Belle's Love Life (In 60 Seconds or Less)

In the realm of the dating world, I've got little to say. Let's have some bullets, shall we?

• NRA IMed me yesterday. His "Happy Easter," I'm proud to say, garnered no response.
  
• [Big-Name Dating Site] nearly revoked its offer, then came back with it, and now I'm stalling. (Explanation to follow.)
• I had another one of those dreams about Mr. Chill and am currently avoiding eye contact. Dammit. It's going to be a long day.
  
• The frequency and disturbing force of those dreams has me thinking it's time to get a little action. I suddenly find myself wishing Mr. Disney were in town...
  

A Short Story

<short story> NRA Guy is dating New Girl. Belle is, for some retarded, unknown*, fucking anger-inducing reason, upset by this information. </short story>

* Well, it's not entirely unknown, actually. Last week, in a drunken late-night message, NRA told me he loved me. That he was in love with me. Being that I'm a silly, silly girl (who has been talking to him since last month... I totally asked for this, I know), I couldn't stop myself from thinking all kinds of things. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

On Signs:

Leaning back contentedly in my seat, I looked around at Pissed Off, her family, their friends. The wine had been flowing freely for hours, and the adults were laughing and making jokes as the kids ran around the room. After five courses of authentic Italian cuisine (too delicious to describe with any justice), the morning's First Communion service was a wine-clouded memory and we were all full and happy.

The short, bald man serving us wore a red vest and spoke freely with us in English and Italian. Giuseppe had friendly eyes and a fantastic attitude. He placed the plates in front of Pissed Off and me simultaneously and turned to retrieve dessert for the rest of the party. I'm certain he wasn't malicious when he served my cake.

The cake was yellow with chocolate filling. It had white icing and blue flowers and icing wishing Pissed Off's brother a happy First Communion. When Giuseppe set mine down, the bottom of the upended slice faced my direction, the icing out of my sight. When I turned the plate around to have the icing face me, there it was: N.R.A.

The weekend had already been overcast with thoughts of NRA Guy. Saturday was his birthday. And, suddenly, probably having consumed at least a bottle of Chianti on my own,* I was sitting in his home state and faced with the prospect of eating a slice of remarkably birthday-like cake with his name (literally) on it.** I poked Pissed Off's arm to get her attention and pointed a finger at the offending iced letters. Her eyes widened as she looked at it, and we exchanged plates with one another.

I haven't heard from NRA since the last time we saw each other. He hasn't contacted me, and I've been relatively content with that. A small part of me wishes we could maintain some kind of friendship, but I know that's unrealistic. I'd been debating for weeks what I should do regarding his birthday. Contact or no? If so, what form? A card would require no response, but would also:
1. (if he's still really mad at me) give him something tangible to rip into a million shreds and piss on; and/or
2. (if he's dating someone else) cause major issues.

If not a card, then what? An e-mail? An e-card? A text? (A phone call was never an option.) By the time the weekend arrived, I was still uncertain about contacting him. The only thing I did know is that, if I were to wish him happy birthday, I would wait until after the day.

The cake thing kind of confounded my evening. A few people who heard the story retold mentioned that it "must be a sign." I suggested that the sign was I didn't need to trust lying jerks.

Still, I'm a sap, and I had many hours to occupy during the drive home Sunday. I sent NRA a text*** saying I hoped he'd had an excellent birthday. He responded with the brief (and appropriate) "Thanks."

I did open myself to the potential of more drunk calls, but his response didn't make me fear that on the horizon. If I'm wrong, I hope I'll have the good sense to ignore any incoming calls from his number in the near future.


* If I were a less happy drunk, this stupid little coincidence would have undoubtedly elicited tears.
** NRA and Pissed Off's little brother share a common first name. NRA goes by an abbreviation thereof, which is how I ended up with his name on my cake.
*** I was unhappy to discover that I had not, in fact, forgotten NRA's number, as I'd convinced myself I had.

Sometimes, you just need a reminder that you were right all along

Roommate was in and out the door in a flash last night. She had semi-last minute dinner plans with Psychic Garbage Man. I was chatting with NRA Guy* during her lightning fast invasion and retreat, and I mentioned she'd abandoned me for the evening. I declined his initial invitation to his house, but we ended up agreeing to go out for sushi.

When we got to the restaurant, I had an attack of paranoia. I didn't want to go in for fear Roommate and her guy would be in there. The basis of the fear was twofold, one being that I jokingly told roommate I was going to stalk the two of them, and two being that I had a hunch Roommate would completely disapprove of my being anywhere with NRA. Of course, all this unnecessary freaking out on my part meant I had to give some sort of explanation to NRA. Obviously, he didn't like what he heard. I wouldn't have either, I'm sure. But the truth is that my friends (and even many of the random people who've stumbled across this site) are against my having anything to do with the boy. And not without reason, one could argue.

I finally retrieved a bit of sense from the recesses of my brain, and we went in. (Roommate and PGM were not present, of course.) We had a decent dinner, if a bit awkward. NRA peppered the conversation with anecdotes that illustrated what he must have wanted me to view as his unfailing honesty. Was I supposed to swoon and think he'd completely changed his lying ways in the whole six and a half weeks since I dumped him? Fear not. I did no such thing.

When we returned to my place, I couldn't help but try to assess what was going on and establish some guidelines for moving forward. I didn't consider the outing a date (which I felt I needed to clarify, since he's been telling me constantly that he misses me and since he insisted on paying for dinner). I told him what I'd tried to tell him when we broke up... that I can't just forgive and forget on command. That I have to have time to heal and work through things when I feel like someone I've let into my life has crossed me in a way that matters. That I wouldn't say we couldn't leave the future open, but that I still need space.

He seemed frustrated when I affirmed that this meant we couldn't hang out. I explained that hanging out with my friends was obviously not an option, hanging out with his friends would likely be just as awkward,*** and any time spent alone would feel too much like a date. He reiterated that he wasn't going to wait for me**** or keep pursuing me, and I told him that I didn't expect him to.

I said I didn't want to completely lose contact, but he seemed frustrated at this. Of course, he wouldn't voice his frustration. I asked him to talk to me, and he said he had nothing to say at the moment. Not wanting to rehash the BS electronic drama that followed our last face-to-face, I mentioned his tendency to try to discuss everything through IM or text or letters... anything but in person. He assured me he wasn't going to go there. (This point was pretty much moot when I noticed later in the evening that his away message was changed to something like, "Best Buddy, you were absolutely right. I will never doubt your advice again." I can't prove this was directed toward me, but I find it pretty unbelievable that he was referring to anything else.)

Overall, I think the outing was a good move. I've been feeling a bit down lately and finding myself missing NRA at the most inopportune times.***** This reiterated that he's not mature enough to handle a relationship.

I know guys and girls function differently when it comes to emotional dealings, but I'm just not going to be convinced that a relationship consisting of one-sided conversations has any chance of surviving. His argument that he needs to think about things is valid, but I could claim the same thing. I didn't go into the evening knowing how I would feel at the end of it or what I would say. I didn't even think up a spiel during dinner. It wasn't easy for me to say the things I did, but I sucked it up and did it.



* We've been in fairly regular contact since he sent the card.
** When she was leaving the house, Roommate said Psychic Garbage Man hadn't told her where they were going. I couldn't resist the urge to tease that he feared I would follow them.
*** They're his friends, after all. I hold no delusions that they would take my side in any part of the matter. If they did, what good would they be as his friends?
**** I didn't mention that I already knew he wasn't exactly 'waiting for' me.
***** Which, of course, can be described as any time...

Oh man, you're screwing with my emotions here

Does anyone else get as excited as I do to get snail mail that isn't comprised solely of junk and bills? I was sorting through the credit card offers and shopping mailers today when I came across a card. Roommate gets cards all the time, so I automatically tossed on her pile. But when I glanced down a moment later, I noticed it was addressed to me.

My instinctive reaction was to think, "OOH! A card for me? Who's it from?? It's not even my birthday or anything. Yay, yay, yay, yay, yay!" I was like a kid at Christmas. For about half a second. And then I caught the name on the return label. It was from NRA. What in the hell?!?

I opened it up and found a really thoughtful card and note expressing his condolences for the loss of my grandfather last week. My first thoughts were a rather strange mix:

Oh, how sweet.
Man, he really can't spell.
Jesus, Belle, you're a bitch! Cut him some slack on the spelling!
He's so much better communicating in writing than in person. So much might have been different if he could have just talked to me.
Could've, would've, should've... it's all bullshit!
Seems like he's really trying here.
No, seriously. How did I ever date someone who confuses "hear" and "here"? And "your" and "you're"?
I bet his sister told him to send me a card.
How do I respond? Do I respond?
How does he still have my address? I can't remember his. But if I keep the envelope, I'll have it.
He can be so sweet.
Why wasn't he this sweet all the time when I was with him?
What the hell am I going to do with his address, wait until next year and mail him a Valentine's Day package?

Still don't know what I'm to do or think about this. But I've got to run. Roommate gave me a pity invite to her date with Psychic Garbage Man tonight. Putt-putt, here we come.

Oh Internets, you connect us

1. The Jackass read the post about him and Blonde Beauty and apparently sent the link to some friends. Hi there, and thanks for the readership.

2. A guy Roommate has been out with a few times, to be known here now and forever as Psychic Garbageman, did some Internet sleuthing and found Dating is Dead. Hi to you, too, Psychic Garbage Man.

3. I posted an ad on CL seeking sporting instruction, and guess who sent the very first response.

Just guess!

No? No guesses? Okay, I'll tell you. It was NRA Guy. Thought it best not to respond to that one. (Or the married one. Or the one who attached a pic of just his torso, even though his abs were remarkably defined.)

Thank you: You just made it all so much easier

A well-meaning friend told NRA I was having second thoughts earlier this week. After that, I spent a good portion of the next several work days responding to his IMs* and wiping away tears. We went back and forth, me saying the lack of trust just wasn’t going away, him saying he’d change. He’d introduce me to his friends. We’d define the relationship. And on and on…

On Wednesday, I told him I’d have to think about it. He said he understood, that, while he didn’t want to wait forever for my answer, he believed I really should think about it because he didn’t want me coming back to him just because I was comfortable with the idea of a relationship and not because I wanted to be with him. I agreed he had a valid point. Being new to the relationship thing in general, I wasn’t at all sure what my mixed emotions really meant. I’ll admit, I really was second-guessing myself at this point. The negatives were becoming fuzzy. All the good things were heightened and emphasized in my mind.

So I sat down and read everything I’d ever written about NRA, both in this forum and in my paper journals (yeah, some of us still keep those, too). Looking back through my paper journals completely solidified my feeling that going back to him would do no good. I realized that, no matter if we changed everything else that had been wrong, the lack of trust would still be there, making me suspicious of his every move and motivation.

Some people seem to thrive on jealousy and distrust in relationships. I’m not one of those people. I don’t like jealous guys, and I don’t want to be the jealous girl.

I’m not kidding when I say I have serious issues with trust. About 60 percent of the entries in my paper journal addressed the subject in some way. And reading those entries reminded me that I’m not one who can forgive and forget a major breach of trust. Not immediately anyway. I need time for the wounds in such a situation to heal. I need time to come to terms with the infraction in my own way. I need time away from the person who violated my trust. And even given time, there’s no guarantee of forgiveness.

When I saw him online Thursday, I said hello to him,** and then I told him what I’d decided.***

...
NRA: I cant keep talking to you about all this
NRA: it sucks, but if this is the case than it is
Belle: I wish it was something I could just say, okay, I'm going to believe you, but it's not.
Belle: you're right. we don't need to keep dragging it on.
NRA: it is what it is, but I can't keep reopening the issue everyday
…
NRA: I'll stop contacting you and what not
NRA: I wish you the best of luck hun
NRA: bye
Belle: I wish you the best, too.
Belle: I hope everything goes well for you.
Belle (9:24:01 AM): bye, NRA.
NRA (9:25:29 AM)****: why couldn't you have just let things go go
NRA: damn, why did you have to bring it up again today
Belle: I'm sorry.
Belle: I thought you wanted an answer.
Belle: I didn't want you to still be wondering about it.
NRA: I would have rather you just never contacted me again
NRA: I would have been fine
Belle: that's crap, NRA
NRA: I already erased all your numbers, emails, everything, so you would have to contact me
Belle: okay. well you showed up on my buddy list, and I just thought you might be waiting for a response since you hadn't been signing on IM at work lately
NRA: I didn't want to keep dragging you through it
Belle : I'm sorry.
NRA: its fine, I just need to get work done and now I cant think again
Belle: I'm sorry. Really.
NRA: I honestly think I was falling in love with you*****
Belle: I'll leave you alone now.
NRA: ok
NRA: bye
Belle: bye
NRA: well I'm sorry for getting pissed, and thankyou for the answer, at least I know now not to still think maybe down the line, and can move on and find someone else
Belle: okay
NRA: are you mad now
Belle: I'm upset. I don't know how this suddenly became me dragging things out and getting blamed for distracting you at work
Belle: i've been sitting at my desk crying every day this week while talking to you
NRA: I'm sorry, forget I said all that
Belle: and now it's my fault.
NRA: its not your fault
NRA: I'm sorry, dont cry
Belle: I'm not crying now.
NRA: ok good
…
NRA: ------- asked me to ask you to go to dinner with me at there house next week
NRA: asked me to bring you with us to the Dillan night at that place on monday
Belle: you're right. we can't keep dragging this out.
NRA: nevermind
NRA: I have to go clear my mind and get ready for a meeting
NRA: I'm about to get chewed out, so have a good life I guess
NRA: bye
Belle: jesus
Belle: bye
...

You bet your ass I wasn’t crying. I was furious. He had the nerve to be a jerk to me like that in the same conversation he was telling me he was falling in love with me and asking me to go meet his friends? The nerve to accuse me of distracting him at work and dragging things out, when he was the one who had contacted me repeatedly every single day since we broke up, keeping me from work and destroying my ability to concentrate?

Things didn’t end here, but this post is already gargantuan, so I’m just going to sum up now. I’m honestly glad he was a jerk to me. It made me wholeheartedly believe that my decision to end things was the right one. It replaced my sadness with anger (and we all know I can handle the latter a helluva a lot better). It made me realize that, like my friends had been telling me, I do deserve better. It made me realize that he is even more childish and immature than I’d suspected he was and that, even though I’m the one with the lack of relationship experience, he was the one who wasn’t really ready for a girlfriend.

* I’d say it’s noteworthy that every time he initiated a serious conversation, he did it via text or IM rather than in person.
** This was the first time I’d initiated contact since I broke up with him. The daily contact we’d had since then was all his doing.
*** The IM excerpts have not been edited, save to remove or change names.
****Note the time it took him to come back and flip everything around on me.
***** An instant message is not exactly how I thought I’d first be told that someone was falling in love with me. It wasn’t quite awesome.

Of course I would be...

... second-guessing myself. When am I not?

NRA called late Sunday/early Monday. He was obliterated. I’d had at least a bottle of wine and wasn’t entirely sober myself. The conversation was emotional and, at times, nearing nonsensical. I cried buckets.

------I've deleted this section because of paranoia, but I'm not getting into my reasoning here. What I took out basically said I feel like shit, I'm going back and forth on it and beating myself up over my long-standing issues with trust.------

And, then again, maybe I’m just making excuses, and my decision was right, even though it’s difficult now. And he would’ve hurt me even more. Or, then again, just maybe I should’ve mentioned everything I was feeling rather than suppress it for fear of being nagging and demanding. Or, then again, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Ugh. It’s too much to consider. My head might explode.

Unsent, Alanis Morissette

dear matthew I like you a lot I realize you're in a relationship
with someone right now and I respect
that I would like you to know that if you're ever single
in the future and you want to come visit me in california
I would be open to spending time with you and finding
out how old you were when you wrote your first song

dear jonathan I liked you too much I used to be attracted to boys
who would lie to me and think solely about themselves and you
were plenty self-destructive for my taste at the time I used to say
the more tragic the better the truth is whenever I think of the early 90's
your face comes up with a vengeance like it was yesterday

dear terrance I love you muchly you've been nothing
but open hearted and emotionally available and supportive
and nurturing and consummately there for me I kept drawing you in
and pushing you away I remember how beautiful it was to fall asleep
on your couch and cry in front of you for the first time you
were the best platform from which to jump beyond myself what
was wrong with me

dear marcus you rocked my world you had a charismatic way
about you with the women and you got me
seriously thinking about spirituality and you wouldn't let me get away
with kicking my own ass but I could never really feel relaxed and looked out
for around you though and that stopped us from going any further
than we did and it's kinda too bad becasue we could've had much more fun

dear lou we learned so much I realize we won't be able to talk for some time
and I understand that as I do you
the long distance thing was the hardest and we did as well as we could
we were together during a very tumultuous time
in our lives I will always have your back and be curious about you
about your career about your whereabouts

I suppose some tears are to be expected

So today was a bit harder. I awoke from dreams of NRA to find some texts from him asking if talking would do any good. I gave him the long version of “no,” asking what we had to look forward to if our relationship of three months had already required as many talks as we’ve had.

The texting continued for a while, and I told him I didn’t want us to be enemies. He said we weren’t.

Much later, I missed his call and noticed another text saying my things were on the stoop. He’d returned the gifts I’d given him. I probably deserved the spiteful move, since I’d done nearly the same thing* to him. He included a letter with the returned gifts, and I spent the next half hour wiping tears away. Obviously I’m not as tough as I like to think I am.

I still think it’s best we stop seeing one another right now. I won’t say I wouldn’t consider dating him again in the future, but it'd have to be so far away that we could start from scratch. At this point, I can't forsee him wanting as much with me. Either way, I know this move is for the best.

I think I’ll take a cue from Charlotte and give myself an adequate amount of time for recovery. By her standard that it takes half the length of time any relationship lasted to fully recover from said relationship, it should be a month to a month and a half before I’m ready to date again. In the meantime, I’ll keep you all updated on any NRA developments and try to come up with some other topics you might find interesting.

* I don’t consider our actions quite the same, since I’d returned things of his he’d given to me (old sweatshirt, etc.). The things he returned I actually spent time picking out and purchasing while I was visiting the Southern homestead. They were things I bought specifically for him because I knew he’d like them and because I wanted to let him know I’d been thinking of him while I was away.

Riding in silence sure gives you time to think

My plan was to tell NRA today, before his sister and his brother-in-law got into town and I was obliged to attend dinner with them as I’d promised. That plot was foiled when I first talked to NRA early this afternoon. The sis and hubby were already in town and with him.

Dumping over the phone wasn’t an option, and I thought it would be incredibly rude for me to make a scene in their presence or send him to dinner alone to explain my absence. So I dutifully readied myself and let NRA pick me up.

He realized when I wouldn’t agree to spend the night with him or have him sleep over that something was amiss. He asked for more information repeatedly before we met up with the family, but I insisted we’d talk about it after dinner.

Unfortunately, NRA couldn’t wait that long. He mentioned the other girl’s Valentine at dinner. Then his sister, knowing nothing of the BIG, FAT FUCKING LIE, asked a question about New Year’s Eve, which we all know is a sore subject. Apparently, that was pretty obvious, as was the fact that NRA and I had some talking to do. The sister and brother-in-law excused themselves after dinner, and I was left with NRA.

The conversation was fairly short, but there was nothing sweet about it. I told him the other girl’s Valentine filled me with questions, but that those questions were less important than the fact that I couldn’t take him at his word. As much as I’d tried to trust him, it obviously hadn’t taken. I said I couldn’t see anything progressing if I couldn’t trust him, and I couldn’t see us continuing to see one another if nothing was going to progress.

We spent the next 20 or so minutes in utter silence as he drove me home. At first, I wanted him to talk and was prepared to force out tears to encourage as much. Then I thought that was just… well, stupid. If he really didn’t want to see me go, there was nothing stopping him from at least talking to me. I wasn’t emotional or irrational. I hadn’t yelled or kept him from talking. I even asked him if he had anything to say, and he delivered an emphatic “no.”

So I stopped worrying about what he was thinking. I stopped wondering if he had anything to say to me. I realized I’d been thinking of other things and that I wasn’t really upset. If nothing else indicates I shouldn’t be with him, that alone should suffice.

Timeline: Your relationship will self-destruct in 5… 4… 3…

After picking up my car yesterday, I went to NRA’s to get my flowers and such. He had a package from UPS. When he opened it, pink and purple hearted-tissue paper came out first, followed by a nice, cuddly blanket, a DVD of a romantic comedy, a box of home-baked goodies (including heart-shaped rice crispy treats), and a home-made card in the shape of a heart. The note read: “I hope this Valentine’s Day you know that someone far away is thinking of you and that this gift warms your heart like my thoughts of you warm mine.”

He claims she’s an ex. His last ex. That he hasn’t seen her since last May. That they broke up “this time last year” because he was moving here and she was staying put.

He offered to send the gift back or throw it away. I told him no; that would just hurt the poor girl’s feelings. She’s obviously a nice person, whether he’s telling me the truth about any of the things I mentioned above or not.

And, at this point, whether he’s telling me the truth or not doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I can’t trust him. I don’t feel good about this relationship, or non-relationship, or whatever the hell it is. And if I’m not feeling good about it, it’s time to vamp.

I promised him last night that it wouldn’t be the last time I’d see him. I’m a woman of my word, so I’ll go over there tomorrow and tell him to his face.

This shit sucks.

Taking the suck with the awesome: Is this what being grown-up is like?

So 2007 marked the first time I officially celebrated Valentine’s Day with an “Other” (be he significant or not). I must say, I was pretty impressed with NRA’s overall effort and delivery. There were two dozen roses and chocolates and (three!?) cards and a lovely, delicious, romantic Italian dinner with candlelight and musicians, and a sweet dessert back at his place, complete with a white table cloth and candles and wine.

And, then, there were some not-so-impressive parts. Those parts were mainly on the days preceding and following the actual day. The night before, he lit into me about asking for a V-Day plan. I was merely talking about logistics, I tell you… I wanted to know if I was to drive to his place, where I would leave my vehicle, what time I should be there, etc. I can’t see how these are unreasonable questions. Although I’ve dutifully asked for the ability to teleport every year when I blow out my candles, I haven’t yet been blessed with the gift. So, unfortunately, there are times in life that require a bit of planning on my part. This* was one of those times. Apparently, NRA found the need for a plan unacceptable. At least that’s what it sounded like to me.

NRA: Just go home, pack a bag, put on something nicer than jeans, and I’ll pick you up.
Belle: Wait, we still haven’t figured out what time or how I’m getting to work or anything. I need some kind of plan.
NRA: If you want me to be the guy who says, “Be ready at 6” and shows up at 6 on the dot and has the whole evening planned out point by point… I’m never going to be that guy. I’m just not. If that’s what you’re looking for, it’s not me. You need to post some more ads or something.
Belle: Oh, I have your permission for that now?
NRA: You don’t need my permission for that. Do what you want. We’re not togeth… Never mind. I didn’t say it.
Belle: Right.

I didn’t even know how to take that. This is the same guy who was so insistent from the very beginning that I not date other people. Why would he say something like that to me? Did I deserve it for asking that we consider one evening’s logistics? I hardly think so. Roommate suggested I wait until after V-Day and do exactly as he said – post another ad. I mulled my options in a nice hot bubble bath.

The next morning, he woke me with a call wishing me a Happy Valentine’s. I spent the snow day lounging about and pampering myself. When I got ready and drove to his place,** I found his road hadn’t been plowed and a nasty buildup of snow and ice was blocking all the street parking. I called to tell him he’d have to park somewhere for me (yeah, this Southern girl can’t handle snow and ice… make all the fun you’d like). After waiting a full 10 minutes for him to “come right out,” I finally saw him appear. I was miffed all over again, but I tried to squash the bitterness in the hopes of not ruining the evening.

He brought me a dozen red roses and two cards. We parked my vehicle in a nearby lot so we could make our reservation, and he said he’d move it later. We had a nice dinner, only occasionally interrupted by me voicing complaints. I tried not to, but he just pressed me about things, and they came out. I told him he’d really hurt my feelings when he told me to post another ad the night before. He apologized profusely. *sigh* I’m getting kind of sick of all the apologies. When we first started dating and he apologized all the time but was being so sweet and great, I thought some bitch ex-girlfriend had him scared to do or say anything. At the time, it seemed like his habit of apologizing might’ve developed as a mechanism of preemptive self-defense. I’m beginning to think now that he’s always apologizing because he’s always fucking things up, which actually makes a lot more sense than my original theory.

Anyhow, the dinner was nice overall. Rather than move my vehicle when we reached it, he called the company responsible for towing that specific lot and talked to a woman who assured him they were too busy plowing streets and towing cars in emergency lanes to bother with someone parked in an empty Whole Foods lot. She even offered to take down his number in case someone called to have it towed. Off we went to his place, where candles and more roses (pink ones, this time) and chocolates and wine and cheesecake were waiting. Let’s just say the rest of the evening went well.

In the morning, things were a little less rosy. My truck had been towed. As a result, I was more than an hour late for work. NRA was irate about the situation, but I was just resigned. Shit happens sometimes, and this was one of those times.

The thing now is I’m questioning myself. I have been for a bit of time, obviously. The main question for the day is, how do I know if it’s time to cut him loose or if I’m just trying to avoid anything resembling a relationship because such things scare me? I do a fantastic job of dwelling on the negative, and that’s mostly what you get here (because it’s usually much more interesting than the good stuff, obviously). I try to sprinkle in some of the good stuff, too, but it nearly always takes second billing.

I think Roommate is sick of the whole saga and him. She’s the only one of my friends who has spent any time with him, and she’d been saying to keep him around only as long as I’m having fun. Now, she seems to just want me to tell him off and get rid of him for good.

Obviously, I’m still holding out on that one, which makes me ask a whole slew of questions…

- Should I dump him and move on, or am I just scared of seeing anything more come of this?

- What is keeping me from dropping him right now?

- Has he done anything recently to make him worthy of me?

- Why does the thought of dumping him without a significant event to point to make me feel bad?

- Should I be worrying this much about all this when we’re not quite three months in?

- Are the things I feel I need to talk to him about only going to increase in number and frequency as things progress?

- Again, are things progressing?

- Again, where in the hell are the friend intros?

* Factor in: Getting home from work on ice-covered roads, showering (and shaving), applying makeup, turning my messy mane into something fabulous, negotiating my way into this ridiculously difficult corset and garter thingy, picking an outfit, accessorizing, packing a bag that includes EVERYTHING I need to get ready for work the next day (which, by the way, NEVER happens), fussing with my hair some more, retouching my makeup, deciding on another outfit, re-accessorizing. See? See? I NEED to know how much time I’ve got to cram all this shit in.

** He insisted he wanted to pick me up, but, it being a ‘school night’ and all, it just didn’t work out that way.

*** These officially being the first flowers any guy has given me, if you exclude the flowers Roommate’s Boy Toy brought for me when he came to the house and the two flowers (one a carnation, one a rose with an embarrassingly sappy poem attached) left under my windshield wiper by two shy guys in high school.

Anger and Insecurity: Time to let him go?

After a couple of months of dating, Roommate wasn’t having fun with her Boy Toy anymore, so she decided last weekend would be a perfect time to let him go. Being that she’s a really nice person and such conversations aren’t really pleasant or fun, she broached the subject in a roundabout way, asking what he thought of “them.” He, being apparently insane, said that, due to his upcoming move, he saw two options for the pair: either Roommate could move with him, or they could break up.* Roommate happily agreed to the latter.

“How does this relate to you, Belle?” you might ask. Initially, I was going to say this relates to me because I don’t want to be the psycho person who assumes too much too soon in a relationship. But, now, I can’t even justify that concern.

I think I’ve mentioned that NRA has, on a few occasions, waited until practically the last possible moment to tell me he’s going out of town or has plans that don’t include me. Although I think it somewhat annoying that he not just clue me in when he knows he’ll be gone, I haven’t said as much because he isn’t technically my boyfriend or anything. Still though, we’re at the point now where we usually talk to each other several times a day and see each other several times a week.

Even though it is pretty much assumed that we will spend a few nights of the week together, he still resists making plans with me in advance. I think I’ve whined here about that before, and I know I talked to him about the thoughtless habit. Since we talked, he’s been a little better at (grudgingly) making plans… although mostly at Roommate’s behest and for weeknights. Weekends seem to be, for the most part, monopolized by outings with the boys and road trips to visit friends.

NRA waited until Friday to mention that he was going up to Baltimore Saturday evening. I casually asked what he was doing, and he said visiting a buddy then launched into a lame diversionary tale. When Roommate asked the same question a little while later, he gave her the same response he’d given me. Verbatim. She, not being in a pseudo-relationship with this guy, was free to call him out on his avoidance of any real answer. Even still, all we got out of it was another lame diversionary tale, this one of much greater length, still with no real details about plans for the evening.

I suppose it was my own naivety that allowed me to assume the Baltimore outing was another guys’ trip. It wasn’t. It involved at least as many girls as guys, from what I gathered when I saw him next. After I found out that fiancées and girlfriends and even just regular old girls who are friends went on this trip, I found myself feeling troubled and insecure. Why didn’t he invite me to go with him? What’s he hiding? Why is he still not letting me meet the friends? Is he hiding me from them? What has he told them about me?

I spent the night tossing and turning in NRA’s bed, waking myself and him on several occasions with loud whimpering noises that signaled I was about to cry in my sleep. I don’t remember my dreams, but I know I woke up feeling just as miserable as I did when we went to bed. The day didn’t make the feelings disappear. In fact, they only intensified.

A huge wave of resentment surfaced when I realized it isn’t just that NRA isn’t including me on all these great, fun times with friends.** It’s hardly just that. When he goes out with his friends, I suffer for it for the next few days at least. He gets obliterated and goes to sleep well after the sun is up when he’s with his friends. And what do I get? I get the shitty hangover days when he’s too tired and sick to get off the couch. I get to listen to him whine about nearly everything. I get to hear he’d rather stay in than go out with me because he dropped $500 last weekend with the boys. I get to hear him tell me he’s too tired for sex. Again.*** Sprinkle all this troubling insecurity and resentment with the bitterness that springs from recalling how NRA pretty much just stopped trying when he found out I wasn’t seeing anyone else and you've got a pretty unhappy Belle here.

When I got home and laid the worries of the day on Roommate’s cutting board, she asked what was making me stick around. I didn’t have an answer for her. And I don’t have an answer for myself.


* In case you didn’t catch that, Boy Toy proposed that Roommate move to some unspecified location with him after two months of unremarkable, un-exclusive dating. Two months. That’s just crazy.
** Great, fun times that he insists on sharing photos and stories from after the fact, mind you, as if he just wants to rub it all in my face.
*** I think I’ve avoided mentioning this little problem in this forum up to this point, but it wasn’t long after we first started having sex that he told me he was too tired one night. This has been repeated on several occasions, despite me being extremely vocal about how I find this behavior inappropriate at this juncture of the relationship. We’re not talking about days when he’s run a marathon, or even gone to the gym, for that matter. Besides, it’s not like the few minutes of mild-to-moderate physical exertion would kill him. I’m not even going to get into the ego-bust it is to hear a member of the horniest demographic on earth repeatedly turn down sex.

Oh the Dreaded V-Day

I’m an idiot.

On one of our first dates, something came up about Valentine’s Day, and I told NRA I hated the pseudo-holiday. I told him I’d always loathed it and probably went on a small tangent about the worthless damned celebration. And when he asked what I’d prefer be done to recognize the day, I said, “Nothing.” And he said, “Just ignore it?!?” And I said, “Yeah.” This sparked a response from him along the lines of, “You’re the most awesome girl ever. Seriously. You’re awesome.”

Did I think at that moment that NRA might still be around several months later to actually put my short-sighted Valentine’s Day request into practice? No. I obviously never think ahead when doing so could be even remotely beneficial to me.

So now the big, stupid freakin’ sorry-excuse-for-a-holiday is right around the corner. And, you know what? I, of course, want something out of the whole stupid freakin’ outlandish candy and greeting card company-created holiday. I want a (small) hoopla made and an exchange of gifts and/or a romantic night out (or in) and some long, tender love-makin’ (or a close approximation thereof), by damn.

The reasons for this desire are pretty obvious to me. In the 24 years preceding 2007, there was not one passing of the 14th of February that involved me being technically involved with another living soul. I’ve never had the sappy, makes-you-want-to-puke-it’s-so-sickly-sweet Valentine’s Day experience. I haven’t even had a cheap knock-off version or a bad carbon copy of the overly-hyped experience.

Heretofore, my preferred method of passing Valentine’s Day involved consuming as much whiskey as possible and discreetly throwing conversation hearts at the backs of happy couples’ heads. But now, like I said, I want to be part of one of those icky couples flaunting their happiness in everyone else’s faces. Or I want, at the very least, to be able to pretend I’m making up one-half of such a monstrosity.

Alas, I opened my mouth and inserted my foot months ago and am only now getting a taste of that previously-chewed gum and sidewalk grime combination that was stuck on the bottom of my shoe at the time.

I was going to hold off on the V-Day ranting until I had a good reason, but I think I might just have one now. During my visit to the Southern Homestead this weekend, The Grams asked what NRA was getting HER for V-Day (The Grams lives for presents… even if they are from strangers). I jokingly relayed her request for flowers or candy to NRA last night, who responded with a literal guffaw and, “I’m not even getting you anything for Valentine’s Day.”

Ouch.

Gentleman Jack, you make relationship talks flow

In the past few weeks, NRA Guy and I slipped into a routine that was a bit too easy or comfortable or whatever you want to call it. We literally have done nothing outside the confines of the four walls of one of our respective domiciles. Since the comedy club adventure (which also included Roommate and therefore can’t be categorized as a real date), we’d mainly been spending time at his house.

He’d also stopped making plans with me in advance. I noticed he had no problem making plans with friends before the actual day of said plans, but I couldn’t get anything solid from him until the day we saw each other.

When I was in NRA’s presence, the setup didn’t bother me so much. It was when I left that I got perturbed. With this transition… and with other things.

Soon after the fight and the subsequent making up, NRA took up the habit of telling me “we aren’t together” whenever it suited his purposes. Every time he said it, I felt like he was punishing me for revoking his boyfriend title. It really started to get on my nerves.

I started asking myself and anyone else who would listen some questions (sorry, nice commuter lady, for burdening you as you tried to read your paper in peace and get off the Metro in one piece).

Why do we always have to hang out at his house? If we’re already being lazy and staying in most nights this early on, am I ever going to get him out of the house as the relationship progresses? Is the relationship progressing? Why, if “we aren’t together,” as he’s so quick to point out, does he expect me to be available at his convenience? Why, if we aren’t together, am I stuck not dating other people? (I know, I know. It could be argued that I did this to myself. Still, it sucks.)

I decided my first course of action was to not accept any more last minute plans. My thinking was that it’d take him a while to figure it out, but that I wouldn’t accept plans less than three days in advance. I put this into effect without telling him, making sure to make plans as the days passed to fill in any blank pages in my planner. (He can be very convincing; I didn’t want my will to crumble.)

In the meantime, while I was asking all those questions and making plenty of plans and getting pissed off at an unsuspecting NRA Guy, these other guys kept cropping up and telling me to ditch him. Guys I hadn’t talked to in weeks or months suddenly showed back up on the radar. And each one of them told me he was a better option than my current selection. Considering my mindset, it didn’t take much to make me think they might be right.

As tempting as some of their offers were, one of those pesky voices kept telling me I couldn’t do that to NRA. I’d told him I wasn’t seeing anyone else and wouldn’t be doing so. I felt I had to honor that.

A mere four days into my pledge not to accept last-minute plans, I buckled. He told me on a Wednesday that he was going out of town for a Boys’ Weekend. (See? Plans. In advance. Bastard.) We hadn’t seen each other all week, and we wouldn’t until the next week if we didn’t hang out the following night. I ended up going to his place (only with a promise that he’d make his way to mine for our next several encounters).

After consuming much whiskey, we went to bed. It was then I brought up the things that were bothering me. To the best of my whiskey-clouded recollection, this is what resulted.

- He agreed to make plans in advance, to do more date things, and to introduce me to some of his friends.

- He won’t throw out “we’re not in a relationship” anymore, and he claims he never did it to punish me.

- He half-heartedly promised he’d try to be more accommodating on the whose-house-tonight front. (“But, it’s just so much more convenient to hang out here… for me.” I know this one will continue to be a battle.)

- I will do my best not to make him feel like he’s still paying for his big, fat lie. I explained that my using the word “lie” isn’t always me trying to make him feel bad (it’s more his guilty conscience, but I didn’t point that out). I did point out that, even if we systematically avoid the subject, it’s going to come up. I didn’t contact the people at the Leno show to have Jay talk about lying husbands in his opening monologue just because NRA and I might randomly tune in. I didn’t tell the comedian at the club to do a spiel about lying boyfriends when we were in the audience. It’s a common theme. We’re going to encounter it. (He told me the other day that, after he shared his version of the NYE/fight story, his coworkers address him as “Liar” now. Fantastic!)

- He/we want the relationship to progress, although I’m not sure exactly what that means.

I don’t see this working out for a long-term thing. He’s still a liar. While he claims he’s honest with me, he’s definitely not shy about telling me of his lies to others. If he’s lying to them, he’s probably lying to me. Or he will be soon. (Actually, a couple small untruths have surfaced recently. None of them amounted to much except me wondering why in the hell someone would lie about such insignificant things. I’m certain time is the only thing that stands between me and another revelation of a whopper.)

Is it completely horrible to think of this whole thing as practice for a real relationship? A warm-up? A trial run? Well, even if it is horrible, that’s kind of what I’m doing. For the most part, I enjoy the time I spend with NRA; we have fun together. I do like the guy, despite all reason, and so I find it hard to justify ending things now when nothing major has happened. I can’t say I’m completely emotionally detached. If I were, I’d have no problem saying farewell without a solid reason. At the same time, I’m trying not to get too vested in the whole thing.

Get Your Running Shoes: The L-word and marriage talk already?!?!

This weekend, Belle hit the quarter-century mark. (Woo hoo!

NRA Guy wasn’t invited to the Big Birthday Shindig on Saturday, mainly because I didn’t want him to meet the friends before having a chance to redeem himself in some ways. (That I’ve still only met Best Buddy had more than a little to do with it, too.) Since he was out of the picture on the actual Big Day, he asked to take me and the roommate out Friday night.

When I asked him what I should wear, he told me I shouldn’t dress for a ball or for a baseball game. For most guys, this would’ve sufficiently narrowed options, and they would’ve been fine wearing any mid-tier wardrobe selection, no matter the destination. Being that I’m a girl, this didn’t help me all that much in choosing an outfit. Should I wear slacks or a skirt or jeans? Heels or no? Flashy or modest jewelry?

He wanted the plans to be a surprise, but I already had an idea (which later proved correct) about his intentions. We’d talked about going to a comedy club before, and I assumed that’s where he wanted to take us. In the interest of letting him have his surprise-Belle fun, I didn’t want to ask straight out if that was in the cards for the evening in the midst of our what-do-I-wear conversation. Instead, I asked if I could wear jeans.

NRA: You can wear jeans, but only because I love you.
(In the background, a record scratches to a stop.)
(Simultaneously)
NRA: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…
Belle: (Laughs hysterically)
NRA: no, no, no, no… I didn’t mean… no, no, no, no…
Belle: (Still laughing)
NRA: I… um, that’s not what I… no, no, no, no…
Belle: (… and still…)
NRA: No, I take it back. I just meant…
Belle: (Catching breath) I know what you meant...

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, with me erupting into fits of laughter several more times before we got off the phone. I asked if he was going to tell Best Buddy about his (Freudian?) slip, and he said absolutely not. I told him I was going to tell Roommate about it, and he freaked out, telling me I couldn’t. Of course, I did. Her initial reaction to my (admittedly provocative) revelation was to ask, “And you didn’t run far, far away?” Then I told her what actually happened.

I have to say, I’m glad he slipped up first. I tell almost all my friends I love them regularly (and I do love you guys!). My family and I end every phone conversation that way. We say it whenever we leave the house (the reasoning being, I’m sure, that if someone dies, the last thing you said will have been, “I love you,” and not something like, “I’m sick of you never taking out the trash. Just go!”). I say it all the time to Roommate. Sometimes, it just comes out when I’m talking to acquaintances (and, maybe on a few occasions, really cool strangers). That’s why I didn’t run when he said it. I know he didn’t mean it like that*, and it gives me a free pass for when I inevitably let the L-word slip.

The whole incident has actually proved rather entertaining. I’ve been giving him endless shit about The Slip since then. It makes him wriggle around uncomfortably, explain himself endlessly, and perhaps even blush a little. What fun for me.

Roommate decided to cook a birthday lovely dinner for me last night. NRA and a long-time friend came over to eat with us. (We’ll call her Ms. Potato, to keep things less confusing. And, no, that name doesn’t get an explanation here.) Several glasses of Spanish wine into our (semi) Spanish-themed evening, Ms. Potato started talking about someone she knows who is getting married. She asked NRA’s opinion of the suitor asking the father for his beloved’s hand in marriage. (Gag) NRA’s response was that he would absolutely have to ask the father for permission. He was so matter-of-fact about it.

I was just standing in the kitchen staring at him, thinking, “I’m dating this guy? Really?” Although my father would perhaps think it nice if someone were to ask him for my hand in marriage, I think the whole thing reeks of antiquated ideals of women as property.

My father hasn’t had a say in my life in at least seven years. More than that if you count that he never really dealt with me when I was living at home. He left the girl-child rearin’ to the women-folk while he took my brothers off to teach them hard work and hard play and make them into men misogynists or whatever the hell they were up to while I was helping clean the house and run errands and make dinner. (You know. Women’s work.)

My father and I have never been close, although things are admittedly better between us in the past two years. He has made an effort recently, and I’ve appreciated that. The strain and tension have dissipated, but that doesn’t make us close. I don’t belong to the guy. He can’t give anyone permission to do anything with me. (Not that NRA was talking specifically about me, but my mind is allowed to go that way. We are dating.)

Perhaps my mind will change. Fucking hormones. When I was very young (like, seven or eight), I remember saying I wouldn’t get married until I’d gone to college, gotten a job, and had my own home. I’d seen my married-at-18 mother fight long, constant battles to get everything (an education, cars, a home, clothes… you name it) after she and my dad divorced when she was nearly 30. I’d seen those same signs of dependence in my step-mom, who married my divorced-with-two-kids dad at 17. I vowed I’d never be the woman who couldn’t take care of herself because she depended on some man to do it and he let her down. Pretty heavy thinking for an 8-year-old.

Later, when I was a bit older, I started to hate the idea of marriage itself. The odds are against you, and I saw way too many fall apart around me. And, although I love children, I decided I didn’t want them for a multitude of reasons. I saw my parents go through things with each of my brothers that I don’t think I’d be able to handle as a parent. That alone could have been enough to make me never want to have kids if I hadn’t already made up my mind on the matter.

Where was I going with this?... Oh yeah, Fucking Hormones. Lately, I’ve noticed subtle changes in the way I think, both about marriage and about kids. I’m unwilling to outright admit that I might be open to the possibility of either (and, no, this has nothing to do with NRA directly. I’ve been suppressing/denying/battling this potential transition for a while now). But I can’t deny that I sometimes feel like it really might not be so bad to go down that route. It always creeps up on me when I’m not expecting it. I blame the hormones. Hormones do crazy things to otherwise sane people (not to claim that I’m sane or anything…).

So, perhaps if my hormones make me go (more?) crazy and I find some guy who’s tricky enough to get me to agree to marry him, I might actually think it a nice gesture that he asked my father for my hand. But I doubt it.

I asked NRA if it bothered him that we want such different things in life. He said he’s not worried about it right now, but I don’t really believe him. He’s already mentioned on a few occasions that I don’t want marriage or kids and he does (usually preceded by “and that’s another thing”). The other night, I was talking about my dream to live in different places every two years or so. While he conceded that it would be cool to get to know so many places like that (I agree; I hate tourist-y traveling), he wouldn’t be into it at all. (“You couldn’t start a career.” “Moving is hard and expensive.” “It’s hard to make new friends.” Etc. and whatnot.)

Meh.

* NRA told me on the phone yesterday that he wouldn’t say the L-word for real until we’d been dating at least a year. The Roommate and I have a bet on that one. If we stay together, neither of us thinks he’ll manage to hold out that long.

One More Time: Giving it a go with NRA

All right, all right. Perhaps I was hasty in saying it was over with NRA Guy. No, probably not really. I was certain it was over when I wrote that post. And, had he not contacted me until after the girl left, it really would have been over.

But he did contact me. The day after I got the pass and dropped off his stuff. And the next day. And the next. And even when we were having our really tense, unhappy conversations about the big fat fucking lie and the whole weekend/parking pass fiasco, I couldn’t bring myself to be really mean to him or do anything that would make him want to cut all ties forever. I’ve done it countless times before. It’s a safety measure I use because I know in moments of weakness or drunkenness or stupidity, I might just land back in some jerk’s arms. But, with him, I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want there to be no possibility of getting back together.

So we had a really, really long talk the other night in person. Overall, it was good.

He admitted the whole deal was pretty much his fault (with some lame attempts to put little, tiny things on me), but we agreed that everything snowballed out of control really quickly. He says he was trying to do the right thing by telling me about the lie, and I think he was. Everything after that can basically be chalked up to failure to communicate, drunken stupidity, and childishness.

He told me that after I ended the shortest relationship ever, he thought we couldn’t move forward. He’s only had bad experiences once anyone’s taken a step back in a relationship, so he was upset when I removed the title because it indicated the beginning of the end to him. He said part of him was ready to run right then.

He admits he has communication issues that reach even deeper than mine, but he’s working on saying what he thinks instead of leaving me to wonder and guess. (I tried to tell him it’s never in his favor when I’m coming up with the scenarios to explain behavior or situations. He'll almost always be better off telling me about it than leaving me to my own devices.)

He took issue with my vindictive little stabs when I gave his things back. I don't think I apologized. I thought they were particularly clever, and I was justifiably mad at the time. I found out he did some of his own stabbing, although in ways I never would've known about if we didn't get back together. (Aw... he cares.)

He's back to talking in future tense. I'm still resisting my nearly-overwhelming urge to run every time he mentions something like next New Year's, for instance. He called me his girlfriend a couple times, and I didn't hurl. But he knows the title isn't actually in place.

I didn't invite him to my birthday celebration tomorrow, explaining that it's not the best time for him to meet the friends. He needs time to redeem himself in everyone's eyes. Let's hope he can.

I'm trying really hard not to bring the whole thing up all the time, which is proving difficult. Whenever lying or fighting or anything comes up in a song or on T.V. or in our conversation, it causes a little moment of each of us wondering how we should address it, if at all.

He’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. Things aren’t perfect between us. But they’re better, for the moment, and it seems we’re going to see where this goes.