Return of the Cabbie

Early this morning, at minutes to 2 a.m., I was trudging up the stairs at Kennedy Station towards the taxi stand.

I’d had a great night, and so far a great weekend.

I also had $27 in my wallet and was hoping I’d get an understanding taxi driver. As I neared the front of the line, toward a mini-van taxi, I suddenly thought to myself, I really hope I don’t end up taking a ride from that taxi driver I ran into a few months back.

I approached the van, slid the door open and, as I sat down, came (almost) face to face with …

The Pick-Up Cab. (This is the point at which you click on the link to refresh your memory.)

Motherfucker, I thought.

“Hi,” is what I actually said. “How are you?”

“Fine,” said Mr. Pick-Up Cab.

I gave him the intersection where I wanted to go, and almost simultaneously, he said, “Yeah, I think I’ve driven you home before.”

Aw sheeit, I cursed silently.

“Oh, really? Yeah, probably … you kind of look familiar,” I said, none too convincingly.

As we drove home, he asked me about where I was coming from, where I worked (again), what I did, and asked whether I was just coming from work (although I’d JUST said I was coming from downtown from a social function.

He kept the conversation about work (except for the two seconds that he asked whether I’d always had braids), pretty much up until he pulled onto my driveway.

And as soon as I’d settled up my cab fare, he said, “Nice to see you again … even though you never called me.”

And then he turned and looked right at me.

Play me off, Keyboard Cat.

Here We Go Again …

Last night, while at my friend’s “Bye Bye Bush” dinner party (’cause if THIS isn’t an excuse to throw a party, I don’t know what WOULD be), a friend of mine asked me what my New Year’s resolution was.

I told her I didn’t really make any, because I’d be liable to break them.

Later on, when I asked her what hers was, she replied:

“To spend more time with men.”

Her rationale behind this: She’s a very girly-girl; thus, most of her friends are female. By hanging out more with guys, not only might she expand her cache of comrades of the opposite sex and gain some really good friends, eventually she might meet someone who’s boyfriend material. Why not?

I thought it was a great idea, and said good for her.

Then she said to me, “I have a dating site for you.”

I blinked.

“You do?” I said (and I’m pretty sure I was wrinkling my forehead and turning up my nose ever so slightly).

Apparently it’s high-time for me to get myself on a dating Web site – if only for the “dating practice”. AND she’s going to bug me everytime she sees me until I’m on it. Because really – what do I have to lose?

*sigh* Yep. Ten days AHEAD of schedule from last year.

I have to admit when I bedgrudgingly said I’d try and do it, my eyes were flitting from my friend’s face to the splotch on the ceiling above the kitchen tape.

Honestly, I’d love to oblige. And I like boys, really. But I’m so disinterested right now. The weeks following Christmas usually mean my hormones are in hibernation. And the weather we’ve been having lately? NOT helping.

I dunno. I’m not feeling the whole idea right now.

But I guess when she talks to me, she’d rather hear me talk about some guy I went on a date with, rather than me saying, “Not much. I’ve just been working.” Ha.

We’ll see.

Unexpected E-Mails

You know it’s the holidays when you get e-mails from people you haven’t heard from in months – perhaps even years.

I got two e-mails last Saturday.

The first was from a friend of mine who’s just gotten back from travelling around Southeast Asia for the last several months.

I used to have the hugest crush on him, and when I found out he didn’t feel the same way, it hurt. (The summer does strange things to my brain and my ego, seriously.) But it was for the best, as it always is, and I’m totally fine.

He’s in town for the next weeks until he takes off to his next destination: workin’ out west to earn some money for business school.

The other e-mail I received threw me for a bit of a loop.

In the early days of this blog, there was a dude whom I referred to only as Shakespeare. To me, he emanated weird vibes from the start.

As the story goes, the burgeoning acquaintanceship got way too weird for me, so I cut him off. I blocked him on my IM list, I didn’t e-mail him. Nothing. The last e-mail I got from him – which I responded to – was at least a year ago, I think.

Until today.

The e-mail was short and full of holiday greetings, along with the line, “I hope you still remember me.” (Unfortunately, I was thinking.)

It took a few days – plus some counsel from a friend of mine – before I brought myself to e-mail a reply, in the spirit of the season.

If I don’t sound sincere about it, it’s because part of me is extremely wary.

I mean, I pretty much eliminated contact with him for a reason.

And with everything I’m trying to straighten out career-wise and otherwise, and all the good friends I DO have – who DON’T make me feel weird – I don’t particularly feel charitable about expending time and energy on someone I found I couldn’t be myself around, who made me put my guard up because of the way he or she acted around me.   Know what I mean?

Perhaps I’m not being fair. But that’s just how I feel.

How do I know that what’s in the past, is simply that?

A “WTF?” Monday

I’m not going to get into the particulars what fuelled what I’m about to write.

But all I’ll say is this: this morning, I got an e-mail with respect to something that I posted about recently. And all I want to say is this:

I’m weary. Nay, TIRED. Of being written off by guys. T-I-R-E-D.

I’ve been dealing with it most of my life. I was the girl who never dated in high school. Or university. I’ve always been the Friend of the Girlfriend. It’s a supporting role I know well. Be upbeat and quirky. Crack jokes. Befriend everyone. That’s my personality.

But there have been one too many times where I’ve met guys – irrespective of whether I like them or not – and later on in our friendship, I find out that they actually kind of liked me when they first met me, but didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to get the message across. Nothing.

Putting myself in their shoes – which is where I feel I am right now – I might understand why. Who the hell wants to be rejected? Really, it’s the worst feeling. Like being punched in the gut, or having someone grab a hunk of flesh and twist it as tightly as they can.

Or maybe I’m just as oblivious as they are and they’ve been trying all along – I just didn’t notice.

I so far know of two people who have come out and told me what they felt. One I dated briefly. The other I thought was crazy weird. But I will never fault them for being honest. They’ve been the only ones.

Today though, I was a bit stung. No, I’m lying. I was very stung. And then I became angry.

I don’t think I’m the most attractive woman in the world. Or the smartest. Or the most charismatic. And I don’t consider myself a wallflower.

I kind of pride myself on not chasing guys. That’s just not me and it kind of makes me feel weird just thinking about it.

But, it seems, apparently being chill and low-key isn’t getting me anywhere.

Maybe I wish some guys – or at least the ones I’m attracted to – would man up.

Or maybe I should just woman up.

I know this’ll subside. Someday I’ll laugh about it (apologies to N.E.R.D.) , but right now? Hmph.

Here’s the song in question I’m talkin’ ’bout. (It probably doesn’t fit my situation. Or maybe it’s the angry beats that do it. Anyway, I LIKE it.)

P.S. This may disappear after a while. I hope not. But apologies if it does.

Le Sigh 2.0

In a recent post on her blog, a friend of mine lamented, “Why am I attracted to all the wrong guys?”

I commiserate with her. Not because I think I have the same problem. Oh, no, no. My issue is that I seem to be attracted to the guys whom, for some reason, I cannot have.

Ladies (and maybe gents), prepare to be dismayed. 

Today, I gotta rant. About a boy. And it’s gonna get neurotic.

I have this recurring (or ongoing?) crush on this guy, and it’s driving me nuts. I’ve mentioned him before, but I’m not going to go into the backstory here. I already did that last year. And it progressed into the summer. (Yes, I’m la-aaame.)

I thought I stopped liking him a while back. But I guess I was lying to myself. Again.

Before last Friday, I last saw him in March, at a friend’s birthday party. But then he went travelling for a while, so I didn’t really hear from him until mid-April, when I decided to e-mail him.

In my mind, I’m telling myself, snap out of it, because he’s typical of every guy I ever had a crush on – The Guy I Cannot Have – so why pine away over someone who is Just Another Friend? Especially someone I see only every two months on average, anyway?

But something in me can’t help but hang on to the threads of possibility. Even if I don’t see him for long periods of time, every time I do, it’s like it starts up all over again.

For instance: I went to meet him for dinner on Friday – purely as friends – and in my head I thought, It’s no big deal. It’s just dinner. Catching up. Shooting the shit.

But as I got closer to the restaurant, I started having this jittery feeling in my stomach – the one I’d get if I was going for a big test or a job interview.

And then my throat just suddenly went dry. My throat almost never does that.

It’s that ludicrous.

And then the other thing – not that I’m decent at being able to decipher people at all – is, I am absolutely no good at figuring him out. I can’t read him.

Like, in the past, sometimes the way he’ll sometimes squeeze my arm or wink at me, I’d be thinking, Is he winking at me? I – I think he did. Did he just squeeze my arm? I don’t see him do that with anyone else

So then I’m convinced – or, at least, the 16-year-old inhabiting my body is convinced – it’s somehow this thing.

For me the big part of this thing is our greetings and goodbyes. Usually it’s a hug accompanied with a peck on the cheek. I don’t just dole that shit out to anyone. If you get any sugar from me, it’s either ’cause you’re (a) a friend or (b) other – and I don’t think I need explain what I mean by “other”. 

Until last Friday. When we parted ways, we just gave each other a hug. Period.

Walking to the subway station, while I was numbing part of my brain by blasting music through my iPod (and thereby further damaging my hearing), the other part was like, What the fu- ? Wha? That’s it? Huh. I guess he was just being overly friendly that one time … or maybe he liked me way back, but he’s over it … Or maybe he’s just tired and has to get up early in the morning …

And on it went, to the point where the neurotic part of my brain has presently resigned itself to the belief that nothing will happen between us.

Yes. I am, without a doubt, socially STUNTED when it comes to this sort of thing. Sigh.

Maybe I should get out more, with different people. But it seems like so much work. And really? What good will unleashing me onto the general populace do?

Besides, if he actually liked me as much as I like him (as part of my brain would like me to keep hoping), he would have done something about it already, right? Something would’ve happened.

Yarrrrggggh.

The older I get, the worse I get at this stuff.

I should just fill out my application for the nunnery and submit it. Like, first thing Monday morning. 

 

The Monthly Date Quota

black-book.jpgSo, while out last night with friends, two of my friends declared that this year would be the one in which they were going to date more – or just go out on dates, period.

And then they turned on me.

One of my friends – a blonde who, in my opinion, doesn’ t have a problem with guys, period – said, “I challenge you to go on ONE date a month.”

She extended her hand as if to seal a bet.

“What?” I replied, half-laughing. “You DO know that I’m lucky if I fill my one-date quota for the year, right? That’s impossible.”

“Oh, you’ll do it!” my dark-haired friend chimed in. “Just get online!”

“Pssssssp!” I scoffed.  

“Just think of them as practice dates,” she replied.

I still wasn’t convinced, but I ended up shaking hands with them anyway.

“All riii-iight,” I said in a sing-song voice. “But I still say it’s not gonna happen.”

After a moment, I asked, “So what happens if I don’t fill my date quota for the month?”

My friends looked at each other, and then Friend #2 replied with a grin, “Then we find a date for you.”

Honestly, I’m tempted NOT to even try this month. Chances are who they cough up would probably end up being way better than whomever I end up choosing – or not choosing, as might be more likely.

Meh. Maybe I’ll sign up with Lavalife in March.

Or not.

Moving … For Love?

This past weekend, I got a Facebook e-mail from a friend of mine I’d recently seen about three weekends ago.

Turns out he was having an “all contents sale” – selling everything in his house because, he said, “I can’t take it with me!”

He’s not redecorating. He’s moving to London – for a woman he met only recently.

The backstory:

Shortly after I returned from Spain, in September, my friend and a buddy of his went to Spain with a Contiki tour. From what I could piece together, he met this girl – who happens to be from London – and they immediately clicked.

Shortly after returning, he was on a plane to London to see her about two weeks later.

Last month, he had a bunch of people over to hang out and meet his new lady. His friend (also a friend and I) jokingly bet over whether or not he’d move to London for her. He said yes. I said no.

(He also bet me $200. I said he was out of his mind, but that I still thought I was right.)

Maybe I didn’t believe he’d do it so quickly, because I remember blinking hard after reading the e-mail that he was selling all his stuff.

I understand we should all take chances in life … that taking the risk is sometimes better than not doing so at all. 

And when you really feel a connection with someone – stronger than any you’ve ever felt for anyone else – then you want to be as close to them as you can.

And I can understand how excruciatingly difficult a trans-Atlantic relationship could be. I don’t think I could do it, because of the emotional toll on both people. 

But after only two months?

I could understand if they’d been in this relationship for a year … nay, even six months. But two? It just seems a bit rash, considering all the things he has to change to be with this woman …

Sell his house. Find a new job. Do the paperwork to be able to work over there. Completely readjust.

I know, I know. I’m old-fashioned and narrow-minded (though I don’t mean to be). And it’s not my life, it’s his. And what if he doesn’t take the risk? Then he’d be asking “What if?” for the rest of his life.

I just hope that it all works in his favour – and that it doesn’t end in heartache.