It’s easy to write about anger, bitterness, jealousy, sadness, and loneliness.  

 But it’s really hard to write about fear.  By putting it in words, you have to name it, examine it, define it, evaluate it, acknowledge it. 

I’ve started more posts than I can remember this week.  Now I have something that can use to actually define my fear.  Here goes.

The boy from back home and I agreed to give this whole long-distance thing a whirl.  In the meantime, we’re not dating other people and I ended it with the guy here before we ever made it to that 5th date.  We talk, email and text daily.  We saw each other over this weekend, and he was absolutely perfect, and made it clear in every possible way that a frightened, formerly heartbroken girl could ever need to let me know that I’m not taking a leap of faith – he cares for me, he is excited about what we’ve started, and he’s not, improbable though it may seem, horrified by my physical appearance. (disclaimer: I’m not fishing for compliments.  But he used to be a personal trainer.  A goddamned personal trainer.  It’s all well and good to look at him, but do I really want someone who’s mission in life was to sculpt perfect bodies to see me, close up, in the light, not fully clothed? It is an intimidating thought indeed – remind me to tell you my Gold’s Gym story sometime….)

But okay, so he’s not horrified by me, actually goes out of his way to let me know how much he likes me, and I’m stressing why?  If you are familiar with me at all, you don’t doubt that I can find a way to mess this up, you just don’t know exactly how it’s going to happen.  Like watching Titanic.  We all knew the ship was going down, but we sat through that 3 1/2 hour movie anyway, because it’s not the disaster itself that enthralls us, it’s watching the disaster unfold.    

 So I may have mentioned before that I joined myspace for the sole purpose of (successfully) freaking out my then future ex and his skank and accidentally discovered that it was a good way to find people I’ve lost touch with along the way.

 But have I mentioned that it is the source of all that is evil and cruel in the universe?

As the boy from back home (BFBH) and I were on the phone, going over some pictures we took during our very short weekend together, I told him that one of my pictures of him, where he looked particularly completelyoutofmyleague gorgeous, was “definitely myspace worthy.”  My myspace reference prompted him to ask me if I had ever changed my “status*.”

*(your “status,” for those who are lucky enough to have not been sucked into this abyss of the net, is your relationship status.  Mine has been unfailing labeled “SINGLE” since the beginning of time.  No one has ever rated a “status” change to date).

I pulled that classic move and answered his question with a question.  “Have you?” I asked (trying to sound all nonchalent and innocent, as opposed to desperately hopeful).  He admitted he had not, but said he hasn’t really been on there except to take a quick look at my pictures.  Okay then.  Feeling that we’d established some kind of understanding, I went in this morning and publically declared to my 54 “Friends” that I am “IN A RELATIONSHIP.” 

I got emails congratulating me from people who know that, as absolutely idiotic as this sounds, this is somewhat of a big deal to me. 

And then I looked at his page.  He is still “SINGLE.”

I know, know, know, know, KNOW that this is stupid of me.  I’m 30.  I’ve been pinned, engaged, married, divorced.  I’ve changed my name, and changed it back.  As far as public proclamations of relationship status go, this is something that ranks a three notches below one 14-year-old giving another 14-year-old some cheap-ass promise ring picked up at the local flea market. 

I mean, he looked into my eyes and told me how he felt about me.  He gave me a beautifully written card.  He spent more than 9 hours of his weekend in a car by himself just to attend a backyard party with me in (forgive me, K-Girl, but you know what I’m saying) BFE, New Jersey. 

And yet, I may cry if he doesn’t end up changing his stupid fucking myspace status in the very near future.

 I swear to all that is good and holy in this world: if I ever find the makers of myspace, I may have to punch them in the nose for all the stress they have caused me.  Although I supposed it’s not their fault that I’m a paranoid freak show.

Cautious, practical, rational, fearful, nervous, over-analytical, picky.

If I had to characterize my dating style over the past 13 months, that would pretty much sum it up.

And yet, I’m pretty sure that I’ve just made the most irrational, insane, impetuous, impractical decision imaginable.

Since I last saw him on Sunday, I’ve continued to develop an ever-increasing crush on the boy from back home.  We’d been emailing and talking for a few months, but last weekend was the first time I’d seen him in real life since…. well…. let’s just say it had been QUITE a while.  

Well, that meeting, as I described in previous posts, was disastrous.  My normally reserved and cautious self (A few months ago I told a guy I was seeing that ”I felt dead inside” and was no longer capable of strong emotions – fortunately, he was okay with that…) fell completely head over heels for this virtual stranger.

Since then, we’ve been talking daily, and from those conversations, I’ve been getting very clear indications that he might just be as googly over me as I am over him. 

In the meantime, not really being comfortable with full-out flirting with one boy while I’m still technically seeing another, I’ve been somewhat neglecting the local guy since we parted ways Monday night.  And yesterday, I impulsively decided that I liked the boy back home way too much to continue to see anyone else for the time being.  But, because my brain hasn’t completely lost the ability to function, I knew that was a ridiculous thought – am I really going to pursue a long-distance relationship with a guy I’ve met once?  But the Virginia guy was emailing me about plans for the weekend, and I just knew that I wasn’t going to able to go out with him again while I am in what can only be described as the throes of a serious crush.  Not fair to him, not fun for me, not good for anyone.

So having decided this, I called the boy from back home.  We chatted.  Then I confessed that I was going to do something demented.  I was going to turn down an offer to go out with someone else.  And I was going to do it because of him.

Surprised silence, followed by the immediate protest.  “Don’t do that,” he told me.  “You should go out with the other guy.”  I agreed with him in principle, but was a little hurt because after all, he had been laying it on pretty thick all week.  But it was just talk and not meant to be taken seriously, and stupid naive girl that I am, I took flirting for the real thing.  So I agreed, it was stupid, I would go out with this other guy, I shouldn’t have mentioned it, I wasn’t serious, you shouldn’t worry about it, I have to go, I have plans, I’ll talk to you later, you should enjoy the rest of your night, I’ll be really busy tomorrow, I’m sure you’re busy too, I’ll just talk to you in a few days, nice chatting with you.

Shortly after I hung up the phone, he sends me a text telling me that he’s jealous, but he just wants me to be happy.  Totally humiliated, I take the hint.  I was just flirting, he was telling me.  Don’t take it seriously.  You should have known that this was just talk.  We both know this can’t ever work.  I resolve to forget about my crush and move on, and try to laugh at my capacity for self-destructive honesty.

My friends tried to console me.  One of them reminded me that, while I was home, he brought me by to meet his mother.  His mother.  For an Italian boy from LI, that’s about 2 steps shy of a marriage proposal.  Another friend pointed out that by encouraging me to date other people, he was just trying to show how much he cares about me by being some selfless “good guy.”  I disagreed, and vowed to  shake it off and put this in the category of yet another learning experience. 

He wanted to talk and clear the air today.  I reluctantly agreed, if only to show him that I wasn’t some psycho nutjob and I was capable of continuing a normal flirty type relationship without taking things in directions they aren’t meant to go.

Quick fact:  It is common knowledge amongst divorce lawyers that crazy people tend to be attracted to crazy people.

In the course of the conversation, the boy from back home admitted that he had strong feelings for me, hates the idea of my dating other people, knows he’s not in a position to ask me to stop but sincerely feels that, given the opportunity, this thing that has started between us may have some serious potential.

So, there you go.  Somehow, after resolving to never be in another long-distance relationship, I’m planning for him to come down here, and I’m planning to go back home to see him and so on and so on and so on for the foreseeable future. 

 I don’t understand it, I don’t think it makes sense, but I’m excited about it.  Head versus heart.  For the first time, I’m chasing my heart.  Here we go… 

I’ll start off saying that it’s not fair to have just one litmus test and everyone’s different and it’s the totality of the circumstances and individual people should be considered on their merits and etc. etc. etc.

But when my former FWB continued, 2 months after he first left his phone charger on my nightstand, to come up with every lame excuse imaginable to avoid either meeting my friends or introducing me to his friends, the test, and the rationale behind it, were born.

Simply stated, when I meet someone new, I invite them to hang out with my friends.  The sooner, the better.  I’m looking for three things:  1) willingness to throw himself in a potentially uncomfortable situation to show that he wants to spend time with me; 2) a genuine interest to know more about me by meeting the people I hang out with; and 3) a reciprocal invite to introduce me to his friends.

I’ve mentioned my test to more than one person, and it’s definitely not universally accepted.  It works for me because it’s a sign that the person is confident and outgoing, two features that I find attractive.  My friends are very important to me and we spend a lot of time out together – if I’m dating someone, I want to know that they’re comfortable fitting into my life.  I don’t want to have to always choose between spending time with either my friends or my boyfriend.  Finally, and most importantly, I think it’s a gauge of how commitmentphobic the guy might be.  If he wants to “see where this is going” before he brings me around to his circle, then I feel I should “see where this is going” before I commit to the idea of sleeping with him.  

So the test came into play this week.  Since this weekend, when I found myself caught up in an insanely intense crush over a certain member of NY’s finest (“fine” having so many different meanings), I’ve been somewhat lukewarm about continuing to go out with the guy that I was seeing before this weekend.  But assuming that my lukewarmedness was only temporary, after all, I was less tepid before I left for the trip and perhaps it would just take some time with him to warm things up again (….have I completely overused this metaphor?  I have?  Awesome….), I went out with him on Monday and invited him to a group happy hour for Tuesday. 

Monday was fine.  He was a little standoffish, I thought, but maybe I was looking for things to nit-pick.  I didn’t harp on the Tuesday invite, I told him to give me a call if he was interested.

Tuesday rolls around, and he calls me to tell me that he’s going to bail on the happy hour.  Not because he has any plans, but because he doesn’t feel comfortable hanging around with a bunch of people he doesn’t know.

I checked my Teacher’s Edition Master Key for this particular test, and that answer was not identified as “correct” or even “acceptable.”  He flunked. 

I know it’s too harsh.  I do.  Don’t bombard me with hate mail.  I get that people are shy.  I get that people go at their own pace.  But, it annoys me when someone (alert: hypocrisy up ahead) turns what is just a low-key happy hour involving a couple of hours standing around drinking beer into some privilege reserved only for those who prove that they are worthy of semi-girlfriend status. 

This weekend I fell heedlessly, hopelessly, helplessly, head over heels in l….

As if.  There’s no way I’m allowing myself to finish that thought.  I know better than that.  I’m a realist, a pragmatist, a divorce lawyer, for crap’s sake.  I don’t believe in love at first sight; I believe in pheremones.  I don’t believe in romance; I believe in a combination of hormones and timing.  I don’t believe in soulmates; I believe in rational considerations of careers and common life views and similar interests and a mutual desire (or lack of desire) for children.

I’m still not recovered from a severely broken heart.  I don’t believe in being vulnerable. 

I do not believe in long distance relationships. 

So why, after spending a weekend with a virtual stranger, am I having all of these crazy, unfinishable thoughts racing around in my head?

It’s not love or anything as high minded as that.  Of course it isn’t.  I’m vulnerable, but getting to the stage where I am tentatively willing to begin opening myself up to a relationship again.  But, I haven’t really lost (and probably never will lose) that fear of rejection that comes when the person who made up the center of my universe for 95% of my adult life chose to ditch me for some skank without so much as a glance back.  And so what could be more attractive than this – a boyfriend of sorts who can shower me with groundless compliments and pop in for a weekend visit every 2 or 3 months.  Who isn’t as inconvenient as a “real” boyfriend and therefore won’t disrupt my usual routine of excessive drinking, semi-occasional trips to the gym, 8-ball league night, 7:00 p.m. Scrubs reruns, putzing around on my blog before getting ready for work, stalking my ex on myspace, stalking my ex’s girlfriend on myspace, looking up friends’ houses on google maps, and all of the myriad other diversions that I have developed to fill up my days.  Who has a career, friends, family and a life nearly 400 miles away, so when he inevitably ends it with me, it will be because of those things (or at least he will tell me it is because of those things), and not because he’s decided that I am undesireable, overbearing or uninteresting. 

So I know this.  I know this.  And yet, when I talked to him yesterday, I said yes when he asked me if he could take a trip down here in a few weeks. 

I’m ruined.  All of my wacky psychobabble aside, I’m smitten.  I know I am.  I should fight it and I will fight it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m smitten.  And although we didn’t do anything more than kiss, and never threw around any of those loaded words like “commitment,” “relationship,” “exclusive,” “future,” etc., I somehow felt wrong when, acting on the bird in the hand philosophy, I went on that fourth date last night.  

So now I’m confused, and torn, and happy and exilirated and defeated and angry.  There’s not a girl more messed up than me right now.  Hopefully, once the rush of pheromones or endorphins or whatever else this guy stirred up this past weekend starts to subside, I can once again turn into a rational thinking person again.  I hope.  Because this romantic, free-falling crap has thrown me into a tailspin, and I don’t know how to get out of it.

Strong Island.  Lawn Guyland.  Whatever.  In just about 18 hours, I’ll be there, assuming that the black hole of hate and despair (aka Delaware) is kind and merciful to me.  

Quick digression - My mom will occasionally slip and say that she has an “i-dear.”  The very thought of hearing the word makes me a little homesick.

So yesterday was, I believe, my third third-date in approximately 12 years.  Usually, I either cut the guy loose or (in the case of the Marine) stop getting calls after date two.  I’m not saying it’s a huge milestone, but it seemed noteworthy in my head.  Even more surprising, there seems to be strong indications that there will be a date number four once I return from the Mother Land.  

He said that I’m confusing and he can’t figure me out, so he thinks he needs to get to know me better.  Work has been so unbelievably insane that it’s made me a little flaky(ier?) these past two weeks.  Please don’t tell me that’s what keeps you fellas hanging around.  Eventually, work will slow down again and I’ll be back to my normal, perhaps too forthright self – so once I’m not a mystery, is he going to lose interest?  Blah - if I wasn’t so busy, I’d spend more time pondering that one, but if I need to stay this stressed out just to keep a man, I prefer to die alone.

Of course, he could just be hanging around in the hopes that I’ll eventually put out, and merely tolerating my flakiness in the meantime.  

Whatever – I’ll do my best Scarlett impression and worry about that another day.  Now, I just need to get through the day of hell from the week of hell, brave the traffic- and tollbooth-strewn gauntlet that is the I-95 corridor, give my folks a big hug and kiss, and stop thinking just for a bit, if possible.      

Between saying you’re happy and actually feeling it.

Between knowing people don’t change and wanting them to change.

Between telling someone he doesn’t owe you anything and yet feeling entitled.

Between proclaiming your independence and wanting someone to take care of you.

Between acting nonchalant and feeling terrified.

Between dressing up and feeling pretty. 

Between promising to support someone and subtly exposing their weaknesses.

Between wanting it to be this way and merely accepting it has to be this way.

Between hating a person and loving an idea of that person.

Between letting go and moving on.

I’m trying, kids.  I really am. 

I was in a bar last night by myself.  Not because I go to bars by myself, my friend had gone to the bathroom and I was left sitting alone for a space of 2 or 3 minutes.

I was just kind of gazing around, sipping my water (I had by this point reached my self-imposed two drink maximum that kicks in whenever I’m driving), eyeing the t.v., trying to catch a glimpse of the Mets score, when the kids (yes, I now refer to college-aged individuals as “kids” – how old does that make me feel?) at the table behind me started talking pretty loudly.  Because I could not see the Mets score from my vantage point (Mets lost at home to the Braves 7-3, bastards) I tuned in.

There was a group of 5 people, 3 boys and 2 girls, and one of the boys was proclaiming (loudly – is there any other way to proclaim?) that “I like to drink!  When I come to a bar, I come to drink!  I drink because that’s what I like to do.”  Unable to resist, I glance back over my shoulder to catch a look at this noisy future alcoholic.  He was 22-23 (maybe) with that slightly too long, unkempt curly hair that shows he doesn’t have a “real” job yet.  His friends, a white boy with a baseball hat slightly askew (which bugs that shit out of me – kid, are you from Compton or Bethesda? Give it a rest), another non-descript boy with no upper body, and two girls in ponytails and tank tops who seemed to still be struggling a bit with the combination of lots of beer, all you can eat food courts and a slightly slowing metabolism, were all kind of looking at the loud kid and giggling.

 Until they saw me glance over.  Then they stopped.  All of them.  There wasn’t a peep from that table for a good 5 seconds (doesn’t sound long, but count with me – one Mississippi, two Mississippi…)  And then the future alcoholic, in a still raised but more subdued voice, said “Now I feel all self-conscious because she can hear me.  I wonder how long she was listening to us.”  And I realized, that even before the group had caught me ear, they had been talking about me.  Further more, I got the very distinct impression that what they were saying was not particularly flattering.

I tried to remember if I had caught any of their other conversation before the boy started shouting, and distrinctly recalled hearing ”she’s not that good looking or anything.”   

Then my friend got back from the bathroom, so I tuned out the kids and continued my conversation for another 10 minutes while the check got paid and we left.   

But it bugged me.  A part of the back of my brain kept wondering what it was about me that those kids had found so objectionable.  I had just been to the gym, so my hair was wet and thrown into a ponytail.  No makeup (not that I usually wear much anyway).  It was a Tuesday night and I wasn’t exactly dressed to the hilt.  So it’s not like I was expecting to impress anyone with my looks.  On the other hand, I also wasn’t strutting around the bar making a big show of myself wearing too tight clothes and sporting a visible, obviously stretched out back tat over my muffin top either.  I was just sitting at a table, drinking water, minding my own business and chilling out.

So who the hell were they to judge me?

But in all truthfulness, don’t we all do this?  I do.  I’ll look around, make snap assumptions about who they are, what they do, the level of their self-esteem, the size of their portfolio (or, in the case of these kids, the size of their parents’ portfolio).  You look, you opine, you look again, you refine your opinion, you look again, you solidify your opinion and, all the while, you’re doing it, out loud, in a snarky tone to your friends. 

So it bugged me, but then I let it go.  Frankly, I wasn’t trying to impress those kids, so the fact that I didn’t is really of no concern to me.  And, for all I know, they were saying hugely complimentary things about me (I’m fairly certain they weren’t, but I suppose anything is possible).

Lesson learned.  The next time I am unnecessarily judgmental and snarky to boost my own self-esteem, I’ll do it quietly.  And if I see those kids again, you know my ears will be open.   

Okay.  I quit because I suffered from a crisis of conscience.  Mostly, I felt bad about some of the things that I had posted about the Ex.  I mean, there’s acting like an ass, and there’s acting like an ass with mitigating circumstances.  And I knew that I was being unfair to him, but figured he would never see it, and I’m entitled to vent in my own way.  Then someone found my blog by googling “Training Wheels Rebound” (thanks, WordPress, for keeping track of these things!) or some other such randomness, and I felt, I don’t know, guilty or exposed.  (That, Lucky, if you ever happen to read this, is why I deleted the old posts – plain old fashioned guilt).

 But – I missed it.  Gosh darnit all to hell if I’m not hooked to this baring my soul to the world crap.  And it’s either this, or spending a good portion of my day pouring myself out to my girl friends through email and gchat.  Which is a far more time consuming, for me and for them.  And will totally get me busted at work some day.

The fact is, my life is just in a weird place right now.  The fact that it’s weird shouldn’t stop me from writing about it.  At least, that’s my current philosophy.  It’s liable to change again, so don’t hold me to it.  

(DAMN YOU, DAGNY, FOR GETTING ME HOOKED ON THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!)    

For those of you who have stopped in from time to time, thank you for reading.  I might start up again at some point, but for now, I’m going to take a little break….

 Cheers.