Dating Files #3

This is a mini-epic of a post. Settle in.

I spent yesterday wandering around Somerville Open Studios. I’d wanted to check out the Artisan’s Asylum which promised robots. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hang out with robots?? Plus it was a gorgeous spring day in the city and I wanted to get the heck out of Brookline.

In a random turn of events, I ended up spending most of my day with my most recent ex {does he count as an ‘ex’ if we barely dated for 3 months? Whatever, yes} … I hadn’t talked to him since we broke up but he called me a few days before and for some reason I agreed to get coffee with him. That somehow turned into us getting lunch and spending several hours looking at art together.

OK yes. It was a little weird. In all honesty I am still not really sure how I feel about the whole situation. I had really strong feelings for this guy and the way he treated me was very douchebag-esque. It hasn’t been a good month or two for me on the personal side. I’m still upset and angry about certain things that happened. On the other hand, I had a lot of fun with him and we are interested in a lot of the same things. Even given my conflicted feelings towards him, I still enjoyed hanging out with him yesterday. It wasn’t the same as before, of course. I feel like I (have to) have my guard up around him.

So, are we friends? I don’t know. I’ve never been friends with an ex. Do I still want this guy in my life? Also, not sure. Many of my friends have been urging me to just cut all communication with him, and maybe I should. But maybe things happen for a reason and I just don’t know what that reason is right now. Clearly, I’m still confused. That’s OK. It’s OK to be confused. I am allowed to work through these feelings.

After we parted ways I headed over to get dinner in Davis Square with friends and their cutie-pie 2 year old. While catching up and stuffing ourselves silly with sushi, I regaled them with tales from the tragi-comedy that is my current dating life: The Carpenter {nice, talented, but no attraction on my part} … 26 Year Old Graffiti Artist {cute, ‘wild’, but a total flake} … Tattooed Chef {so damn hot, such a tough schedule} … Software Engineer {I think he has Asperger’s} …

A random guy had come in and was waiting near our table for his take-out sushi order. At one point, as I was describing my ridiculous series of exchanges with Software Engineer {sample: “feel free to call or text me anytime. Except for when I’m driving. Or working. Or…”} he butted in and asked if SE’s name was Jonathan by any chance, since it sounded like I was describing his brother. I laughed and said no, and we bantered briefly. I continued to chat with my friends about dating, pretty frankly. {Example: Guys, if a girl texts you and says she’s tipsy, that is an INVITATION TO CHAT!!! Don’t just tell her you had cheese and bread for dinner and then cut off all communications.}

Finally sushi guy’s order came. As he was leaving he broke into our conversation yet again to tell me that I sounded “fantastic” and that if I were 7 years older, he would ask me out himself. I was pretty much taken by surprise {um, dude was totally eavesdropping on me say what?}, so I didn’t do much beyond laugh and thank him, and then he took off. I will say though, he wasn’t that much older than me– maybe mid 30s? So I’m not really sure how young he thought I was. Either way, it was a great compliment from a stranger. Yes, as I think back over what I was saying about the dating gallery, I’m slightly embarrassed {the phrase “he’s just a distraction” comes to mind… also, “I’m keeping him on the back burner” … “I don’t have a type. I just want someone cute to make out with”… and “he hasn’t owned or watched TV in 10 years– what on EARTH are we going to talk about?!”…}. Haha.

But there was an example of me being me, and someone responding to it. I have to hope that at some point I will eventually find a super awesome hot guy who can actually talk about his feelings who thinks I’m awesome as well, without any need for compromise or changes or tears on either side.

Dating Files #2

What to write on your dating profile to guarantee that I’d never want to talk to you:

“I like my math the way I like my bitches. Boring and with a shit load of problems.”

Tales From the Mixed-Up Dating Files

XXX ‘stalked’ my online profile for several days. His profile picture showcased a dim photo of a guy with a large hat on and no shirt. Finally he mustered up the courage to send me an email. Here it is, recreated in its entirety:

“T”

Battle Scarred

I’m battle scarred, I am working oh so hard
To get back to who I used to be
-A Fine Frenzy

Trying to get back to a better mental head space. Back in the game. This is so exhausting already.

April 19, 2013

*I’ve been posting occasionally over the past few days so I can remember what has been happening. It’s been an intense week.

After my last post yesterday, I was pretty stir crazy after having been cooped up inside all day. At the same time I felt nervous about venturing outside. While I was fairly sure that Suspect #2 was either still in Watertown holed up somewhere or had already slipped through the cracks and was far away, you really never know. So when I saw that local Brookline businesses were tweeting they would be open, I decided to wait for the Governor’s press conference to see what the latest updates would be.

Around 6 pm the city lifted the shelter-in-place and transportation bans, and I immediately headed to The Publick House for a much-needed drink with friends. The bar was packed with people, a nervous tension and energy in the air. Everyone was on their smartphones, constantly checking for updates. I couldn’t stop refreshing my Twitter feed to see if there were any news.

In the middle of one such refresh, I noticed posts on shots fired in Watertown. Things quickly progressed from there and we followed along on Twitter as the drama unfolded, and was finally resolved on that boat in a Watertown backyard.

Spontaneous cheers, applause, and chants of “USA” broke out in the bar. The Publick House almost immediately responded by playing Dirty Water, Sweet Caroline, and Shipping Up to Boston. Everyone was smiling and singing along. The sense of communal relief was palpable. We ordered another round of beers and toasted to the police, the first responders, the doctors, and to Boston. It was incredibly emotional; I felt overwhelmed with love for my city.

It is not over. Our world will not be the same. We still need to find out why these people perpetrated such a horrible crime against our city and the innocent Marathon bystanders. There is still a lot of work to be done. I hope that this sense of togetherness, love for each other, and community can persist in the days to come.

The world has changed

Empty Kenmore Square

I got home last night. I showered, I chatted with my mom on the phone, I went to dinner with friends and had too much to drink and stayed up way too late considering how jet lagged I was.

I woke up this morning and the world had changed. Boston on lock-down. Shelter in place orders in effect. So surreal, so crazy, so scary.

Boston

I don’t really know what or how to share right now. It’s still pretty unbelievable.

I am out of the country for work, and I was out to dinner with two colleagues on Monday evening. We stepped outside the restaurant to walk back to our hotel, and I realized that my phone had multiple emails and text message alerts popping up. I opened the first text which simply said, ‘Hey, are you OK?’ I was confused why I wouldn’t be OK, but at that same moment my coworker exclaimed that there had been a bombing in Boston.

The three of us stopped, in shock, in the middle of the crowded Old City street, staring at our phones– our lifelines to home– as people streamed around us. I started answering texts and emails, assuring friends that yes I was OK, even as more started to pour in. There was so little information to be had. We stood there numbly for some time, not really understanding what had just happened. In the cab ride home, we kept giving each other updates and passing along snippets of information. There was so little information to be had.

We got back to the hotel and got a much needed drink at the bar, all the while getting more and more updates from friends and family that they were safe, that they were OK, that they were still alive. Back in my room, I stayed up til 3 AM talking to my friends who had been there– just a few blocks away from the bombs. I obsessively scrolled through Facebook, making sure everyone I remotely knew who lived in Boston was OK and had posted something.

It was so hard to be here, in a foreign country for work, sitting alone in my hotel room, watching video after video on Boston.com, unable to view the live streaming news reports, relying on printed words on a computer screen to tell me that my loved ones were OK. It was so hard to see pictures of hospitals such as Brigham & Women’s, where I spent three days last summer when I was very sick, with ER doors (the same ER doors I’d walked through) patrolled by men with guns. To imagine the nurses that helped me and who were so kind, triaging blast victims. To think that if I hadn’t been away for work, I would have been down there with my friends, blocks away from the explosions. To remember the exhilaration I’d felt when I ran over the marathon finish line last year when I ran the BAA 5K the day before the ’12 marathon, down by Copley… and the loud cheers of watchers who were so happy for me– a random runner. To remember the excitement I’ve had for the past 7 years I’ve lived in Boston for Marathon Monday, and how this day is supposed to be about support, and love, and finding out what you are capable of, and cheering on runners, and laughing with friends, and unity.

I’m deeply saddened. But I’m also incredibly uplifted by the images and reports of those who ran towards the explosions. The helpers. The people who lent out phones, clothing, cars, blankets, homes, and comfort. The runners who, exhausted after completing nearly 26 miles, ran to the victims and started helping them. The people who picked up injured men and women and ran with them to ambulances and doctors. The volunteers who shuttled carload after carload of stranded runners to various locations around Boston. The reporters who, even as they were documenting what was happening, were busy tearing down barricades so emergency personnel could get to the injured.

I am stuck here for the next two days. But I can’t wait to get home. My heart feels incredibly full right now with love for my adopted city. Please excuse this ramble.