my car and sat for a good 15 minutes - dreading going to the party - yeah - chicken shit. Then, after feeling like I could stall no longer I started the car and drove out to Lawrence Expressway. I drove past the hotel - stalling for yet a few more minutes. It was well past 8:30 and Lynn called again. "Uh, yeah, I'm on Lawrence - be there soon."

I continued to stall for another 2 hours - with regular calls from Lynn. Her words getting both more slurred and angrier with each call. Of course, each time she called I was closer and closer to the party. At 10:30 I got the final call. I was in the lobby of the hotel. Lynn was obviously drunk. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby. Which room is it in?"

"You can stop stalling. They left."

"Both of them?"

"Yup. You big chicken."

"Good. I'll be there in a minute."

"Yeah, right. I'll buy you a drink."

I walked over to the ballroom. There were still about 100 people there, but the room was set up for probably 1000. The food was all gone and the bartenders were closing up. One very nice bartender gave us two half full bottles of pretty good wine as he closed down his bar. I gave him a $20 tip and wished him a merry christmas.

We sat in the hotel lobby and finished the wine. Where I was drunkenly berated for being a chicken. Whatever. I was hungry - in all my stalling I forgot to get dinner. So we sat in the lobby bar and had a couple more drinks and I had some food. Lynn was nagging me to catch up, drinkwise, and I was doing my best to comply. Drunkeness is always best shared - uneven levels of drunk is unpleasant (well, if I'm the more sober one).

I was no where near being drunk, but too far gone to drive. So I went to the front desk to get a room. Lynn stumbled with me to the elevator, up to the room we went. I opened the door to the room for her. She looked at me and shook her head. "This is so you." She slurred and pointed at me. "You're the only guy I know who would just get a room."

"What, I'm not going to sleep it off in my car."

"Yes! Yes! That's what guys do. Not only would they sleep it off in their car, they expect a goodnight blowjob in the parking lot." She pulled her top off.

"Yeah - college kids, but not grown-ups"

"No - grown men do that. Why are you so... you?" She was making no sense. She was fumbling with her bra strap - trying to undo it. "Oh fuck it." She pulled her shoulders out and pushed it down her torso and stepped out of it - like taking off pants. I've never seen that before (she does have narrow hips). "It's not fair that you're like this." She was naked now. "You made me feel soooo guilty." She sat down on the bed and started to cry. "Oh, fuck. I'm drunk. I didn't ever want to tell you that."

The wine goes in, the truth comes out.

"Why not? You were guilty - what you did was horrible. We both knew it was wrong." Thing is I always thought that she would feel guilty. I never considered that she might not.

"But I can't admit that to you!" She sobbed. "I would sit in Tim's office and just tell him how guilty I felt." She was crying. "I couldn't take it! And he would say that I didn't do anything wrong - that I was entitled to be with whoever I wanted." Well, I probably would have said the same thing. She broke down into a deep cry, mixed with hiccups.

Great evening.

I went to the bed to give her a hug. Don't know why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. She reached out and grabbed my belt as I got close. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Giving you a goodnight blowjob." She giggled. She tried to take off my pants, but was too uncoordinated. I helped. I laid down on the bed, quite ready for her attention (guys are like that). She put her head down in my lap. I ran a hand through her hair. Extreme anticipation set in as I waited for her to start.

Then I heard her gently snoring.

Pesto Lasagna

2009-12-23T18:00:00.000-08:00

Boil 10 lasagna noodles in salted water. Extra al-dente. Run under cold water, pat dry and set aside. (this is for an 8x8 baking dish - perfect for 2 with leftovers, make more for a 9x13)

Next, in a blender add:

4 oz fresh basil leaves
1 pint milk
1 teaspoon salt
2 garlic cloves
1/4 medium onion

Frappe until it looks like a McDonald's St. Patrick's day milk shake gone bad. It will be minty green with small flecks of basil leaves. I know this seems gross - just stick with me.

In a sauce pan add:

2 tablespoons flour
2 tablespoons olive oil

Stir together and heat until bubbly. The add the milk mixture from the blender and bring the mixture to a boil. It should get fairly thick. Remove from the heat. Add:

1/2 cup of grated parmesean cheese - please use cheese from Parma, not the stuff in the green can.

Stir in the cheese until melted

Now taste it. It should be really good - cheesey, pestoey, and yummy. Add salt and pepper to taste.

In a separate bowl, mix

10 oz whole milk ricotta cheese (not that skim, part skim, or low fat, or reduced fat stuff - trust me, it makes a difference)
1 egg
salt and pepper

Now, assemble the lasagna. I use an 8x8 ceramic baking dish. Layer noodles, ricotta mixture, basil cheese sauce, then shredded mozzarella (whole milk - not the part skim stuff) and fontina cheese. Repeat until you run out of noodles. Top with grated mozzarella, fontina, and parmesean cheese.

Bake at 350 covered for 30 minutes, then for 20 minutes uncovered. The top should get bubbly and golden brown and delicious.

Let set for at least 15 minutes before serving.

Pair with a good chianti

I'm Buff - and kinda healthy

2009-12-10T14:13:00.000-08:00

I went for a physical yesterday. Yeah, you need to do that when you get old.

It turned out that I needed a tetanus shot. The nurse came to administer it. I took off my shirt. She put rubbing alcohol on my shoulder. Then she took the syringe and tried to pinch an inch or so of muscle on my shoulder to stab me. She couldn't grab the muscle. She told me "you need to relax your shoulder muscle."

"It is."

"Oh! Nice muscle tone." she raised her eyebrows.

In other medical related news, my LDL number is 168. Yup, that's dangerous - and I'm only 35. Anyway, my doctor has given me 3 months to clean up my diet and get the number down, or he's putting me on statins. He asked me if I regularly exercise, and then withdrew the question - he said I'm obviously getting a lot of exercise. I'm not fat, in fact he'd like to see me put on some weight. But he says I should not be eating so much saturated fat.

Well, sorry doc, I'm going to keep eating the fat. Give me drugs - I wanted to tell him to not bother with the 3 months. I'm not going to stop eating really good food. A daily dose of lipitor should keep my LDLs under 100, with very few side effects. And I get to keep eating bacon and hollandaise. This is a great country.

My doc says that in 5 years or so there should be a drug that will clean out all the plaque in the arteries. You'll take it once every 5 or 10 years and you'll have the arteries of an olympic athlete - even if you eat half a pound of bacon every morning. I can't wait.

Awkward

2009-12-09T10:13:00.000-08:00

So Lynn has invited me to a Christmas party. The company Christmas party where she works. Where Tim and Heidi work, too.

Awkward.

For new readers, Lynn is my new girl buddy, who was my old girl buddy, until she started sleeping with Tim. While she was doing that I started dating Heidi -and eventually we ended up sleeping together. How's that for a soap opera. Lynn, Tim, and Heidi all work in the same office - so I guess Lynn has overcome the awkwardness.

You know, it wouldn't surprise me if Heidi and Tim have dated in the past. There's something about them together.

Uh, yeah, how tangled.

Contented Bliss

2009-12-07T18:03:00.000-08:00

Hello, peeps. Yes, I've been actually having a life and not blogging about one. Lynn and I have been in a serious state of canoodling for the past week. Yes, a week. About 1/3 of the time of our last romantic encounter. And I must say it is probably the happiest I can remember being. We have been inseparable. Doing everything together - including showering. And the sex is amazing. OK, this is probably TMI and will gross you out, but I so love the taste of a woman. Heidi was fun. But she was very conservative when in comes to sex. Her idea of getting wild was doing it with a candle lit. Nothing but the missionary position for her. And seriously - nothing oral, at all. She said she didn't like it. I told her that was probably because she never had it done well. She agreed, but was never adventurous enough to try it with me. I really missed it. Lynn is - well - amazing and adventurous and - wow.

Tonight we parted, briefly, so I could go home - wash clothes and get another weeks worth. Later (after the last dryer load) I'll be headed back to her apartment in Los Gatos.

I have the key to her apartment again.

Maybe I'll get a drawer or two.

Sigh. (of contentment)

I did go paddling with paddle girl on Sunday morning. This was the only time I paddled in the last week. And I simply cannot keep up with her if I don't some extra mileage in during the week. Need to do something about that.

Anyway, she asked about my love life and I gave her the reader's digest version as we shared a thermos of french roast on the dock after our paddle. College buddy, to drinking buddy, to bed buddy, to cheating bitch, back to bed buddy again (new readers, go read here, here, and here, that's the gist of it).

"Do you trust her?" she asked

"Naw." I replied. "But I lover her."

"She's a lucky girl." She shook her head, "Men are weird."

Moth to a flame

2009-11-30T18:48:00.000-08:00

I think we all knew this post was inevitable. Yup. I did it.

Wrong. So absolutely wrong. I did it anyway.

Here’s the thing. I wanted it. I really wanted it. I know my friend Kristen said that I should be able to stay away for myself. But that assumes that I want to stay away. I don’t. I so f-ing love her. I always wonder why girls go back to the bad boys. Why do I go running back to the bad girl?

Why does the moth fly into the flame?

You know, I do a lot of things that are bad for me. I eat fatty foods. I mean really fatty food – I eat hollandaise sauce. Which is really just egg yolks and butter whipped up together. These are two of the worst foods on the planet for folks who might develop heart disease. Guess what? I’m an American, in all likelihood going to die of heart disease. I love steak sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise. I love eggs benedict. I drink. I drink a lot. I like the way that alcohol makes me feel. I think nothing of sitting down and drinking a bottle of wine – at one sitting. No point in dying of that heart attack and having a pristine liver.

If it feels good, do it. I’ve made peace with the fact that this philosophy will probably shorten my life substantially. And it will result in hangovers, and all manner of other problems. So be it. Maybe one day I will regret this. But for now, I’m being true to myself.

It was Sunday. I was still recovering from a day on the water with paddle girl - so I wasn't up for any outdoor activity. I had read and re-read all the blogs I follow. Check all manner of e-mail accounts – nothing new here. I was bored. No, I knew what I was thinking. I was alone. She was alone – well I presumed she was alone. Maybe she’s banging her neighbor, or another co-worker. Who knows. I wanted to know. I was so hoping that she was alone.

When I could no longer stand it, I called her.

“Hey” she said answering the phone “it’s been a while.”

“How you doing?”

“Not that bad. You?”

“I’m hungry again.” She knew that that meant.

“Good for you. I knew you’d get there.”

I’m glad you had faith that I wasn’t broken for life. I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know what to say next.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah, I just… I’m…” I sighed. Here goes. Hold on heart. Here we go again. “I’d really like to see you.”

“I’d like to see you, too.” was that a sob I heard on the other end of the phone?

There it was again. Yes, it was a sob. Of shame? Joy? Elation? Remorse? Sorrow? Who knows.

“Come over. I’m home. Whenever you’d like.”

“I’ll be there soon.” I hung up.

I took my car (not the truck) and drove down to Los Gatos. I’m sure that I was speeding all the way. As I pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, I saw her standing in the parking lot. I pulled into one of the visitor parking spaces and she walked up to the car on the driver’s side. I got out and she hugged me tight. We kissed. She started to cry. (I’m just going to assume that these are tears of joy). I cried, too. We stood there in the parking lot for what seemed forever. She pulled back, put her hands on my cheeks, looked me in the eyes, and said “I love you, Rich.” She kissed me again. “I’ve always loved you.” This was like the end of Slumdog millionaire – but without the Indian music and the dancing. You know what I mean.

We hurried to her apartment and stumbled in the door. We hastily undressed each other – leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom. She was wearing that blue camisole that I just love. I stopped momentarily to admire it.

We made the maddest, most passionate love ever. Twice.

We collapsed into each others arms and I drifted blissfully off to sleep.

Your butt is steaming

2009-11-29T09:53:00.000-08:00

That's what paddle girl said to me as I got out of my boat on Saturday morning. I usually wear wet-suit pants with a dry-top. But unable to remove the funk from the wet suit, I opted for a better smelling fleece pair of pants. Paddle girl makes me work pretty hard - and I work up a good sweat (hence the funk). My fleece pants were drenched with sweat (sorry if that's TMI) and it was probably 45 degrees out. And it was a funny sentiment.

She then invited me out for breakfast. I agreed to go if she let me use the shower at her house first. Her car is in the shop, so we loaded up the boats onto my truck and headed back to her house. She lives a couple minutes from where we were paddling. I took a shower and changed into fresh smelling clothes. Then she cleaned up. She lives in a 2 bedroom house with 1 small bathroom. She shares it with 3 other girls. She has 4 boats in her garage - including a surf-ski and an olympic racing boat. Cool.

We headed out to a local eatery near campus that caters to college students. While we were waiting for our food, and lingering over coffee, she put her hand on mine. OK, I've been dodging this for a while. Looks like I need to take it head-on.

"Um, I think you're really great, but, I'm not at a point where I can get involved with you." I pulled my hand out from under hers. She looked hurt, and surprised.

"The guys from the paddle club. They talked to you."

"Uh, yeah, they did."

"Bastards. I wish they'd mind their own business. They can't tell me who I can date."

"Before you blame them - first, they didn't tell me not to date you. They told me not to hurt you. There's a pretty big difference. I think they really care about you. At least they mean well."

She shook her head, "Yeah, I guess."

"Even if they didn't talk to me, I couldn't get involved with you, not now."

"Why?"

I might as well come clean. "I'm in love."

"I thought big boobs was gone?"

"No not her."

"Runaway bride?"

I laughed - "Shit, this is complicated. The girl that broke my heart."

"Are you with her?"

"No. But... I don't know. I'm not over her. It wouldn't be fair to you."

She narrowed her eyes. "What? You're going to pass on relationships until you're over her? What about Big Boobs?"

"Big boobs was a bad idea. And I know, it sounds stupid - especially when I'm talking to someone as cute as you. Give me some time. We can paddle together. You'll find some young college stud..."

"You mean immature, poor, boys?"

I laughed. I remember being so unhappy about Lynn being involved with inappropriately older men. Now, that I'm older and wiser, I can see some merit to the arrangement.

Give me all your fries

2009-11-27T19:15:00.000-08:00

Today I took paddle-girl on our "date" to the paddle club pot luck. I brought a bunch of my turkey rollups in gravy. These were a resounding success, though I did take a bit of good natured ribbing about them not being proper beach food. It was not a great day for a beach party. The temperature never got much over 50 and it was overcast and threatening to rain, fortunately it didn't.

I picked her up in my car at about 10 in the morning. I had the top down, and the windows up with the heater on. She was waiting for me outside of her house. "This is your car?" she asked, with a bit of disbelief.

"Uh, yeah. I can't haul the boats around on it so it's not really practical - but it's really nice. You want the top up?"

"Naw, keep it down. Wow this thing is great." I had pre-warmed the passenger seat with the seat heater. She got in. "Oh, wow - heated seats. I love this. I thought you were poor. You drive that crappy truck and have a cheap boat. I bet you get a lot a girls with this car."

You know, it's weird. I never thought that girls would pay any attention to cars - I always thought it was a guy thing. But girls really do notice this ride. If I had any idea that driving an expensive car would actually be a chick magnet I would have bought one sooner.

Anyway, paddle girl was bringing jojos (fried potato wedges) as her dish to the potluck, and asked me to stop at the local Safeway to pick them up. We went to the deli counter. She told the guy behind the counter "Gimme all your fries." There must have been 4 pounds of them. We took them on a deli tray with a couple of fist fulls of ketchup packets.

"I though this was supposed to be leftovers?" I asked her "What's you do for Thanksgiving?"

"Cheeseburger." She shrugged.

"Not even a turkey sandwich?"

"Naw, just me and my roomates. We need the time to study, not cook." I had long ago forgotten the pressures of carrying a full load of classes.

We arrived at the potluck just as food tables were being set up. The beauty of this arrangement was soon obvious. There are a bunch of club members who are older and do to whole thanksgiving thing, and have a ton of left overs. And there are bunch who are college athletes, with no money and voratious appetites. The kids get fed and the older folks don't need to eat turkey casserole for a week. Win-win.

Maurizio showed up fashionably late, bringing a couple of cases of beer in a cooler. He put the cooler next to the food table, extracted 2 beers from it and made a bee line for Brad. Looks like the two of them will be a couple, if Maurizio has his way.

Debbie sat down with paddle girl and me and proceeded to gossip about folks that she worked with and folks in the paddle club. She quite acted like she was talking with a couple of the girls, which I found amusing. But paddle girl seemed to be annoyed.

Even though this was not a paddling event, some of the guys brought surf boats and were out playing in the waves after lunch.

The event lasted well into the late afternoon. Paddle girl and I headed out about 4 in the afternoon, as the sky began to darken. She was uncharacteristically quiet as we were headed towards Santa Cruz. She is usually quite cheerful. I though something might be wrong.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Whoops, I thought. During the day there had been nothing "date" like at all about aour outing. While I am truely flattered that a 20 something college girl might be interested in me - a romantic relationship with her is not what I want. "Sure" I replied to her query.

"Are you gay?"

I tried really hard not to laugh - and almost succeeded. She had been talking with Debbie.

"I mean, you told me about big boobs, and your runaway bride - but, I mean you could have been talking about guys."

"Do I seem gay to you?"

"Well, no, but you can't always tell."

"Good point. No, I'm not gay. I've always had a real weakness for women. My buddy Maurizio, however, has always had a weakess for men. Anyway, at the club meeting last week Debbie started talking to me to find out about Maurizio. Sometimes I'll let girls think he's straight - for the occasional humorous outcomes, but I told her he was gay. She just assumed that since I was with him I was gay, too. That it rubs off somehow. I never corrected her."

"Oh, good." She seemed quite relieved at this. "Hey, you want to pull a dawn patrol tomorrow?" I need to get some more hours on the water.

Oh, no. I really don't want to get up that early. "Can we make it morning patrol?"

"Sure. 8:00?"

Much better. "OK."

"My car's still being worked on. Can you pick up me and my boat?"

I do need to keep from getting entangled with this girl.

Stuffed Turkey Breast

2009-11-24T18:55:00.000-08:00

I love roasted turkey. I hate leftovers. After 2 days - turkey goes bad (at least as far as my palate is concerned). So Thanksgiving is a dilemma. Usually I go over to someone else's house. Last year it was a visit to Liz and Tom's. (I just re-read that blog entry - wow has my life changed in the past year.) This year - probably since I'm not hanging out with Lynn - I was not invited to the usual festivities. That sucks.

Anyway Thanksgiving dinner is just me and Jason here at the house. So this year I decided to try these turkey roll-ups - so as not to have gobs and gobs of food that gets thrown out. But still get that great taste of roasted turkey and stuffing.

a 2 pound turkey breast

2 cups fine bread crumbs
2 tablespoon minced onion
3 tablespoon minced celery
1 tablespoon minced fresh sage leaves
1 1/2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme leaves
5 tablespoons melted butter
1/2 cup cream
salt and freshly ground pepper

For the bread crumbs I usually take some stale french or italian bread and run it through the blender. You can use stuffing croutons (but then go light on the sage) but you'll need to crush them for this application.

You can do any of the usual stuffing variations here - add bacon, sausage, use cornbread crumbs, whatever you like. But you need to keep a fairly fine texture.

Some folks don't like celery - you can substitute all onions or add some carrots.

Anyway, just mix all the ingredients up in a bowl. It should form a kind of paste - if it's dry and crumbly you should add an egg yolk or more cream.

Take a turkey breast and slice it into 1/2" to 3/4" thick steaks against the grain. Pound them out to 1/4" to 3/8" thickness. You're looking to make them about 6 or 7 inches long and about 4 or 5 inches wide.

Salt and pepper to taste. Spread on a thin layer of the stuffing - about 1/8" thick and roll it up. Tie with butcher's string.

Brown well in a skillet (not a non stick one - you can't brown it well, and then you can't make a good gravy) then place in an oven proof dish and bake in a 350 degree oven for 20 to 30 minutes until the internal temperature reaches 160.

Use the pan drippings to make a gravy. Serve with mashed potatoes.

Thanksgiving without the leftovers!

Ouch

2009-11-23T12:44:00.000-08:00

Every... muscle... in... my... body... hurts...

Every single one. It hurts to type. It has been 3 weeks since I was out paddling. It's amazing how much strength and stamina you can lose when you stop exercising. Even for just a couple of weeks.

I've been sleeping in gloriously late in the mornings. Typical wakeup time last week was about 10 a.m. Getting into the office at around 11 - like most of the other engineers. It is so nice. But since I'm sleeping better than I have in ages, there's no time to paddle. And no anger driving the paddling.

But Sunday, I had agreed with paddle-girl to go on our morning paddle, which is at 5:30 a.m. in Santa Cruz. She calls it "dawn patrol". At that hour the sky is just starting to let through some daylight. We're usually on the water by 6. We can see where we are going, but just barely. We do wear strobes on our pfds so the occasional early morning fisherman can see us (and I can see her when she gets too far ahead of me).

Paddle-girl says she took it easy on me - but I was completely dead by the time we were done with a 90 minute work out. I needed her help to pull my 58 pound boat out of the water.

After I slightly recovered she suggested going for coffee.

Gasping for breath I waved at my clothes "I don't think I can go out in polite society like this."

"There's a place up the road with outdoor tables - you're fine."

Trust me, I've got a lot of funk in my wetsuit. I'm not fine. "Sure." I said.

After we loaded the boats onto our respective vehicles I stripped down to my briefs and hosed myself off on the dock and changed into some spare clothes I had in the truck. I think it helped. And paddle-girl laughed at me while I took a very cold hose shower.

We drove up to the coffee shop and ordered some lattes and muffins and sat outside. It was pretty cold - so we had the outdoor seating to ourselves.

"You look more relaxed than usual. Did you make up with 'big-boobs'?"

"Nope. I haven't heard from Heidi since before I went to on my trip."

"Got a replacement for her?"

Umm, why do you ask? I'm starting to wonder if paddle-girl has designs on me. "Nope, my therapist says I shouldn't be sleeping around."

"You're in therapy?" she seemed slightly alarmed.

"Uh, no, bad joke. I kinda had a bad break-up, and Heidi was the 'rebound-girl' I'm ashamed to say."

"Why are you ashamed to say that? I would think that someone with big boobs would make a good rebound girl."

I laughed. I'm hoping she was joking. "I think I hurt her - and I don't feel good about that. Heidi was really fun, but I couldn't give her what she needed."

"Wow, a guy with a concience." She took a long sip of coffee - she seemed to need to think about this. "Hey, are you going to the 'left-over' potluck on friday?"

"Yeah."

"Can you give me a ride? I'm having this guy do the brakes on my car over the weekend."

"Sure, I can drive you."

"Great, it's a date, then."

Windsurfing

2009-11-21T22:29:00.000-08:00

It's been ages since I have been out windsurfing. When I was looking over my blog I noticed that there was only one entry devoted to windsurfing. That's not enough. So today I grabbed the windsurfer and headed out on the water. I need to find a good windsurfing club. Since I'm not hanging out with Jim anymore, I don't have a windsurfing buddy. And it's dangerous - and stupid - to go out on the water without a buddy looking out for you. But I did it anyway. It was really fun. It was cold and windy today. A good day to be out on the water. I need to wind surf more.

I'll be padding with paddle-girl tomorrow.

I think it will be hard to wake up. I've been sleeping well. And eating well, since Heidi took off. And since Lynn is single again. No more waking up at insane hours of the morning. It's weird. I thought it might have been the jet lag, but I seem to have found peace - for the first time in a long time. It feels so good.

I've been cooking again - for myself. And it's been good. Life is returning to normal.

In a completely unrelated topic, does anyone know how to get the funk out of a wetsuit?

Paddle Club

2009-11-18T02:18:00.000-08:00

Today Maurizio and I went to the paddle club meeting. The club meets in the banquet room of a local restaurant – and bar. There seems to be a social half hour before things get started where everyone gets a beer or two and some food from the bar and settles in. Maurizio and I took a table near the rear, and we were joined by paddle girl. She was wearing retro-hightop basketball shoes, faded jeans and a green hoodie. I realized I had never seen her without a dry suit or paddle wear on. She actually has curves.

The meeting started with the recognition of several club members who had set club records or won competitions in the last month. This was followed by an update of their fundraising activities. Most of the members are 20 to 25, and in college. The club raises money to help send unemployed students to competitions that are out of state. Then they went into the upcoming paddling schedule - practices, pool time (to work on Eskimo rolls), outings and races. The coach got up and made a motivational speech, then it was mixer time.

Maurizio made the most of it. He was all over the 20-something hardbodies. He was flitting from group to group – mingling and getting phone numbers. There were about 60 people, but only 5 women. He was in his element. It is always amazing to watch him work a room. I’m in awe.

I went up to the bar to get a refill. A few of the guys followed me.

“So you’re the guy who’s been practicing with paddle-girl?”

“Uh, yeah, we’ve been pulling dawn patrol down in Santa Cruz.”

“Yeah, well.” He puffed his chest out a bit. “You know, paddle-girl has been through some rough times recently. And she doesn’t need any problems.”

“Yeah, she mentioned something about boyfriend stuff.”

The guys nodded. “Are you involved with someone, wife, girlfriend?”

Well, no – but you’re not really my type – I wanted to quip. Decided it was a bad idea. “I’m between attachments at the moment. But, don’t worry, I’m not going after her.” I chuckled, “she told me she was 17.” They laughed. “No worries.”

“We’d really hate for something bad to happen to her.” They never said it, but their meaning was clear, hurt paddle-girl – in any way - and we will break your ass.

Paddle girl has about 50 big brothers looking out for her. Good for her.

I went back to the table and sat down. One of the women came over to my table and sat down. “You’re new.” She observed. “I’m Debbie.”

“Hi, I’m Rich.”

She was friendly and chatty and seemed to like me. We talked for a while and I was beginning to think that maybe she was interested in me. And then she asked “that guy you came with…” Oh, I get it. She’s talking with me to get to Maurizio. Dammit.

I thought about stringing her on – sometimes it produces humorous results, but though better of it. “He’s a really nice guy, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

“Oh. What’s his type?” She said with interest.

“You see that guy in the leather jacket at the bar?” I nodded over at the guy Maurizio was chatting up. “he’s more his type.”

“But he’s a guy…” Her eyes grew wide “Oh. I didn’t know you two were…” She put a hand over her mouth – as if a tragedy occurred. “What a waste…” She looked back at him.

“No…” I was going to protest, but, oh, never mind, no point in denying at this point. Let her think what she wants to think. I sighed and nodded. “Girls often have that reaction to him.”

“Damn, the great looking ones are always gay. Are you two together?”

“No. We’re just friends. I’m…” again I was going to correct her impression of me, but she interrupted. Doesn’t matter – I’m not here to date.

“You know, I know this guy… you might really like him.”

Why do folks think this way about gays? I wanted to respond, I know this hetero guy, you two would really hit it off. You’d like each others plumbing. Why is it that people think that gays only need to find another gay to find a match? At this point I was a bit annoyed at her – so I said “I just got out of a bad relationship and… I’m kinda taking a break between guys. You know.”

“Me too. Guys can be so difficult.” Like if I were gay, I wouldn’t be a guy somehow.

“Oh I know. How come they just don’t ‘get it’?”

It was interesting. Debbie really became a different person, she let her guard down – and I suspect became herself. She wasn’t worried about me hitting on her, or about what kind of an impression she might make on me. She was a lot more relaxed and seemed to have more fun. No wonder girls really like gay guys. Maybe I’ll pull this ruse again someday. Anyway we talked until most folks had left.

Maurizio and I carpooled – he drove, so when he was ready to leave he came by and chatted with Debbie and then we headed out.

“Wow, I love this sport. I got 4 phone numbers!” Maurizio bragged once we were in his car.

“What sport is that, exactly?” I asked.

“Did you see Brad, the one in the leather jacket? He is HOT. God, I'd love to paddle to a deserted island with him.”

“I hate you.” I said. He knows that this is my jealousy of his ability to pick up 4 phone numbers in one evening.

“How about that Debbie? She’s cute.”

“Naw, she thinks I’m gay.”

“Huh?”

I explained our conversation. Maurizio though it was hilarious.

“What about paddle-girl? She seemed nice.”

“Some of the guys told me ‘hands-off’.”

“Well, that’s not very friendly – how come?”

“She’s coming off a bad relationship. They don’t want to see her get hurt again. Anyway she’s inappropriately young for me.”

“How old is she?”

“24.”

“Brad’s 23 – and I think I’m older than you. She sounds perfect to me. We could double.”

I laughed at him.

“You need to show me how to paddle. I guess I need to buy a boat. How does all that work?”

“You’re going to need a lot of stamina to keep up with Brad… “

“Yeah.” Maurizio replied. He was nodding and had a big smile on his face.

Perv.

Paddle girl and I will be doing the dawn patrol on Sunday. I missed it this week, due to disabling jet lag. And the club is having a “left over” pot luck on Friday on the beach – Maurizio insists on going. There’s no paddling and there will be drinking. Perfect for him.

China

2009-11-14T16:47:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been to China before. It is incredible. The new parts of town are like any major city in the US - but newer and bigger and bolder - wow. Big buildings, wide roads, lots of lights, traffic, hustle and bustle. The old parts are a jumble of old and dirty and traditional and crowded. China is poised to become the second largest economy, anyone who doubts that they will become the first before too long should have a visit.

The food is amazing. I like Chinese food, but never thought much of it. But after tasting the food here, I get it. I know what the places in the USA are trying to make. Last night I had a simple pork and noodle dish, but the flavor was just amazing. I know I’ll never be able to replicate it, but I’m going to try. It was awesome.

There is a lot of weird food, too. They eat a lot of organ meat, tendons, fat, and other things I have a hard time with. During one breakfast with my hosts I had a dish which ensures that the eater will advance a station in life - yeah, it was that good.

Now I'm on my way home from Cheng-du, to Beijing, to Tokyo, to San Francisco - 19 hours en route. Fortunately, business class once I get to Beijing.
______________

In other news, I got a text from paddle-girl:

Dawn Patrol? Sunday?

I responded:

Depends on the jet lag

No further calls from Heidi. Hrmph.
_____________

I wrote this in the airport in Cheng-du on Friday - but it failed to post (darn chinese censors!) Anyway, reposting now - san pics. Blogger is being difficult with my travel photos. Grrr.

Heidi called

2009-11-08T17:17:00.000-08:00

One of the funny things about Japan is that they use a completely different phone standard than the rest of the world. So I was without cell phone coverage since Monday.

When I turned on my phone here in Shanghai, I got a whole mess of missed calls. I noticed that Heidi called. Once, Thursday afternoon pacific time. She left no message. No text. No other apparent attempt at contact.

Hmmm, what's the protocol here? Do I call her back? I'm thinking not.

Ohayo Gozaimasu

2009-11-07T22:25:00.001-08:00

Greetings from Osaka.

The last week has been both amazing and hectic.

Arrived in Tokyo on Tuesday afternoon, well rested and ready to go. Man I love business class. They put me up in the Hyatt in Shinjuku. Nice place. Wandered around the neighborhood on Tuesday night after checking in. Turns out east of the train station is, um, the wrong side of the tracks as it were. While I was walking around an elderly well dressed japanese man asked me in impecable english if I was interested in "a nice young japanese girl." When I declined he looked confused - "perhaps a boy?" Again I politely declined. He asked me what I was looking for - I'm pretty sure that, for a price, he would have acquired it for me. I told him that I may have just wandered into the wrong part of town.

Getting up on Wednesday morning, I had a beautiful view of Mt Fuji from my room. Turns out that is a really rare occurrence - Mt. Fuji is visible from Tokyo about 15 days a year. It was quite a treat.

After meetings on Wednesday, the folks I was with invited me out to dinner. Those folks can really drink. First, we went out for sake. We hit a place that had about 150 different sakes. I had never had so many different kinds before. Toward the end things started to get fuzzy, but I do recall some really good and distinct sakes. Then we went to a place for sushi. It was amazing. You can't get sushi like this in America. I really like the tuna, blue fin - although I eat this rarely as it is being fished into extinction - yellow fin, albacore (yes, chicken of the sea - but damn tasty as sushi). However, I cannot stomach the mollusks - squid, octopus, cuttlefish, uni (sea urchin). Once my hosts uncovered this squeamishness they took great delight in trying to get me to eat raw dead squishy things. I did not embarrass myself. Sushi was consumed with many large (about 1 liter) glasses of Asahi beer. After all this, we went to a japanese pub - for yet more drinking. Very cool old japan decor. Lots more beer.

I got back to the hotel near midnight and crashed - hoping I could get up in the morning for yet more work.

Thursday evening I took the Shinkansen for Osaka. Friday was busy with work, but Saturday I had to myself. I visited Osaka-jo - the medieval japanese castle. I was quite disappointed to discover that it was a reconstruction - completed in 1997 and is made of concrete and has elevators and air conditioning. From the outside it looks really amazing and the grounds were wonderful.

I'm off to china.

My 200th Post

2009-11-03T16:31:00.000-08:00

36000 feet up - somewhere over the Pacific ocean. United flight 838 SFO-NRT – Seat 13B. Upper deck 747. Paid business class. This is the way to travel. Seat 13A is empty. The company sent a limo to my house to take me to the airport – it’s cheaper than paying for parking at the airport for 12 days. There’s a 15” flat screen monitor built into the seat. Video on demand. AC power with a standard plug. A seat that reclines to a 6’ 6” flat bed. Noise canceling headphones. A connection for my iPod. They brought me a nice glass of champagne before the flight departed.

It’s an 11 hour flight. I though I would take some of the time to re-read my blog. I write the entries into a word file, and copy them into blogger. So I have the whole thing in one file. Now it’s weighing in at 283 pages. (There are about 40 posts that I did not put up, some too personal, some too x-rated, some too lame) I’ve written a damn novel (it just needs a happy ending). It’s been a bit over a year now. New reader? Start from the beginning – read it in order. As I re-read it, I laughed and I cried.

I could not have made up this story – I’m just not that creative. And everything written here is true – it happened. The details, places, names, and other things have been changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty. I have taken the occasional literary license to provide comic relief. And I’ve probably over dramatized some things (as Maurizio says, I’m a drama queen). But the gist of the story is god’s honest truth. If I made this up, I’d be better looking, better paid, and I’d get the girl a hell of a lot more often.

My interest in writing this has waxed and waned – but in the end I’m glad I did it. I didn’t know a broken heart could hurt so much. I had no idea. Usually, I don’t keep a record of my life. I just collect random things to remind me – a boarding pass to Sydney, the admission ticket to the casino in Monte Carlo, the receipt for my windsurfer, a box of matches from a restaurant in Paris, a shell from the beach on Maui, the miniature gargoyle that guards my computer, the label from a wine bottle – I pile them in boxes and drawers and scatter then across my house and office. I come upon these things from time to time and they remind me of good times. But there is no commentary. I don’t collect things from the bad times. But these were bad times I want (desperately) to learn from. These days I don’t want to forget. The mind has a way of pushing out those unpleasant memories away – distorting them – turning them inside out.

I’ll keep blogging. I hope you enjoy reading it. Leave a comment from time to time.

-Rich

Exchange of the left items

2009-11-02T10:32:00.000-08:00

“So you’re flower guy?” asked the receptionist at Heidi’s office. I had let her know that I was here to drop off some things for Heidi and pick up a box that she left for me. My flight for Tokyo leaves at 11:30. I asked for the Limo to pick me up at 9:30. I stopped by Heidi’s office a bit before 9 to exchange stuff. Once done I needed to race back home and get driven to SFO. As long as traffic cooperates I might not be late.

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“What’d you do?”

“I was bad.” I made a face.

“No really, what’d you do? No one ever sent that many flowers. I mean guys have ended up divorced and not put in that much of an effort.” I was kinda shocked that Ms. Receptionist was being so nosey. But I’m neither a customer nor an employee – or anyone else of note. I’m just someone’s ex-boyfriend – and the subject of some office gossip.

“It was…” I shook my head, “nothing.”

“Word is you cheated on her.” Receptionists rule the rumor mill. She was baiting me. I know I should have taken the high road and walked away. But I hated the thought of leaving my good name undefended.

“I had dinner with an old girlfriend.”

“That’s it?” She was disappointed.

“That’s it.” I shrugged.

She looked at me sideways. “So why all the drama?”

“’Cause I really didn’t want to let Heidi get away. But it wasn’t meant to be. Let me get out of your way.” I motioned for the box with my name on it. I left a Crate and Barrel bag with all the things that Heidi had left at my house – there wasn’t much. I did need to get home soon, but I needed to ask. I knew I shouldn’t – but I had to. “What happened between Lynn and Tim? How did it end?” She had to know.

She perked up. “Well,” she looked both ways – but it was early and no one was around. “Tim started dating (office-slut) about 2 weeks before they broke up. (Office-slut) works in marketing for (manager-dude). Anyway, Lynn’s friend (snoopy) was in the women’s locker room taking a shower after her jog at lunchtime. There’s one other shower stall occupied, but there are two sets of feet – and one has hairy ankles – if you know what I mean. Anyway, after a few minutes, (office-slut) is calling out ‘Oh, Tim, Oh, Tim.’ It happens.” She tried to look nonchalant – but it was clear that she lived for this stuff. “So, (snoopy) tells Lynn what she heard. Lynn goes ballistic. She runs all over campus looking for him. She confronts him in the cafeteria. (Cookie), the cafeteria manager almost called security. Folks thought that she was going to Bobbitize him right there.” She paused, “Why the smirk?”

WTF I thought. I’ll throw her a bone, she may come in useful someday. “Lynn was the old girlfriend I had dinner with.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and delight. “Have a nice day.” I said and walked out to my car.

The Hunger

2009-11-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

It was 1 a.m.

I was tossing and turning in bed (alone) unable to sleep. After having lost Heidi I wasn't sure what to expect. Yeah - I'm getting pretty good at being dumped.

There was an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. A yearning I hadn't felt in what seems like years.

I was hungry. Not just able to eat. Not just a biological reaction to low blood sugar. It was a sensuous desire for food. I hadn't felt this since the ugliness.

I wandered over the the refrigerator. There was some left over grilled NY steak. I had some good crusty italian bread. Steak sandwich it is.

One thing that a good sandwich needs is a good mayonaise. I cracked an egg and whipped up the yolk up with canola oil and fresh lemon juice. I put in some fresh grated horseradish and capers. Yes, I really made a horseradish caper mayo from scratch for a midnight snack. I'm that much of a foodie.

Then I heated up my cast iron skillet and toasted two slices of bread, after brushing them with olive oil. Then I sliced the steak as thin as I could. I bunched it up - almost into a burger like form - and gave it a good sear on the outside. There was still lots of juicy medium rare steak in the middle. During the searing process I melted some sharp white vermont cheddar on it.

I topped the meat with some baby arugula, a few slices of tomato, a small splash of balsamic vinegar (from these guys - really good) and some very thinly sliced red onion.

I opened a bottle of Bordeaux and started into my snack. Damn that's good. I haven't enjoyed food this much in such a long time.
_______________________________________

I did drag my sleepy butt out of bed at stupid-o-clock in the morning to go paddling with paddle girl. I missed her party on Friday night, but we still had our standing 5:30 a.m. paddle in Santa Cruz on Sunday morning. I really feel better about this now that I know that she is over 18.

I arrived at the dock and, as usual, there she was stretching.

"Hey"

"Ready for some pain?"

"Yeah - I could use a good workout."

"How's big boobs?"

"Uh, her name's Heidi."

"OK, how's Heidi?"

"She dumped me."

"Man, I'm sorry to hear that. That sucks. What happened?"

"It's complicated." I busied myself with getting the boat set up. "So, why'd you lie?" The irony of that question was not lost on me.

"Huh?"

"Why'd you lie?"

"About what?"

"Being 17."

"Oh. Uh, that. Busted, huh?"

"It doesn't really matter, but I'm just curious. I mean you don't even look 17. I don't care how old you are. So why?"

"I've been paddling since I was 12. Competing since 14. This is a very male dominated sport - lots of testosterone. Paddlers are always hitting on me. Older guys - well the creepy ones - tend to leave me alone if I tell 'em I'm 17. Learned it when I was young - it worked so I kept on doing it. You're right, I'm probably getting too old for that trick."

Uh, yeah, that means I look like one of the creepy ones. "You could try just saying 'not interested'"

"Guys can be really persistent."

I laughed, "This is true."

"How'd you figure it out?" She asked.

"Google - I googled your paddling club to see about the party, saw your records. You paddled at the world championships 2 years ago?"

"Yeah, that was awesome." She regaled me with stories of her competitions - pretty cool. Turns out she just missed making the olympic team in 2008. But the U.S. does not field a very competitive paddling team. The Germans really dominate the sport. The Americans rarely make it to finals.

We paddled for 6 miles and I got a really good workout.

As we were packing up to leave, she asked "Next week?"

"Yeah." And then I remembered. "No, I can't - I'm in Tokyo next weekend." She seemed surprised that I might have a job that would take me to Tokyo. (surprised, mind you - not impressed) "Maybe the weekend after. I'll call you."

Over

2009-10-31T11:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-20T19:00:00.000-07:00

“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

2009-10-19T18:21:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-18T19:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-17T23:36:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-14T21:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-02T00:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

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.

I'm pissed

2009-09-29T00:34:00.000-07:00

Don't know why. I'm just in a foul mood.

Had dinner with Heidi tonight. I went over to her cottage and cooked for her. Brought all the ingredients and a good bottle of wine. Prepped everything, cooked everything, washed all the dishes (no dishwasher), put them away. And dammit if she isn't ragging on me for how I'm washing the dishes. Seriously, after I bring food and wine, cook, clean, and put away, I expect "Thanks, Rich". Even if you didn't like it - just a "thanks" for the effort. I'd like an after dinner blow job - but OK - you can't always get what you want. Seriously ladies - a guy comes over, cooks, cleans, put everything away. Doesn't that deserve a thanks?

Who complains about how someone washes their dishes! WTF! I mean if the food was edible (it was!) and the dishes get clean (they did!) and they are put back where they belong (they were!) a modicum of gratitude is in order. I left her kitchen cleaner than when I found it.

"Oh, I don't wash my dishes that way." OK, fine! You wash them any way you want! Buh bye. That's what I should have said. I should have flung a plate across the room and stormed out. I didn't. I washed them the way she wanted. Fuckin' wuss.

After dinner I left.

I told her I had an early day tomorrow. And I just left.

Deep breath.

And in other news. Heidi is going up to Ashland, Oregon this weekend. Going to some Shakespeare plays. Leaving Thursday. Going with a few couples and a few strays.

Deep breath.

"Maybe you can come with next year." She said. It's an annual event for her. What? They ran out of hotel rooms? I can't sleep in the car, in a tent, on the sidewalk? Stay home, Rich, I'm going out to play with my friends.

Deep breath.

Maybe - more that just maybe - I'm pissed at Lynn. She never called. Broken heart. Knows that I was the better man. Knows that I would not hurt her. Knows I've got the bigger dick. Knows she had to fake all her orgasms with Tim. And now she's alone. But did not call.

Did not beg forgiveness.

Did not want to reconnect.

Did not even want to know how I was.

Why do I want her?

Maybe I'm mad at myself. For wanting her. For needing her. For not being able to learn. For getting involved with Heidi.

I'm just pissed.

Perhaps I should not blunk drog. I think I'll have a another martini. Yeah, that'll make the pain go away.

Did you call her?

2009-09-13T12:09:00.000-07:00

"Who?" I feigned ignorance. I don't know why.

Heidi scoffed on the other end of the phone. "Lynn."

"No." I said as steadily as I could.

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't particularly care to be someone's second choice." My brain was clearly in charge today.

"Hmm."

"And, she treated me pretty badly. I don't need that." I wish I could believe what I was saying.

"You're staring to sound smart."

No, I just told my heart to shut the f**k up.

Catch-up post #3

2009-09-13T01:05:00.000-07:00

Here is what happened on the big trip to Big Sur.

Catch-up post #2

2009-09-11T18:49:00.000-07:00

Here's how Heidi and I agreed to go on the road trip.

I know this post sounds unbelievable and soap-opera-ish - but it's all true. I'm a computer guy - there's no way I could make this stuff up.

Catch-up post

2009-09-09T22:56:00.001-07:00

Here's how I ended up with a new car.

There is a God

2009-09-09T00:41:00.000-07:00

Fate.

Kismet.

Bachi.

Karma.

Time wounds all heels.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Call it what you like. It is real. There is a power that binds the universe together. And you will reap what you sew.

I never thought it would happen. But it did. If you are still reading, Tim and Lynn are no longer a couple. I'm really sorry that I care. But I do. I really do.

It turns out that Lynn caught Tim at work kissing another woman. I mean really kissing her.

I first heard about it from Heidi. Yeah, I'm still with Heidi - and that's why I stopped blogging. I was embarrassed about what happened with her. I'll fill you in, but, yeah, we slept together. Not my most shining moment.

Anyway, I was over at Heidi's house and she was being really apprehensive about something. She was pacing and kneading her hands - acting really unusual. I asked her what was wrong. She started sobbing. She told me that Tim and Lynn had broken up.

OK. Before we slept together I came clean with her. I told her everything about me and Lynn. Yes, *everything*. I told her I was still in love with Lynn. She wanted me anyway. And against my better judgment (OK I'll post what happened) I slept with her anyway. Yeah, I suck.

Anyway she told me that the gossip at work was that Lynn caught Tim kissing another girl in the cafeteria, and she confronted him. As I understand it, he asked, "what, you can't share me?" (an obvious reference to the ugliness). She's OK to ask her lovers to share her. But she's not willing to live on a two way street.

I had lunch with Linda who gave me more details. Seems that Lynn is heartbroken. (Yeah! is that wrong?) She told Linda about the fact that Tim wanted Lynn to share him. Lynn said "No way!" Linda said that she wanted to punch her when she heard that. For new readers, go to the start of the blog and read.

Payback's a bitch. What goes around comes around - and all those other cliches.

Seriously. I have not been this happy in a long time. I know it's wrong. So wrong. But I can't help it. I'm so happy and I want to tell the world!!!

Big Sur

2009-08-17T01:03:00.000-07:00

So Heidi and I headed out on the big road trip. One room reserved, king bed, no pajamas. The anticipation was exquisite. Damn, it’s been a while. Last time was the one night stand with Helen, about 6 months ago.

On the drive down, she asked me how many partners I’d had in the last decade. At first I thought this was none of her business. But she (and I) came of age in the late 80s when it was thought that AIDS would spread like wildfire through the heterosexual community. It was prudent to ask about your partner’s history. Today I think it’s just nosey. I answered (and, no I’m not blogging it). She reacted with surprise. Hmm. OK I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

All I can say is “whoa”. Heidi, you little slut, you. No, I did not say that out loud. Let’s just say she had more partners than I did. Like, a lot more. Way more than 10 times as many. I’m jealous. OK, now I’m really wondering why she didn’t jump my bones.

We stayed at Carmel Valley Ranch. It was heavenly. I had stayed there on my big driving trip last fall. It was nice to be able to share it with someone. I really wanted to stay at the Post Ranch Inn (one day), but just having spent all my money on an outrageous car, I felt it best to be mildly frugal. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant, and had just the right amount of wine.

And then… well, you know. It was wonderful and we drifted to sleep in each others arms. I woke up after a couple of hours of sleep, well, um, in an extreme state of erectitude. I gently caressed her. She waved me away and rolled over. I gave her a gentle kiss on the back of her neck. She seemed to really like that. She stirred a bit. “No, no, no, no, Rich, don’t try, you can’t, not this soon.” She said sleepily. “Twice in one night only happens in porno movies. And they use mirrors or something to do that.” Then she felt my, um, arousaledness. “Whoa – you can.” Waking up quickly, she giggled and rolled on top of me.

Oh, found out – she’s not a natural blonde. Not that that’s not a problem.

One more thing, large breasts are worth every bit of fuss that men make over them. Seriously. That was one fun weekend. I’d give you more details, but it’d just get x-rated real fast.

We were packing up to leave the hotel. Heidi was checking the drawers in the dresser. She found the TV in a cabinet. “Hey look, the room has a TV! You know, I’ve never stayed in a hotel and not used the TV before” she said.

“That is a tragedy.” I replied.

The confession

2009-08-09T18:36:00.000-07:00

"We should take a road trip", Heidi said.

We were sharing a lazy Sunday afternoon at her cottage. I made a late breakfast – smoked salmon hash with poached eggs and mimosas - and we were lingering over the Sunday paper and a large pot of French roast. I had just bought the new Lexus, and a road trip sounded like a great idea.

I had settled into a completely platonic, asexual relationship with her. I don’t really get it, but it seemed to work. I never have more than one drink with her. I never stay over at her house. I copped a feel of her butt on our first date, but was rebuffed. I’ve not tried a thing since – nor has she. I’m still hurting from my split with Lynn – so I decided that we should not advance our relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to Heidi, whom I have grown to like a great deal.

So when she suggested a road trip I assumed that she meant a day trip.

“Sure I replied. Next Sunday?”

“How about the whole weekend?” She put her hand on my thigh.

Oh, Shit. You don’t need to be Dr. Phil to figure this one out.

I looked at her sideways.

“You don’t want to take a trip with me, do you?”

“Well…” Frickin’ oatmeal brains, I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Aw, Damn it! My mom was right!” she practically yelled at me.

“Your mom? What did your mom say?”

“She told me that I had no chance at keeping a guy like you.” She was up and pacing on the other side of the room.

“What do you mean ‘a guy like me’?”

“Look at you. You’re smart, you’re tall, you’re good looking, you’re successful, you’re confident. You could have any girl you want.” (I have no idea who she's talking about, OK, I'm tall-ish - that's it.)

Well, not any girl I want. Actually, I never had much luck with the ladies. I’ve been turned down, a lot.

It was unbelievable to me that a mother would say something like that to her own daughter. Man, that’s fucking child abuse. I never liked her mom. Now I really don’t like her. “I’m not that much of a catch, but why couldn’t you keep me?” I was genuinely confused.

“Because I’m FAT!” she yelled at me.

In that instant I became so sorry for her. What a life she must have had to get to this point. Her mother must have pounded insecurities and self-doubt into her since she was a child. How do you overcome that?

OK, she’s got clothes that are size 14 (I peeked). And, yeah, she probably outweighs me – but I’m heroin addict thin. She’s not obese. She’s got curves. I’ve never seen her naked (or in a swim suit) – but of what I’ve seen she looks good to me. And I’m not just saying that. She has a very pretty face. And – full disclosure – she has the biggest breasts of any girl I’ve ever dated. And, yes, I fantasize about those.

But what do I say at this point? If I tell her she’s not fat she’ll just think I’m lying. If I agree that she is fat, well, I can’t do that. She’s not, even though no one’s going to mistake her for an anorexic.

I look her in the eye and say “You are a wonderful woman, and any man would be lucky to hang on to you. And I’m sorry that your mom thinks that I’m so shallow that I need a size 0 super model. I find you very attractive, and some of that’s physical.”

“So” she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms, “tell me why you don’t want to spend the weekend with me?” She was almost daring me.

“I would really like to spend the weekend with you. But…” at that point she rolled her eyes and dropped her hands.

“But!” she interrupted me.

I took a deep breath. I needed to come clean with her. “But there are some things that you don’t know about me. I have a couple of confessions. And if you still think I’m worthy of hanging on to you after you hear what I have to say – then I’d be honored to spend the weekend with you.” I was pretty sure she’d run screaming from the building when I told all.

“What? You’re an ax murderer?”

“Oh, I usually don’t use an ax, too messy.” I quipped, trying to diffuse the tension. The joke fell flat. “Sorry, can we go somewhere?” I wanted to get on neutral ground. I didn’t care if she yelled at me. God knows I deserve it. I just didn’t want her parents overhearing the yelling.

“Sure” but she shook her head as if to say no.

We drove my truck over to Half Moon Bay brewery. I had the kayak strapped in the back. I was planning on going paddling in the late afternoon. On the way over I started the story – yeah, the whole story of Sarah and Lynn and everything.

I won’t bore you with it. (new readers… uh, read the whole blog in chronological order – start in December) She did make a few connections. “That girl who left the message on your answering machine… she was Sarah. You were engaged to her?”

“Guilty” I responded.

We sat down at an outside table at the brewery, one with a view of the ocean. One of the waitresses came up and said “Hi Rich, your usual?”

Heidi, tilted her head at the waitress “is she part of your confession?”

“Naw, this is my usual hangout”

“Really, we’ve never been here. I guess you’re right, there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

After 2 IPAs and a couple of hours I was done. I told her everything. I expected to have a pint of cold lager to be poured over my head, she would walk out and that would be that.

She looked off toward the ocean. She sighed. “I want to be in love.”

“Yeah, me too.” I replied.

She looked at me with a bit of a sneer. “You are in love. I’m not sure why – but you are.”

“So where does this leave us?” I asked.

“I’m the rebound girl”

“I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry.”

“You know, after the 4^th date when you didn’t make a move – I thought something was wrong. After the 12^th date I figured you were either gay or found me offensive.” She paused. “I’ve seen how you look at pretty waitresses – you’re not gay. The night we went to see that play I wanted to jump your bones so bad.” (That expression sounded so weird coming from her).

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

“Why didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. I guess I was supposed to know the answer. I didn’t – and I still don’t (if you know, send me an e-mail).

She finished her beer and we chatted a bit more. “So,” she learned forward “how about that road trip?”

Cue sound of scratching record. What??

“You still want to be with me?” Seriously, I was stunned.

“Rich, you’re a good guy. It won’t be happily ever after – I know that. But neither were my last 25 relationships. You’re tall, good looking, successful, confident, you drive a nice car. And you live well. Hell, my parents even like you." She looked up and smiled. "I can show you off to my friends, and you can cook for me.” (I recall Maurizio once pointing out how I would make a good house pet) “I’ve done worse things in my life.”

She proceeded to tell me about how she lost her husband (she’s divorced). They went on a cruise down to Mexico for their honeymoon. Turns out her husband cheated on her during the cruise. How did they ever spend enough time apart for him to hook up with another woman – stuck on a boat on their honeymoon. I mean, I’d never leave the cabin. I can’t imagine that.

OK, at least I don’t suck as bad as her ex-husband.

More Retail Therapy

2009-08-01T22:50:00.000-07:00

You are reading the blog of the proud owner of a brand spanking new “arrest-me” red convertible – a Lexus ISC 250. This thing is decadent. Actually it’s a hard-top convertible. Like Kristen’s car, you push a button and a hard top rises out of the trunk. It rides like a dream. A bit noisier than the Lexus sedans, and a bit bouncier than I expected a Lexus to be. But, wow, what a ride.

How did this happen, you may be asking?

Well, it all started with a conversation with Lynn – I had called her to chat and get my regular does of heartache. Yes, I know, I should not be talking to her. I should not call her or e-mail her or anything. But I do.

Anyway, I was talking to her, and it turns out that last weekend she and Tim went to the local Lexus dealership and test drove a convertible, Tim was having fun jerking the chains of the sales guys. Lynn was impressed at how they (the sales guys) jumped to attention as they (Lynn and Tim) rode in on his BMW motorcycle – something expensive I am guessing. I don’t know bikes. She gushed on and on about how wonderful the car was, how powerful, how exciting, and how appealing.

Tim can test drive, but I can buy it. I rock. I am so much more than Tim. Is that sick or what? Is it so much more sick that I spent tens of thousands of dollars trying to impress my lost love?

This car completely lacks utility. It has virtually no trunk space, I can’t carry my kayak or windsurfer on it, the back seat is useless except for small children.

I must admit, though, this is one fun car.

I called Heidi from in front of her house. “Hi, you want to go for a drive?”

“Where?” she asked

“No where in particular.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I just want to be with you. I’m outside. Come on out.”

“Well, OK” she sounded cautious.

She came outside and her jaw dropped. “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it.”

“You bought it? This isn’t from one of your friends? It isn’t a rental? Are you crazy? How can you afford it?”

“We’ll have to drink cheap wine for a while. You like?”

“I like. Sweet.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Leather?” She asked.

“I got every option you can buy on one of these.”

“Wow. I love that new car smell.”

I started playing “The Beach Boys Greatest Hits” and we drove off over the Santa Cruz Mountains to the strains of “Surfin’ Safari”

“Let’s go surfin’ now, everybody’s learnin’ how, come on a safari with me…”

We were a cliché on wheels – two blondes in a red convertible with the Beach Boys belting out the tunes speeding down a California highway.

Life was good.

Bye bye

2009-07-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

“Man, I’m going to miss you” said Amanda, with an emphasis on the word “you”. I had just handed her a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. I had gotten up early and was going for a paddle before work. I was trying to be quiet and honor Jason’s request that I not feed Amanda anymore. She heard me banging around in the kitchen and came out. The past few days, I’ve been getting up early and going for my paddle. If Amanda was up and about I’d get her some coffee or orange juice, but we’ve been skipping our breakfasts together. This morning she caught me in the kitchen getting ready to go, and I made her a glass of OJ. That’s when she told me how much she’d miss me.

“As opposed to?” I replied.

“Jas.”

“Moving on?”

“Yeah. It’s not working. The whole jealousy thing. He's getting out of control. He hasn’t had a lot of girlfriends, has he?”

“You’re the only one in the past year. I’m not sure about before that – but I think you’re probably right.”

“Usually that’s a good thing. They’re so grateful to have a girlfriend that they’re well behaved. Make me breakfast?” She asked and gave me a big smile.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” This really went against my better judgment.

“Yeah. Time to set this bridge on fire.”

“What do you want?”

“The Full Monte. Make me that eggs benedict you brag about. And pour me a mimosa while you’re at it.”

“Your tastes have gotten sophisticated.”

“You’ve been spoiling me.” She shrugged.

“You know that’s really going to piss him off.”

“Yeah, guys are dense. You need to hit them over the head with a two by four to get them to notice anything.” I gave her a blank look. If ‘guys are dense’ what am I – fuckin' chopped liver? Oh, yeah, I am chopped liver. For some reason, girls often talk to me like I’m one of them – I guess I’m too ‘safe’. She went on, oblivious, “otherwise he’ll be calling me and whining and stalking me and trying to get back together. I hate that. Better to make a clean break of it.” She finished her juice. “Ya know, I used to think that you were freaky obsessed about food. But, I gotta admit, fresh squeezed OJ is a great way to start the day.”

“It only takes a minute. Slice open a couple of oranges, put ‘em in the juicer and you’re there.”

“Yeah, but then you have a knife and a cutting board and a juicer to wash. I’d rather just pop open a plastic bottle.”

I shrugged. You get out of life what you put into it.

I pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge – who am I to say no to a cute girl looking for mimosas? (Shit, my judgment sucks anyway) I had a nice bottle of Mumm’s Napa sparkling brut chilled. I can always paddle tomorrow.

It took about half an hour to make breakfast. After the mimosa, Amanda was drinking the champagne straight. I took a flute myself. Just after I plated the breakfast Jason came out of his bedroom. He looked at us, disgusted, shook his head and went outside without a word. We heard a car drive off with a chirp of tires. Amanda tapped her champagne flute against mine and winked at me. Man that really made me feel like shit. I was not happy to be involved in hurting Jason like that. But, it was inevitable - and as she said, it's best to make a clean break of it.

Things will probably be a bit tense around the house for a while. I think I may need to get either a new house mate - or a new house.

Liar, liar...

2009-07-15T18:15:00.001-07:00

"Rich, I have a confession to make"

"Uh, OK." I started to wonder -but my imagination is probably wilder than she is, so I wasn't too worried. "What is it?"

"Well, you know, when I told you that I had recently celebrated by 32nd birthday?" Heidi asked me.

"Yeah"

"Well, I really was celebrating my 32nd birthday. But my 32nd birthday was a few years ago."

That was actually one of the more clever ways of looking at birthdays that I have heard of. I was amused. "How many years?" I asked. She just learned that I'm 35.

"Four" she said very sheepishly.

That makes her a few months older than me. Frankly, I don't care. It doesn't bother me at all that she's older than me. It doesn't bother me that she lied about her age. I rather expect women to. I was wondering what to do. I do expect anyone I'm in a relationship with to be honest with me. I try to be. But I am also realistic enough to know that a few white lies can keep things on an even keel. ("Do these jeans make my butt look fat?") I also know that we don't share everything - some things are better left unsaid. And, I never asked Heidi her age - I know better than that - she volunteered that information.

I thought about acting angry about this. I mean, it is quite reasonable to be unhappy when lied to. Could this be the lame excuse I need to just walk away from this?

But I don't want to walk away from all this. I really like her. I enjoy her company. But this isn't going to be a romantic relationship. Maybe I should take this as my opportunity to come clean with her about my intentions. I like you, but I'm only interested in your mind, not your body. What girl wants to hear that?

But do I need to come clean? I mean, we go out, we spend my money, we have fun. Just because we are casually dating, does that mean I need to take it to the next level? Am I under any obligation to pursue a romantic relationship? She is under no such obligation. I don't have any expectations - for love or sex.

I needed more time to figure this out. I'm probably going to be chicken shit about this and ignore it until she makes a move. I know. I suck. And she was waiting for my reaction. "That makes you older than me." I observed. Trying to buy myself some more time.

"Yeah" She said, even more sheepishly - if that was possible.

"Well, I'm OK with that, if you are."

"You're not mad?"

"No" I laughed - hoping it didn't sound forced. "But just promise me that if you catch me in a little white lie, you'll cut me some slack, too."

She seemed genuinely relieved.

Messy

2009-07-14T07:41:00.000-07:00

“Man, I made a mess of things.” I was sharing a Grey Goose Martini with Kristen. We were at her favorite watering hole in San Jose. We had just dropped off the kayak that unmitigated beast had left behind at the offices of an organization that holds an annual auction to raise money for Doctors without borders. It is a charity medical group that sends doctors to trouble spots around the world. Kristen decided that this would be the best use of the boat. She had offered it to me, but I declined as it was too generous a gift. As we dropped it off I thought that I might have overreacted (damn, that was a nice boat). It is clear that Kristen has (and had) no designs on me. She is focused on her career and working out. She is not going after guys for a while. She was unceremoniously dumped by her lover, and she is taking time to recover. She has encouraged me to do the same – but I am dumb. So I am out dating again – and this is what I had made a mess of.

I was regaling her with the comically bad date that I recently had with Heidi. “So I go in the house to pick up the picnic basket. She follows me in. I notice that the message light on the phone is on – so I hit the button to see who called. It’s Sarah.”

“Oh no, what does she say.”

“Well, she just moved up to Seattle. I had sent her a house warming gift and she was calling to say thank you. So she says ‘Thanks for the gift, I really love it, blah blah blah, can’t wait to see you again.’ In this really syrupy sweet voice – you know, very girlfriend like. I just could have died. I mean, I wasn't expecting anything like that.”

“What did Heidi do?”

“First the silent treatment. Then the inquisition. Oh, wait, it gets better. So I didn’t notice it, but there was a bra on the sofa. I guess Amanda and Jason were playing on the sofa the night before and they left a trail of underwear to the bedroom. Anyway, Heidi saw it.”

“No.” Kristen held her hand over her mouth and giggled slightly.

“And,” I take a sip of my martini.

“There’s more? Aaaah.” She laughed even harder.

“Oh yes, she sees Amanda’s mail on the counter, so she thinks I’m living with a woman. Women’s underwear all over the house – old girlfriends calling up.”

Kristen enjoyed a good belly laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry to laugh. Is she still talking to you?”

“Well, I hope so. It was a tense lunch.” We both laughed. “I can’t believe so many things went wrong all at the same time.”

“Well, on the plus side, it sounds like she’s mad. That probably means she cares. You’re lucky. If she didn’t care she wouldn’t be mad, she’d just leave.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But you know, I don’t feel good about it. The fact that she cares, I mean. I don’t know why.”

“You’re still in love. And I’m not sure with whom. Rich, seriously, you shouldn’t get involved with her. This is going to be bad. Have you slept with her yet?” Kristen asked.

For a second, I though, it was none of her business – but I pressed on anyway. “No, I haven't even made it to first base yet. I made a clumsy grab at her butt once, which she rebuffed. Haven’t made a move since - and neither has she.”

“You’re so romantic.”

“Hey, it was a sincere, heartfelt fondle of her posterior. Actually more of a caress than a fondle. It was very tasteful and loving.”

“I’m sure it was…” she paused for comic effect “…just some grab-ass.” We both laughed. Kristen can be as raunchy as any of the guy drinking buddies I’ve had. “Rich, you need some time to sort things out. You’re going to hurt her, and then you’re going to feel like shit. I’m telling you, ease yourself out of it now.”

“Shit, you’re probably right.” I drained the remainder of my martini.

More Jealousy

2009-07-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

"Who ees Amanda?"

"Amanda?" I asked confused.

“Yes, Amanda. zhat’s her name eesn’t it?” Heidi’s accent was getting thicker as she was getting angry and talking faster. “Who ees she?”

Heidi and I were having a picnic at a park near my house in Mountain View. I had prepared a basket of sandwiches, fruit, my potato salad, and a bottle of white wine (a good New Zealand sauvignon blanc) which is actually not allowed at the park. I picked her up and then went back to my house to pick up the picnic (just to keep things as fresh as possible). I noticed that there was a message on the answering machine as we went into the kitchen. I had my cell turned off - no disturbances while I'm with Heidi - so if someone really wanted to reach me they might have tried to call the house. I wasn’t worried about hiding anything from her – so I just hit the button. It was Sarah.

“Hi Rich.” Came the voice from the machine with enthusiasm. “I got your gift. Thanks so much. I really like it. Look me up next time you’re in the neighborhood. Can’t wait to see you again.” There was a pause, and then a “thanks again, bye” in a very sing song voice. Well, at least she didn’t say “I love you!” Why do I even have a land line? Why do I have an answering machine?

Heidi was very quiet as we drove to the park. I thought it was the phone call that she was unhappy about. Once we were at the park she demanded to know who Amanda was, which threw me for a loop. “Yes, zees Amanda, who ees she? I saw the mail on your counter. It was addressed to ‘Amanda’, with your house number on it. You didn’t tell me you were living with a woman.”

“Whoa, slow down. Amanda is Jason’s girlfriend. I live with Scott and Jason. Jason has a girlfriend - Amada. She has been staying over at the house a lot lately.”

“Sleeping there? Getting mail there?”

“Yes, to both questions. But she is Jason’s girlfriend. I’m not his mom. I don’t tell him who he can sleep with or when he can sleep with her.”

“So that was her bra on the sofa?”

Oh, crap. I guess I need to scrub the house before I have Heidi over. Thinking about it from her perspective I can see how this was looking pretty bad. “Yes. Well, she and Jason tend play in the living room.” It was clear that I was offending her Midwestern sensibilities. We have been dating for 3 weeks now and I’ve not so much as made it to first base yet. (Oddly, that does not bother me at all, but that’s a whole different post.)

“And who was that on the phone message?”

I inhaled deeply. “That was Sarah.” I explained about Sarah and how she had recently moved up to Seattle – and that we had been close, but broke up about a year ago. This took a while, and I think she started to calm down. (I won’t post it all here, but these posts have the history of Sarah, this post, the second half of this post and my recent weekend with Sarah.) I left out the part that we were engaged. And I really left out the weekend that we had spent together recently. But I can only think that it would have made things worse. The food was getting warm. This wasn’t the picnic I was planning on.

“Well,” she sniffed, “at least you played the phone message in front of me. You weren’t trying to hide anything.” She paused for quite a while.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She was jealous. I wish it had made me feel good. You know, flattered in a way because someone really cares me and wants me. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, but sometimes it exposes how we really feel. There have been times when it is nice to know that someone cares that much, even if they haven’t shown it in other ways. It just wasn’t the case this time.

Jealousy

2009-07-09T21:12:00.000-07:00

“Hey, I don’t want you cooking for her anymore.” Jason (one of my housemates) was angrier than I had ever seen him before.

“It’s only food.” I protested.

“Just cut it out.” Jason was nearly yelling.

It seems that he is developing a bad case of jealousy. Amanda (his girlbuddy) has been staying over night just about every night lately. She has some of her mail delivered here, too. Scott (my other housemate) and I have been trying to decide if we should start charging her rent. I don’t think we should bother, as the couple of them don’t take up any more room than Jason did alone. Personally, I like having a woman around – it has a certain civilizing influence on the household. Except, of course, when someone gets jealous – then things start to get ugly.

Anyway, Amanda and I are the early risers in the house and we have been having breakfast together almost every day for the last couple of weeks. I promised to make her eggs benedict with real hollandaise sauce – and I guess this put Jason over the top. He seems to think it is my after sex breakfast. While it is one of the more impressive breakfasts in my repertoire, I’ve had everything from omelets to oatmeal (or oreos) the morning after.

Frankly, I would not take Amanda from him – even if I didn’t have a “would-be” girl friend that I am currently dating - well, sort of. I know the pain of losing someone and I would not impose that on anyone. I’ll back off. I’ve not been taking my morning paddles recently – I guess it’s time to start again.

In other news, Sarah (the runaway bride) has moved up to Seattle, and found a cozy new apartment – cozy as in really small. But she thinks this is just a temporary. I sent her a new coffee maker, a really nice one, as a house warming gift.

She never made it back to the bay area on her way up to Seattle. Damn. My ankle still hurts from time to time from that nasty fall I took trying not to be late for our date. I guess that type of injury takes a while to heal. Funny, the ache in my ankle makes me limp at times, but it reminds me of our weekend together – I kinda like it.

Embarassed

2009-07-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon I was out paddling in the Santa Cruz yacht harbor - warming up to go out on the bay. (And working off the hangover that was induced by Heidi's father.) I noticed this cute blonde dressed in a tiny tank top and an even tinier turquoise bikini bottom. She was in a laser. She was rigging her sails, making her way out of the harbor. She looked up and saw me. I smiled at her. I puffed out my chest and picked up my pace a bit. I really try to be an intelligent man of the new millennium - but like a cave man, I needed to show off my muscle power. Why do I do that? Gotta be a hormonal problem.

Anyway, I couldn't take my eyes off her.

And then...

Crash!

I crashed into the dock, not a glancing blow. I plowed into it hard. If I had a fiberglass boat, I would have broken it. Fortunately I have a cheap plastic boat, and it just bounced off the dock. Everything intact, but my ego. But it made a huge noise. People turned to look. I'm pretty sure I turned beet red.

Sailor girl held her hand over her mouth and laughed, then shook her head. Then she went back to her rigging.

Happy 4th

2009-07-05T18:11:00.000-07:00

“So you’re the young man who has been seeing so much of my daughter” said the tall man with the heavy Swedish accent. I was at a 4^th of July party held by Heidi’s parents. I was invited at the last minute, and couldn’t think of an excuse not to go. I was thinking of going down to Santa Cruz and paddling for the day, and hanging out. Frankly, I wanted to be alone. In addition to wanting to be alone, I really didn’t want to “meet the parents”. We’re way too soon in the relationship for that – and we probably won’t get to that point.

Anyway, it turns out that the party was a combined “Mid-summer” party – a traditional Swedish holiday, and a 4^th of July party. The mid-summer party is a celebration of the solstice – that actually do that in Sweden. I had no idea. Heidi’s father, a full blooded Swede, invited a large crowd to his house to celebrate the 4^th in traditional Swedish style – complete with smoked reindeer meat and lingon berry sauce – and this liquor called aquavit, literally translated from Swedish it means “water of life” – it is industrial strength alcohol. It was quite a party, a big tent in the back yard, caterers serving up lots of food and beverages.

Heidi’s father is an imposing man, about 6’5’’ with white hair flecked with a few black strands. He is head of a chemical company in Menlo Park which has something to do with semiconductor manufacturing.

“Yes, sir.” I responded to what I assumed was a question rather than a statement

“So, what are your intentions for her?”

Yikes, how does one answer a question like that – well, I was hoping for some sloppy drunken sex, but haven’t been able to get her liquored up enough yet - “I assure you, sir, nothing but honorable.” I replied, hoping that this is what he was expecting. He smiled at this – he was enjoying it. It was clear that he was a man of power, and was used to having folks cower in his presence. I wouldn’t disappoint him.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

I told him about my job at the internet start-up that I work at.

“Oh, is that ------‘s company?” He named the CEO.

“Yes, sir.”

“I was involved in arranging some financing for him. How long have you worked there?”

“Almost 4 months, sir.”

“You got in early. I’m impressed.’ His expression echoed this. “You must be very good at what you do. He only hires the best.”

He asked about my stock options plan, and started to ask some detailed business questions. I kept my answers vague – I wasn’t sure if he was really associated with the company or not, or if he was testing me to see if I would talk about the company plans to outsiders. He asked me about the working hours.

“It’s been getting very busy lately.” I answered. “The hours are pretty long.”

“I expect he works his people pretty hard. Well, don’t you neglect my Heidi.”

“Of course not, sir.”

He smiled, shook my hand and moved on.

Heidi was right behind me with a glass of white wine. “I think I passed.” I said. I felt some sweat trickle down my back.

“Oh, he’s more bark than bite. Don’t worry about him.”

That was easy for her to say.

Heidi and I mingled a bit, and then sat at our usual table near her cottage and had dinner.

As the party started to wind down, Heidi’s father came over and joined us with a bottle of Swedish Vodka that he was quite proud of and two shot glasses. “Rich, have you ever had good Swedish Vodka? Many people think of Finland and Russia when they think of Vodkas – but the best are made in Sweden.” He said with obvious national pride. He poured us both generous shots and toasted me with something in Swedish. I have been drinking Grey Goose recently – a French Vodka – this was definitely on par with that, perhaps smoother. This stuff could be dangerous.

He talked for quite a while about Sweden, and his childhood, building a company. While pouring me additional shots pretty regularly.. After the 4^th I wondered what the sleeping arrangements for the evening would be. I had my spare clothes in the truck, and I am sure they have spare bedrooms – but this would just be weird.

He stood up abruptly, and said “Well, young man, I suspect you’ve got things to do tomorrow. We don’t want to keep you.” I was summarily dismissed. He thought for a moment . “You’re probably not good to drive. Wait here for a minute.” He took a few steps away and made a call on his cell. He turned back to me. “My driver will take you home. It was a pleasure to meet you. Say hello to [the CEO] for me when you see him.”

“Yes, thank you, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you, too, sir. Thanks for everything, sir.”

I was waiting for him to say "Stop calling me sir", but he didn't.

A man in a tuxedo who looked like one of the waiters approached us, clearly, the driver, and led me away.’

I gave Heidi a peck on the cheek goodnight, and shook her father’s hand again. He said “good night” followed by something in Swedish.

I was escorted to the back seat of a large late model Volvo, actually quite nice – so this is how the other half gets drunk.

Random Facts

2009-07-01T23:00:00.001-07:00

I've learned about Heidi

- she's 32 years old. Hmm, past the nasty 29-30 transition

- she was married for 18 months

- she was a virgin until her wedding night - really!? today? in california? 'till her mid 20's - hard to believe, but that's what she told me. I'll take her at her word until she gives me reason to doubt her. Doesn't seem to have much of a libido, tho.

Angel Hair

2009-06-28T20:42:00.000-07:00

“I’ll make dinner for you.” I said to Heidi.

“You can cook?”

“Well, I can make a few things.”

“Like what? Spaghetti? American men can’t cook. They all cook spaghetti from a jar.”

Those are fighting words. “Let me show you.”

“OK. What will you make me?”

“Spaghetti.”

She laughed. “OK. You’re so cute. I’ll eat your spaghetti.”

So Heidi came over to my humble home on Saturday afternoon. I asked her to help me do some of the cooking – mostly just keep my wine glass full as I cooked.

I was cooking to impress. The tomatoes and basil in the back yard are doing really well, despite a great deal of neglect this year. I would be making the pasta up fresh. To make really good pasta, you need to start with good ingredients. I start with North Dakota hard durum wheat flour with a fine grind. Mix this with free range eggs (yes, it really makes a difference you can taste) and some good Italian olive oil and you have the dough for some of the best pasta you’ll ever eat.

“Can you get me the flour from the pantry?” I asked her.

She went over to the pantry and searched for the flour. “You are such a bachelor.” She called out.

“Why?”

“Did you know you have 4 containers of rice open?”

“Actually, I have 6.”

“Six!?”

“Yeah, unless my roommates are raiding the pantry again I should have 6 containers of rice open. They are all different kinds. You can’t eat curry with an Arborio rice. You can’t make risotto with a long grain rice.” I must have at least 8 olive oils open, too.

“Oh. I didn’t even know there were 6 kinds of rice.”

She handed me the flour and I made the pasta, and later ran it through the pasta machine to make angel hair – capellini.

I sautéed some fresh roma tomatoes from the yard in good olive oil with garlic, and added some fresh home grown basil and a touch of oregano at the end. It takes only a few minutes to cook, but it is the true taste of summer.

I tried to make a Caesar salad, but the dressing didn’t come out quite right – although Heidi oohed over it anyway.

We drank a bottle of Antinori Tignanello, 1995. I was saving it for just such an occasion.

“That was the most delicious spaghetti that I ever had.” She told me, and kissed me. “And I’ve been to Italy. I take it back. There is at least one American man that can cook.”

“Thank you.” I said.

We sat on the back deck until it got dark. We had finished the wine. I walked her to her car and kissed her goodnight. “When can you cook for me again?”

“You can come over any time.”

That Amazing Accent

2009-06-25T18:22:00.000-07:00

“So where did you get that amazing accent?” I asked

“Oh, it’s not that unusual.” Heidi responded.

“It’s beautiful, but I just can’t place it.” I was dining with Heidi at Reposado, a good mexican restaurant in Palo Alto. This was our 3^rd date, and I am growing to like her more each time I see her.

“Well,” she said. “I was born in Sweden, Stockholm – where my father is from. I lived there until I was 4. Then we moved to Zurich in Switzerland. My family stayed there until I was 8, and we moved to Chicago. We lived there until I was 18 and we moved here to California.”

“So you speak Swedish?”

She ratted off something that sounded foreign. She smiled, “Ya. I also speak German, French, and English. I learned all those before I was 8. Later I learned Italian and Spanish.”

I am in awe. I tried in high school to learn a foreign language and it was way too hard for me. She speaks 6 fluently.

“But I can do a good Chicago accent.” She said.

“No way.”

“Yes.” She smiled, sat up straight, concentrated very hard, cleared her throat and said “There is a jackknifed semi blocking 3 lanes of traffic on I-90 East bound just past O’hare, with huge backup behind it. It’s going to be a hot one here in Chicagoland, highs near the 90s with a light breeze off the lake.” She did it with an amazingly neutral American mid-western accent - just like a newscaster.

I laughed.

“My mother is from Chicago, she forced me learn English without an accent. But it is too hard. It is more natural to have an accent. I guess it’s a mix of Swedish and German.” I later learned that German is the official language of Switzerland. “So where did you grow up? I detect a bit of an accent from you as well” she asked.

“I don’t have an accent.”

“Yes, you do. Very slight, but it is cute.”

“I was raised in Hawaii.”

“No. Were you born there?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you go to school there?”

“University of Hawaii at Manoa.”

“This can’t be. No one can grow up in Hawaii. That’s like being raised in Disneyland.”

“It’s just another state. We have traffic jams, homework, dentists.”

“But it’s paradise. Why did you leave?”

“Well, the cost of living is really high, and the job opportunities are really limited. Higher rent, lower pay. You have to really want to live there to make it work..”

“Is your family still there?”

“Yeah, my parents and sisters live there. So I have a nice place to stay when I visit.”

We talked about travel, and music and a number of other topics. After a wonderful dinner I drove her back to her house. We had a glass of wine sitting outside of her cottage and dangling our feet in her parent’s pool.

At the end of the night I gave her a gentlemanly kiss goodnight, and drove home.

Date Night

2009-06-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

On Sunday night Heidi and I went up to Oakland to see Michael Franks in concert. We stopped for tapas and wine before and had a light snack after.

Heidi had e-mailed me her address. She lives in Los Altos Hills. For those of you who don’t know the silicon valley neighborhoods, this is where all the billionaires live. I thought she might live in an apartment complex. But she didn’t put an apartment number, and she referred to the place as her house.

I drove up to the address she gave me – and the place was amazing. I pulled up in front of a huge colonial style mansion on at least two acres, maybe three. I thought that there must be some mistake, but there she was, standing out in front, just like she said she would be.

OK, here’s the weird thing. The name on the mailbox in front of the house didn’t match her name. I can’t see why she would want me to think this was her house if it wasn’t. I was going to open the truck door for her, but she hoped in before I could get out. “Nice place.” I said.

“Thanks.”

“I bet you got a really good interest rate to afford it. Foreclosure sale?”

“Um, actually, it’s my parent’s house. I live in ze cottage out back.”

“Oh.” Lives with her parents. That’s a little scary. But the bay area is a really expensive place to live – if my folks had a place like that I’d probably stay there too.

We drove for a while and chatted about nothing, but the name on the mailbox thing was really bugging me. So I asked her.

“Oh, um, I vasn’t planning to tell you this until later, but, ahem, uh.” She was having trouble with this. “Um, eet’s my married name.”

“You’re married?” I almost swerved off the road.

“No. Vell, yes, I vas. Divorced. About 4 years now.”

“Oh. OK.”

The concert was great. There was only a small audience. Yoshi's is a great venue. Michael puts on a good show. I was glad to able to see it with someone. She doesn’t listen to Jazz, but she seemed to be enjoying the show.

After the concert we drove back to her house. We parked in the driveway and she led me back behind the house to a cottage near the pool. It is a two bedroom house with a small kitchen. Probably intended as a guest house or a pool house. Certainly adequate for a single person.

She unlocked the door and asked me if I would like to come in for a glass of wine. I accepted. I took a quick peek at the kitchen, and wondered if I could do a hollandaise from memory. She poured some wine, and we went outside and sat at a table by the pool. Yes, this really is a nice place.

We finished our wine. I followed her back into the cottage. She put her glass on the kitchen counter. I put my glass down and kissed her. She kissed back. We stood there in the dark kissing. Here’s where I didn’t know what to do. Do I try to make a move, or is it more gentlemanly to wait for a later date? Will I offend her if I just go home? Will I offend her if I make a move?

She was being rather encouraging. She did invite me back to her place and had me stay for a glass of wine. My mind wandered. My hands followed suit. I slowly went down to the small of her back. She seemed to moan, making an “mmmm” sound as we kissed. I reached down and caressed her bottom. Now she did moan. But it was not a good kind of moan – more of a “hey, what the hell are you doing, you jerk?” kind of moan – you know, an “ewww” type of moan. She quickly reached back and grabbed my hand and moved it up.

“Ve don’t know each other zat vell.” She said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” How embarrassing. I guessed wrong. “Well, um, I wasn’t sure what you were expecting. You know sometimes… You see…” I was floundering. “Sometimes” I started again more slowly, “a gentleman needs to ask twice, just to make sure that the lady is not saying no just to be lady like.”

“No, tvice.” She said flatly. Mmmmkay.

“Oh, OK, no problem. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t Worry. Eet’s alright. No harm done.”

I kissed her again, but without the same enthusiasm. Oh well, the moment was gone.

“I had a wonderful time tonight.” I said.

“Me too.”

“Can we do it again?”

“I’d like that.”

“I hope I didn’t offend you with the, uh…”

“Rich, no, don’t worry about it - don't mention it again. We just need to get to know each other better.” She smiled at me.

“OK.”

I gave her a final kiss good night and drove home.

She got the job

2009-06-21T10:53:00.000-07:00

From: Sarah (xxxxxxxxxxxxx@hotmail.com)

To: Rich (richardwindsurfer@gmail.com)

Subject: I got the job!

Rich,

Once again, thanks for a great weekend. You still sure know how to show a girl a good time. I’m sorry if I opened any old wounds – I sensed a little sadness when you dropped me at the airport.

I hope your ankle gets better.

(text deleted)

Anyway, I got the job. Must have aced the interviews – I got relocation expenses, a signing bonus, and a better salary than I asked for. I start July 1^st. Offer letter is supposed to arrive by fedex tomorrow. I can’t wait to move up to Seattle. I’ll let you know if I’m passing through SF again.

Keep paddling, it suits you ;-)

Love, S

Lunch at Steamers

2009-06-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

On Friday I went to Heidi’s office and called her from the receptionist's desk. She came down – looking stunning – she has long flowing blonde hair and a wonderful bronze tan. I smiled at her and told her how lovely she looked. I walked her to my truck parked in the visitor lot. I opened the door for her, then ran around to my side.

“So, where are we going?” I had asked her to pick out a place for lunch near her office - I don't know the area well.

“Steamers,down in Los Gatos. It’s a great seafood place.” My stomach churned. That was the scene of the crime. It is the place where Tim and Lynn dined that fateful night that she went off and slept with him. This was the place where my heartache was born. “Great, let’s go” I said – trying not to sound as if I was saying it through gritted teeth.

Lunch was a blur. All I could think about was Lynn and Tim being there. I wondered where they sat, what they talked about. Did she think about me? Did he go there planning to bed her or did she seduce him? Did they gaze into each other’s eyes and fall so completely in love that they could do nothing else? I completely lost my appetite. I tried as hard as I could to force down some fish – stirring the remains on my plate, trying to look like nothing was wrong. I did everything that I could to try to be charming – but I doubt it was working. Oh well, this is probably for the best. It is clear to me that dating someone else is probably not a good idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Heidi.

“So, what’s the story with you and Lynn?” Heidi said during a lull in the conversation.

“Oh, we’re good friends. I’ve known her since college.”

“You seem closer to me, more intimate.”

“Well, we dated for a while. She had just broken up with her live-in boyfriend and before she started dating Tim.”

“Oh”, she laughed knowingly. “You were (she pronounced it ‘ver’) the rebound guy.” She has an amazing voice and an indescribable accent, kind of a Swedish/French/German – European mixed up thing.

“What do you mean ‘rebound’ guy?” Is there some dating manual that I never got? Everyone seems to know these things but me.

“You know, when you get out of a long term relationship sometimes you pick up a convenient person to take your mind off things. Until you get better. Probably a bad thing to do, but sometimes we need it.” I’m not sure who the ‘we’ was.

“Well, we still talk from time to time.”

“But you’re not as close as you used to be?”

“No, we’re not. She's with Tim” I was probably letting too much sadness show.

“So, I don’t understand.” She paused, deciding whether to go on, “Lynn dumped you for Tim? Are you sure this is correct?”

“What do you mean?”

“How could anyone pick Tim over you? Is she stupid?”

I was starting to really like this girl. “I can’t tell you why she did that. You’ll need to ask her. He is kind of her type – she likes the talk dark and handsome kind.”

She looked at me and deadpanned “OK, so he’s tall, but why else did she pick him?”

I laughed. I enjoyed the rest of lunch. I dropped her back at her office. She said she had a wonderful time. I asked her out to a concert on Sunday night. She immediately accepted.

BTW

2009-06-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

Got a lunch date with Heidi tomorrow

While Tim was off on his camping trip - so proud of myself, did not e-mail, call, or text Lynn. She did text me on Saturday night: "wher r u? - l." I ignored it.

The New Guy

2009-06-17T22:54:00.001-07:00

I tried to find a visual for this post - but no. You'll see.

We hired a new guy at work. He's a Chinese guy. Went to U.C. Berkeley.

Nice guy.

His name is Hung.

I'm not making this up.

My favorite pick-up line used to be: Walk up to a pretty girl, look her in the eye, give her my most winning smile, and say "Hi, I'm Rich"

The new guy, he's gonna be my wing man. I can't wait.

We'll walk into a bar. Walk up to a pretty girl, look her in the eye, give her my most winning smile and say "Hi, I'm Rich, and this is my friend. He's Hung. You can have Rich, or Hung. Aw, hell, you're really cute, you can have Rich and Hung."

He's kinda old school Chinese, and shy. I'm not sure he's really up for it. But it'd be so damn funny.

Shareholder Interest

2009-06-13T05:09:00.000-07:00

On Friday the CEO asked me to lunch. Most folks at the company eat in the makeshift kitchen in the office that the company stocks. It’s free to the employees and the company will buy almost anything that you put on a shopping list (smoked salmon and French brie are regularly stocked – but my request for caviar was deemed over the top). Our CEO seems to always goes out for lunch.

We went to Birk’s, a Silicon Valley institution for power lunches. It was clear that they knew him well. They have really good food and it is close to the office.

After some idle chitchat and project status talk, he got to the point.

“So, Rich, you and Kristen have become fairly good friends.”

“Uh, yeah.” I was beginning to get a bit worried about this – but we had not done anything worth worrying about.

“I noticed that on Saturday you came to work with her.”

“Uh, yeah,”

“I also noticed that your car was in the parking lot overnight.”

“Uh, yeah.” Sometimes I’m a brilliant conversationalist. I really wanted to know where he was going with this before I said anything. I usually keep my mouth shut when I’m unsure of things.

“What you do on your own time is none of my business, and I’m not going to intrude on your personal lives. But I do have a responsibility to the investors of the company that we not expose then to any unnecessary liability.”

“OK.”

“Rich, I want you to come to me if you ever feel there is any inappropriate pressure from anyone in management.”

“OK.”

“Rich, do you feel that Kristen has created a hostile work environment for you or has she made any unwanted sexual advances towards you?” He seemed to emphasize the word “unwanted.”

“No not at all.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I was beginning to wonder if he was wearing a microphone and recording this for his legal team.

“OK, last thing – and I want you to be very clear on this – if that changes, if anyone creates a hostile work environment, or makes any unwanted sexual advances towards you – or anyone else in the company for that matter – I want you to come to me immediately.”

“OK. Sure.” I really wanted to joke, “so that you don’t get left out, right?” but I held my tongue.

“And, Rich," he said taking a more conversational tone, "next time you have a sleepover with Kristen, please try to be a little more discreet. Everyone in the office saw you two arrive together – it wasn’t hard to figure out what happened.” My blood went cold at the word “sleepover” it sounded so inappropriate coming from him. Kind of like a banker excusing himself to go to the “potty” – I know I’m just being paranoid – he couldn’t be reading my blog. No, not possible.

“Sorry, but I didn’t think it was a big deal.” I replied.

“Office romances tend to exacerbate office politics – which hurts morale and productivity. It really helps if fewer people know about it.”

“Um, just for the record – Kristen and I are not in a romantic relationship.”

“Oh?” he asked skeptically – obviously not believing my answer.

“No. She was recently dumped by her boyfriend (I almost said lover) and wanted some company. We had dinner and drinks and complained about our former partners.”

“And you stayed overnight” he said, stating and already established fact, “why?”

“We were drinking, heavily. Driving would not have been a good way to end the night. She has a guest bedroom. Nothing happened”

“I see. I heard about her boyfriend. So this was just an 80 proof bitch session?” He smiled – he looked relieved.

“Yeah. Completely innocent and platonic.”

Injured

2009-06-09T03:17:00.000-07:00

Monday I limped into the office a bit late - still a bit fuzzy from the weekend's festivities. My ankle is still quite painful from the fall that I took the prior weekend. Anyway, Pete notices that I'm limping, and asks about it. A lot of the folks in the office are runners. "Running injury?" he inquires. Pete is notoriously competitive (as most folks at the office are). I suspect if I said yes he'd go out and get a worse running injury - just to show me up.

"Nope" I reply.

"Soccer?" he asks.

"No, uh 'dating', actually." and I hobble off to my desk leaving him nodding but with a very confused look on his face.

Sleepover

2009-06-07T12:09:00.000-07:00

I woke up with a pounding headache. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes – the room was bright. Too bright. Oh, man I’m getting too old to be drinking like this. I closed my eyes again. But what room was it? It didn’t look familiar at all. For the first time since college I woke up with no idea where I was. I tried to concentrate. I rubbed my forehead. Where the hell was I and what did I do to get here? Then it came to me – I was at Kristen’s house.

It all started the night before.

Against the collective wisdom of the blogosphere, my buddy Maurizio, and a little voice in the back of my head I made dinner for my friend Kristen. Kristen had recently been dumped by lover of about 5 years. I thought I would try to cheer her up. Having recently been through a nasty break up myself, I had a lot of empathy for her. Slightly complicating things is the fact that Kristen is the VP of marketing at the internet company that I recently joined – and, OK, she has flirted with me a couple of times. Making things more interesting is the fact that she is only a couple of years older than me, really attractive, and quite rich. She has quite a strong personality, though. Her former lover was a kept man, which I find intriguing.

If you read through some of the comments on earlier posts, the collective wisdom was that I should not do this. I decided to do it anyway, for two reasons. First Kristen has become my friend over the past couple of months since I joined the new company. I know how bad a breakup can be and I’m pretty sure that she really was in love with Paul – even though she hasn’t shown any sadness over the breakup, only anger. I’m not sure how much of that is a brave front and how much is real. So, reason number one, I really did want to help my friend who has asked for my help.

The second reason is that I thought that it was pretty unlikely that anything would happen. OK, my judgment isn’t all that great – I’ve demonstrated that. But there is no real reason that Kristen would try to jump my bones. With very few exceptions, in my life I’ve had to work hard at courting and charming and wooing women before anything interesting happens. Rarely have I fallen into bed with a woman where I did not put a lot of effort in. And Kristen was not overtly trying to court me.

I went back to read over what I had written about Kristen. I though that I might have portrayed her as a wanton sex goddess or a dangerous man eater of sorts. But I think I have done a fair job of portraying her.

I’ll add a few comments to make sure that I’m being fair and balanced. She is very smart. She has a PhD in computer science from one of the top engineering schools in the U.S. And she has the ability to take that book knowledge and apply it to real world problems where solutions can be created – something that escapes you average PhD nerd. In meetings it is clear that she has a tremendous grasp of both technology and business. She is attractive, but she wears her clothes and her hair with a style that I can best describe as hard edged. Angular and masculine, but it suits her. She is very self confident, but I suspect that most people that achieve the success that she has probably are. She is generally quite fair and reasonable – aside from the week before last. That apparent anomaly was due to the fact that she was unceremoniously dumped by her lover, so I’m going to cut her some slack on that one. All of us who have been hurt by cruel partners have probably been a bit cranky immediately after the act. She always tries to stand out in the crowd. Her car is as bright red as Mercedes makes, her clothes are always attention getting. She shuns conventionality – to gain further attention, perhaps. She would be more likely to have an iguana for a pet than a cat (OK, she told me that one). She would introduce her live-in boyfriend as “her lover”. He was, indeed, a kept man. The only thing that I find odd about the arrangement is that she did not seem to respect him, or at least did not when I saw them together – which was toward the end of their relationship.

How do I feel about her? Hmmm, well I do have a bit of a crush on her. But this should be taken with a grain of salt. Any regular reader of the blog should know by now that I am easily smitten. A glance across a crowded room is all it may take. But I don’t often take it seriously, and usually get over it quickly, if there is not a long term relationship involved. I respect her – both professionally and personally – mostly for her intelligence. I consider her to be a good friend even though we have only known each other for a short period of time. We have flirted with each other a couple of times, but in a harmless sort of way.

Anyway, I’m rambling (I’ll probably edit this out). The second reason that I went to make her dinner is that I really didn’t think that anything would happen. I have had dinner and drinks with lots of folks and have not ended up in bed with them. If that was all it took for me to get the girl I’d be doing a lot more dining and drinking. In the movies, guys can do that (e.g. “handsome Rob” in the movie “The Italian Job”, or James Bond in anything) – meet a girl and end up in bed with her. But, sorry folks, this is real life. And in real life – despite what guys brag about in bars – very few of us have that raw sex appeal that lets us get the girl that easily. In all my life I have only known one guy who could do that – and that is Maurizio. Girls will actually walk up to him and give him their phone number. It even happened last week when we were drinking beer at the Tied House. In a cruel twist of fate, this incredible specimen of a man - is gay.

Anyway, on to the events of the evening. I went and got the fixings for dinner and a good chardonnay the night before. These I took with me to work and stored them in the fridge. Kristen stopped by my cube around 7:30 and suggested that we head out.

In my defense I did ask Pete and Teri to join us. I first asked Kristen of this would be OK. She kinda laughed at me and told me to go ahead and try. It turns out (I learned this later) that Pete and Teri had dated some years ago. It ended badly – although they seem friendly enough now. In fact, they seem to almost have a thing for each other. So I thought the pair of them joining us for dinner would be a good thing. Turns out that Pete had a convertible corvette, an older model that he had restored and souped up with a 500 horsepower engine or something ridiculous like that. When he was dating Teri, he let her drive it. She was at a stop sign – the first stop sign she came to. She let out the clutch a little too fast, she was used to underpowered Toyotas and wasn’t very adept at handling a clutch. This slip caused both back tires to spin violently out of control. The car to slid sideways as it went through the intersection, accelerating quickly. Ultimately, the car wrapped itself around a telephone pole across the street. The fiberglass body was shattered and the frame was bent beyond repair.

No one was hurt.

It took many years for Pete to forgive Teri.

Kristen feels that it was just plain wrong for Pete to breakup with Teri over the accidental destruction of a hunk of fiberglass and steel. This was before Pete was really wealthy, and an automobile was an irrelevant expense to him. But I’m with Kristen on this one.

So no one would be joining us. We would be alone, with alcohol and without adult supervision. We took Kristen’s car. She climbed in the passenger side and asked me to drive. Once again fumbling for keys, I realized that the card was in her purse and we could just drive away.

Once we got to her house Kristen took a bottle from the fridge and handed it to me. “You asked for champagne.” I uncorked it and poured it into two flutes. She raised her glass and said “here’s to legendary abs.”

I know I was blushing (I have a bad habit of doing this at inopportune times) “Excuse me?” I asked (for those confused, see my “That hurts” post). How could she know? Maybe she did see me with my shirt off when I was cleaning up the kayaks in her yard. But the abs weren’t that well defined then, I didn’t think.

“Legendary abs. I finally have the motivation that I need to get legendary abs. I’ve been meaning to spend the time at the gym to work on my abs – but with balancing work and a social life I never had the time. I’m just angry enough to throw myself into it. You want to be my gym partner? We could get them together.”

OK, at this point, if I was drunk I probably would have pulled up my shirt and showed her. But discretion prevailed. “Uh, you know, I’ve got my own sport. It works pretty well for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re already skinny enough.”

We moved out to the living room, where I made a fire in the fireplace and she put on some music. “What do you like?” she asked referring to music.

“Some jazz would be great”

“Oh, shit” she said. Well, OK, if you want something else, I thought to myself. “More crap from unmitigated beast. These are his CDs.” She grabbed them and ran out of the room. I followed her to the garage. The cars were parked outside. She threw the CDs into the middle of a large pile in the middle of the garage. “This” she pointed at the pile, “This is all of his shit. Can you believe this?” There were clothes, books, furniture, papers, it was a big pile. “How could he do this? How could he do this?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Oh, shit, Rich.” She turned to me and started to cry. She hugged me and cried on my shoulder. I patted her back.

After a couple of minutes she backed away. “I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.” She wiped her eyes with her hands. “Oh god, I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be sorry. That’s the first time I saw you sad about this.”

“Oh, Rich.” She sniffed. “It just never came out before.” She started to cry again. “I’ve been keeping it inside. I just couldn’t…” and on came the water works. I actually started to feel better as we walked back to the living room. This was definitely not sexy, and the fact that she was human and sad about losing him made me feel better. Her anger was sort of scary.

After a good cry she went to wash her face. She came back composed. “I need a scotch. Do you want one?”

“Sure. Shall we start on dinner?”

“Yes.” We moved into the kitchen. I proceeded to assemble some flour and salt and pepper on a plate. I heated up a skillet with olive oil and butter. Unmitigated beast did have some good cookware. I did bring my own meat pounder, not sure if she had one. I put a chicken breast on the counter between two sheets of wax paper.

“OK, you need to pound this down to about 3/8 of an inch thick – thinner if you want.” She took the mallet and gave it a little girlie smack. “No” I told her “You need to hit it hard.” She pounded a bit harder. “Come on, put your back into it.”

She started to dent it. “It’s something you hate.” She pounded hard. And again. And even harder. She started to laugh. Tears were working at the corners of her eyes. She pounded a hole in the middle of the chicken breast.

She laughed at it. “I ruined it.”

“No, it’s fine – just even it out a bit.” She pounded out the rest of the chicken to a ¼ inch with real ferocity.

She laughed “That felt good.”

“I’ve got 3 more.”

She pounded them all. “You’re right.” She said when she was done, “That is better than a month of therapy.”

I cooked the chicken and was about to deglaze the pan. “Here’s where we need the champagne.” I took the bottle and poured about ¾ of a cup into the pan. It was Moet and Chandon – from France. A bit more extravagant than I am used to for a cooking wine. It boiled and steamed spectacularly. It made a great sauce.

When we sat down to eat it. She commented “This almost seems cannibalistic.” She had beaten the crap out of her unmitigated beast.

“Think of it as devouring your problems.”

“I’m sure that on some parts of New Guinea they really do that.”

The chicken was wonderful and more tender than I think I have ever had.

After we cleaned up the kitchen, we sat in the living room with the bottle of wine that I had brought. “Would you take him back?” I asked.

“Not in a million years. Would you take her back??”

“In a New York minute.” I don’t even know what that means, but it seemed like a good thing to say. It seemed the opposite of ‘not in a million years’.

“You hate him, don’t you?”

“Yup. It’s not the opposite of love, you know. I’ll be over him when I am indifferent. You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I don’t get it. She hurt you so badly. I would want to kill someone who did that to me.”

“I want to kill Tim. How can I turn off my love for her?”

“How can you love someone like that? Feel passionate yes. That doesn’t go away. Damn that you can’t make that go away. But love? That’s reserved for people who are good to us.”

“I just love her. I remember all the wonderful things we did together. I remember her friendship. There was so much that was good.”

“And she pissed all over it, all of that. What happened to you? I mean, you’re a smart guy. But this reaction of yours is unnatural.”

“What do you mean ‘unnatural’?”

“Rich, when you are hurt that’s nature’s way of showing you something’s wrong. Pain is how we learn what not to do. You put your hand on a hot stove – it hurts. So you don’t do it again. I mean if you have a learning disability, you do it again. But even the thickest person learns. You want to put your hand right back on that stove? If you don’t learn you’re going to put your hand on that stove over and over again. And you’re going to get burned over and over again. Until you don’t have a hand left.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. You’re passionate about her. Great, be passionate. But let your feelings go. I bottle up my sadness – but you stomach your anger.”

“My anger is at Tim. And it’s out there.”

“No, you know it was her that hurt you. You’re in denial. You’ll never get past it until you acknowledge it. No matter how many chickens you pulverize. Rich, she’s the one who gave you all this pain. Get pissed.” She shook her head.

“Why do you hide your sadness?”

“It’s a man’s world.” She signed. “I can’t compete and show my weakness. I pretend to be strong. After a while, it’s not a pretense anymore. I don’t really like it – but I have to.”

“You’ve achieved more than most people ever will. Why keep competing? Why not just enjoy what you’ve earned?”

“I am enjoying it. And, frankly, it’s the competition that’s the fun part. Winning is the enjoyable part. The money is nice – but it really doesn’t make that much of a difference.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so competitive.” I didn’t mean that as an insult, it was just an observation. I think I may have offended her.

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone so non-competitive.”

“Um, unmitigated beast wasn’t really a driven man.”

“Yes he was, he was passionate. Not about technology, or business. But he loved his art. He wasn’t very good at it. He couldn’t pay the bills. But he needed to win. His failures ate him up. Let’s not talk about that beast. You, you’re laid back. Agreeable almost to the point of being annoying. Pleasant to the point of being vacuous. The only thing you have shown any passion for is a girl who put you through hell. God, Rich. I just want to shake you and wake you up.” She signed. I think I was being insulted and ridiculed.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Rich, I’m not trying to insult you. You have so much potential. You’re smart, you’re witty, you can be charming, and you can get a room full of egos to agree and work together. I’ve seen it. You’re amazing. Middle child? Am I right?”

“Yup. You’re good.”

She laughed. “Rich, what do you want out of life? You can get it, you know. You just need to work for it.” She emptied her glass. “Oh, shit – you’re not here for a motivational speech. We’re here to bitch about our lovers. Wine or Cognac?”

“Oh, how about a nice cognac, please?”

“There you go again, being pleasant.” She said in a singsong voice as she went to the kitchen to get a bottle of cognac.

We sat and drank more. I was amazed at how different our responses were, to essentially the same situation. We both had lovers that ran off with someone else in a rather rude fashion. She blamed her lover, while I blamed the person my lover ran off with. Hmmm, is it a guy/girl thing? Am I wrong to blame Tim, is she right to blame Paul? I don’t know. If you have been wronged – did you blame your lover, the interloper, or both? Why?

After that things start to get fuzzy. I definitely had too much to drink. We killed two bottles of wine, some scotch and some cognac.

Which brings me to the morning. I sat up and looked around. My head swam. I was in Kristen’s guest bedroom. I was wearing the same boxers I had on last night. I started to remember the events of the late evening. Nothing happened. Nothing was offered, nothing was asked. The guest room was already made up for me before I arrived. Her plan all along was to keep me at a distance.

I made my way to the bathroom. I had already retrieved my spare clothes and bathroom things from her car. I had moved them from my truck before we left the office. I showered and brushed my teeth and changed into fresh clothes. I took 3 aspirin to calm my pounding head.

I wandered out to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I read the morning paper for a while while I waited for Kristen to wake up. I perused through the fridge to see what there was for breakfast. It was about 11 when Kristen came out wearing her bathrobe. “oooh” she moaned.

“Coffee? Aspirin?”

“Yes, both, please.”

I brought them to her at the kitchen table. She smiled at me. “Thanks, Rich. I mean it. I really needed a shoulder to cry on. Despite the hangover I feel a lot better.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“I still think you’re pretty confused about Lynn.”

“Yeah, I probably am.”

I made her a frittata from some eggs and leftovers she had in the fridge. Her kitchen was deteriorating to that of a bachelor. I noticed the garden in the backyard starting to become overgrown with weeds.

After breakfast we drove to the office. Most folks were already there. I put in a full day – consuming most of a pot of coffee and trying to re-hydrate from the prior evening’s drinking. I think I’ll lay off the booze for a while.

Chicken Picatta (aka pounded chicken)

2009-06-07T12:05:00.000-07:00

4 Chicken breasts
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp butter
3 tbsp flour
Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup champagne
Juice from one lemon
Lots of capers
Lemon slices for garnish

Take a chicken breast and place it on a hard surface (counter, cutting board) between two pieces of wax paper. Get a meat pounder, using the flat surface (not the medieval looking surface) and pound the crap out of the chicken until it is about 3/8” thick – or until you are satisfied. It helps to envision the chicken breast as the person that your lover cheated on you with, or something that you particularly hate. It’s OK if the meat breaks up into several pieces – or if there are holes in it when you are done. The important thing is that the muscle fiber of the meat should be pulverized, torn, and shredded.

Put a skillet (not non-stick, please) over medium heat and melt the butter with the olive oil.

Mix the flour with the salt and pepper and spread out on a plate. Dredge the chicken breast through the flour and shake off the excess. Cook the chicken breasts in the oil butter mixture, about 2 minutes per side, browning slightly. Do not overcrowd the pan. Remove the chicken pieces to a plate after they are cooked.

Once all the chicken breasts are cooked, deglaze the pan with the champagne. I never measure this – just pour it in from the bottle. It will boil, hiss, and steam a lot, then settle down to form a thick sauce. Add in the lemon juice and capers. This completes the picatta sauce. You can do this with a dry white wine instead of champagne, but the taste just isn’t the same. Next add the chicken back into the sauce and make sure it’s heated through. Garnish with lemon slices and serve immediately.

It’s pretty simple, it tastes great and it really works out your aggressions.

Yoshi's

2009-06-05T00:17:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to Yoshi's and saw Herb Alpert - legendary Jazz trumpet player (and the "A" in "A & M records" you might have heard of them). I bought 2 tickets a couple of weeks ago - really wanting to see the show and believing that I'd have someone to drag along with me. Yeah, the hopefulness that I'd be able to get a date.

I went alone. Determined to live my life as I want to - regardless of the girlfriend situation.

Damn, it was depressing. I felt pathetic.

The music was great. Ambiance wonderful. It was amazing to see Herb play live. But I really missed sharing it with someone.

Not even Maurizio was available.

Next time I'll just download some iTunes.

Overreaction?

2009-06-04T10:14:00.000-07:00

“Rich, you know that I’m a pretty live and let live kinda guy. Anything between two, or three, or even four consenting adults is usually fine with me. But this isn’t one of your better ideas. You’re both attractive, hurt, and lonely people who will be alone with plenty of alcohol and no adult supervision. Unless your plan – while you are sober and carefully considering the consequences – is to end up in bed with her, I’d think twice about this whole dinner thing.” Maurizio the Italian love god was lecturing me - on matters of the heart no less. We were at the Tied House, a brew pub in Mountain View. Maurizio usually does not venture this far south – so I know that he is really serious about this.

It’s good to have friends who look out for you.

“You’re acting like I have no judgment or self control.”

“Rich, look what just happened with Sarah. You said it yourself; you are weak and stupid when it comes to women.”

“You see. This is why blogs should be anonymous. I never would have told you that I slept with Sarah again.”

“No?”

“No, I learned a long time ago not to kiss and tell.”

“That’s usually a pretty good policy. Maybe you shouldn’t kiss and blog."

"Anyway," he continued "this Kristen girl doesn’t seem like someone that you want to be messing with. She’s on the rebound, and you do not want to be the rebound guy with a VP that you work with. Do you remember how unpleasant a rebound break-up can be?”

OK, that’s a really good argument – a good enough reason that Maurizio has won this debate. He’s right, I should not do it. But it’s no fun letting him win so easily, besides we still have more beer. “How do you know she even has any interest in me?”

“Rich, if your blog posts are even half way accurate, then she’s interested. You're her type. You cook, you clean, you’re polite, you’re presentable at corporate functions, you can tell the difference between a cabernet and zinfandel. Don't sell yourself short, Rich. Put on 20 pounds, get a tan - they can spray that on nowadays - and you would be some serious arm candy. Just what every Silicon Valley digital diva needs. You’d make a great house pet.”

Ow. Maurizio was making more sense that usual tonight. I thought about it. I could change my blog name to “Richard, kept man”. I mentally tried out a potential post – “Today I drove my Ferrari up to the San Francisco yacht club and sailed my 40 foot boat on the bay. I took pity on all the folks who had jobs and needed to work for a living – they all missed a wonderful day. Sailing really does work up an appetite, so I had a kobe beef steak sandwich and half a bottle of the best cabernet at the yacht club, as always, money was no object… “ Hey, it could happen. I’ve got to say, worse things have happened to me in my life.

I still felt like debating with Maurizio. “You’re assuming that she’s as dumb as I am.” Did I really say that? Out loud? Sometimes don't you wish you could suck those words right back in? When I heard myself I realized that I wasn’t going to win this point. “She may be smarter than to have an affair with a junior coworker. She is a VP and an officer of the company. She would be exposing herself and the company to the liability of a sexual harassment lawsuit. She didn’t get where she is by making bad choices.”

“You really think you could get her on sexual harassment? I don’t think so.” He laughed at me, or the absurdity of it.

“It takes two to tango. You are presuming that she is both interested and willing. I’m not so sure. She had me at her house the night before last after one too many drinks, and she was a perfect gentleman – well, you know what I mean.” OK, the beer was starting to kick in.

“Why take the chance?” He was right. Having dinner alone with her, at her house would be a bad idea.

It could only end in tragedy.

Dinner?

2009-06-02T20:03:00.000-07:00

I always wondered what it would be like to drive a $100,000 car to work.

It wasn’t as fun as I had imagined it might be.

Last night I was out with Kristen and she had a bit too much to drink. I drove her home in her car and then took it to my house. It is a pretty new Mercedes 550SL convertible. I knew that if I totaled it my insurance wouldn’t cover me. Kristen’s insurance probably would, but that’s not the point. I wasn’t too worried about totaling it. I was more worried about getting a scratch in it.

The car is amazing. You put a card in your pocket and when you walk away from it, it locks and sets the alarm. When you walk up to it, it unlocks and you can drive it away. Driving it to work it sure got me a lot of attention. I had the top down and got lots of glances and waves from the other commuters. Once again I drove slowly and carefully. It sure would be a lot more fun to drive if I wasn’t so worried about messing it up.

Later this evening I was eating dinner with Kristen in the kitchen at the office. I was having a microwaveable deep dish pizza. She had built a sandwich.

“How do you handle the weekends?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Being at home, alone. I mean, that’s the worst – for me at least.”

“Alcohol abuse helps. Exercise to the point of exhaustion. I have 2 housemates, that helps, too. I was really getting better – until I was out at the Mt. View wine festival and saw them together. Man, that one really screwed me up again.”

“You ran into them? Together? All happy and in love?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Rich, that had to hurt. Hey, can you come over Friday night? I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’d be happy to. Do you want to do dinner somewhere? Or should I cook for you?”

“Oh, Rich, cook, please. Make me some Jambalaya. I’ll provide some really good wine and great conversation.”

“That sounds like a fair trade. But not Jambalaya, besides that goes better with beer than wine. I have a better dish in mind. Are you willing to help cook?”

“Sure.”

“This dish is better than a month of therapy.”

“I’m not sure how food works as therapy, but I’m game. Should I get anything?”

“Have a bottle of champagne on hand. I’ll bring everything else.”

“Something to celebrate?” She sounded confused.

“No, I know it’s incongruous, but it’s an essential ingredient. You’ll see.”

Buy you a drink?

2009-06-02T07:48:00.000-07:00

“Why do we spend so much time here?” Kristen asked. She was standing at the door to my cubicle. It was 9:00 and folks were starting to head home.

I had a couple of smart ass answers, but I knew that Paul had recently left her and she was probably hurting. I swallowed them. “I’m told that it might be worth it someday.”

“Maybe” she shrugged. “Can I buy you a glass of wine?”

“Sure.” I saved the file I was editing and followed her out to her car. The top was down – we drove that way to her favorite wine bar near the office. The wind noise prevented much of a conversation.

Once inside we got a table in a corner. She got a good bottle of cabernet. I took a taste. It was really good. “Rich, I want to thank you for the bottle of wine the other day. I really needed it. Not the alcohol, but getting a gift. It really made my day, an otherwise crappy day.”

“I’m glad it helped. I could kinda tell something was wrong." Understatement of the year. "Are you all right now?”

“No.” she snorted a sarcastic laugh. “He left me.”

“Paul?” I’m not sure why I asked. I already knew he was gone, and there was no one else that she could be talking about.

“We won’t use that name anymore. From now on he will only be referred to as ‘unmitigated beast.’” She said this rather conversationally, without too much anger.

“Uh, unmitigated beast, he left?”

“Yes.” She took a large swallow of wine – as if she intended to get drunk. And she was my designated driver. “He snuck out while I was at work. Such a cowardly way to get out of a relationship. He wasn’t even man enough to look me in the eye and tell me he was leaving. He left his crap all over my house. His clothes, his books, his trash.”

“He didn’t take anything?”

“He took his art. All of his paintings and drawing and art supplies, he left everything else. Did you see the drawing of me that was hanging in the living room?”

“The black and white calligraphy nude?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember that. It was beautiful. You were the model for that?”

“Yup. He painted it for my birthday. He gave it to me. Then he took it, and left the frame. He pulled the picture out and left the frame on the fucking floor.”

The painting was of a nude woman seated with her back towards the painter, with dark hair flowing down her back. It was done in bold calligraphy strokes in black, with a couple of hints of red and purple. Only a little of the subject’s face was visible, so I didn’t know it was her. But now that I knew, I could see that he had captured both her strength and her beauty. I can understand why she was angry that he had taken it. I had seen some of his art, this was easily his best work. “The bastard.” I replied – trying to be supportive.

“You’re starting to get the idea” she replied.

“It’s bad enough to dump you, but to steal from you.” Of course, I reserved judgment that he might have considered it to be his. This was probably more a case of misunderstanding than theft, but I didn’t think that she needed to hear that now.

“He’s up in Seattle, shacking up with his kayaking instructor.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. And what’s worse is that I paid for him to go up there. I paid for his trip. I paid for his kayaking lessons. I paid for him to meet her. I paid for his expedition this summer. And – just by coincidence – last week was the last date to cancel and get a refund.”

“Wow. I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.” She looked at me questioningly.

“No, I mean, ‘I’m sorry’ as in ‘my deepest condolences.’”

“Oh, right. Thanks, Rich.” She held her head in her hands. “God, I gave him everything he asked for. Even more. He never gave me any indication that there was any problem. We didn’t fight. He never even showed the slightest sign of being unhappy. I just came home to find a note on the fridge. ‘Dear Jane, I’m boffing my kayaking instructor. No hard feelings.’ How can someone do that?”

“Having just had my heart run through a meat grinder, I know that there are no words that can make any difference right now.” She took another big swallow of wine. “I wish I could tell you what would make it better. But I can’t.”

“The gym” she said “exercise is a great way to burn off anger.”

“That’s why I paddle.” At that moment I realized how angry that I have been. Up until that point I had only though of it as sadness. But now I knew that I was working through a hell of a lot of anger, too. “You want to join me? I seem to be in need of a paddling buddy.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how stupid they were.

“Rich,” I could tell that she was trying not to be offended by my remark. She was giving me the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t want to have anything to do with that sport.”

“Sorry. I understand. That was pretty insensitive of me.”

We finished the bottle of wine. Hearing the story from her perspective, Paul really did sound like an unmitigated beast. He had cheated on her with his kayaking instructor, and snuck off like a coward. I’ve always done my breakups face to face. If you cared about the person at all it is the least that you can do. Even if you didn’t care about them.

Of course, I didn’t have Paul’s side of the story. I know that he probably was tired of being a lap dog – but you’d think he could say something. Perhaps try to work out a new arrangement. Kristen was a very strong woman, assertive - OK bitchy. But she usually seemed to be a reasonable person – well, except for last week.

“Rich, are you OK to drive?”

“Yeah, you drank most of the bottle”

“Good.” She handed me a credit card looking thing and ordered a double Grey Goose vodka.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s the key to my car. Just put it in your pocket and you can drive the car.”

OK. This is a $100,000 car. I know that my insurance won’t cover it if anything happens. I only had a glass and half of wine, so I’m OK – but this sobers me up quick. “I can drive you home, but then what?”

“Oh, take the car home. Bring it to the office in the morning.”

“How will you get to work?”

“I have unmitigated beast’s car at home. I’ll take it.”

She downed the vodka in a single gulp.

She got in the passenger side of the car. I climbed in behind the wheel. I fumbled looking for how to start the thing – there were no keys. She pushed the button on the top of the gearshift and the engine roared to life. Oh. I drove her home and walked her to her door and made sure that she got inside OK. She wasn’t really drunk, but it was probably a good thing for her not to drive. I got back in the car and put the top up (a push of one button and a hardtop folded out of the trunk). This thing is amazing. I drove home, following the speed limit the whole time, and being very, very careful. (picture the scene from "Risky Business" after Joel has the Porsche cleaned up.)

Last Night

2009-06-01T18:03:00.000-07:00

The bottle of vodka was about one third full. I poured about 8 or 10 ounces into a tumbler (no tiny shot glass for me!) and went to sit out on the back deck. It was a cold and cloudy night out. I sat on the lounge and stared up at the sky. I had just returned home from the airport to drop Sarah off for a flight to Seattle. It was just starting to get dark. She was probably at 30,000 feet now.

I was planning to be sad and hurt. But, in fact, after I sat down and thought about it, I was happy. I was once loved. And for the first time I wasn’t sad that I had lost. I had had a wonderful weekend. It was sad to see her leave, again. But the sadness passed quickly. I could still smell her on my clothes.

I took a heavy swallow of vodka. (Is drinking alone in the dark a sign of a problem of some sort?) It's weird. I’m in love with Sarah. Yes, I can’t deny this now. But I’m also in love with Lynn. How can I be in love with two women at the same time? What makes it worse was that I am so pissed at Lynn for being in love with two men at the same time. Am I the hugest hypocrite in the world?

But I don’t need to make a choice. Neither woman is available to me. What would I do if both were? How would I decide? Would I want them to share me? No. I know this. I could not ask them to share me. But could I ask one to go away? Could I ask a woman that I love to go away? How would I do that? Truth is, I don’t know what I would do. Somehow, I feel glad that I don’t need to chose.

I don’t choose who I love. It just happens. I’m not planning this. I just live my life.

I sat and contemplated life, as these questions buzzed around my head. I didn’t figure out any answers, but neither did I finish the vodka I poured for myself.

E-mail

2009-06-01T12:39:00.000-07:00

Sent: Sat 5/31/2009 8:23 P.M.

From: Paul (paulxxxxxxxx@gmail.com)

To: Rich (richardwindsurfer@gmail.com)

Subject: Moved to Seattle

Rich,

I’ve moved to Seattle. Sorry I had to leave without saying anything. Things really weren’t working out with Kristen.

Thanks for the paddling lessons, and everything else. If you ever get up here give me a call, it’d be great to see you again and there’s a lot of great paddling in the area. My new cell is (xxx) xxx-xxxx.

- Paul