Confessions of a Long-Term Serial Dater

I'm sitting here staring at the blank screen, completely dumbfounded at what to write.  There is so much I want to say.  There is so much I need to tell you.

I'm doing the only thing I know to do. I'm writing this from the chair of a beauty salon.

The cardinal rule a girl must follow upon the break up of a relationship remains to be, "do not touch your hair." I'm throwing caution into the wind and I'm breaking my own rule. I am in desperate need of a change and in the next few weeks change is all I will have to embrace me.

Last week Rhine and I separated. "To save our relationship." Insert eye-rolling. I moved out of our bedroom into my own.  Rhine determined that in order to "save our relationship," we should take time apart. I have been through all of this before; the end is not new to me. It is not like we have been much of a couple anyway.  We fight every time we try have a conversation. Rhine is and has been sleeping downstairs on the sofa for the past month, since we came back from Hot Springs.

On one hand, I want to be with Rhine because we've been together for four and a half years. Out of habit, I have loved him. On the other hand, our relationship is good only in fleeting, sporadic moments.

This is contrary to what we let the outside world see.  To everyone else we carried on like the ideal couple, devoting ourselves completely to one another, appearing to be happy.  We tried to be one of those "it" couples that would make it together against all odds. Sadly, it was all an act.

I suppose I better start from the beginning.  This time the truth will be told.

upDate: He's Got a Case of the Niceties

For those of you not from Memphis, Beale Street is Memphis' less than equivalent version of New Orleans' Bourbon Street. Bars are open until all hours of the night, non-bottle adult beverages as open containers are permitted and of course we have the famous Beale Street Flippers. The Flippers are young, black kids that rap, dance, and perform acrobats in the middle of the closed off street.  It is a great place to gawk at the jackasses or perhaps to become one yourself.

Whenever JB and I get together to go 'downtown' we always end up with interesting stories.  Like the time JB fell in-love with that J-named fella, while I was stuck listening to his jack-off of a best friend, Adam, allnight, "I'm a private investigator working on a top secret case in Millington."  His story was unlikely and so was mine.  I was a flight attendant who was engaged to a FedEx Pilot, I had the biggest rock ever on my finger, but our drinks were paid for all night.  Or how about the time when JB and I went out on July 7th to celebrate my ‘I'm-Not-Turning-29 Birthday,’ JB ended up with a snaggled-tooth disaster following her all over Silky's.  It is quite a miracle that the only photo she has of him is the one I am in. The photo of the two of them miraculously "did not take."  Our last trip in September is no exception.
  
JB and I decided to go to Beale Street on Saturday, September 22.  She drove us to the top of the Peabody Parking Garage high above Memphis.  It was really only like 5 stories.  We managed to find an open parking space, next to a brand-new, maroon Jeep with the extended cab.  JB and I begrudgingly trekked up to the elevator, only to share it with the owner of the Jeep and his two friend-girls.  The Jeep driver was smoking in the elevator; I was annoyed at his smoking.  I leaned in to JB's ear and whispered, "Who the hell does this guy think he is trying to kill us in the elevator?  He won't stop looking at me!"  The banter in the elevator was pleasant.

JB and I headed to the Flying Saucer as the people from the elevator went elsewhere.  Many beverages later, and after my bad judgment of giving the wrong guy my REAL phone number and after having been booty-groped by the same wrong guy, a real AssHat, at the Double Deuce, JB and I escaped to Alfred's.
JB and I danced our asses off to the Madonna cover bad playing"Material Girl" and "Like a Virgin."  We were both sweaty or should I say delightfully glowing.  Naw! I was sweaty and I have the photos to prove it.  We were heading to the bar to purchase another beverage when I ran into the guy from the elevator.  He was a nice change from the five text messages and three voice mails left by the"I can't believe I'm going to be hittin' that ass later, tagging that shit tomorrow" AssHat.

Yes, can you believe the boldness of AssHat?  I just met him and as far as he could think I was his property and apparently we were going to be 'knocking boots' quite quickly. Even eight weeks after I gave him my phone number I'm still receiving drunken voice mail messages at 4:30am and random text messages from AssHat. I have never returned one call or text to him and yet he still insists on contacting me.
The elevator guy bought JB and I drinks.  The conversation was going so well that I sat down to talk, JB went to dance.  He and I were in the middle of a conversation when he "had to tell me asecret," apparently the secret involved his tongue being halfway down my throat because not only was I kissing him, but I was blatantly making out with a complete stranger in a crowded bar surrounded by his friends.

At the moment I was "that girl," again. You know who I am talking about, that drunk girl that gets a little tipsy and all of her friends have to babysit her because if she steps away you won't know which corner of the bar she will be in making out with a complete stranger.  Yes, I admit, that was me and I have a habit of kiss strangers.

Did I mention before that one of his friend girl's had professed her undying-love to elevator man?  No?  That is because I didn't know either until after we sucked face.  We parted like the Red Sea and I turned to see if JB had returned from the dance floor.
As I glanced to the other side of the table there she was, glaring. I was blushing.  JB had one hand on her hip and the other strangling her beer bottle.  Her eyes were piercing me and bulging out of her head. Her nostrils flared and her lips were securely pressed in disappointed shock.  It was priceless! She looked at me and I knew exactly what she was thinking.  Her glaring eyes were screaming, "Whatthe eff are you doing?  You have a boyfriend you live with at home!" But she said, "Gather together so I can take your picture."  Oh... her sweet revenge.

When I came clean to one of my roommates, Edward, and showed him the photo of us he said, "You must have been wearing beer-noculars."  In the drunken moment, I don't remember anything other than the guy at the bar I was kissing had dark pools for eyes that I fell into.  I was tempted to threaten that I would not be drinking in public anymore, but we all know that is not possible. Besides, I find Elevator Man attractive.
   
The rest of the evening, alright it was early morning because we didn't leave Beale Street until 4:30am; the girl with the undying-love was shooting daggers directly into my face.  I smiled.  I could see that she was imagining a slow and painful death for me. To retaliate I did what any other girl would do.  I smiled and made sure to kiss him while she was glaring directly at me. And I was so nice to her.  She knew what I was doing and he just saw me being nice to her.  It was a win-win!
JB, Elevator Man, his friend-girls, and I all walked back to the cars together.  Elevator man and I stopped at the vehicles to say goodbye or to give each other strep tests, I really don't know which.  In the background I could hear the girl with the undying-love bitching about me. Apparently, I learned later, that she bitched about me their entire drive home, "Oh, so you have something for Miss Blue Eyes, Long-hair, Big-Titties...don't you?"

Isn't my new nickname perfect?  I just love it!

     
JB lectured me all the way home about already having a boyfriend. Reminding me I would ruin my relationship if Rhine found out about ElevatorMan.  She didn't know that Rhine refuses to claim me as a girlfriend.  She doesn't know that earlier that day he declared that after unofficially dating for well over a year he has decided that he is holding me back and I should date other men.  That is just the tip of the iceberg.

True to fashion and as he promised, Elevator Man called me four days later.  I waited five weeks before I returned a text message; some things are just worth waiting for.  But the truth is I had to work up the courage to return a message, I was nervous and second guessing myself.  He immediately called me, as I picked up the phone he said,"I knew you wouldn't forget me," I could hear him smiling on the other side.  "I want to take you out, how about Monday?"
We decided on Tuesday because it was more convenient to me.  He texted me on Monday afternoon to reschedule for Thursday November 8, which was fine I had other things I could be doing.  On Thursday he texted to confirm our date for that evening.  All of this it was very new to me; it was all nice, gentlemanly even.

Here is where I am sure most of you are asking, "What about Rhine?"  So? What about him?  There is nothing about him, he is NOT my boyfriend.  Rhine doesn't know any of the above story; I'd like to keep it that way.  And if he did know, he wouldn't care. Yes, I know for a fact, so I just leave him out ofthe loop.

At 4 o'clock Thursday afternoon Rhine called me to ask me for a favor,"Hey, do you have any plans tonight?"

"No, why?"  It wasn't so much a plan as it was a date. It's more of a lie by omission.
 
"When you go home tonight will you clean the crock pot so that I can cook dinner?"
 
"Sure," I said.

At five I race to the house, clean the crock pot, plaster my face with make-up, pin my hair back, tell Edward "You don't know where I am," Edward knows and I rush out the door before Rhine gets home.       

I go on the date with the guy I met on Beale Street; his real name is J-squared.  Yes, he has a real name, reference "Naming the Puppy."  We both work in the vicinity near Cozymel's on Poplar, so we met there after work.  We were supposed to meet at 6pm for drinks and just this once in my life I am actually on time. I climbed atop the benches in my four and half inch, red,stiletto Enzo's, with my fists clenched and yelled in a tribal, guttural,monosyllabic grunts, "I was ON TIME!!!"  I sat there patiently and waited.  J-squared was late.

We go to the bar for drinks, he drinks some sort of beer, and I drink more Diet Coke than I have ever previously had in my life.  Caffeine buzz!  We talk, he is nice.  Like me, he was raised Catholic.  He talks more, he is nice.  When we first met he told me he had two children, apparently he has magical Sea Monkey children because once on the date he has three kids:  14, 9 and 7.  He has full custody,which is nice and tells me a little something about him.

Two women he previously worked with randomly show up.  The one whispers too loudly, "She's pretty; try to keep her.  Good luck!"  He talks more, he is nice and we move to a table to have dinner.
He is a liberal, but he is nice.  He has a full-time job with benefits.  He is 10 months into starting his own company, and he is nice.  He would rather spend $10,000 dollars a year on a social life than going to grad school.  He talks too much.
 
Before we leave he asks me out again for the next night, "I want you to meet my friends.  How about Moffat's for karaoke tomorrow night?"  At first I agreed, but once I got home and asked Edward about what he thinks about J-squared's request to meet his friends. Edward said he thinks he might want to show me off and parade me around, like a girlfriend.  Eeeek! I'm putting on the breaks; he said the word that has me stop in my tracks.  I decide I will be too tired to go out on Friday night.
J-squared boxed up my leftover food, opened the restaurant door,opened my car door and gave me a sweet, soft peck on the lips.  It was cold outside, or maybe I was cold and we were just standing there...and he was still talking. 

Finally, we parted ways at 9:35pm.  I had just over 15 minutes to get home before Rhine and Edward would be coming home from lacrosse practice. 

I rushed home with a few minutes to spare.  When Rhine came upstairs to the bedroom, he told me how hard I am to get ahold of.  I guess you could say that, he called and texted several times while I was on my date.
  

As the gentleman I believe him to be, J-squared called me the next day to tell me how much he enjoyed our date and that he would like to spend more time with me, he also slipped in a compliment, "You are beautiful."  It is very nice.

So when is 'just nice,' nice enough?

I really don't know...it has been so long since I have gone on a date...and he doesn't have any weird quirks, like immediately asking me to marry him or trying to get me into bed, or a third eyeball in the middle of his forehead...the Sea Monkey child was kind of odd, but still he was just nice.

I obviously don't have the answers, and I won't pretend to know them.  On this one, I am just going to take it day by day.  I'm not settling, but nice is enough for a second date. 

Miss Coco Noir and Guest

Apparently it is the height of the Fall Wedding Season, and the view from my mailbox has proven that I am a hot commodity.  With all the invites to showers, bachelorette parties, seasonal parties and weddings I have noticed two little words that cut like a knife to this single girl that does not have a significant other.  The words stare blankly at me.  The words knowingly mock me in an innocent handwritten calligraphic script:  and Guest.  There they are eight simple letters.

When these letters are configured together they are enough to cause a girl that is part of a pair to have heart palpitations at the possibilities of her own wedding vows.  But for the single girl "and Guest" is enough to cause my perfectly mascaraed eyelashes to flutter in distress with the potential of arriving stag.

Do I go? Don't I go?  Do I bring a friend? Will I bring a guy or a girl?  If I bring a guy, friends and family will assume we are dating.  Then the really hurtful questions will begin:  "Who is this?  When will you be getting married?"  All which cause my head to spin.

Will I be the second half of a dubious duo again?  If so, when?  Aghhhh!  It's all too much, especially when all the questions are already answered, only to be revealed in God's time.  Still I am pondering, would it really be the end of my social life if I were to arrive at a wedding alone?

I had a friend, who has since passed away, once ask me, "Have you ever gone to a movie by yourself?  You are the type of girl that has men falling all over her.  I'm sure you have so many open options and invitations. I bet you have never thought of going to the movies or to dinner by yourself, have you?"

At the time I thought Chris was ludicrous in his thinking.  Really? The idea of me going to the movies by myself was ridiculous.  The though sent chills down my spine especially with the thought of being one of those seemingly sad, single, middle aged people in the theater by themselves.  When I see the loner filling one singular seat surrounded by a sea of empty, carcassed, silhouetted chairs I can't help but to wonder, "Who is taking care of their cats while he or she has abandoned them to watch this movie?"

Perhaps the singling has idiosyncrasies like overzealous laughter, "Is that person laughing just a little bit too loudly to fill a void in their life?  Has this person been hurt and thus avoiding human contact?  Is that a cat's head sticking out of their coat?"

But once I rationalized Chris' thought pattern, I understood what he was trying to say.  He was asking me if I was afraid of being alone, deeper yet he was questioning an inability to go against social 'norm' standards in partaking in social activities as an individual.  I took his quizzical nonsense as a challenge.

For the first time I went to movies by myself.  Yes it was different and I was quite nervous about the oddity of being seated alone, I sneaked in after the lights had dimmed. My insecurities were only combined with the inability to discuss plot, character, setting and themes afterwards with someone that shared the same viewing sensations.  Regardless I enjoyed every minute of "Bridget Jone's Diary."  Yes, I took myself to a chick-flick, date movie on a Saturday night and survived.  But that is me, if I'm going to go; I'm going all the way.  Do it and do it right!  Still a movie is not a wedding.

I have had eight months to prepare for the possibility of arriving stag to the social event of the season; still the actuality of the possibility has not begun to sink in until now.  NOW!  Ten days and counting down! Eight months have dwindled down to ten days. 

As I tend to do, I have rationalized and over analyzed the situation.  I am a bridesmaid in this wedding.  The entire reason for my existence is to serve the bride and look pretty.  Which let's face it; I do on a daily basis.  It is not a big deal. 

Would it really be fair to drag a gentleman caller the epitome of social status in Covington, TN, especially where the off chance that said gentleman will know another guest would be slim to none?  Would it be polite to leave a gentleman at a table to fend for himself when I would be required to perform bridesmaid duties all evening? 

All rational questions required the answer of the most disturbing word in the English language, "No."  However I also have validated differing, let's refer to them as 'Devil's advocated' opinions.  Almost any man would be lucky to escort me to the wedding.  If not only for the chance of having a beautiful woman on his arm, I will be all 'done-up' sophisticated-like, insert southern accent here. But also he should be honored to spend time short interrupted spurts of time while I'm not bridesmaiding, with me. 

Honestly, I’m not having any luck at vying for the attention of a gentleman caller and a possible date.  For the most part, single men are weird, sorry boys. And, I'm not into the marrieds, not sorry.  Perhaps, I should begin taking advice from Bridget Jones, "Maybe is true what Smug Marrieds say that only men left single are single because they have massive flaw." Bridget Jones, The Edge of Reason, by Helen Fielding. 

Ehhh, but I'm not willing to give up on all of bachelordom.  Perhaps I should fall in love more easily, as the baroness from The Sound of Music says, "There's nothing a man finds more attractive than a woman who is in love with him." I'm not one for infatuation with the L-word.  Besides, I am not programmed to have to always have a boyfriend just so he can be an adjective to me.  I am just me, as I say, "Please don't perceive me as more or less than I am.  I don't try to live up to my reputation, I just am." 

On my last date, my fortune in my Chinese cookie read, "Don't give up.  The best is yet to come."  God is taking his sweet time and I am willing to wait.  In the meantime, I am strong and stubborn enough to withstand the social 'norm' standards.  These antiquated ideas are a temptation of sorts, an enticement and a challenge.  Who among the single, doctoral or political candidate attendees will not be able to resist a flirty, sideways glance, a raised eyebrow and the sultry, pouty lips of an unattached bridesmaid?  I, for one, am willing to ascertain the situation. 

So, the question remains, "Would attending a wedding as a single be the end of my social life?"  Not a chance.  Besides, if I change my mind I could always carry a large handbag complete with "and Guest,” a newly adopted kitten.  But I'm not one for cats, I much prefer the company of men. 

*Miss Coco Noir is one of my many aliases.

Naming the Puppy

When I first start dating a new man I always refer to him as "the puppy." There is not an actual dog. 

You know when you were a child and a dog might follow you home, you don't know if you will keep the puppy, if you'll get along with the puppy, if he'll run away, or if he'll stay for more than a week. Then all of a sudden you start calling it a name.  The puppy has a real name!  The next thing you know he also has toys, a bowl embossed with his name on it, you have to take him on walks, he is house trained, and he is sleeping in the bed with you. You begin to love the puppy. At this point you have officially adopted a dog, or in my case a man.  

In order to keep it simple during the trial period or first few months of dating I give a man a nickname. I only refer to him by his nickname.  Absolutely under no circumstances should a man be referred to by his given name unless you are planning on keeping him.  Thus, you name the puppy. 

Time M-f'n Out, I'm Calling a Conference

When I was little, I had a favorite poem in a book:  "Sugar and spice and everything nice, that's what little girls are made of."  Now when I think of that child's rhyme I cannot help but to think of Mar.
I had heard countless stories about Mar from Jenn, "She is so much fun, I can't wait for you to meet her, you will like her and get along so well."  I had heard that about so many people from countless mouths, rarely was the prediction true, "Too bad she is stuck up her loser boyfriend's ass and always spending the weekends with him in Covington."  So when I finally had the chance to meet this girl I had been hearing about, I jumped at it.

When I first met Mar she was in her apartment "getting ready for a date" to the Orpheum Theater.  I thought to myself, her boyfriend sure must be something special for her to put so much into being as effortlessly beautiful as she is.  Then there was a knock, Mar came rushing out of her bedroom, a cloud of perfume trailing behind her.  She answered the front door.  Before Jenn, Mar and I, there stood a very handsome and distinguished looking gentleman every bit of 49 years old.  My mouth dropped and my mind was swirling, was it the beer or the flowery scent in the air?

He said, "Hurry up, we are late.  I'll be waiting in the car."

As soon as the door shut the perfume cleared from the room.  I gave Jenn a wild eye look and in
disbelief asked, "Where did she meet her boyfriend and how old is he?"


Jenn fell over in a fit of laughter, "OhMyGod! That is her dad!"

First impressions are first impressions.  In all of my life I have never seen someone change a first impression in such a short amount of time as Mar.  From dressed to go to an opera, ok Les Miserable, with an 'older man' to running through the cold January rain down Beale Street to drink beer at an after-the-party birthday party.  Mar burst through the doors of the bar with such a blast of energy the entire bar stopped to see this sultry red-headed wonder.  I was amazed.  How could a woman of barely twenty have so much charisma as to spellbind an entire party with a simple twist of her hips, a flirty rise of an eyebrow, a twinkle in her eyes and a full out smile on her lips?

Although she would never admit it Mar is strong:  emotionally, mentally and willfully.  She is confident in herself and transfers her confidence towards her friends.  She is uplifting and also willing to stand behind a friend or beside them when they are not strong enough to stand on their own.  She has a quick wit, a fierce temper, and a mischievous streak that more often than not has brought hours of laughter into our friendship. She is not afraid to tell a joke, or crack one on herself.  She is humble and admits when she is wrong. Mar is honest, if not blunt.  She loves her friends entirely, forgiving their flaws.  If I could pick one adjective phrase to describe her it would be "pure sex appeal."  She has taught me what it is to be a Southern girl, dually appreciated.  She is the ultimate 'can-do' girl, comfortable playing with snails and puppy dog tails in the country or makeup in the city.  I am proud to admit that Mar is my friend.

Before Mar moved from Memphis to Texarkana, TX she carried a video camera around for weeks making everyone she knew tell stories about herself.  Me, forever procrastinating, said I would do it later. Really I was avoiding the 55lbs the camera adds, kidding... besides when I'm perpetually behind the camera why would I want to be in front of it?  Essentially, I have too many wonderful stories about Mar to choose just one.

One horrible day during Spring Break, with a Sam's club card pressed against my cell phone and that to my ear, "I hope you are ready to drink because I am bringing the beer."  Armed with two cases I drive my jalopy across the Mid-South interstate system then winding through various ghettos and barrios.  At 2 o'clock in the afternoon Mar and I started drinking.  I don't remember much more than singing and dancing on the balcony and hollering at guys passing by or on the phone, but one thing I will never forget is that day I gained an invaluable friendship.

In the course of our friendship Mar and I have spent too numerous of hours on runs, ok walks around the University campus, the only thing really running is our mouths, fondly referred to as "Boy Venting Walks and Talks."  With Mar's 'good head' on her shoulders and talking through our social lives, she gave me the courage to change my life, "You're not in love with him, you love someone else...blah, blah, blah."

Besides, being the voice of reason - I must admit that Mar has never tried to influence me from random make out sessions with Grande Juan, it must simply be a slight lapse of  my judgment or sobriety - Mar can be the little devil that sits just above your ear whispering evil thoughts and ideas.  At least when she is the instigator she sees the concept through to actualization. Visualize~Actualize.  Whether it is dancing on stage at the local pub, walking home drunk and pushing over every trash can on the street, getting me to act like a complete fool to win the attention of some guy, although I am quite good of doing so on my own, drunk dialing guys - it always seems like a good idea at the time, or even yelling Sigma Epsilon Chi chants at the tops of our lungs, Mar always has an ace up her sleeve and a design at making the situation better.  She is the life of the party.

When Mar and Torin found each other I was never so excited.   Although with him she has calmed down, trust me, you have to meet Mar. She is so much fun.  You will indeed discover that she is sugar, but a little warning:  watch for the spice.