can i look in there?

spontaneous and wonderful dinner at the home of a couple i'm starting to get to know better. great pate and moroccan stew. lots of wine and laughing. wonderful time.

exiting the train and approaching the building, i looked up to my darkened windows. it was late enough that mostly everybody's apartment was dark anyway. but that lack of light meant... empty. suddenly i was filled with such despair. it was awful. it wasn't from being in the presence of spouses. there was nothing overtly romantic, or even tender, about them. more that "like an old slipper" energy. it wasn't a "reaction", i don't think, that caused the swaff over me. it felt so deeply internal.

i wanted so badly to be in someone's arms, just held. lie in bed, breathing softly together. not fucking, (well, jbf'ed, maybe.) maybe talking. or not. i cannot recall the last time i wanted companionship so badly. missing and wanting the g.c. was different, because it was specific to him. this was a genuine pang of lonely. these last weeks i have been overly solitary. even for me. overtly may be more precise there, having several times decided just to stay in, uncertain i could conjure up my life-of-party self.

so what then? it was such a decidedly physical sensation, perhaps i'm content to chalk it up to hormones. as my body starts to change, i'm thinking that "time of the month" may become more apparent, whereas in the past it's always been just another day. my emotions mostly held on an even keel.

today i feel better, and will spend the next several hours with a dear friend. the editor will be on a plane tomorrow, so i'm assured of both tender company and lots of bruising soon.

as i ponder my conclusion here, i can't help but wonder if i'm allowing myself to acknowledge my "self"? my wants, needs, desires. "my", "mine", "me".

me. hmph. fancy that.

warming and cooling trends

long overdue but now diligent, winter has finally settled in, with air so sharp and dry, you feel every breath. single digits and wind chills well past zero, my curious residential weather pocket still has some snow from the other day's brief squall. so finally it LOOKS like winter, even from inside.persistently, now stubbornly, i've yet to turn on my heat. yeah, concrete walls, residual therms from more profligate neighbors, and an occasional stew of something on the stove have kept the place above 66 so far. the leaky windows and gaping doorframes of the albatross made even that temp a near impossible dream. drafts and duvets the order of the day there. so now my goal is to go all winter without clicking on the thermostat. i feel a brief pang when i have a guest, but they all seem to be sufficiently active and don't notice. most say they're too hot, lol. men's motors are faster anyhow, right?

so where are they now?

teacher has gone back to his barbells and books. i knew even that mild version of me was more than he could handle. like nigel, my dial goes up to 11. on my amp, we were about a 3. but i could see the alarms go off for him when i said the word "cock". ffs, his was in me. what should i have called it? no worries. he was solid, but our worlds too different. pilot made a pit stop, which was yummy good. mr. minnesota and i are touching new ground via e-mail, which will expedite things on his next visit, and has made us both overly aroused all week, lol. for the longest time, way back when, i had a very fulfilling relationship with a guy who was in the merchant marine academy when we met, did some subsequent seafaring duty, then traveled for an oil company. i am best with guys who aren't around all the time, lol. our liason lasted many years, and was stress-free.

and then the editor...

he's practically melting what little snow is at davos, over-consumed with desire and wanting to have at me. again he's pressing to take me to his "club" for valentine's dinner. i fobbed it off when he mentioned it the first few times. but it matters to him. he wants to take me. he thinks that day/night/dinner is romantic and special. can i knock the bitch out of myself for a few minutes and accept that? the menu looks truly lovely, and he really wants to do something nice. my jadedness about the day can be left at the door, right? it's a private affair, set menu, well-heeled guests. so, you brittle bitch, put on a nice dress and go. sheesh.

hell, i can manage a fork nearly anytime, so i know it's not the "dinner", nor the "appearance" that's at issue. it's that he feels romantic about me and wants to show me. "show" me. make a point of it. prove to me i matter to him. involve me in his life with his colleagues. even to me, a rareified group of some of the country's most important heads (men...). he wants to share me with these people, and these people with me, and add me to his life.

i'm nearly crying typing this.

ok, now crying.

i've told him i'll go, and i'm weirdly looking forward. it will be the 1st time in a million years i don't work that day. i'll be very surprised if i can eat a thing.

it's been a very long time since i felt like a man put me first. more importantly, one who's acting in relation to something he "thought" i might like. that's undeniably sweet. i don't care about the food, i'm sure the wine will be lovely, so there.

meanwhile...

several time zones away...

masters of the universe convene...

the editor is in europe and in high guru mode. speeches/conferences in milan and venice, then capped this coming week with his annual uber-guru appearance at the world economic forum in davos. attendees? the bills -- both clinton and gates, tony blair, hrh of jordan, prince charles, the former president of iran, various oil and banking ministers and assorted kings; mega-ceos like those of goldman sachs, google, forbes, credit suisse, novartis... and the man i'm curently fucking. (qualify here with "most frequently", i guess.) he's "in the club" -- an irrefutable member of that exclusive group of the world's most influential thinkers and powerful movers.

a few weeks ago he texted me from a party where he and phillip roth were wearing the same tweed (he claimed to have a better tailor, lol) and the host, a pulitzer-prize winning author, was playing show tunes on his piano. he has published/edited several of the books on my shelves and many others i've read but no longer own. he has logged millions of miles and makes regular appearances both in print and on the tube.

his mind is lightning quick and he has amazing recall of snippets written and sung. spontaneous sonnets, limericks and quatrains roll off his tongue. our brains work in the same way: the progression internally obvious (to us) but too fast and broad to articulate to others. others to whom it seems haphazard or that we're not paying attention. thankfully, i recognized this right away, lol. he also knows the import of self-deprecation.

he's clearly smitten. i get dozens of rat-a-tat-tat e-mails and texts daily. he feels "romantically desperate" in venice without me. such an evocative phrase and in the past i've felt it too ...

he tells me i'm incredibly smart and funny... and sexy. he pines when we're apart, and he's ravenous when we're together. 15 years my senior, yet he recovers with little or no refractory period, claiming only one prior instance of that EVER. he relishes the whore in me and indulges the submissive masochist in me. when in boston, he wrestles his schedule to the ground to be with me.

he showers me with praise and affection, yet i am unsure of my personal footing. it took me weeks to inflate my cojones sufficiently to say i feel like he talks so much that i can't get a word in edgewise. he was quiet and reflective for a few, then shyly admitted he knows he does that and "by all means talk right over me!!" so i do, and it works, lol. i also see him making a very real effort to ask questions and listen. he actually confessed that he wanted me to be impressed with his position so i'd "like him"! a scared 16-year-old nerd remains trapped and anxious in a very grown-up and astonishingly successful man's slim body.

so, question to self: how much of this is him, and how much is me? for years, i was consciously (and sometimes forcibly) deferential to the g.c. at times i took a savage beating having forgotten my place. then i gratefully crawled back, vibrating with love and awe, and mindful not to repeat my mistake.

am i that different, or merely insecure because of "who" the editor is? he and i are brand-new. he remarked the other day how strife-free everything has been. i helpfully offered to manufacture some drama! i shall tread carefully and quietly. already i'm immensely pleased with myself for neither sabotaging nor avoiding what seems to be working.

i know i'm changed. here's just hoping it's for the better.

out on a limb

we'd exchanged witty banter both via e-mail and phone. his body was of heavenly doom. he looked boyishly handsome, was clearly quite smart and quickly funny. he seemed genuinely excited to meet me. what was stopping me?

it was all i could do to dress and drag myself there. kept repeating in my head, "but i don't feel like it." waah-waah-waah. it had been a dispiriting day with a disappointing job interview, and similar bad news for a friend whose sure-fire promotion seems to have gone pfft. we were having some wine, i was home, comfy in sweats, outside was bitterly cold, and i just didn't feel like i had much fake nice in me. sometimes just dredging up a little bit of faux frivolity can help me switch gears, and i knew that. whenever i felt cranky or grumpy on a day i was to see the g.c. i'd shove it away, because the last thing i wanted was to waste moments with him grousing or moping. shouldn't i give myself that same turn of respect? last year i had more than enough sad nights (and days) home alone. so i bucked up, put on a fail-proof outfit and lipstick, and braved the night.

i click-clacked in and he of course was already there, a veritable granite mountain of man. he sheepishly confessed having come to town early, because he was too excited and restless at home. he kept peeking down my blouse and had an easy smile and a very cute twinkle in his eye. within minutes i was glad i'd come. weird moment of another's alcohol-induced inappropriateness when a rather inebriated and unattractive woman seemed to be hitting on him. he thought it hilarious that all i could do was laugh. and also funny that i offered him to deck her to put an end to it, lol.

he was a slower mover than i, and certainly than the last few men with whom i've been. with them, the eventual fucking had been a given. he seemed sincerely caught off guard and kept saying he didn't "expect this". suddenly i was a teenage girl again, worried that i was being fast, and maybe i was blowing it with him. that conflict of, "sure, he'll fuck me but then decide i'm too loose to date." my brain decided just as swiftly that if he is that conservative, he's not right for me anyway.

he's a decent down-to-earth guy. recently divorced out of a 15-year but at last dead marriage. he shares custody of their kids. he switched to a much less lucrative career to be with them, instead of always on the road. he lives less than 20 minutes away. he's grounded and doesn't talk smack about his ex. his physical attributes aside, i could continue a very long list of why other women would kill to date him. other women. women with normal emotional wiring. so i can't help but wonder if that was the true cause of yesterday's foot-dragging. a good guy. yeah. me. with a good guy. can i do it? historically, i've always been the frightened angry villager, chasing them off with flaming sticks and pitchforks.

i've not been blogging much, because i'm still afraid to poke too deeply. but i'm beginning to think that my 4-year exercise in being proven worthless may be the catalyst for a very serious lesson in personal value.

that one tree...

that can't be seen for the forest.

he's in town for 2 nights for meetings. not exotic, nor foreign, just a couple of hours away. went to college here, same bands, same clubs. he's cute on-line and very entertaining on the phone. sure, he's in sales!

he
is
not
the
guy
in
the
picture.

it was only a backshot. nicely lit, shadows making the most of the carved manly angles. yeah, sure, shirt and tie. don't care. not him. he was attractive enough, but... if i'd seen "him"? nope, never. yeah, sure, shallow. how is that different from singling out a guy in a club or judging somebody by a real photo. i'm astonished that i didn't call him on it. nobody else will get that shot, lol.

then he said, "gosh, you're so awesome. i can't believe no guy has scooped you up and married you."

i nearly spat my drink.

he was 200 miles from home, cheating on his wife and kids, ignoring the safety of his country home, yet failed to see the irony in expressing astonishment on my singledom.

i had another cocktail, and offered him the chance to live up to his various boasts. it was fine enough. the sheets were nice. i came home. i will not see him again.

x marks the spot

often times there are things we want but can't afford. that budgeting isn't always financial.

i kept seeing it there. it was small, but important. like a gorgeous italian leather bag, it kept calling and calling till i finally went into the showroom. i looked at it numerous times, and finally got brave enough to hold it for a second. it felt hefty but not cumbersome. the time was not quite right, so i quickly returned it to the shelf. i hurried away, down the block.then it just came out. "my ex". the sky didn't rain scorpions, the rivers didn't run red with blood. the g.c. didn't come galloping in on horseback to proclaim it heresy and sweep me into his arms. so now i own it. it's mine.

the word had held so much weight, was fraught with so much painful finality that for all these months i simply could not utter it. couldn't even write it. my difficulty began at its very base-- he was never "my" anything, i was "his". gradually i've realized none of the dalliances give a damn why, or even if, he's the ex, as long as progress to their conquest isn't impeded. the editor is too constrained by midwestern methodist reticence to dare to ask. most he'll do is gently tease out a tidbit here and there, and i can see the wheels spinning in his huge brain -- trying to reconcile his perception of me with his image of "that". still i know he feels quite intrusive asking anything too specific. just as well. there can be no succinct nor quippy explanation. it was too different than what most consider love or even "right".

i'm still on the fence as to whether i'm richer or poorer with this acquisition. i do know it's a good long-range investment.

a personal census

making up the guest list for this sunday's soiree, i once again see how different my life is than most women, er, most people, my age. not that i'm unaware, but sometimes such clear enumeration makes me ponder. i've invited 4 gay men. 2 women of questionable sexuality -- both claim hetero, but sheesh, knock me down with a golf club, ok? 2 single straight women. both attractive and successful. one also just out of a messy relationship with a married man, and the other recently relocated 2000 miles and works 10 trillion hours as a restaurant gm. i did manage to butch it up a bit with 4 hetero men, but all are 1/2 of a married couple. of all these people, only one couple has kids, and lol, they are rock singers. hardly joe-and-jane minivan.

i've no doubt the editor would be delighted to come, although his habit is to spend fri-sun in nyc. i kinda want to show him off, international guru and all, (what's bill gates/george soros/phillip roth/davos really like, guru?) but truly i'd rather not have the bother of an appendage. (are you having fun, guru? need some more bubbly, guru?) so it's easier just to brag about bagging him, kinda like a 14-pt buck still at the taxidermy shop.

truly statistically amazing that of 17 people hovering around 40, only 1 couple has progeny concerns. nobody else has to scramble for sitters, come late because of soccer, or leave early for gymnastics. or *gasp!* ruin the day and actually bring their damn kids. only 2 people have been divorced. 1 because he is actually gay.

less than 14% of american women my age have never married. my long-term girlfriends, all of whom live far away now, are mostly stay-at home moms. a lucky fall-out of income bracket, accorded by judicious husband selections. on the phone the other day, i admitted that it's clear my clock never ticked loudly enough, and my ovaries are now superfluous. (did i even get a clock? or just extra boobage?) the g/f on the other end asked if i regretted never having children. to my ears a strange question, since both her littles were conceived carelessly, and she detests being a "mother". when i was a kid, people would ask if i minded not having siblings. obviously, as an only child, my dearth of replicas was beyond my control, and i had no other frame of reference. i never knew what to reply. naturally, i wanted to be polite, but even when i was quite young it sounded like such a stoopid question.

so now i was being asked the mature equivalent.

i'm so fiercely protective (and spoiled by) of my solitude, what would it be like to not ever have a moment to myself? on the toilet, in the tub, cutting up chicken, and always hearing, "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!" hell, i was one kid, and my mother got sick of hearing that! to have my days consumed with carpools and cookies, control issues, and mean kids and meaner desperate housewives. my social circle defined by pta and mommy-and-me.

i don't have a life partner. into what suffocating box would my choices have been wedged if i was a single parent? my current career would be impossible, and my planned next one equally so. as briefly as my mom was single, it was horribly hard for us both. even when a teen, i knew my carved-in-stone-order was man 1st, baby 2nd. dummy me, sucked at choosing men though.

so, yes, some of my outcomes have been determined simply by not choosing. but some of the big ones, like no children and not marrying inappropriately, are the real and good result of choosing "no."

do i regret not having kids? no.

i'm not one who looks back wistfully at mighta-kinda-coulda-been. it's the present and the future. my life will not be defined by absence, but by promise.

the criteria for my guest list was to be exceptionally funny.

not one person will talk about vaccinations, peanut allergies or "percentiles". let the bubbles flow.