Friday, December 5, 2008

4,000 Miles From The Year 2005

Okay, for those of you keeping track...
  • Three weeks back one of my customers asked for my phone number. He said that he called me the following Saturday, but I didn't get the call and didn't receive a message. He said he wasn't a "message" guy. He is 25 and his name is Brian. He thinks I look "hot" in my work uniform.
  • Four weeks ago I spoke with FG, reconciled, slipped and forgot the boundaries the following Sunday, heard from him on Monday, and then was forgot by him, AGAIN, for another four weeks. I told him I never wanted to hear from him again on Tuesday of this week, we had a blow-out, and said goodbye Wednesday morning.
  • Thursday afternoon I was helping customers at the counter and a 60-year-old guy who looks 40 came to the counter wanting his will call order: two 12-foot extension ladders. When I wheeled the cart out to his van he refused to let me lift a thing and told me I was a very attractive woman and started talking all about himself, that that day was his birthday and that he was 60, and he asked if I was married. "Nope." "YOU'RE KIDDING. So could I have your number?" Oh, why the fuck not...what does THIS one want...WHEN DID MEN GET SO FRICKIN' DISTASTEFUL AND GOD, WHY DIDN'T YOU MAKE ME A LESBIAN SO I COULD AVOID THIS PAINFUL DANCE????? "Can I call you tonight?" Sure. "What time?" I get home at around 8. He called at 7:43, talked about how he was doing a good deed for an elderly neighbor and that he looks so young because he never drank or smoked in his life (NEVER DRANK? oo, boy...) and he walks all the time and he drinks a lot of water..."And when can I see you? Saturday?" How about noon at Golden Gate Park? "Okay, how do I get there from BART?" Mild annoyance while I explain how to get around to a Californian...he should be showing me the state..."And you'll be there? You're not going to stand me up? Can I call you tomorrow? What time?" His name is Otto.


Not so fast, not so much, what do you WANT, what am I going to have sell myself on THIS time, why do I have to be nice to freakin' every guy who asks for the number because friends in the past and present think I'm just lucky someone is showing interest, and THIS IS WHAT FUCKED ME UP WITH GARY AND CHIP AND FG? Who's Next? Who wants to take a punch at me next? You, sir? You? Or maybe you? She's a sweetheart, she'll put up with anything, come take your best shot...

I was looking forward to a weekend of trying to end my therapy and writing and loving my solitude that I was sure was here to stay because NO GUY I DATE WANTS TO READ OR HAVE INTELLIGENT CONVERSATION...

A lot of capital letters and shouting there, Jo.

Deep breath.

All I ask is a simple thing: let me look over at you across a crowded room and feel like a partner, like we share a secret of caring for each other...I'm tired of the guys cramming a life lecture or a sex scene down my throat, or apathy...

I want to date a secure guy who loves that I love what I love. And maybe likes an occasional drink.

Please God. Stop torturing me with insecure men. Bring along a man who knows how to treat a woman. And if you can't do that, let me be happy with being a writer, and let me get out of my unhealthy workplace.

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