A little lonesome

My software baby has entered a period approaching normality -- I have people back from vacation, from stupid "illnesses", and I've hired a new guy.

As such, I took the last day and a half off.

Turns out the rest of my world is still there, and it all came tumbling down upon me in the last couple of days.

I have three mortgages in "loan modification". Basically a euphemism for "you done fucked up, but so many losers are in the same spot, we'll help you out." Yeah. The deals seem so good I'm seriously considering doing it on the other 5. Or 6. Yeah, I dunno how many mortgages I have. Whatever.

So, like, free money, don't pay for two months and get a LOWER payment? Yeah, that's a real hard decision. Siggh. Somehow I think that, while I'll probably lose my platinum amex, it probably isn't that big of a deal. I feel a little immoral even considering it, but well, shit rolls downhill. Maybe this will make up just a little for all the stupid fucks that seem to think it's ok not to pay their rent. Assholes.

Oh, yeah, and my breakup from 6 weeks ago suddenly seems like it happened yesterday.

I miss her. I didn't think I would. I worked really hard to keep my distance.

Funny thing is... I kept my distance largely because I "just knew". Only, if you make the call before you start, does that effect the outcome? Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that?

The 200 things I didn't like about her (it's Kim, for posterity) keep coming to mind and seem ever more trivial. Pretty silly. I miss her, so her flaws seem less important, yet if she were here, and we'd just spent the weekend together, and I was pondering what I would be doing if she were more (whatever), I'd be resenting her. er... "resent" is too strong a word. Just... taking her for granted. And perhaps lacking in patience.

Yeah. It's me. I know. A lot of help knowing that does.

Patty says I hate my mother and won't trust/love/be with any woman until I settle that.

She's surely correct in part. But then, you know... duh.

Last weekend we had a conversation after a "friend" busted me a new asshole because I had a penis. It's a long story that is of little consequence... suffice it to say that I met a freshly divorced gal who was attracted to me. And then, before I realized that she went to Stanford and got an MD solely so the passing public wouldn't see the glowing neon sign behind her head saying "I truly believe I'm incredibly stupid and have to be the smartest person in the room in order to feel at all human", I went ahead and showed my brain to her.

And they say I'm difficult. Oh my god. I think I'd have preferred if she just socked me in the jaw. At least then I would've realized what a bitch she was right away. It took me a half hour before it sunk in with that whole words/attitude thing. Psssh.

But anyway. I'm babbling because I'm a little buzzed. If you're reading... lol. I want to call the three of you out by name and say hello! Ok, I won't. Sorry for digressing.

Anyway. Patty was telling me that she had had a hard life, implying that I shouldn't take it to heart, that I'm a bigger person, bleah bleah blah.

It was well intended. I'm ok with it. I'm also proud of what I said.

"Yeah, well, we all have demons, but you don't rip someone a new one within ten minutes of meeting them for no reason.

"At some point, you are an adult. You are no longer your father's son. You are responsible for your own bullshit, your own drama, your own anger, and your own negativity to the outside world.

"At some point, it is not daddy's fault that you didn't go to college, that you have no friends, and that you are a depressed little fuck. Grow up, take some good drugs, get your dick wet, and move the fuck on.

She pointed out that I date dozens of women every year and have hurt many of them.

I replied, "Yeah, but I don't lead them on. I don't become "boyfriend" and make commitments unless I'm really gonna try. I tell them I'm flawed, and more often than not I actually just break it off. I turn down good sex, good times, and super hot arm candy because I know I'm gonna hurt them sooner or later. I can't tell you how many times I've done it."

"And that was NOT was I saw tonight. That shit was wrong. That wasn't 'I'm really conflicted because I hate all men right now, yet I wonder what you look like naked and I'm gonna be adversarial as a result.' That was mean. That was evil. And in my angriest moments, in my most hurt states, I'm not that person. I'm not that bad."

Ugh. Mental masturbation. No one cares. Not even me. Although, it may be a blessing that crazy bitch wasn't a blonde. I might have absorbed a bit more of that mind fuck.

So anyway.

I haven't written in ages. Being busy is a bit of a blessing, I suppose.

I suppose the elephant in the room that I'm trying to circumnavigate is simply that I miss my ex-girlfriend. I miss the crazy chick I only let myself get close to because I didn't think enough of her to be afraid of hurting her. A little.

WOW. So, I let a house go into foreclosure this year. It was underwater, the mortgage wasn't in my name, bleah bleah... it's complicated. The important part is that I collected rent on that place for 9 months before the bank repo went through. If only, if only, huh?

Thing is... the guy I rented it to was fucking NUTS. Run over his chick in the car, get sent to jail, it's ok, here, shake her hand, it's all good now kinda nuts. Yeah. For real. The no-way-in-hell tenant.

Except I went ahead and rented to them. Because, like, who cares? Your getting a good rental rate, it's a nice place, and in 6 months your life will be utter chaos with or without me, so WTF?

And it was. Chaos. And it is. I shook his hand the other day. Called myself a pussy and lowered myself to his level for 10 minutes so I can get my washer and dryer back. Yeah, I'm pragmatic.

My point is, of course, that because he's a fucking freak it doesn't seem wrong to be an irresponsible landlord.

And so it is with my girlfriend. Er... ex-girlfriend. She's crazy. I knew that in the first two weeks. I ran like hell. I broke up with her after 2 weeks, on the phone, right before both her birthday and Xmas. Good? Bad? Inhuman? Desensitized? Whatever dude, it was two friggin' weeks. TWO WEEKS. That heartbreak you can feel her having? Um, is that your phone? Oh, hey, it's the eighth grade calling, it wants its hormonal imbalance back. Sheesh.

But we had such chemistry. And she kept coming back for more. And I was busy, but enjoyed her company every other week when she booty-called me. And then, here and there, we went to brunch the next morning. And six months later, I liked having her around. And there you go.

Ugh. A little part of me loved her. Not like I loved (puking a little in my mouth) Laura... nor like Kaitlin. A little more crazy. A little less pure. A little more lustful, a little more sense of "I deserve this chaos, it makes us compatible', a little... sigh. A LOT. She brings my psycho to the surface.

And therein lies, perhaps, a bit of my catharsis. I let myself get close because I didn't respect her. I felt like I deserved her. I felt like it was ok to use her because I knew I was being used. It was ok to not treat her as well as I could, to put the gym and work and myself first, to roll my eyes when friends asked about her, to basically be a bad boyfriend... because I didn't want it to work out.

The part I can't quite get my head around emotionally is that I've had plenty of girls fall in love with me for whom I felt very little. I simply pulled away, troubled, excusing myself before too much time had passed, before habits had formed, before before before.

Sometimes I made them cry. But they were little tears, and I was that guy that got away that wasn't over daddy issues, or just had his priorities maligned, or just needed to grow up a little.

And I'm ok with that.

But this one was a little different. It's not that she deserved to be treated better -- although, upon reflection of my level of affection for her, of course she did. It is the realization that I basically sabotaged it from the beginning.

Sigh.

Patty is wrong. It's not my mother that I need to get over. I don't hate chicks because of Vicky.

I hate chicks because of Laura.

Vicky gets suspicion. She is the reason for "You owe me nurturing. You owe me support and an ego boost". Which isn't so bad, actually. I mean, sure, it's a chip on my shoulder that helps turn off a good chunk of the female population, but it's not really evil nor all the embarrassing. I'm just a guy that needs a little maintenance. Whatever. There are some trust issues there, perhaps, but they are totally just "edgy", not abnormal.

So I won't date a nice girl until I get over Laura. Riiiiiight.

I think I might want to just date another hundred chicks and have a lot of sex for awhile longer.

I guess I just don't really want to get over that yet. No, I don't know why. Yes, it's weird.

Maybe I like it.

The Last Scrubs Ever

It's like a best friend moving away. I feel sad that it's over.

I suppose that the conclusion of the show and the goodbye to all the characters with whom I feel a false sense of intimacy isn't really about the show. It's about my own story.

In a way, Scrubs was my friend throughout my 20s. I remember seeing it for only the 3rd or 4th time -- sometime in the first season -- after a fight with Amanda. As we lay on our bed, I was turned away from her, away from the TV, and away from the world. JD and Elliot had just broken up for the first time -- so young, so fast, so sitcommy, so born and lost in 22 minutes. And then the moral of the story was summed up. "The big difference is they don't let it take them down. One of those two people will stand up and fight for that relationship every time. If it's right, and they're real lucky, one of them will say something."

And we stayed together a little longer. I grunted. Amanda said, "Maybe we both needed to hear that, huh?" And I turned to face her. We hugged.

I see the age on the actor's faces, just as I see it on my own. I see the faint lines under the eyes, the now-distinct cheek that is slowly becoming more and more delineated from the mouth and nose. I see Eliott on television, and she still represents some fantasy image of a girl I think I'd want to date -- smart, sexy, blonde, athletic, ambitious, and absolutely neurotic. I see J.D. and still relate to him in his closing lines of the series. "Why can't my fantasy be my future? Why can't it all be true?" He says this as he watches, in his mind's eye, the future he imagines with the woman he loves (I'm glad he got the girl, I don't care that it made this last season less interesting. He's just an idiot for letting her slip away so many times. Only in Hollywood does she ever come back.), the friends he believes will always be there, and the kids he'll watch grow up.

It is simultaneously, paradoxically, a message of hope and doubt. The fantasy of a happy future leaves the optimists with their happy ending, the realists with their present, and the pessimists with an urge to engage in their own fantasies.

It's not that I miss Amanda. It's that I miss the fantasy.

It's not that I hate Laura. It's that I miss the ability to fantasize.

It's not that I will miss JD & Elliott. It's that their goodbye is a reminder of change, a marker of times gone by and fairy tales lost.

And it's not that I'm sad as I write this. Just... reflective.

I suppose, if I were to be honest, that I do have a lot of wishes. A lot of... fantasies. I suppose I've just accepted that they aren't my destiny, which makes this pensive, rather than tearful.

I wish Amanda had loved me a little more and her job a little less. I wish we'd had another go of it.

I wish I'd never loved Laura. Some lessons are better left untaught.

I wish I'd finished high school and gone off to college like a normal kid.

I wish I were still friends with Sam.

I wish my dad were sane.

I wish I could love my brother enough.

I wish I could love my mother.

I wish Ayla was still my friend.

Merry Xmas

It's cold in my house.

I shall miss this day, this feeling, this presence someday a long time from now.

Today, right now, with a little wonder, a little tiny bit of sadness, a little regret, and a taste of reflection, I'm crying.

It feels so good. I haven't cried in so long. And now, typing with my  eyes closed, I can feel those tears rolling down my face, and ...

I'm not really crying over anything, Or anyone.

I do sorta vaguely want a drink, though.

This sensation... it's like seeing and old friend and not remembering that it's been years. Well, I guess. Have I ever felt that way? Maybe.

I'm not even sad, now. Not even a little bit. I feel... almost... happy.

Weird.

Slutbag on the brain (yet again)

It's been two weeks since I saw you.

It's been a stressful two weeks.

I miss Kait. She reminds me of Counting Crows and Adele and John Mayer and I want to listen and cry.

But, so often, the tears don't come. Because, you see, I didn't love her. Even though she deserved it.

And I loved you. Even though you didn't.

It hurts to think about. Seeing you... was disturbing.

Seeing you messed with my head in ways I still haven't processed.

I love you still. A little. The thought of touching you, of cherishing you, of holding you... all of that seems so foreign, so far away, so distant, so like a movie viewed while dreaming or drunk. And yet, there you are, in the hidden back rooms of my subconscious, skirting observation, holding on despite my best efforts to forget,

My best efforts to hate.

And I did. I hated you for a long, long time. I hated all women under the sun for a time. I threw the might of my baggage down on the ground in front of any woman who would hang around long enough to make me push her away.

And I hated. And hurt. And forgot what it was to be me. Forgot the humanity, forgot the love, forgot the hope, forgot the faith, and forgot my soul.

It is astonishingly frustrating to realize that I miss those that gave me support even as I push all that support away with everything I am.

I am an island, alone, now. I am solo, independent, on my own, and self-sustaining.

I am the shell of a man you always wanted. Even as you became a girl who -- possibly -- would have deserved my love.

I miss me. More than anything you ever did, more than anything you ever could have done, I miss the open-minded and hopeful youth I used to be. It's not you I hate, slutbag. It's what I became because of you.

The next level of acceptance is being okay with that. Saying goodbye to that person I used to be. Tolerating the shell I have become.

I'm mad, today, because you have become so very much the woman I deserved. Then.

Today, not so much.

Today, I deserve... what I have. Attention with no substance. Stress with little reward. Pain with no cause. Depraved indifference, perhaps.

I miss that guy I used to be. I miss Kaitlin, because even as I pushed her away she believed I was that man. And I miss...

Eh. That's about it right at the moment.

Oh, yeah

I'm kinda into K. I could totally commit to a two month trial relationship right now.

Hey, that's a lot for a reformed player! I'm saying I'd focus on her and only her to give "something real" a genuine chance with her.

This is also being said with lots of other opportunity currently on the table... sigh.

Drinks with Slutbag

Two disturbing things happened to me this weekend.

1. I saw Slutbag Laura on Friday. I don't know why, but we traded a few emails a couple of weeks back, and I agreed to meet her. It was... surreal? I had all of my defenses up. There were a couple of moments when I felt sad as she talked, but for the most part I just stayed disconnected and didn't get too deep.

She got really deep. She got teary two or three times. She said things and expressed feelings that, if she had only conveyed back in the autumn of 2005, might mean we'd still be together today. (That was one of the moments I felt sad.) As she put it, her "house of cards" came tumbling down sometime around the beginning of this year. She went through a little crisis, realized that she was basically a superficial bitch, hated her job, and was disgusted with her life.

She had her quarter life crisis, I guess. Figures... she turned 27 this year, I think.

It was really hard for me to just sit there and listen. I was pretty superficial with her and to her. I approached all the data before me in as objective and rational a way as I could... answering to statements like "as I've gone through this crisis, I've thought about us a lot, about not simply how things ended, but about what an absolutely horrible girlfriend I was" with little emotion, saying only that it didn't much matter now.

And it didn't. Or so I thought at the time.

We chatted for about 2.5 hours. She paid for her own drink and took a cab home even though I could have offered her a ride easily that would cost me only a few minutes.

I think I should talk more about what she said, even though I don't really want to... it will be cathartic for me. And I've been really, really stressed about this for the last couple of days. It's not completely obvious, but I can see it in how I'm acting with the other girls I'm dating, which I'll get to in a bit.

So, let's see.

She talked a lot about her identity crisis. It was an accessible topic because it was recent and related to her current status (unemployed + working part time under the table), her upcoming plans (she wants to go teach English in a foreign country for a year or so, then go to grad school, subject currently unclear), and her more-or-less limbo existence that is the result.

This led to a discussion of how I fit into that crisis. Peripheral things came up, like how the very friend that influenced her the most when she and I were dating -- she was jealous of my time with Slutbag and would regularly express disgust with our status as a couple -- just got married and is living happily ever after.

She talked about how she thought about me every day for six months after it all ended. "It was probably July before I stopped wondering and feeling guilty about you every day."

My internal thought at that point was... well. I sorta relished her guilt. I liked it. Cause, well, fuck her, right?

As she continued, she said that, post-crisis, the pain she felt surrounding me was so much more dramatic than even that extended period of guilt. Something about "bringing up old stuff I didn't really deal with from my childhood was part of my therapy process. And what happened between us was in there throughout it all -- it kept coming up -- for months and months I kept seeing myself through what I imagined to be your eyes. And it was so very, very painful."

I asked her if she thought it was really empathy. She responded that it was the most empathy she's ever felt. "When I think of the way I treated you, how I thought of you, and how you thought of me in spite of all that, I can't help but cry. I was such a so very, very horrible friend, girlfriend, and person with you."

"You took me... for granted." I replied.

"Um... yes, well, I suppose that's a way to put it, if overly broad."

I shrugged my shoulders.

This kind of conversation proceeded for a few more minutes, when I changed the subject and asked about her family. I always liked her family. She gave short answers, then returned to what was apparently her catharsis, noting the non sequitor.

"Nice change of subject."

I laughed. Then I shrugged.

"It's cool. I'm not sure I'm completely comfortable either. But I've been rehearsing what I wanted to say to you for a long, long time.

She continued. "The thing is, I decided -- not that long ago, actually, maybe last summer -- that I was never going to see or talk to you again and that that was going to have to be ok.

"And I want you to know that no matter what happens, that regardless of whether we'll be friends again someday, or even more than friends, or if you never want to talk to me again after this... I want you to know that I really appreciate being able to sit here with you and tell you these things.

"I want you to know that you were -- and are -- great, that you didn't deserve to be treated the way you did with me. I can't believe the person I was, and I can't possibly hope to understand how much it hurt, but if I could, I really would take it all back."

I swallowed hard then. I remember thinking, vividly, "If you had only told me that in Hawaii. If you had only told me that when I still loved you." I didn't say it out loud.

I remember her also talking about... oh crap. I just took the time to hit skip on my music playlist and I totally forgot what was just on my mind.

Sigh. Let's see, what else? I told her -- before this part of the conversation, I think -- that I had become a player after we parted. Oh, that's what it was.

She also talked about how she couldn't bear, when were together, that is, to deal with any of my depth. It came up because I commented on how she seemed much more self-assessing and introspective than she used to be, and that I thought that was a good thing. I think I said something like "I sometimes don't do that when I should," and she responded that I was always good at that, always was pretty up front about the demons I dealt with, and how that to people who acknowledged their demons, that must be refreshing.

She went on to say, "Back then I just wanted you to 'stop bring up this bullshit and just be happy', but the truth is that seeing you -- who had everything so well organized life-wise -- acknowledge your inner demons made me notice my own huge ones. And I hated that sensation."

I said something like "yeah, but it's not very attractive."

She said "no, it wasn't. Then. I just wanted you to be superficial like me. But now I can't stand that skin deep 'everything is perfect as long as I portray perfection'."

This led to a tangent on how she dealt with her now-married best friend, who strikes me as one of the single most superficial, selfish, inconsiderate bitches I've ever met. And this is Alfie, the bitch magnet, talking here.

Laura admitted that, on some levels, it was difficult to stay friends with her. "There have definitely been periods where it was only the twenty-five years of history that brought us back together. When you left was one of those -- I lost you, and she wouldn't take my phone calls for two months afterwards. I was like, 'You bitch! You got what you wanted. [Alfie]'s gone, now where are you?'"

When she talked about how she just wanted me to be this vision of superficial, perfect, independent man, I chuckled and said, "We both became what the other wanted."

That led to a discussion about me, and how I've led my life since leaving her. (Is it right to say that I left her when she spent the last six months of our relationship fucking other guys? Pssh.)

"I've hurt a whole lotta girls after you. There was one time in the summer of 2006 when I was on a road trip with a buddy of mine and, after coming back into range, I had something like 9 voice mails on my phone from 9 different girls, across three countries and three or four states."

"Wow."

"Yeah. And I'll tell ya... the rumors are true. The less you care, the more it really is like manna from heaven. I went through so many girls in 2006... it was just silly. It was great -- 4-5 new girls a week, all over western Europe as well as here [in California]. I'm sure I hurt a lot of them, but I was so busy chasing the next girl I didn't even notice.

"Ironically, during the first half of 2007, I was really, really depressed. And the girls I dated in that time frame got the truth -- I would tell them how messed up I was, and they pretty much invariably told me off. It's really strange, but there are quite a few girls from the 2006 period that I still trade the occasional friendly email with, but the girls that got the whole truth all hate me."

--

So. What did I learn?

Well. I have neither forgotten nor forgiven. During the conversation, I consciously felt myself feeling the humanity in her... and actively denying it. I didn't want to see her side. I didn't want to understand her, feel for her, nor have any sensation about her, for her, or because of her.

The person that she is today may, in fact, be a better person. She may be worthy of my friendship. She may be worthy of someone's love. She may even make a good girlfriend or wife.

But I don't care. Or, at least, I don't want to care. I want to hate her, want her to feel guilt and pain and empathize over transgressions from years ago... forever.

And, I think, that I'm sad because of that.

I don't want to be consumed by this hate. I don't want to...

Sigh.

I think that the problem with forgiving her is that I have to forgive myself. For becoming the selfish, cynical, angry person that lives somewhere in my soul, now. I have to forgive myself for the misogyny. I have to acknowledge all those girls with broken hearts and take responsibility for them. For Kimmie Sue and Lola and Sarah K and Sarah S and Jill and Martina and Marina and Paulina and Susan and Lauren and Megan and Simone and Sidney and Marcie and Tracy and Carla and Allison and Katrina and... Kaitlin.

They weren't all treated terribly, to be sure. But they all invested, at least a little, and with most of them, had I not been in that scarred state of pseudo-misogyny I still won't let go, I'd have either not dated them from the outset or, maybe, fallen for them.

Now, if I take a Machiavellian stance with this, it's not so terribly important. There are grays and considerations associated with every single one of those names. After all, if you're hooking up with a guy that lives in the United States in his London hotel, how far can you really fall? But this isn't really about them. There are a couple of people there that are, perhaps, owed an apology, whether cosmic or personal, but this is about me, today, and how I treat people in the present. And the future.

I'm proud of the way I dealt with Kait. I'm not sure how I could have handled that better. Perhaps "better" is knowing myself well enough to realize, and take decisive action, earlier in the dating process. Perhaps "better" would have been pushing her away the day she said "I want to be your girlfriend" two months in instead of admitting that I'd never fall four months in.

But in the human tapestry, I don't feel too bad about this. She knew. I told her. I just kept hoping I would start to feel something, as did she. So maybe I already am a better man than I was in the wake of betrayal, and I don't need to forgive Slutbag in order to forgive myself. I think I might need a little more time, still, to really do it. I need a couple of more interactions with women where I feel really proud of how I treated them.

And I can do that. Maybe I'll never ever forgive Laura. I don't think that this is not okay, that this indicates some sort of major shortcoming on my part. I know that a bigger man -- that the man I would like to be, someday -- would forgive her and genuinely wish her well. But I'm not that man today.

Sigh. This is tangential. I'm seguing to the second topic.

2. I had "performance anxiety" with K. last night. Yeah, no shit. First time, ever. Ok, I had to psyche myself up once or twice back in the day faced with a really bad kisser. And in the few months after I left Amanda I had some "close calls", but never have I been in a state where I'm (a) not in love with some other girl and (b) super attracted to the girl I talked out of her clothes and had any random thought whatsoever about performing. "Performing" is usually a question of whether she's gonna get some tongue action or not. Heh.

I mean, I had no problem getting excited, but then after the trip across the room to put on a rubber and coming back to the mission at hand... bleah.

I didn't realize this until today, but I was incredibly stressed out yesterday. It's not like Laura was on the brain -- hell, she wasn't on my mind at all. K. was the only thing anywhere in site, mind's eye or otherwise.

But it was Laura. I'm 99% sure of it as I think about it today (and yes, I admit it, that's the reason I'm writing -- I didn't actually want to!) The act of putting my proverbial force-shields on at full strength in order to absorb (ignore?) the emotional experience of seeing her must have shut off a whole lot more than a couple of tear ducts.

Of course, this pisses me off. Damn bitch is still fucking with my heart and my head. And now my penis, too! Slutbag, indeed. Heh.


I think I just need a good cry, but the tears really aren't coming. Time to dig up some sappy music and look at old photos, maybe? Heh. I kinda already tried that...

Sigh. Or, maybe, this is all that I needed. Guess I'll find out.

Got to be cruel to be kind

Tonight I made someone I care a lot about cry.

I said, "I don't think I can ever love you the way you deserve." And I meant it. She deserves better than me.

She loved me. In as pure and healthy a way that any girl probably ever has. She never said so, but I could tell from how her body trembled in my arms, like someone pierced her heart with a spear and held it here while she died a painful death.

I was that someone tonight. I hurt her so bad. How could I do such a terrible thing?

I know (I think) what that feels like, I know what a terrible sensation it is to feel pain and loss so profound that you cry yourself to sleep and wake up in tears at your nightmares that used to be happy dreams. The same people with the same looks are there, saying things that might, actually, be wonderful, but a trembling soul has no joy.

I can't believe I became that person. I can't believe I let someone so good fall for me when I couldn't give it back.

I'm crying, now, not for me, but for her. I'm crying now, secondhand, like the moon to her weeping sun.

I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could love her the way she deserves. I wish I could be the Prince Charming she hoped I would become.

I'm sorry, Kait.