Goodbye, Gourmet

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

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

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

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

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

The confession

"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 Jealousy

"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

“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.

She got the job

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

Last Night

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.

That Hurts

I wanted to scream. I was in a meeting with Kristen and some of the engineers. We were discussing a problem that we had run into with the lesser supported browsers and an esoteric XML directive. It was 6:15 and things weren’t looking like they were going to wrap up soon. I had dinner reservations for 8:00 at the Fog City Diner in San Francisco with my ex-fiance, Sarah.

One of the persistent problems that Sarah and I had was that she felt that I held work to be more important than her. I don’t think this was true. To be successful, we need to be accommodating to work from time to time. It seems to me an unsolvable paradox – women want men who are successful, but they don’t want them to work too hard at it. At least not so hard that it impacts them. The reality is that if you want to be professionally successful it takes sacrifices – and sometimes this will impact your family and loved ones. Anyway, the point of all of this is that Sarah would be really put out if I were to call and say I’m in a meeting, can we dine at 9? It just wouldn’t be a good idea.

At 6:25, 5 minutes after I felt was the latest time that I could leave I begged out of the meeting – saying that I had an appointment that I needed to get to. I braced myself for the tirade from Kristen about putting in the effort needed. She just said, “OK, Rich. We’re almost done here. We’ll e-mail you what we come up with. See you tomorrow.” Maybe my offering of a bottle of wine to the marketing goddess was viewed favorably. I didn’t stop to question my good luck – and ran for the truck.

It was peak rush hour time in San Jose and I needed to make it up to the City in about an hour. My plan was back streets to 280 and then go as fast as traffic would permit (80?) until I got into SF where I would probably hit the tail end of their rush hour traffic. I reached 280 in about 20 minutes and drove between 80 and 90 all the way up the peninsula. Sarah was staying at the Le Meridien.

I got to the hotel in record time. It was 7:40 – the restaurant was a 10 minute walk away, I wouldn’t be late – well not more than a minute or two – we could always take a taxi. I pulled into the hotel valet parking area, and parking was sold out. Shit. There is a public lot on Clay st, but this would take at least 5 minutes. I broke out the cell phone, and called Sarah.

“Hi, it’s Rich.”

“Hi”

“Hey, I’m just outside the hotel, but the lot is full – hotel guests only. I’m going to pull into the lot under the Embarcadero center. I should be there in 10 minutes.”

“OK, I’m in the lobby. I’ll see you in a few.”

I pulled into the lot and drove down towards hell, winding down the circular ramps through the parking lot. I grabbed the first space I saw. I ran for the exit stairs and climbed them 3 at a time. Winded, I came out on Battery Street, and ran for the hotel. I checked my watch – it was 7:40. I ran across Battery St and leapt for the sidewalk, and painfully missed. The front and side of my right foot landed just on the edge of the curb - the rest of the foot meeting air and falling. My ankle hit the street before my foot and down I went. The pain was intense.

I stood up, checking my ankle, it was bleeding slightly and my sock was badly torn, but I was late. I limped into the lobby. It was 17 minutes before the hour as I entered the lobby. There she was – wearing a beautiful white and lavender cocktail dress – sitting in an overstuffed leather chair. She rose and walked toward me. “You’re limping.” She said.

“Hi. You look beautiful.” I realized that in my rush I left her rose in the truck. She always loved pink roses and I didn’t want to come empty handed – but I bought just one as I didn’t want to seem like I was trying to win her over again.

“Thank you. Hey – you look great too. That’s a new look for you. Nice.” I was wearing the best new clothes from my makeover. Fortunately, the fall didn’t ruin the pants.

“You like it? Joe gave me a makeover.”

“You mean like ‘Queer Eye’?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the occasion?”

"Oh, uhm, I think he got tired of seeing me so shaggy.”

She raised an eyebrow. Man, I never could lie to her – but I wasn’t going to tell her about Lynn. She always seemed a bit jealous about my relationship with her. They had met. This would not be a good thing.

“We better get going. We’ll be late for dinner.”

With the hurt foot – I suggested a taxi even though it was only about 8 blocks to the restaurant. We got a booth by the window with a view of the cable cars going up and down the embarcadero. I ordered the mac and cheese and ahi appetizers and a bottle of wine.

“Why are you in town? What’s the occasion?” I asked

“Oh, I’m on my way up to Seattle. I’ve got a job interview there.” She told me a bit about the company and the job.

“When did you go back to Hawaii?”

“About 6 months ago. I got a temporary job with the state. I’ve been staying with my folks.”

“Why’d you leave California?”

“Oh, the job wasn’t working out. I needed a break. Needed to spend some time sitting on Ala Moana beach."

“I guess those are good enough reasons.” Maybe I should go back for a 6 month break.

“So, you wanted to know why?” She asked after lull in our conversation.

Well, no not really – it hurt, but it was drowned out by the pain of being dumped by Lynn. I was over her now. Frankly the reason doesn’t matter to me anymore. “Well, no you don’t have to go into it. You did what you needed to, and it looks like you’re doing great.” I hoped this would discourage her from going into it.

She plowed on, ignoring my answer. “Rich, you really didn’t want to marry me, did you?” She wasn’t really asking, it was more of an accusation.

I tried really hard not to roll my eyes. Not again. “Yes, I was really ready to marry you.”

“I wish I could believe you. I really do. But I don’t. It really seemed like you were going to marry me because I pushed you into it. I mean, it was so easy to get you to do things. All I had to do was to ask and smile. You’d even do things that I know you didn’t want to do. You never complained. Do you remember that day we drove Karen all over the place?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You wanted to go to that party down in Santa Cruz with Jason and his friends – you missed it just because I asked you to drive her around.”

“She needed help, and she was your friend.”

“And my brother’s graduation party. You spent hours cleaning up after that.”

“Well, he wasn’t in any shape to help. You know, I’d have done anything for you. Not because I’m a pushover – it’s because I loved you. That’s what the whole marriage thing is supposed to be about.”

“You didn’t want to get married. Not at first. You always avoided the subject. You were dragging your feet like crazy.”

“I did want to get married. I mean guys don’t see marriage the same way as women. Look at any magazine store – there are 50 different bride’s magazines for sale, and only one groom’s magazine – for the guy who is such a wimp that he feels compelled to read it with his finance. Of course, you’ll find 50 porn magazines for men. It’s like weddings are porn for women.”

She laughed at that. “I just wore you down. You were just doing it for me. I didn’t want you to marry me just because I nagged you into it. I needed to be wanted – to really be desired. You weren’t giving me that. I just couldn’t get married to someone who didn’t want to. Rich, your heart wasn’t in it. I could tell.”

OK from now on I am going to scream and yell so folks know what I mean. Although at some level she’s right, she was dragging me into it – but isn’t that the way it is with all guys?

“Let me ask you something” She said “would you have sex with a girl who didn’t want to have sex, but was just giving in to you? You nagged her enough that she finally gave in. Would you?”

“There are a lot of guys who would.” I’m pretty sure that’s a common tactic.

“No, would you?” She put an emphasis on the word “you”.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t. That’s one of the reasons I love you.” She paused. “But it’s the same thing. I couldn’t marry you just because I henpecked you into it. I felt so bad about forcing you into it and then backing out. I was so embarrassed.” She held a hand over her face. "I mean I was pushing so hard to get everything done -- and then I took a breath, and wondered why I was pushing so hard. Then I panicked."

“Wow. Is that why you wouldn’t answer my calls?”

“Yeah.”

“You really thought that I was dumb enough to marry you just because you nagged me? You think I would commit myself for life just because I got henpecked?” Wow, what a tragedy. I couldn’t believe it.

“Well, like I said, it was so easy to get you to do things. You’re so pushable.”

“It’s the blond hair right?”

She laughed. “No. I’d think you’re dumb even if you were bald.”

I don’t know if it’s the blond hair or not, but she always did think of me as a bit dim. Maybe this was the way things should have worked out.

“Why didn’t you tell me this? “ WTF, I’m supposed to read your mind?

“If I told you, you would have fixed it. I mean if I asked you to serenade me in my apartment from the parking lot you would have done it. If I asked you to send me a dozen roses to my office everyday for 2 weeks you would have done it. If I asked you to carry me away like at the end of “An Officer and a Gentleman” you would have barged through security picked me up and carried me out of the building. And it is wonderful that you would do those things, but…” she looked away “but I needed you to do them without being asked. It needed to come from your heart. I don’t want a guy who is willing to accept a ‘yes’. I need a guy who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. When I called off the wedding, you didn’t really try to get me back. You knew where I lived, you knew where I worked. You knew a lot of my friends. Rich, when we started out, you did all these crazy and creative things to get me to notice you. Do you remember when you sprinkled pink rose petals all over my office?”

“Yeah. Do you how hard it was to convince the security staff that I wasn’t stalking you?”

She laughed. “I think so.”

“Come to think of it, if you didn’t find me charming – that could have been seen as creepy and stalker like.”

“But, Rich, you were this wildly romantic and spontaneous guy. You could have been the one who doesn’t take no for an answer. And I wanted you to be that guy. It wouldn’t have surprised me to drive down (highway) 237 and see a billboard that said ‘Sarah, don’t leave me’ or to come out and find my car covered with a thousand ‘I love you’ stickers.”

“So you called off the wedding to see if I would chase you?”

“Rich, I know guys don’t really want to get married. But there are guys who know that someone is really right for them – and they show it. In the beginning you made me feel so special, and in the end – you didn’t, not at all. I didn’t call off the wedding to see if you would chase me. I called it off because the magic that we had was gone. And I didn’t want to live the rest of my life with guy who doesn’t make me feel special. Even if you would do anything I asked. Even though I do love you. Even though you are a great guy. I didn’t expect you to chase me. But I would have loved it if you did. I don’t know if that would have brought back the magic or not. If it didn’t I wouldn’t have married you anyway.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Rich, I need - and I deserve a guy that makes me feel special and who knows he really wants me. I know I’ll need to drag him to the altar. But he’ll be worth it.”

“That will be one lucky guy.” I smiled at her. “We couldn’t have had this conversation a year ago, could we?”

“No, we couldn’t. It would have been a mess.”

“God, you are so smart when it comes to matters of the heart. I seem to fumble through relationships. How did you get it all figured out so well?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised…”

Dinner was wonderful. We lingered over it until almost 11. We walked back to the hotel. On the way I ran (well, OK limped) down to the truck and got her rose. We went to the hotel bar for a nightcap. Sarah doesn’t really hold her liquor well – a glass of wine usually does her in. After a cognac she would be loopy.

After a drink we took the elevator up to her floor and I walked her back to her room. We stopped in front of it. “Thanks for calling me. I had a wonderful time tonight.” I leaned in to give her a gentlemanly kiss good night.

She leaned back momentarily and said “So have I, so far, anyway.” Then she leaned in to kiss me. She gave me a good hug and a real kiss. “Wow, you’ve been working out.” She said rubbing my shoulders. “You want to come in for a minute?”

What!?!? “Where are we going with this? Are we getting back together?”

“Why do we have to go anywhere? We are two consenting adults, we’re both currently unattached…”

“How do you know I’m unattached?”

“Oh, I have my spies…” she smiled at me.

I guess I was looking trepidatious, because she said, “You really don’t want to do this, do you?”

Nope, this is a really bad idea. “Well… I… “ I searched for the right words.

“Oh shit, Rich, I haven’t had sex for more than 6 months. Come on.”

Wow, you really know how to charm a guy. I wonder if a line like that would ever work on a girl? Someone try it and let me know. In her defense, she probably had had a bit too much to drink. And she is really cute when she does.

But I thought if I went through that door someone, somehow, would get hurt. It would probably be me, and it would probably hurt more than getting my balls caught in a vise. I also couldn’t help thinking that I was taking advantage of her in a weakened condition. If I did go through that door, it might be something that she would regret in the morning. But as any regular reader of my blog knows, I am both weak and stupid – especially where women are concerned.

I took the card key from her as she smiled and sniffed her rose. I opened the door and held it for her. I followed her in. She dropped her purse and the flower on the table in the entryway. She led me over to the bed. She turned off the room light and turned to kiss me. The smell of her hair and the taste of her lips brought back a rush of memories. Life with her was so good. And she was such a kind person when compared to Lynn. I started to kick myself for not getting that billboard off 237.

She started to unbutton my shirt. As she got to the belt line she pulled it from my pants and ran her fingers over my stomach. “Wow, you’re really been working out!” She ran her fingers over my stomach again, not sensually, but clinically, as a physician might. “You’ve got abs! You never told me this.” She turned on the light and leaned down for a good look. “Wow” she said slowly. I started to feel naked.

Since the breakup, I have been paddling my kayak between 20 and 22 miles per week. Each mile takes me about 1000 strokes. Each stroke, if performed correctly, involves the arms placing the paddle in the water, followed by a twist of the torso to move the paddle backwards, with a pull forward with the shoulder opposite the paddle in the water. This, effectively, is a short abdominal crunch. I’ve been doing at least 20,000 of these a week. It really is a good overall workout for the upper body. My muscles protested a lot in the beginning, but now they have built up quite a bit. At the same time, I have lost my appetite. I just have had no desire to eat. With the high calorie burn, and the low calorie intake I am down to about 3 ounces of body fat. My weight is up to almost 140 lbs, from a low of 132. I’m still heroin addict thin, but I do have some real muscle definition for the first time in my life. Anyway, what Sarah remembered as a nice soft underbelly is now a hard and well defined set of abdominals.

“I’ve been exercising quite a bit lately – mostly paddling my kayak.”

“It shows.” She undid my belt and let my trousers drop. I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of my pants, and went to remove my socks – one of which was torn and well crusted with dried blood. I excused myself to the bathroom – I turned off the light on my way.

I pulled the torn and bloody sock off. The ankle had been aching, but when I washed the blood off I could see that it was purple and swollen. It was really pretty gross. I'd post a picture of it, but it's too gross for the internet. This is going to take a while to heal. I’m glad I’m not a runner.

When I returned, I saw that Sarah had hung up her dress in the closet and was in the bed under the covers. I climbed in and relearned all of the curves of her body. It was a wonderful evening – but bittersweet, as I knew that she would be flying off to Seattle on Sunday night. I drifted happily off to sleep with my arm around her, her hand resting on my newly fascinating abs.

-----------

I woke as the light started to stream in the window. I was struck by a single disturbing thought. If she hadn’t had sex in over 6 months – it means she had someone after me. Sarah is not the kind of girl to hop into bed on the first date (at least she didn’t with me) that means she was seeing someone really soon after she dumped me. It took me almost 9 months to find someone.

I rolled over. I just didn’t want to think about this. She was an available consenting adult – I had no claim over her. It was none of my business. I just hated the thought that there might have been another guy that helped her make up her mind as she considered running from the altar. This was going to bug me for a while. I was left wondering if she gave me the whole story.

Later that morning – not able to sleep myself –I was watching her sleep. Why the hell did I ever let her get away? I thought seriously about what she had said last night. The magic had gone, but doesn’t every relationship fade a bit with time? Perhaps, but you should always make your partner feel special. I guess this is the lesson that life is trying to pound (oh so painfully) into my head. OK, I get it. I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out. Just make the pain go away –and bring me Tiffany the underwear model.

After, I’m not sure how long, she opened her eyes. She was facing me and she smiled this big grin. “Hey” I said.

“Hey, you. You’re a wonderful sight to wake up to.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” OK from here it gets syrupy and just too sweet – I’ll spare you so you don’t blow chunks on your keyboard. After few minutes she lifts up the sheets to look at my abs.

“That is sooo cool. I can’t believe you have abs. I’ve got to tell Laurel.”

“You tell your girlfriends about my body?”

“Well, no, not usually. But you never had anything worth mentioning before.”

“You rat!” I laughed and swung a pillow at her.

She pulled up the sheet again. “Wow” she said slowly again.

This was so good for my ego. Of course, blogging about it so much is kind of like bragging. So, enough said, she likes my stomach.

I got up and called Wayne (my boss) and told him I would be out sick today. Next I phoned room service and ordered a huge breakfast. I was really hungry. After it arrived we sat at the little rolling table in front of the window and enjoyed hot coffee and a big mess of breakfast with a view of the bay. Sarah looked at me incredulously “You can eat like that and stay thin? Life isn’t fair.”

“No, I’ve been on a special diet lately.”

“Oh, what one?”

“Oh, uhm, low fat – kind of a cardiac thing. Not getting any younger you know.”

“I haven’t seen any low fat eating.”

“Well, you’re here. That’s worth celebrating, right?”

I looked at her seriously. “Any regrets?” I asked.

She looked pensively out the window. Oh crap. I knew it. “Yeah” she said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I knew this was a bad idea. I just…”

“I have plenty of regrets – “ she interrupted “just, not about last night.” She laughed at me. I was so relieved.

We spent the day shopping and sight seeing like the old days. San Francisco is such a romantic city. We lunched at the restaurant in Nordstrom’s in Union Square. Sarah really enjoys shopping and Union Square is a target rich environment.

As it got later in the afternoon, I told her that I needed to go home to get some fresh clothes.

“So,” she asked me “you had a change of clothes, bathroom stuff, and condoms in your truck when you came to see me. Were you planning on getting lucky?” It was clear that she did not think that this was an appropriate plan.

“You know, after you dumped me, I did some alcohol abuse. OK, a lot of alcohol abuse. I ended up getting drunk a lot to dull the pain. But I didn’t want to drink and drive, so I started carrying a change of clothes in the truck in case I had one or two too many somewhere. I usually ended up drinking at Maurizio’s place or with Jim and Lynn – they would just put me up for the night. It was just more convenient to keep a fresh set of clothes in the truck. It just became a habit. Now if I’m out paddling with a friend, I can clean up and be social instead of having to run home.”

She crossed her arms, “and the condoms?” She raised an eyebrow in an accusing way.

“Well, ahhh, you dumped me, remember? I was an unattached consenting adult. Once or twice an opportunity came up. It’s always good to be prepared.”

“Huh” she said. “Once or twice.”

“Hey, last night you said you hadn’t had sex in 6 months. If my math is right I’m not the only one who was playing the field. So when exactly did you hook up with your new boy friend?”

“Don’t we need to go down to Mountain View to get you some fresh clothes?”

I love the way she blatantly changes the subject whenever she doesn’t want to answer a question. I laughed at her. At that moment I realized that she went back to Hawaii about 6 months ago – the same time she last had sex.

“Let’s see, he was dangerous, exciting – a bit of a bad boy”

“How did you know?” she asked with genuine puzzlement.

“And he hurt you, it ended badly.”

“How…” she was stunned.

“A lucky guess. A little deduction. I just figured he would be a pretty good contrast to me. I’m safe, rather predictable – dull as you once said. I’m the nice polite boy that you mom wants you to marry. Since you left me at the altar, I figured you would probably run off with someone exciting and wild. Someone who made your heart race.”

“He turned out to be kind of a jerk – but there never was a dull moment. Ho boy.” She sighed. “You’re pretty smart – for a blond guy.”

We went down to Mountain View. I gave her the nickel tour of my rented home. As we went through the kitchen she noticed the wine rack and commented how much she liked it. It was the same one that I had bought as a house warming gift for Lynn. After she tossed me out – I bought one of my own. It actually really bothers me now, as it just reminds me of her – but it is really cool looking.

Sarah wanted me to barbecue her a chicken for dinner. Of all the things that I cook – she always liked a simple grilled chicken the best. Some olive oil, salt and pepper on the outside, and garlic cloves, sprigs of fresh thyme, and some lemon slices inside. I slowly grill it over indirect heat from a mesquite charcoal fire. Good basic food. We ate it out on the back deck with some sticky white rice (it’s a Hawaii thing).

I packed some clothes and we went back up to the city and spent the night in her hotel room. As we were getting ready for bed, I realized that last night we had used a condom that she had brought – I reminded her of this. She blushed – which was unusual for her. “Were you planning on getting lucky?”

She sheepishly grinned. “Yeah.”

“So why were you accusing me of plotting evil just because I came prepared?”

“It’s a woman’s prerogative.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I never said it was.” And she kissed me.

Saturday, after we had breakfast in the hotel restaurant we went out playing tourist in San Francisco – riding the cable cars, wandering though fisherman’s wharf and pier39. We dined at Kuleto’s and had a wonderful time – one of our favorite restaurants. You can’t get a seat there on a Saturday night without a reservation weeks in advance – we sat in the bar and had dinner. I couldn’t help being confused about where all of this was going. Was this just a wonderful weekend or was there more to it? It was weird, since I really had gotten over her (at least I thought so) – but she never left my heart. I felt myself falling all over again. It was so easy to love her.

Later that night, as we were tangled up in each other, she sighed and said “Rich, you’re like an old pair of jeans – so comfortable, so familiar, so easy.” I’m pretty sure that she meant this as a compliment, and not an insult. But, you know, I really want some woman to see me as the sexy red dress – not the comfy old jeans that get tossed on the floor and left behind. I’m comfortable. I’m safe. Just once – I want to be dangerous, I want to be thrilling. I want to make her knees tremble and her heart race. Honestly, I don’t think I have done that to anyone in my life.

“Thanks” I replied to her compliment. “This has been such a perfect weekend.” I waited for a response, but none came. “When can we do it again?”

“I don’t know, Rich.”

“Will you answer my calls? Will you reply to my e-mails?”

“Yes. I will.” She answered. I hugged her tight.

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

On Sunday afternoon I drove her to the Oakland airport. With a heavy heart I waited while she checked in for her flight. We walked to the security line. She put her arms around me and leaned back so that she could see my face. “Rich, you’re going to be OK, you know that.” She was smiling. She was happy. I was trying so hard not to cry.

“Thanks, I know.” I blinked. I did not want her to see how sad I was. I was not going to cry. “Thanks for a wonderful weekend.”

“Thanks for everything, Rich. I had a great time.”

I’m not going to cry.

“Any magic?”

She looked up, considering the question. She frowned slightly and nodded, “I think there’s a little magic going on here.”

I’m not going to cry.

“Will you take my calls, will you reply to my e-mails?”

“I will. I promise.” She kissed me lightly and turned away. I smiled.

I did not cry.

I waved at her as she lugged her bag up onto the X-ray conveyor belt. I turned away so there was no way that she could see my face - and then I cried like a baby.

Oh, shit. This really hurts. I am so fucking not over her.

Hawaii Calling

The caller ID said 808-xxx-xxxx. I didn't recognize the number. But the area code was Hawaii (I grew up in Hawaii and still have a lot of friends and family there). I answered “Hello?”

“HI, Rich.” The woman's voice on the other end of the phone was a familiar one – and it left a knot in my stomach.

“Sarah.” She was back in Hawaii. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good, how about you?”

“I’m great.” Why do we never answer that question truthfully, I guess it’s just a greeting. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

Sarah is the girl that left me at the altar – almost literally - about a year ago. We were engaged and right up until the wedding everything was going perfectly (I thought). Then she disappeared. I found out from some mutual friends that she got cold feet. I never heard from her again. I called, I e-mailed, I texted - no reply at all. As far as I knew, she could have been dead.

“I hope you’re not really mad at me.” She said, almost asking.

“No, no. I mean… well… its like… um…” damn it, my brain turned to oatmeal again. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t mean. I wanted to yell at her ‘You ripped my heart out and then stomped on it and walked away, of course I’m pissed at you.’ But it wouldn’t be her that I would be yelling at.

“Rich, I’m really sorry about how things worked out. And I wouldn’t blame you for being mad. But…” she paused gathering up her courage, “I’m going to be in San Francisco next week. If you have some time I’d like to see you, if you’re not too mad.”

“No, I mean yes. I mean no,” I was stammering like Hugh Grant – but I don’t think the effect was as charming. I slowed down and took a breath. “No, I’m not too mad, and yes I’d like to see you.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Could you just tell me why?” The question just popped out. It wasn’t for her – it was for Lynn but I’m getting everyone scrambled here.

“Yeah, I can, over dinner, next week, OK?”

We made arrangements to meet for dinner on Thursday night.

Hungry, for the first time in what seemed like years, I walked over to the fridge to look for something to eat.