a new trick

Some things that have happened to me this year, and my responses, none of which would have been my responses a few years ago:

- A man with whom I have exchanged maybe half an hour of conversation, ever, reached over at a bar one evening and casually smacked my ass.  "You have such a badonkadonk," he informed me.

I said, "I do, but you know, that's really not an invitation to touch it.  Do not do that again.  Excuse me."  And I left.

- A man who I was seeing turned all flaky, like they do when they're about to disappear.  The text messages continued apace, but the actual dates were suddenly in short supply.

I said, "Okay, okay, enough.  I've reached my limit on ambiguous texting.  I can't tell if you're trying to date me, or just hook up with me, or what.  I'm going to need you to clarify what's going on here."  Thus pressed, he said he thought we should stop seeing each other.  And without much angst at all, I wished him godspeed.

- A man who I was dating seriously was not moving to New York when I was.  He said, "I've thought about the possibility of doing long-distance, but I know how little either of us will be able to travel, and I've watched so many friends get badly hurt that way.  I don't think it's a good idea."

I said, "I know.  I've had all the same thoughts.  I agree."  And we cried, and kissed each other goodbye, and parted the way I've always hoped that grownup people do.

Maybe it's a newfound directness; maybe it's only a symptom of self-assurance.  In any case, of all the unlooked-for gifts that my late 20s have brought me so far, this one might be the best.

free lunch

I wrote this on April 7, 2011, and it's been languishing in my drafts ever since then.  It is still true.

This was one of the first things we learned in PR classes in college:  TNSTAAFL.  There's No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.

I begin to be amazed at the number of women out there who seem to be dating solely to get free lunches (and dinners, and drinks, &c &c).  I cannot for the life of me figure out why anyone would do that.  There is no worse way to spend dinner than struggling through a conversation with someone who genuinely doesn't interest you.

I can say, with a totally clear conscience, that I've never gone out with someone solely because I thought he would buy me food.  Give me scrambled eggs on the couch, any day.

mise en scène

Remember this?

Well, I went east.

Three years I'll be here, at a minimum.

Breathe fast: we're backing off the rim.

niche

We're getting ready for bed, and I have my back to the room, pulling the curtains closed.

From behind me, a voice: "Your butt in pajamas might be my favorite thing ever."

I snerk, turning around. From the waist down, I am built along Kardashian lines, in that inescapable genetic way that no diet or exercise will ever change. "I'm glad you think so," I tell him, "because my butt caters to a niche market."

He throws up his hands and announces happily, "I am your niche!"
    

Sometimes it's just that simple, you know?

way to my heart

Him, 2:21 pm:  Just leaving a lunch at the presidents' home.  I'm 
               important.

Him, 2:23 pm:  But not good at grammar.

Forget sexting.  This is the type of text that totally undoes me.

what lies ahead

I'm just inside Target, hunting for a red plastic basket that doesn't have gum stuck to the bottom, when my phone buzzes. It buzzes a lot these days.

"Want to know why alcohol is ridiculous?" He's at happy hour somewhere, a few beers deep.

Yes, I answer.

"It made me just now -- after all our conversations -- come to face the fact that I'm losing you."

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Remember that guy who asked me out the right way and had opinions on John Irving? He is, in fact, the only guy I've been seeing since September. And he is, in fact, my boyfriend. That's strange to type. But here we are.

There's just one little catch. The other thing I haven't told you is that I've been applying to graduate schools. Most of them are far away. And he's been applying to jobs. Working in athletics, as he does, he could end up nearly anywhere in the country. But there's not a lot of overlap between our likely destinations, and chances that we'll be in the same city four months from today are slim to none.

---------------

"Noooooo, no, no," I text back immediately. "This isn't the week for that problem. You focus on getting the job. Then we'll deal with you and me."

I mean it. He knows I'm a) sincere and b) right. But oh, man.

Heartbreak is crouching right around that corner. And standing there by the Dollar Wall, with only my chintzy little basket for a shield, I can already feel how bad this is going to be.