Catch-up post #2

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

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

There is a God

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

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

"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

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

“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.