Yesterday I went to Baltimore to visit Edgar Allan Poe’s grave. It was the third date for with Doc, who told me his favorite thing about my online dating profile was that I said I spent a lot of time wondering why life couldn’t be more like a nineteenth century novel. Doc brought a flask of whiskey and I brought a book of Poe’s poems. We drank the whiskey–and poured some for Poe, too–and I read “Annabel Lee.” Pretty good third date.
It’s been awhile. That last guy didn’t work out. We saw each other one more time, but it wasn’t the same without all the tequila. Go figure.
Meanwhile, I’ve sworn off dating because I’m spending all my time training for roller derby. I’m writing all about it on the fitness blog. I find I don’t have much else to report. Being a jock is a little boring.
Next Thursday is my co-worker, the cute statistician’s last day at work. He got a new job. I wonder if he’ll finally ask me out. I’m not holding my breath, but I would come out of dating retirement for him.
Sometimes you’re out strolling around Capitol Hill, and you meet a boy, and he buys you drinks, and you take him home only to discover a deep well of depravity beneath the mild-mannered facade of a software engineer.
I don’t know about other girls, but when this happens to me, I like it.
Sometimes a boy like this grabs a fistful of your hair and growls, “You’re either going to end up crazy or in love.” And you know that this is true, and that more than likely you’ll end up both of those things, but you don’t care because who says things like that anyway? Except maybe a character in a novel by one of the Bronte sisters, if they had been writing in our century.
But then, in the cooler light of Sunday morning, you think about the filmmaker and the writer, and you tell yourself you cannot go through all of that again. So you try to be an emotionally healthy grownup, and you tell the boy that you can’t go to all the deep, dark places he wants to take you. You think this will be the end of it. But then he says, “Don’t you owe it to yourself to explore this?”
Don’t you owe it to yourself? He actually says those words, and you know he’s right. You tell him you need time to think, but who are you kidding?
It’s a quiet Saturday night after a day of wasting time, napping, and basically doing nothing at all productive. In other words, I continue to exercise hard, get extremely tired, and crash on Saturday. Our busy season is starting at work, and I am already weary and irritable. This year I am more buried in work than ever because I made the mistake of distinguishing myself and now have many extra special projects–basically a whole other full time job in addition to my regular responsibilities. It’s going to be a long winter.
This week I have been corresponding with a promising man whom I did NOT meet through online dating. You may recall my friend and former business partner, SS. Well, ever since I moved to DC she has been telling me that her husband, W., thinks I should meet his friend. W. reads the other blog, so he should have a decent idea of my personality. The friend lives about three hours south of here. So far in his emails he seems nice, grownup and intimidatingly smart, which I do love in a man. One of his hobbies is Civil War reenacting. When I told my co-worker that, she decided to make up a Civil War name for him and settled on Ernest Rutherford. In the meantime, I started thinking that learning to fire a musket would make for a fantastic date! Anyway, I think I will call him Ernest on this blog. We’ll probably progress to talking on the phone next week and see how that goes.
I can’t say I’m sorry to see 2011–the year of feeling like crap–on its way out. The only worse years in my life to date have been 2005 (the year of my dad being sick) and 2009 (the year of leaving my husband). Let’s hope this is the last rough year for awhile.
Christmas came and went. I’ve been on vacation–enjoying introvert time reading, exercising and reflecting on the end of the year. Look for that stuff on the other blog, along with tales of one of the best experiences of the year for me: posing nude.
In other news, the optimist is moving away. Of course, he has been declaring for as long as I’ve known him that he’s moving away and in fact gave notice to his landlord at one point last February as I recall. We went to lunch and a play on Christmas Eve to say goodbye. I haven’t spent much time with him these last few months. In the end, I couldn’t take quite so much optimism. But I’m sorry to see him go.
My focus as I begin 2012 is on getting healthy and strong for roller derby. I have other goals too–to get back to writing poems, to be a little more social–but fitness is the number one priority for the next few months.
The way I figure it, we’re 50-50 at this point: Either my coworker secretly has the hots for me, or I’m making an ass of myself. I keep going back and forth between the two.
You may recall, it was his turn to make a move. Meanwhile, I invited him along with about ten other coworkers to roller derby this weekend. No big deal. I invite people at work to roller derby all the time. He emailed to say he couldn’t come because his band was playing that night. He invited me to come see his band.
So I rounded up two of my friends, and we went. They got there first. They said he asked them if I was coming. He played. We made affirmational statements about his playing. My friends were ready to leave. I told him my friends were leaving but I wondered if he was sticking around and would like to have a drink. We had a drink. He walked me to the metro. He gave me a hug.
Both times we have spent time together outside of work, he has done this thing with the hug. He pulls away and give me a quizzical look. I keep thinking it is the look of a man who wants to kiss me but isn’t sure he should. It could be my imagination. It could be something else entirely. It could just be me making an ass of myself.
If he weren’t my coworker, I would have kissed that quizzical look right off his face last night and found out once and for all. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Ugh. What am I gonna do? And whose turn is it now?
Friday was my birthday. I took the bus to New York to see the de Kooning exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. Ironically, my favorite paintings in the exhibit were my old friends from the Hirshhorn here in DC, including Woman, Sag Harbor:
MoMA also had a Diego Rivera exhibit that just went up last week, so that was a nice surprise.
After plenty of art and an excellent lunch (best museum food I’ve had in awhile), I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Manhattan. It was a long-ass bus ride home, but it was a small price to pay for an excellent birthday.
And now I am 37.
My life is not perfect, but it is better than it has been for a very long time. I’m happy. I’m hopeful. What more could I ask for?