(Cole):

Decisions, decisions…

As Americans, we are bombarded with myriad options, all we have to do is choose which option to take.  Seems simple enough, but sometimes too many options overwhelm us and hinder our decision making abilities.  A little over a year ago, when I was hosting a foreign exchange student from France, I made sure to take him to the supermarket with me and show him the toilet paper isle.  He was astounded by all the different types of toilet paper we have at our disposal.  In France, the toilet paper is pretty crappy (ha…), but at least you know it’s crappy, and there are only like, four or five brands to choose from.  Vitamin E with Aloe toilet paper?  Seriously?  It’s something you wipe your ass with and then flush down the toilet.  I wouldn’t give a shit if it was pink, scented, and made my asshole smell like roses, I can’t really see myself caring too much about something so trivial. 

Now toothpaste, well, that’s another story.  It’s a good thing I’m not a stoner or I would probably spend a good hour sifting through all the different types of toothpaste.  But I find toothpaste slightly more important than what I stick between my ass cheeks, so I do spend a fair amount of time down that isle as it is.

When it comes to men, again, variety is the spice of life, and it’s lovely to have the ability to choose, but sometimes having more than one option complicates things, and most of the time you’re lucky if you even have an option at all…

The easiest way to make a decision is process of elimination.  It’s pretty obvious which options you don’t want, so you check them off the list immediately.  As I had fairly recently joined a dating site, and options were piling up in my in box, the simplest way to eliminate an option was simply to delete him without writing back, and I did that, but somewhere along the line I guess I just sort of got bored and decided that it was rude to simply delete someone.  That’s when I started having a little fun. 

Let’s see…  There was the guy who sent me “hi.  How are you?” three days in a row and I decided to respond with “You already said that.  Twice.”  I did not receive a forth “hi. How are you?”

There was the guy I responded with “how am I supposed to know what you are trying to say if you don’t use punctuation?”  He did not write back either. 

I no longer recall what the guy who wrote to me in all caps responded with to my “Why are you yelling at me?” message, but I think my all time favorite of my somewhat snide but perfectly honest, and unfiltered responses was: “I would probably rather shoot myself in the face with my 12 gauge than hear you sing to me on a first date!”

     I know, I’m an asshole, but what can I say?  I was bored, it was funny (to me, anyway), and I have since deleted my account.  What’s the point?  The only person I have met on the site that could possibly work for me is the Giant, and so I have “hidden” my profile from others for a while.  I didn’t want to delete it all the way, in case things between the Giant and I don’t work out.  I wouldn’t want to have to start all over again, come up with a new user name, write a little something about myself, and upload pictures, etc, etc.  It’s such a gigantic waste of time and so tedious it’s a miracle I ever did it in the first place.  I must have been drunk…

     So, in hiding my account, I eliminated the obvious options that I didn’t want anything to do with, leaving me with only two:  The Giant, who I’m still not quite sold on yet, and Rapist, who will never really be able to give me everything I need, but who I am still in love with.  In reality, that only really leaves me one choice, or else zero choices, but to my heart, I still have two…

     Love isn’t about going out and having dinner, it’s about having an amazing connection with someone.  I know that, but sometimes the going out and having dinner part is something you want to do with the person you love.  Why?  I’m not sure exactly.  Maybe because when you love someone you want the whole world to know.  Not that you are showing off, but because you just can’t help yourself.  You are in love and you don’t care who sees it!  To go out in the sunshine on a hot summer day and have one too many beers, walk or take a cab home, go at it for a couple of drunk hours and then take a long nap entwined together in the middle of the day, the smell of sex still lingering in the air, sun shining in through the windows… 

If you love someone, you are willing to sacrifice some of the things you need, because you put the person you love before yourself.  But when does sacrifice become more destructive than beneficial to a relationship? 

     Again and I again I go back to what “Wednesday Addams” said to me: “If you love someone, why would you leave them?”  And she is right.  I am in love, so why would I toss it aside?  Wouldn’t getting snippets of this person’s time be enough if I were really in love?  When you are in love, you are selfless.  You only want to put the other person first.  I have done this for him, but when has rapist ever put me first? 

     Sure, he has made some sacrifices for me, has bent to my will when I demanded it, but I shouldn’t have to demand anything.  What I want should be given to me freely.  I’m not a dentist, so why am I pulling teeth?

     So then there is the Giant.  What can say about him except that he still wants to move at warp speed and I keep dragging my feet, hoping rapist will come around.  It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to the Giant.  I need to just make my decision already and get on with it.  But it isn’t just Rapist who is holding me back from jumping into a relationship with the Giant, it’s me as well.

     Maybe I’m afraid he will make me happy, and I prefer the tumult and passion, the frustration and the constant struggle.  There is this line in a song that I love so much.  It goes: “it’s not supposed to be easy.  That’s why it feels so fucking good…”  I can’t remember the name of the song right now, but the lyrics ring pretty true to me.  No beer ever tastes better than the one you deserve, after working really hard for it and sweating your ass off, pushing yourself, struggling, wanting to give up and just say ‘fuck it!’ but powering through anyway.  Then and only then do you crack that beer with conviction and say to yourself ‘yeah, I fucking deserve this beer!’  Are relationships the same way, or are they supposed to just be effortless and fall in your lap?  Without the struggle, the pain, blood, tumult and emotionally agony, can it really be worth it, or am I just trying to complicate something that could actually be pretty straightforward and simple? 

     I’ve spoken about the Giant “situation” with several of my friends.  All of them have something different to say on the topic.  Again, more opinions and choices to choose from, when the only opinion that really matters is my own.  Now if only I could wrap my head around the way I feel about him, I could make my decision, but I can’t seem to get there.  Honestly, I feel emotionally paralyzed.  I can’t make a decision about either man.  It’s really driving me quite mad!  Is it any wonder I have been working Saturdays?  A day off means time to think.  Too much time to think.  No thank you!  I’d rather just bury myself in work and not think about anything.  If I’m busy working, I don’t have to make any decisions aside from which chore on the list to tackle first.  If I’m working, I don’t have to see anyone, explain myself, or make any life altering decisions.  If I’m constantly working I am not available to see someone who has the potential of either making me happy or disappointing me…  

     The thing is, as I have mentioned before, the Giant really is perfect for me, but he’s pushing me.  I can’t be forced!  In fact, if you try to force me it’s only going to work against you.  He is trying to push me into a relationship, but what he’s really doing is pushing me away.  I find his eagerness, sincerity, and conviction to make me “his” cloying and suffocating.  I need air!  I can’t breathe, and it leaves me gasping for breath, suffering from bouts of extreme anxiety and panic attacks.

     One of the things that I do really like about him though, and I mean aside from him being “perfect” on paper, is that he listens to me.  He is tolerant of the fact that I need space and time, he just doesn’t exactly enjoy it.  I try to go radio silent sometimes, and he picks up on it in a flash and somewhat forces me to come out with it.  Example?  Well, I always love providing examples;-)

Here is a text exchange we had just the other night…

The Giant:  If you don’t want me, or you are not ready, just tell me…  I do not want to be a burden or some foolish boy chasing the wounded, uncatchable and entirely content woman.  I wish you had the same gusto and desire to spend time together as I do.  I know you are very tired, overworked, stressed, guilt riddled with Peanut and his abandonment issues… I know these things and I wish they were easier, simpler, less cluttered…  But what fun would life be without drama, issues, work and stress?”

Me:  I’m sorry.  I know I am somewhat of a burden to you because I work all the time and you have the luxury of working from home.  I don’t know what to say except that I feel emotionally paralyzed.  I do want you, but I feel somewhat emotionally stunted, and so, unable to move forward or backward I want to hide in a corner with a blanket over my head and hope that no one sees me.  I spoke about you with my friend **** at length today.  He likes you for me.  I like you for me.  We both think that you are perfect for me and that we are perfect for each other.  I think I just need to focus on Vegas because of what it represents: saying goodbye to a really shitty year, and when I get back I will have shed my cocoon and will face the world fresh.  Does that make any sense?

He said he understood.  He even thanked me for finally expressing myself (I have communication and commitment issues, and I’m pretty sure I also have emotional problems.  But hey, don’t we all?).  You gotta love a man who is willing to give you the space you need, even if it’s begrudgingly.

     He wants me to hurry up, yet is willing to give me time.  He wants me to move in, yet is ok with me laughing in face over the matter.  He tells me he loves me, and doesn’t cry when I don’t say “I love you” back.  He knows if he doesn’t kiss my dog’s ass he doesn’t stand a chance.  He can dress up in a suit and have a numerous course meal and then put on jeans and a t-shirt, play some pool and get in a bar fight (he’d undoubtedly kick everyone’s ass too, which I hate to admit I find kind of hot…).  Social Distortion concert or an opera in San Francisco?  He is down for either one, and will dress appropriately and has the capacity to appreciate both equally.  Perhaps he is just as self-contradictory as I am.  But there is still something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me, and I am a huge believer in trusting my instincts (and of course, the fact that the thought of “possessing” the rapist makes my heart pound, and the blood surging through my veins, into my heart, and into my cunt…).  I even find it somewhat fishy that we have SO much in common.  Is it a coincidence or a conspiracy?    

     It just leaves me wondering, does he really like me that much, or is he just needy?  Do we really have that much in common, or did he internet stalk me?  I find it incredibly hard to believe that it’s humanly possible to have so many sincerely similar interests.  So is it me he really wants, or is he conforming to the version of himself that he thinks I want, much like my ex-husband did?  Is it sincere, or is it a lie?  Does he just want somebody, anybody, to have in his life?  Am I special, or am I simply there?   

At this point, I may as well be stoned and looking for the perfect toothpaste, because I’m no closer to making my decision than I was last week.  Thank God tomorrow is Monday and I don’t have to think again for a while…

(Cole):

me:  “I don’t know what to write about this week.  Why did the Giant have to be such a freak?”

Marge:  “That’s what you write about.  The fact that the Giant is a freak…”

     So I mulled it over for a while.  Why not write about that?  But the longer I thought about it, the more I began to think that maybe it wasn’t the Giant who was the freak, it was me…

I can’t deny that it seemed a little wrong for me to write him off so quickly.  A wonderfully adept man wanted to rescue me from a life of pain and physical labor because he said I was too “sexy” for that kind of work.  He wanted to “save” me from a life of labor because he thought I was better than that.  I understand that that should flatter me, but it also insults me.  I don’t think there is anything wrong in liking what I do for a living.  Am I more intelligent for what I do?  Probably, but that doesn’t change the fact that I enjoy it.    I was, and continue to be, flattered that such a seemingly amazing man would want to come and rescue me, take care of me, marry me, and make me the mother of his third child.  I get it.  I totally do, and I’m not trying to mock it.  Most people want that kind of life, but I am not most people. 

Sadly enough, a part of me almost wishes I could be that girl.  How easy life would be if I just surrendered, laid down my vast arsenal of weapons, stopped fighting, and allowed a man to take care of me.  Wouldn’t that be great?  Sit my ass down on a fluffy white pillow, flip through Martha Stewart Living, and focus only on making a great fucking quiche.  The thing is, I like making a great fucking quiche.  I like making homemade pasta and hollandaise, and pesto, and lemon curd.  But I also love smashing down walls, pulling out windows, and mastering the fine art of destroying things.  I am a completely incongruous and self-contradictory person that just wants another incongruous and self-contradictory person to share a few beers with, fuck, laugh with, and enjoy life with.  I want someone who also thinks that white picket fences and choreographed Christmas cards are a ridiculously pompous waste of time and a middle finger to others that is meant to say “fuck you, my life is better than yours,” but only really shows how insecure and miserable a person is.  Trying to cram your own happiness down someone’s throat is the equivalent to shitting on someone’s front lawn, or else disposing of a dead possum in someone’s garbage…

The Giant is perfect for me.  He really is, aside from the whole “we are going to get married and make a baby” part.  He still hasn’t seemed to fully grasp the concept that I don’t want to get remarried or have a kid.  Aside from that, pretty damn perfect.

He cleaned up his act since the last time I saw him (this will make sense if you go back and read my previous post).  I guess he understood what I was trying to say, and he is tenacious!  I never thought I would see him again, but he kept trying.  Not forcibly.  He wasn’t pushy, in fact, we didn’t even text all that much.  He gave me the space that I needed and then swooped in right when I was ready and asked me out to a nice dinner.  No trying to get into my pants, no asking me to stay over.  It was to be strictly a nice, numerous course dinner and lovely conversation. 

I agreed, even though it was a work night, and anyone who knows me knows how anal and OCD I can be.  Going out on a work night is practically a sin in my book!  I’ll do it, on occasion, but I would prefer not to.  I like to get my eight hours of sleep in, plus I’m weird about my morning routine.  I can’t skimp on anything, or I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling half naked or something.  Anyway, I needed the distraction (story for another time, perhaps), so I agreed.  My bosses said they were fine with me starting work an hour later the next day and just staying an hour later, so that was nice.  That way I could still get in my eight hours of sleep, have my morning routine, not skimp on work, and therefore not have to feel guilty about anything.

     Did I say he had cleaned up his act?  He showed up right on time, well, technically he was early, but had texted me asking if I was ready yet because I told him if he showed up early I would kill him.  We had planned on seven.  At ten ‘til he asked if I was ready.  I said ‘yes, where are you?’ and he texted back ‘it’s ten ‘til!’  I asked if he was still in Morro Bay.  He said no.  I asked him what that meant, and not two minutes later he knocked on the door.

     He came with a dozen long stemmed red roses,



and a delicious bottle of Syrah for me to drink to myself whenever I felt like it. 



He was wearing a suit, and I was wearing a dress, Christian Dior python pumps (that are illegal in California and I had to buy them online, have then shipped to my aunt in Colorado, and have her “smuggle” them in to me a few years ago, back when I was materialistic and money actually mattered to me.  Thank God I grew out of that phase!), and a garter belt with nude colored nylons with the gorgeous black seem going up the back, mostly to hide the numerous bruises on my legs from what I do for a living, and a string of Chanel pearls.  Sort of 1920’s flapper style.
 


I’ve always thought I was born in the wrong era…

He opened every door from me, stood up when I left for the lady’s room, let me order every course, and enjoyed watching me linger over my single espresso with a lemon twist and Sambucca with two coffee beans floating in it for “dessert”.  The conversation was incredible, and then after dinner we went for a walk in the park and each smoked a cigarette. 

     It was a perfect date, and he was a perfect gentlemen, and when I started kissing him and my hands started to wander ever-so-slightly he stopped kissing me, looked at me, and said “that’s all you, sweetie”.  I smiled, stood up, lit another cigarette, and we walked back to the car.  He opened my car door for me, walked me to the door, and gave me a kiss goodnight.  Perfect gentleman...

     Since then, we have continued to text back and forth quite a bit.  I have softened a little, but I’m still going to make him work and put in his time.  I’m not a prude!  Far from it, actually, I’m just not sure I’m ready to go down the relationship road with anyone quite yet.  I guess I’m just confused.  Aren’t we all?  One minute I think that I’m still in love rapist and I want to detonate that bomb again.  I mean, I could if I wanted to, but what is the point?  I need a little more than what he is willing to give me.  The next minute, I think that the giant is perfect for me, that I never want to speak to rapist again, and that the giant and I could actually have an incredible, functional, and somewhat “normal” relationship. 

     Just the other day I asked the giant what varietal of wine I would be.  I told him to forget the country and the vintage, because that would make things too complicated, just what grape, basically, to make which wine.  He said ‘Syrah for sure’!

When I asked why, this is how he replied:

“Primarily because you initially exude deeply perfumed aromatics, unleashing into a dark, ripe, sensual core… Punctuated with sweet, succulent, juicy and fruit driven characteristics!  Finishing strong with bright acidity, firm and creamy, yet laced with a slightly peppery finish, subtle earth elements, finesse, complexity, and absolute balance, all colliding to create my perfect pairing!”

And then:

“You will marry me!”

Me (jokingly): Black diamond?

The giant: Haha!  Yes!  My dark queen!

     A man who can talk about wine and food the way he does makes me swoon!  I am, and always have been a “foodie”.  I love being able to sit across the table from someone and discuss and dissect the food preparation process, someone who gets just as excited about food and wine as I do.  It’s incredibly erotic to me, and really turns me on, especially when, not only does a man know what he’s talking about, he knows even more than I do, and blows my knowledge of food and wine out of the water! 

I love sitting across the table from a man who knows his food and wine, but I also love sitting across the table from a man who’s clothes I want to rip off and almost want to skip dessert, because he will be my dessert and I can’t wait to get him naked and get down, dirty, and wrestle with him!  The thing is, I’m not sure he’s that guy yet.  I mean, how can I know until I have sex with him? 

I’m not ready for sex with him yet, but I think I’m not ready for sex with him yet because the physical part of me is still hung up on rapist.  Do I have to choose between a culinary connection and a physical one?  Can it not be both?  I do find them both intellectually interesting, find them both attractive, funny, and amusing.  Rapist would be my first pick if it came to the bedroom, and the giant would be my first pick if it came to the table.  Rapist wants to keep me in “the closet”, and the giant wants to parade me around like a trophy.  So the decision should be easy, right?  But how do you choose between a man who can give you everything you need in the bedroom, and a man who can talk about food like this?:

“I found the greatest little cucina!  I had an amazing sandwich con prosciutto di parma alla caprese!  Loaded with buffalo mozzarella, organic basil, pesto, and cold and first pressed extra virgin olive oil…  Sprinkled with crunchy sea salt and house baked fresh baguette!  Garnished with organic summer baby greens, touched with a sweet mustard, horseradish and pineapple vinaigrette!  Are you salivating yet?  I won’t even tell you what I had for breakfast and dinner!”

I guess I just need to pull my head out of my ass and make a decision.  I’m no longer willing to sit around and wait for rapist to make up his mind, so I suppose that means I stop being so apprehensive and see where things lead with the giant.  It may not end well, but I’m pretty sure it will be a pleasant ride, whatever the final destination…