More Blunk Drogging

Hrmpph.

Heidi's gone.

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

All dressed up and no where to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seattle is 461 miles father than Ashland from here.

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

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

I wonder what's next.

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

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

Yoshi's

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.

Lunch

“Oh, Rich, you look like shit” Lynn said. I met her today for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Campbell. OK. I know. Bad idea (yet again). So what?

I’m still cranky and unhappy with the breakup. Yes, I know – it’s too soon to see her. But after this weekend, I’m feeling a bit better. Steve is a good friend, and he really helps me get a good perspective on things.

“You need to take care of yourself.’ She said with genuine concern.

“You look beautiful, too.” I said with only a little sarcasm.

“Sorry. You’re just looking so thin. Your cheeks are getting hollow.” She reached up to touch my face – the effect was electric. I resigned myself to another month of clinical depression. For her touch it was worth it (man, am I sick or what?) Except for my weekend with Helen, I have not really been eating well. My new clothes – from my recent makeover - don’t even fit anymore. I need a belt for the pants. I was thin before – now I’m just plain boney. I am 6 foot 1 and now weight in at 131 lbs. - it ain't pretty. I kinda look like a heroin addict.

“Tim still treating you well?”

“Rich, you don’t wanna go there.” OK, I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes.

“Sorry.” I stared at the menu, not reading. I swear, I’m not going to see her again until I am over her. Sadly, that may be forever.

I gave it my best effort at being cheerful. We made idle conversation about work, the weather, mutual friends, etc. She told me about a party at Tom and Liz’s last weekend that she and Tim went to – Hmmm they seem to have forgotten to invite me. I guess in the break up we divide the friends, too. Doesn’t matter - I had fun this weekend, too.

“I went up to Seattle this weekend” I told her. “Saw my old college buddy, Steve”

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

“Well, we ended up dancing at this gay bar.”

She looked shocked, and once again concerned “I made you turn gay? Oh, Rich, I’m so sorry.” It took me a little too long to realize that she was joking.

“No,” I protested loudly. “We took our own girls there.”

“Women.” Lynn corrected me. “Can you do that? I mean do they allow you to bring your own women?”

“The guys at the bar didn’t seem to care. And heck, we didn’t have to worry about anyone putting the moves on our girls, uh, women.” I corrected myself before she did. I explained the evening to her. I told her how we committed gross and disgusting heterosexual acts right in front of them, like dancing together, holding hands, and kissing. She found the whole thing rather amusing. She was probably most amused that Steve ended up at a gay bar – she’s never met him, but I have regaled her with stories about him over the years. So she knows that he’s a bit of a homophobe.

“So how does it end?” I asked her.

“How does what end?”

“You, your mid-life crisis? I mean, you flipped over the game board of life – as it were. You dumped Jim, dumped me. Now you’re with Tim. Where do you end up?”

“I don’t know. I’m not planning it. Life happens, I live it.”

“So if you get over it all, and you’re still with Tim – it’s happily ever after?”

“Maybe him, maybe the next one. Who knows. Maybe we’ll get back together.” She smiled. Just what I need, some false hope. “Rich, I have to do this for me. I’m going through a selfish phase. Let’s talk about something else.”

I managed to finish my meal. Perhaps I’m getting better. God, this is so painful. OK enough whining.

“Oh, cheer up Rich.” Lynn said. “Do you remember Heidi?”

The total babe you work with? Hell, yes! “Uhm, yeah, I think so. She works with you and Tim right?”

“Yeah. You interviewed with her?”

“Uh yeah, I think so, that’s right.” Of course I remember – that’s the only part of the interview I remembered. I wasn’t sure why I was feigning ignorance. At an intellectual level it seemed silly.

“So Tim told me that she voted to have you hired. It seems that she wanted to interview you sitting on your lap.” Lynn laughed. I was a bit offended. It’s not so absurd that someone finds me attractive, I thought. “Tim says that she interviews with her glands.”

“I’m guessing that Tim tried to get you hired.”

“Yeah.”

I signed and looked down. Lynn has a unique way of making me feel like shit.

Maybe I should give Heidi a call. She’s a real cutie.

I'm Tired

I am so tired. I have not had a good night's sleep for almost 8 weeks.

I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of thinking of her, of him, of them together. And I can't stop thinking of them. I... just... can't... STOP.

Last night I tried to go to sleep with out drugs (over the counter sleep aids - don't worry I don't do the illegal stuff) or alcohol - I failed miserably.

I want to be done with this. I want to be over the pain. I want a switch that will turn it off.

I am so fucking tired of this. When is this going to be over?

I'm tired.

I just want it to end.

Lost Weekend

Last week I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. On Friday after work, I took my packed up weekend bag and drove north. I planned to go north to Mendocino. There is a nice motel perched over the harbor there just off California's highway 1. It is a good place for the mind and soul. I found it on my trip up the coast last November.

Instead, I found myself traveling to Napa. The truck just headed that way. Less good for the body and soul, but I needed to get numb, to get the pain out of my mind.

I found a vacancy at the Hilton Garden Inn right in downtown Napa. I’m sure I could get better rates by planning ahead, but this was a bit of a spontaneous change of destination. The traffic was pretty light getting there. I checked in at about 8. I promptly went down to the hotel bar and drank a bottle of wine for dinner. I have no appetite. I sat at the bar and watched folks come and go.

All couples.

I’ve been dumped before. But I’ve never been hurt like this before. God, where did I go wrong? What have I done to deserve this? OK, gentle reader, I won’t go over that again and again. But it keeps playing in my head. I was so close. Why am I the chopped liver boy?

OK. ‘Nuff whining. I know it gets tiresome.

Once the bottle was gone I went up stars to take a shower and go to sleep. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours I went back downstairs and had a couple of whiskeys (no minibar in the room). I don’t know that it helped all that much. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 a.m. I woke about 7, and stared out the window trying to understand what happened. I spent most of the morning hungover and in a sleep deprivation fog. I ate a small breakfast and then drove north for a while. Up route 29 to Calistoga and then beyond. Driving is a bit calming.

I found myself way the heck north of Napa. There was a park – I can’t remember the name – but it had a big grassy area overlooking a valley. I sat there for a while and stared off into space. Will I ever get over this? Will I ever be the same? Probably not.

The sun was getting low in the sky. I got back in the truck and drove south. I hadn’t abused any alcohol yet today, and I wanted to start off doing it well. I drove to L’auberge du Soleil, a really great restaurant North of Napa, with a great bar that overlooks the valley. I thought it might do me some good.

I walked in and asked for a seat at the bar. The bartender asked me if I was expecting someone. I said yes, but not for a while and asked for the wine list. I ordered a bottle of the cheapest merlot on the list. Of course, here cheapest isn’t all that cheap. I’m going to run out of money if this goes on for much longer. I don’t even care. I’ll sit under a bridge and drink thunderbird.

After a while I noticed an attractive lady arrive at the bar. Again, in this romantic couples oriented place, the bartender asked her if she was alone. She said she was. She was two seats down from me. I told her, in the most joking voice that I could muster, that sitting alone here was frowned upon.

At this, her chin wrinkled and a tear welled up in her eye her. She quickly regained her composure and asked “Well, what’s your excuse?” Rather hostilely.

“Sorry”, I said, “I’ve had a bad year so far. That was inexcusable of me – quite insensitive.” I continued to apologize profusely. The pain has turned me into a jerk. I offered her a glass of my merlot. The bartender immediately produced a glass. I poured her one.

“Thanks, don’t worry about it. I’m OK. It’s just.. I mean…” she stammered “Oh, hell. It’s my husband.” She downed half the glass. “This”, she paused and her eyes welled up again, “is our 20^th wedding anniversary and he is with his mistress.”

Wow. OK. This was not what I was expecting. At all.

“His company” she said - a tear rolled down her cheek. “It consumes him. It means more to him to spend time running that damn business than to be with me on our 20^th and last anniversary.” She spat out the word “last”

Again, wow. Not what I was expecting. I looked at the bartender. She was wide eyed and rapt. I guess even for a barkeep this is pretty unusual stuff.

I looked back at her and held out my hand and said “Hi, I’m Rich,” giving her the most winning smile that I could manage.

She laughed and sobbed at the same time and held out her hand and said “I’m Helen. I didn’t mean in unload on you like that. ‘Rich’ as in Richard? That’s cute”

“Hi Helen.”

“So what’s your story? Why are you here alone and cranky?”

“Well, it’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time. And I already dumped on you.”

“Don’t say ‘dumped’, please” I gave her the whole story – from Sarah to Lynn. It felt good to talk it out.

It turned out that she had planned this trip with her husband to Napa from the east coast for their 20^th anniversary. Her husband, a compulsive work-a-holic was in the throes of, well, business, and decided to stay home (and I thought I make stupid decisions when it comes to women). She was so pissed that she decided to go anyway. The kids are old enough to take care of themselves, they have enough money to live well, and this was to be their together time.

In the middle of trading stories we moved to the patio, where 2 heater lamps were immediately lit, fresh water produced and clean wine glasses brought out. This place really has good service. I made a mental note to tip well.

The evening was winding down, we had found that misery loves company and connected in some way. She mentioned that she had a hot tub on her patio, and it seemed a waste not to take advantage of it. I immediately agreed – it was getting cold and I love hot tubs. I decided to get another bottle of the cheapest, well, most inexpensive (nothing is cheap at this place) Merlot to take back to her room. She asked the waiter for an alternate selection – she has really good taste. She picked up my check and signed it to her room. I protested, but was incredibly grateful, as this dinner probably cost more than my hotel room for the weekend.

We giggled and stumbled up to her room – which was a cottage, probably bigger then any apartment I have ever lived in. It was amazing. She went into the bedroom and asked me to get some glasses and pour some wine and meet her on the patio. She came out in a one piece bathing suit, and said “I bet you don’t have trunks” she frowned.

“No, I hadn’t planned on swimming this trip. I’m not really shy – but I don’t want to offend you.” I inhaled expectantly.

“Let me check and see if I have anything. I may have some shorts that will fit you.” She went back into the bedroom. “You are probably a bit skinnier than I am.” She came out with a pair of unisex athletic shorts. “Here, you can wear these.”

I really thought she had lured me up here to sleep with me. Silly me. Overly optimistic, perhaps. What’d I miss? Anyway, the hot tub with some good company and good wine was soothing enough for my broken soul.

I poured the wine and set it outside near the hot tub on the patio. The view and setting were spectacular. This place must be really expensive. I changed into her shorts. (OK, no jokes about getting into her pants – that’s too easy.) The shorts were serviceable but loose. I pulled on the rich terrycloth robe provided by the hotel and went out to hot tub.

The water was warm and wonderful, and I was quite drunk. I was starting to worry about the sleeping arrangements. I could always sleep in the truck, but I bet the hotel frowns on that sort of thing, probably more than it does for single folks in the bar. I’m betting that security trolls the parking lots more than once a night. I really didn’t want to spend the money that it would cost to get a room here. Maybe she'd let me sleep on her couch.

We drank and talked some more. Another bottle was dead. She asked if I wanted any more. I told her that it was up to her. I was enjoying her company more than I enjoyed anything in the last – it seems like forever, but it was only – four weeks. She proposed some brandy. I got up to get it, but she told me to sit down. She went in to get it.

The lights went out and she returned with two brandy snifters. When she pulled off her robe I saw she had left the bathing suit behind. She gave me a long kiss, and ran her hand down my side. My eyes are pretty good in the dark. I’m not sure what she was so shy about.

We went back to the bedroom and made love. And for the first time since, well, you know, I fell blissfully to sleep - with my arms wrapped around her.

I woke at about 4 in the morning. Still half drunk, but with the pain intruding again. I went to the living room (this place is really huge) to stare out the window. How can this hurt so much? This on top of that the pangs from “Our lady of perpetual guilt” (yeah, I was raised catholic) were starting to sink in. I think I hit 5 of the seven deadlies tonight. Maybe six. I took two whiskey miniatures from the bar (not a mini bar – this was a real bar), poured them into a highball and drained it in two swallows.

Helen came out from the bedroom after about 15 minutes. “Hey, are you OK?” she asked quietly.

“No, but I’m better than I have been in weeks. Thank you. Thank you so much”

She rubbed my back. “No, Thank you. I’m a little better too.”

We made love again, and then I slept to about 10:00 a.m.

----------------------------

I woke when I heard the shower running. I went into the bathroom. She was in the glassed in shower stall. “Aaagh” she screamed. “What are you doing?” She frantically covered herself.

“You are really beautiful.” I said. I wasn’t lying and I wasn’t drunk.

“For an old lady. Out!” She ordered.

I ducked out behind the door. “For anyone” I yelled.

I dressed and went to the truck to retrieve my clean clothes and bathroom stuff.

-----------------------------

After a nice Sunday brunch in the hotel restaurant, we decided to check me out of my hotel and do some wine tasting. I walked her out to my truck. “You drive a truck?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. What did you think?”

“I didn’t think MetroSexuals drove trucks. You listen to Jazz, not country. Your fingernails are manicured, aren’t they?”

“Uh, yeah, but it was a special occasion. They’re not usually.” I think that was the first time I was accused of being a ‘metro-sexual’ – at least to my face.

“I had you pegged for a Lexus, not a BMW – you’re too laid back. You’re young, so maybe the entry model.”

“You’re right, actually, I would like to drive one.” I told her about my hit and run episode and the reason for buying the behemoth truck. I know the luxury cars are probably safer, but mass has significant advantages in a crash.

“Let’s take my car” she said. It turned out to be a rented Jaguar (Hertz, prestige collection). It was really nice. She drove.

We went back to my hotel and I checked out. Then we went to visit a few wineries. We ended at Sterling in Calistoga. I really like that winery – the wines are pretty good (although, they could be better, given their resources) but the tasting room in awesome. Sarah and I used to go there a lot.

After that we went back to her hotel and made love one last time in the late afternoon, and had a room service dinner (which was really good). It was 8 and I needed to leave. “Let’s stay in touch” I said. OK, yeah, I have issues on letting go.

She gave me a crooked smile. “Oh Rich, it would never work out”

Why do people keep telling me this? “Why not?” I asked.

“Beside the fact that you are almost 20 years younger than me, and we live on different coasts?”

OK, if you want to go with the obvious. “It’s closer to ten, and I travel a lot.” She gave me a skeptical look. “It’s not the sex – it’s you.” I said. “We don’t have to have an affair – I just want to hear from you from time to time. You made me laugh at a time when I forgot how to do that”

“Rich, it would be a really bad idea.”

“You’re not leaving him, are you?”

“Well, it’s not like he cheated on me.” Ouch. Pangs of guilt? Perhaps. I didn’t mean to complicate her life. We talk for a bit more and then we kissed and hugged one last time.

I left her my e-mail address and phone numbers. She didn’t reciprocate. I have a sad feeling that I will never hear from her again.

Hey, I think I just got dumped again -- although you really can’t get dumped by a one nighter.

This year sucks.

I really needed Helen – I was lucky to find her.

It was such a long drive home. I was dead tired, but I knew I won’t sleep well that night.

I need to get out of here

I need a vacation. I need to sit on a white sand beach in the south pacific. Feel the warm tradewinds in my hair. Listen to the waves crash on the beach. I need to get right in the head - get back to normal.

(cue scratching record player sound)

But that's not gonna happen. I have a new job and no vacation time. I work most weekends.

I'm going to take the weekend off and go up to Mendocino. The weather has turned nice here in Northern California.

I hope it will be enough.

Bad Idea

So on Friday night I took Lynn out for dinner at McCormick and Kuleto’s in San Francisco. I know, profoundly bad idea. But we set up this date - vernal equinox - before the ugliness and she said she still wanted to see me. What can I say? I'm weak. We have (or had) one more date scheduled - well, more than a date - it is our trip to the British Virgin Islands. She's decided that it probably wouldn't be much fun, so I get to cancel all those plans.

Anyway M&K's is in a kind of in a touristy area. It's not my first choice in restaurants when visiting the city, but Lynn really likes the food there – the view is not bad if the fog isn’t in (which it wasn’t).

I ducked out of work early – at about 5:30 and went to Lynn’s apartment in Los Gatos. She was in the parking lot, washing her car. I came up behind her and called out, “That’s boyfriend work! You shouldn’t be doing that.”

She picked up the hose and playfully threatened to squirt me.

“Hey, hey” I protested.

“We are going to be out all weekend.” She said, referring to her plans with her new boyfriend, Tim. OK, that I didn’t need to know. And so what? He should still wash it – if he was any kind of a gentleman. I washed her car when I was her boyfriend.

I helped her finish drying the car and pick up her rags and we went back to her apartment. “I need to shower. Sorry I’m running late. Can you call the restaurant and get a later reservation?”

“Sure, no problem.” We went inside. The thing that really hit me was the smell of the apartment. Smells can trigger memories, especially emotion laden ones. It brought back a flood of memories and feelings. It left a hole in the pit of my stomach. This was going to hurt a lot more than I thought. It was hard to believe that we were together here for less than a week.

There were a lot more artifacts of Tim around the apartment. Some of his clothes, motorcycle gear, some books. Lynn went into the bedroom and got her dress. Then she went into the bathroom and closed the door and pushed it hard to make sure it was closed tight. “You can get yourself a glass of wine if you like.” She called through the door. I went to the kitchen and checked the wine rack and found it filled with a lower grade of wine than I had left – most in the $5 to $10 range, and not even good selections for the money. Well, at least she’s drinking crappy wine with him. I sat on the love seat in the living room and clicked on the TV and tried not to think about her in the shower as I heard the water running.

She came out of the bathroom fully dressed and went into the bedroom to put on makeup. After about 15 minutes she was ready to go. We took her car newly cleaned car. I drove.

“So how do you celebrate the equinox? Do you give presents?” She asked. Friday was the vernal equinox - and the pretense for our date.

“Um, uh, usually I just have a nice dinner.”

“You don’t really celebrate the equinox, do you?”

“No.” Although I do note the arrival of the new season, it’s not really something that I would call celebrating in the classic holiday sense.

“Then why did you tell me that?”

“I would have said or done anything to have another day with you.” She didn’t say anything. So I said it for her. “Sounds desperate and needy, huh?”

“Rich, you’re sweet. And I do love you. And you can spend time with me whenever you want. You don’t need to make up excuses.”

“Thanks.” That made me feel a little bit better. But I knew that I had set back my recovery from clinical depression by at least a month.

Dinner was weird, I was there, but somehow not there. It felt like I was watching someone else go out with Lynn. She talked about her new job and the folks she is working with. I filled her in on the folks I was now working with and funny anecdotes about them. I probably mentioned Kristen more than I should have. And, then again, I don’t know why I’m worried about that.

“I’m going away the weekend after next.” I said.

“Where?”

“Up to Mendocino. There is a hotel there overlooking the harbor. I found it on my last trip up there. It’s beautiful – good for the soul.”

“It sounds nice.”

“You want to come?”

“No, Rich.”

The conversation dragged – we were not talking about the obvious. Finally, she said “Rich, we really shouldn’t see each other for a while.”

I was obviously crushed – but I know this is the right thing. “Why? Because you and I sit around drinking and complaining about our lovers, and you don’t want to hear me bitch and complain about you?” I stated the obvious, I thought.

“No, Rich, I don’t care if you bitch about me - really, I kinda deserve it. But that’s not the point. You need to get over me. The best way to do that is to not see me for a while. This is the best thing for you. I'd give you the same advice about any woman.”

“Well, I guess I’ll give you a call after I get crushed by another girl.”

“Woman.” She corrected me. “And Rich, some advice from a friend. Don’t get involved with Kristen.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem. She’s pretty happy with her current relationship – which has been going on now for quite a few years.”

“Rich, you have a crush on her.”

“Is it obvious?” Maybe, a little, maybe.

“I can read you like a book.” She smiled at me.

I picked at my dinner, eating about half of it – which is par for the course lately. Lynn enjoyed her dinner and had desert, which I poked at with my spoon since she asked me to help her eat it.

We were driving home on 101 out of San Francisco. It was about 11:00 but there was stop and go traffic - probably an accident. “Let’s have sex.” I said suddenly.

“Now?” she asked.

“Well, when we get to your place.”

She laughed. “No, Rich, I don’t think it would work.”

“Only if Tim has broken something on you. Because I still work just fine.”

She laughed again and put her hand on my shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “No, everything is working fine. I…”

“Good.” I interrupted her, “because I would never forgive Tim if he broke you like that.”

“Rich, we need to spend some time apart. You’ll get over me.”

“You know, you ruined my life. You got me fired, you cost me my best friend, my drinking buddy and my best girl.”

“Woman.’ She corrected me again. “Yeah, I did. But you have a new job – and you’re not working for Dave anymore. Probably a way better job. And you’ll find a new woman. You'll find a new drinking buddy.”

“Let’s have sex. It will be just sex – nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why not? You've been with Tim for about 3 weeks now. Let me do to Tim what he did to me. Let’s see how he handles it.”

“Rich.”

“Don’t you think he’s willing to share you? You can’t have just one guy, right?”

“No, it’s just Tim for now.”

Oh god. I did not need to hear that. OK, now my depression will last at least a year. I really thought that I would be physically sick. I didn’t think that I could have felt worse than on that Saturday morning when I walked out of her apartment for the last time. I was wrong. “So you couldn’t be with just me, but you can be with just Tim?”

“Rich, it’s different with Tim. We started differently. I can’t explain it.”

“Don’t even try.” I said bitterly. I really though about ramming her car into the median or the car in front of us. I though about just getting out of the car and just walking away. Dinner with Lynn had been such a bad idea.

“Rich, don’t be like that…” She pleaded, her hand was still on my shoulder.

We drove in silence for a while – inching forward with the slow flow of traffic.

“Marry me.” She said.

“What?” I was shocked, but what else is new.

“Marry me.”

I looked at her. She was so beautiful. She was wearing a flowing red dress, her silky black hair spilling over her shoulders. I looked into her beautiful eyes. A tear in the corner of one. She was never more beautiful than she was right now.

“Watch the road!” she yelled.

I slammed on the brakes and just barely managed to avoid rear ending the BMW in front of us. I had more adrenaline in my system than anyone should. I was shaking. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said. I glanced over at her again, quickly this time. “Marry me or I will keep sleeping with Tim.”

I sat stupidly for a minute. This needed to sink in. “Marry me or I will keep sleeping with someone else” was not exactly the proposal that every man dreams of. A horn brought me back to reality. The traffic had moved on. “When?” I asked driving on.

“Now. Today. Let’s drive up to Reno and do it.”

I sat stupidly for another minute. “But..” I couldn’t think of anything to say. It was like my brain had turned to oatmeal. This was some kind of emotional overload. I was still shaking – a normal reaction when a man is faced with marriage.

“I’ve just been through a horrible break up. I think you can relate. I could take the attitude that ‘all men are scum’ and have nothing to do with them for a year or so. Or I can fuck everything with pants. I figured why should I deprive myself of some good sex? But getting married would work, too. It’s just crazy enough. Marry me.”

“But..” again I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Can you say anything but ‘but’?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll marry you. Let’s go. Now.”

“Rich, you don’t want to get married.” She waited. In hindsight, she was waiting for me to disagree. The fact is I don’t want to get married. It’s just not something that guys really want to do. But if I were to marry, she would be the one. I want her to be the one. But she’s hurt me so bad – she can’t be the one. “Rich, I’m not going to give up my life just to play house with you. This is the problem, Rich. You don’t want me forever, you just want a girlfriend.” She put emphasis on the word “girl”. “You didn’t move in with me, you didn’t ask me to move in with you. You hardly reacted when I slept with someone else. I’m just a toy to you. You want me forever, I’m yours. But if not, let me go.”

Hardly reacted? What did she need? For me to hit her? For me to scream like a maniac? She couldn’t tell I loved her? What we had was meaningless?

“I’ll marry you.” I said weakly. Too weakly.

“Be serious, Rich.”

“No, let’s go now. I’ll marry you.” I said more positively. In hindsight, and after some time to reflect on it, I should have just turned the car around and drove to Reno. I was in the driver’s seat - literally. I was about to lose her again, because I would do what she told me – because I listened to her. You’d think I would learn. As I write this I realize that I am the stupidest man in the world. Just because I am commitment phobic I lost the girl. Now I can’t blame Tim, and I can't blame her. This is all my fault. Of course, getting married to a girl, excuse me, woman that says “marry me or I’ll sleep with someone else” cannot be that start of blissful matrimony. Oh, hell, I am just justifying it to myself. Why can’t I think faster? Why did my brain turn to oatmeal?

“No, Rich.” She said. “Take me home.” I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

Drunk and Kissin' a Dog

You must be one hurtin’ puppy” Maurizio said with genuine empathy in his voice. At least somebody loves me.

We were at HMB (Half Moon Bay Brewery). It was dark and cold outside. It’s Monday, so there is no live music. We are at a table inside. I was drinking the pale ale, Maurizio the porter. I had finished telling Maurizio the story of the past month or so. Maurizio took a long swig of beer. We’re just having beer. Glen, the chief barkeep is here tonight. It’s slow, so he listens in and comments now and then. Like any good bar owner, he keeps our glasses full and acts like he cares about my troubles. I'm guessing hes heard his share of heartbreak stories.

“I hate Tim.” I said bitterly.

“Why?” Maurizio asked. “He didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done.”

“Huh?”

“In fact, you did exactly what he did.”

“Well, not really.”

“Rich, you’re just justifying this to yourself. You would have done exactly what he did.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“What did Tim do to you?”

“He took the love of my life.”

“How?”

“He slept with her.”

“As I recall, you did the same thing.”

“What?” Now he was really starting to make me mad.

“Weren’t you putting the moves on Lynn while she was with Jim?”

“It was over between them.”

“Well, you were getting a little tonsil action around Christmas. That was well before they broke up. And correct me if I’m wrong here, but you were sleeping with her while she was still living with Jim.” I was getting mad at him. Mostly because I knew he was right. This was karma. I did it to Jim. Tim did it to me. The only thing that could make this right was for someone to do it to Tim.

“Think about it from Tim’s perspective. He starts working with a new sexy girl. He asked her out to dinner. She says OK. She invites him back to her place for a cup of coffee after dinner. One thing leads to another. Next thing you know, love conquers all.” He paused – looking a little bored and irritated. “You’re not mad at Tim. And I think you know this.”

“Yeah, but I love Lynn. I can’t blame her.”

“Give it time, buddy. I’m going to give you some advice. You’re probably not going to take it. You just went through the worst kind of break-up. You got dumped during the exciting young love phase of the relationship. She dealt you one serious ration of hurtin’. You need to work though the seven stages of grief. Shock, denial, anger, drinking, more drinking, and I forget what else.”

“You know, she didn’t even try to hide it from me”

“Is that worse?”

“I think it is. Think about it. When someone hides it, at least they don’t want to hurt you. She didn’t even care if I was hurt or not. She didn’t care if I stayed or not. It was truly the opposite of love. When someone breaks up because they are angry at least they still care, there are still feelings. She had nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. Sure, some folks hide it because they don’t want to hurt their partner. For others, they know the cheating will hurt their partner, and they are afraid of facing the anger that comes from that. They’re cowards. Some really want to be out of the relationship, but they are too weak to end it. They move on anyway. They are real cowards, the biggest kind of jerks. Lynn was honest with you. Give her some credit for that. That had to be hard.”

“But why didn’t she care? How is it that she let me go so easily?”

“Rich, one day this will all be in perspective. You need to give it some time. I think it was hard for her to do this – harder than you think. Don’t get me wrong, it is a lot harder on you. But this wasn’t easy on her either.”

“You know, the funny thing is if I didn’t care about her, I could have shared her. Here’s this hot babe who could be an underwear model and I get to have sex with her 3 nights a week, and I don’t have to take out the trash or ‘relate’ to her or anything. When I get tired of her I just walk away, no guilt, no drama. What guy wouldn’t want that?”

“Hell, I’d be up for that. She’s not my type, but – you know - with the right guy that would be awesome.”

“So why couldn’t I do it?”

“You were in love.” He looked at me with a sad smile, “you are in love.”

“If only I had James Bond’s confidence.”

“I think she needs this now. You played this the best you could.”

“No. She said if I had just moved in she would have been mine.”

“Yeah, I read your blog. I’m not so sure. Things would have been different.”

“Then why would she say that? To torture me?”

“Rich, you gotta move on. She’s hurting, too. Yes, she’s being a selfish bitch, but haven’t you been selfish from time to time? We all have.”

“Intellectually, I know that noting has significantly changed from last month. In January she was sleeping with Jim – and I didn’t have her. Today, she is sleeping with Tim – and I don’t have her. The only thing that changed was the guy she’s with. Just one stinkin’ letter. Intellectually, I know that Tim didn’t do anything to me. It was her that I should be mad at. Emotionally, it’s a whole different story.”

“It’s not an intellectual exercise. It’s pointless to look at it that way.”

“You know, it’s not that she slept with him. She has a certain zest for life. I know this.”

“That’s part of why you fell for her.”

“And it’s not that she’s gonna sleep with him again. It’s that I’m losing her. But the part that really hurts so much is how she can so casually dismiss me.” I wiped my eye, holding back a tear. “Have you ever been dumped like this? I mean, right in the beginning when it is still fresh and new and wonderful?”

“Yeah. A long time ago.”

“You got over it?”

“No. Not really. I still carry the scars – it changes you. You never really get over something like this. It’s like your first love – you’ll remember it forever. Both the good and the bad - mostly the good. But you get past it. The pain will fade”

“Will I ever be the same?”

“No. But you’ll survive. And you’ll grow. And don’t ever do it to anyone else. And if you're smart, you'll learn from this. You'll be able to avoid this next time it comes at you.”

“What was the advice you were going to give me?”

“Give it a year. Don’t see Lynn - don't call her, don't e-mail her, don't text her. Don’t see other girls. Throw yourself into your work. Get a hobby. Get a dog. Anything. Don’t take a lover for a while. It will be bad for you and bad for her.”

“I can’t go on without Lynn as my friend.”

“Yeah, Rich, you really can. At the moment, she's not much of a friend. There’s an old movie – I can’t remember the title – but this old guy, I think it was Eddie Albert, is giving some advice to a kid, I seem to remember Gary Busey. Anyway, the kid is having problems with his lover. And the old guy is giving him some advice. He says ‘you can have a dog for a friend, and you can have whiskey for a friend, but when you have a woman for a friend – you are going to end up drunk and kissin’ your dog.’"

"Girls make wonderful friends” I protested.

"Yeah, they do. But like I said, she's not much of a friend now"

A Big Happy Pill

According to the good folks at Zoloft.com, if I don't snap out of this by tomorrow, I'm clinically depressed. I should consult a mental health professional and get them to prescribe me a big happy pill!

I don't want a pill.

I want Lynn back.

I'm quite sure that my alcohol consumption over the past few weeks surely qualifies me as an alcoholic, too.

Good times.

Can't eat, Can't sleep

I’ve been trying not to just drown my sorrows, and I've been somewhat successful. Funny thing is that when I get up in the morning, even if I haven’t been drinking, I still feel like I have a hangover. It’s like the hangover is not a result of the alcohol, but from the lack of quality sleep.

I sleep 2 or 3 hours a night. Toss and turn for a couple of hours. I take brisk walks through the neighborhood, which relives some of the stress and gives me time to think. I also am doing a lot more paddling – solo. I know that is dangerous – but the best time to go is before work. I'm not going to find a paddle buddy who wants to get up at 4 something in the morning. I rarely sleep past 5:00. So I can get in a good 90 minute paddle, come home and shower and still make it to work before anyone else. Also, I’ve been throwing myself into my work. Pulling pretty long hours. Once I get into the zone, I can concentrate on work and not think about Lynn.

This heartache is like a cancer. It's eating away at my soul. It's turning me into a jerk - I'm cranky nasty - I snap at everyone. It's sucking the joy from my life and everything that I do. I want this to be over.
.

Things will never be the same again

I arrived at Lynn’s apartment a little before 9. I brought a bottle of wine – a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Yes, she already had plenty of my wine, but I don’t like to arrive empty handed. I also didn’t want to know what she and Tim had enjoyed. I came to the door and realized, painfully, that I no longer had a key. Tim had it, I’m sure.

She let me in. I noticed a new picture on the wall. She told me later that it was a housewarming gift from Tim. Lame. I get her $300 worth of wine, and he buys her a $12 picture from a drug store. I’m serious, it’s an 8 by 10 cheesy picture of a waterfall. There is a motorcycle helmet on her bookcase. I know that Tim drives some kind of motorcycle. Damn.

She was just finishing up preparing dinner. We sat down to eat on the floor of her eating nook. She still had no furniture. We chatted about nothing significant through most of dinner.

“You know, guys usually show more appreciation for my cooking.”

I realized that this was the first time she cooked for me since leaving Jim. I ate there a lot, but I usually cooked (she occasionally did.) Her cooking was good, and I usually showed some appreciation. Today I just had no appetite.

“Um, yeah, this is good. Thanks for dinner.” I said without enthusiasm.

“Yeah, right. Thanks for the compliment.” She said with sarcasm.

“When guys gush over how great your food is, they are usually trying to get into your pants, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you know how many women have told me that I am the biggest and the best? Whenever they want me I am the best at everything. Once things end, they tell me they faked all their orgasms. So I can be honest with you. – we’re not sleeping together anymore – your cooking is good, but it's not great. I really do appreciate the dinner, though”

“You’re welcome. I’m still your friend, you know” she smiled genuinely. Then she frowned and sighed. “This is so hard.”

“What?”

“Dinner with you.”

“Why? Is this your pity dinner? The one you do with all your dumped boyfriends?”

“Not all of them.” She shrugged.

Just the ones that inspire guilt, I guessed.

We finished dinner and I helped her clean up. We took some wine to the loveseat in her living room and sat down.

“You know, you could have just moved in and had me” she told me.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“Move in here?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“You told me that you didn’t want that. You told me over and over again. You said you didn’t want me to move in. That we couldn’t be together. That you needed space.” I realized that I was almost yelling.

“I mean if you were here, I never would have started with Tim.” She said as if she hadn’t heard me. Oh my god. That cut me to the core. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong. How I could have played things better. How I could have kept her. I listened to her. That was my problem. I needed to ignore what she said and just do what I wanted. I always thought that listening to women and doing with they asked was the right thing. I always thought that that would be the best way to a woman’s heart. Serves me right for trying to be a sensitive man of the new millennium. Women never fall for sensitive guys. I know this. How could I fall for that trap? Women want cave men.

“So I was supposed to ignore what you said, and just move in? Do everything you told me not to? Is that what you want?”

“When men really want something, they go for it.”

Oh, OK. “No” means “maybe”. “Maybe” means “screw my brains out”. It really crushed me to know how close I had been. It really hurt to know that being a gentleman cost me the girl. Yup, guys. Be a jerk and you get the girl. Do what you’re asked and you’re a wimp – they’ll show you the door. Why are women like this - I'll never understand.

I began to wonder where we really stood. “Does Tim know that we stopped sleeping together?”

“That’s none of your business” she replied tartly. I didn’t think about it at the time, but if it wasn’t any of my business that I knew that he knew that I wasn’t sleeping with Lynn, then it wasn’t any of his business knowing that I wasn’t sleeping with Lynn. I realized that I was really being pushed out from her life.

“Yes” she said after a short pause, somewhat sheepishly. Well, I guess it was my business after all. My heart sank.

“So he knows that he won.”

“It’s not a competition. I’m not a football field.”

I tried as hard as I could to see if there was any chance to win her back. We talked in circles for hours. Finally, I said “I just want things to be the same as they were before Tim”

“I can’t remember what that was like.”

“That was just a week ago. You have to remember, it was wonderful. We were in love, and you know it.”

“It can’t be the way it was.”

“Yes, it can. Just stop seeing him. Just end it.”

“No, it wouldn’t matter. Things can never be the same as they were.” And she started sobbing.