Too bad about Rick the Kevin Smith. His loss, though it sounds like, absent his “bright” and engaging personality, he isn’t holding any cards: his demeanor goes flat, and suddenly he’s nobody you’d want to spend time with. That doesn’t make rejection any easier to deal with (well, actually, it should–), it still feels bad putting yourself out there and getting nothing for it. I repeat, this happens to men on a much, much broader scale–so much so that a lot of guys never really develop a good, genial way of themselves dealing with attention that, at any given moment, may be unwanted. Which is not to excuse his behavior, but at this point in life I find myself trying to give others the benefit of the doubt. Look at it this way: he wasn’t a keeper anyway, right? Easy come, easy go. Take some reassurance in the attention he was giving you initially. Better luck with Dex, who sounds like he’s got more going on in the conversational department.

Why the passing interest in these two disparate guys who’ve crossed your path? You on the rebound from Sonny, or high tide on hormone beach, or just bored? How much does it really matter? As a hedonist, I say it’s all good. And all natural. I say go for it/them. One of ‘em will bite, sooner or later.

More for the self-observation project: Rick suddenly appeared tonight, late, but situated himself in another row. When I finally caught his eye over the cubes, I tried to kid with him and gestured “where have you been?” and he responded that he’d worked last night. At closing, I approached him at the place we hang the headsets. I was as guileless and childlike as an elementary playground crush when I nudged him and said “I was looking for you!” He just blinked at me and said “If you see me, say hi,” then walked away.

I felt a tremendous letdown and a flush of vulnerability. Because, really, I was approaching him with that unabashed openness of feeling that we learn to hide as we grow up. And our exchanges had been so spicy before! Without that, he was just some random hippie guy I just met who was copping the Kevin Smith look.

Now I just feel kind of dumb for blowing things all out of proportion, but at first I was overwhelmed by shame. Walking home in the rain I started singing the line from Tori Amos’s early masterpiece “Precious Things,” which encapsulated for me my anguishing and loveless youth: ‘running after Billy, running after the rain.’ My biography could be called Boys Who Liked Me And Then Didn’t. But whence all the shame?

That’s what I realized is a carryover. What have I been, especially in this case, but an open book? Ask any of our surrounding coworkers, they’d probably opine that my feelings were obvious. But we learn that this isn’t okay. The vulnerability of openly liking somebody is not something adults encourage or appreciate. Especially if that vulnerability is ultimately left swinging in the wind.

I put myself out there. Again. To be left swinging. Perhaps this will happen over and over again, until I’m no longer ashamed, and the results don’t matter. We hope for a response from the world…but none is guaranteed. Maybe the best we can do is to learn not to apologize for being ourselves.

thanks.
I’m even more in a hurry today then yesterday and I slept only 3 hours, so I better don’t write anything complicated now.
btw. PPC is of course right, Russ said it also, and even I said it before – you are great, that’s why we keep reading you. We just can’t stop, slaves to our good taste
I wish you fantastic moments, preferably a constant never ending stream of them

UPDATE: Looks like Rick has either quit or been let go…I asked the day supervisor about him, and he didn’t know anything, but said it wasn’t unusual for people to just disappear like that. “It’s a high turnover job.” I got sent home early (along with about half the room) for low performance, but I only reached nine actual people in two hours. It was all answering machines and call backs. Think the problem was endemic.

I am, as I mentioned before, both amused and bemused. I’ve attached to AND apparently already had to let go of this appealing Rick character. My own job is most likely in jeopardy…while at the same time my old bookstore is on the verge of sending me to collections for an outstanding bill, which I fully planned to pay “now that I have an income!” (I also feel weird at this job because another supervisor asked me to do her a favor that feels not quite kosher. I’ll back out tomorrow.)

Like the Queen song goes…easy come, easy go, a little high, a little low, any way the wind blows. Maybe I really will wind up living back in my parents’ house, waiting tables nearby or something to save money for my big dream. I just don’t know. I would certainly prefer a more direct route…

I don’t know about what you said about that “center place,” though — perhaps the gods do live there, but perhaps so does Sonny, and Max Vujevic, and Luke Taylor, and everyone who’s touched me on that deep a level. Why does anyone need to be pushed anywhere?

Thanks for your explanations & have a nice weekend!

Not that I’ve had an opportunity to do anything at all in the past two days. Ironically, he’s been nowhere! And, like with Dex, the intensity of the feeling is fading. (Again, thank god.) You may have found my last post to be a downer, but I have to say that there’s peace, not to mention possibility, in relinquishing attachments.

I’m just pleased to be aware enough, in this situation, to know that neither of these crushes has THAT much to do with the gentlemen themselves, whom I barely know…and I’m watching myself with amused bemusement. It’s fun to ask: what’s happening? Why have I found myself full of over-the-top inordinate longing for Rick’s presence? What is it this thinner version of Silent Bob does for me?

What The Hell Is This?

I think I’ve mentioned how fretful I’d get about meeting up with the Object Of My Obsessions…only to have all that anxiety evaporate as soon as I was in her presence. (That’s one of the strongest arguments for why she’s The One–in 40 years I’ve *never* been with anyone that I feel so at-ease with.) And I can say that some of that easy confidence comes from the fact that I’ve rehearsed a few topics of conversation, scripted a few salient points of what I want to say to her, things I want to say and things I want to make a point of avoiding. It’s always off-the-cuff, but it’s good to have a few things at the ready. (My only major gaffe, I think, was in referring to The Pope as “the Holocaust denier”, which may have offended her sensibilities slightly, both because it was glib and not *entirely* accurate.)

Everything is sounding positive. Doesn’t sound like you need any further encouragement–this as opposed to last month, when you wrote this post originally. What a difference a few weeks–and some leering hippie attention–can make! Ain’t life grand that way?

I’ll repeat, though, that you should be sparing in how much effort you put into your appearance. He’s a hippie, after all, he should be looking beyond outer appearances. A little of that is fine, will give him something further to appreciate, but I’ll point out that this is a common mistake chicks make, in pushing male desire when you’ve already got him hooked in that regard. (Not to mention the fact that he may *prefer* chicks with glasses and baggy clothing. I know I do!) Don’t floor it in first, get rolling then shift easily into second. Floor it in third, and you’ll be up to speed very quickly and smoothly. (By which I mean, to flesh out the analogy: move from initial desire to engaging his ideas and experiences, and reveal more of your personal and intellectual self. After the second glass of wine, ask him if he’s one of those Free Love hippies, or something like that. Exactly how you go about taking him down is your own story and your own glory. You’ll be there in no time–hopefully by the weekend–)