The Most Inexcusable Slights

Disclaimer: This entire post was written and posted while still quite intoxicated. Please be mindful.

I feel utterly disrespected, like a nobody. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes … Imagine!

The Flirt was part of my group tonight. I met Rachel* for dinner. We met up with other friends later. The Flirt was among them. He is newly returned from a trip to Louisville, KY. I knew he met up with his Kentucky booty call this week. It was inevitable. I can’t help but have low expectations of him. His carnal weakness is transparent. I am mildly offended by it. Only mildly because I know I have no right to be. We experienced a few brief moments of indulgence. They were nothing more. The only offense is that he has no more respect than to immediately jump into another woman’s bed. Disrespectful to her. Disrespectful to me.

We are out tonight playing pool. Rachel quizzes him about his relationship with this person. He refers to her as his ‘girlfriend.’ She tells me this, but I feign ignorance. We go about with usual flirting and horseplay. Rachel thinks we should play up tempting him as a gag. I’m not as enthusiastic. If he has serious feelings for this person and is attempting a relationship, we should be respectful, regardless of our misgivings. After much time has passed, and Rachel has begun her shenanigans, we are locked in a three-way hug. He plays up to it, wanting the attention. Rachel asks something out of my earshot. I hear his response of, “She wouldn’t like this at all.” It was then Rachel’s turn to shoot pool, so she steps away. I ask him what he meant by that. Who was the ‘she,’ and why wouldn’t she like it? He confides that she referred to the girl in Kentucky. I ask if they are involved. He responds that she is, but he isn’t as much. I ask, “You saw her this week, didn’t you?” He responds that he saw her and f***ed her brains out. He never indicates a serious connection to this person, even after I chastise him for sleeping with someone who has obviously taken things more seriously.

We still flirt, because by all indications to me, he isn’t involved with anyone. He makes several references to wanting me to bl** him. He’ll stay out later if I’ll bl** him. I ask if he’s coming home with me, as a test really, in response to which he asks if I’ll bl** him. In other words, I don’t offer enough perks to be worth his time. When the last game of pool is finished, he leaves.

Rachel is chatty with me once he is gone. I reveal to her what a different story he gave me, but no. He had indicated to her that he needed to leave to avoid temptation. It was the right thing for him to do. The story he gave her was entirely different than the one given me. My only conclusion is that he felt a need to keep his options open. The girl in Kentucky is hundreds of miles away. Chances are slim that it will work. Knowing The Flirt, I can’t see it working. He tells me a different story in order to keep me in his back pocket. Never mind our friendship. Never mind how I trust him. He won’t be forthcoming with me out of fear … fear of losing a booty call, no matter that it isn’t quite real. No matter that I won’t do him, or bl** him, he wants to keep me on the sidelines, just in case. I deserve better. I believe I’ve been gracious, never having expected more than simple friendship … never reading more into our encounters. One thing I do believe I should expect from a friend with whom I’ve been so intimate is straightforward honesty. I don’t like hearing a different story from another friend than the one he tells me. Knowing where I stand should be a right, not a privilege. Being treated as a friend and not just a booty call is also the least of respect I should be shown. I’m tired of being trod upon. I’m just tired.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

What's Your Line?

Let’s talk about pickup lines, boys and girls. You know … those wonderfully glib words used as introduction to desirable members of the opposite sex, hopefully rendering us irresistible. Guys probably have their favorites. Girls have their lists of most hated. I know I do. There must be a great divide. Guys don’t use their lines in front of girl friends. Girls are almost always picked up when their guy friends aren’t around. There is no natural method by which pickup lines are critiqued. Can I help you guys here? Can I be your bridge over troubled water?

Case in Point: My Most Hated Line EVER

Several weeks ago, Rachel* and I were engrossed in deep conversation when a guy approached saying, “Hey! Smile, you guys. Lighten up!” Does this sound like a pickup line to you? Well, the boy sat down next to me and chatted for several minutes before stepping back to the bar. The immediate effect of his comment was to make Rachel and me more self-conscious about our demeanor. We worked harder to look carefree and happy. Next thing we know, he’s back … telling us to cheer up again. After hearing this five times, I was more than a little annoyed with him. He gave me his phone number on a napkin, which stayed crumpled in my purse for about a week before I threw it away. Last weekend, same line, different guy. And, like the first guy, he thought repeating it made it better.

Why is this line so terrible? First, it’s unimaginative. Another word for it is lame. What kind of response does a guy expect? It gives us very little to work with. There isn’t much to say in response, which must be why they resort to repetition. Repeating a tired line, however, only makes it more tired. Trust me. Please, if you have to say it, say it only once. We can probably forgive your bad line if you aren’t cramming it down our throats. Secondly, it’s insulting. You see a woman to which you are attracted. You want to make a connection and get your foot in the door, so your best method is to tell her how unapproachable she looks? I know that isn’t your intent, but that’s exactly what is communicated. Then, after making her aware that she looks sour and after she’s tried to improve on it, you tell her to “smile.” That is when your ship begins to sink. You might as well have said, “Nice try, but you failed.” No sane woman wants to go out with someone who basically put her down in his very approach.

I know there are more bad lines out there, many of them worse than this, but I’m not going into lengthy analysis of them all. I wouldn’t mind hearing your most hated lines and what makes them terrible in the comments section of this post. Let me clarify what makes a line bad:

1. Lack of imagination. Don’t make random, impersonal comments. “Hey. How are you guys doing?” falls into this category. It sounds like a restaurant manager checking on customer satisfaction. Please avoid it. It isn’t fatal, but you don’t want her thinking, “Oh no. Here we go again.”
   
2. Unengaging remarks or questions. Making impersonal remarks limits her choices for response. While the line mentioned in #1 is friendly, her response will be, “Good. How are you?” and that’s about all she can do. This sort of line will only earn a response equivalent of “Hmph. That’s nice,” if anything at all. If used, you must have a follow-up line.
   
3. Unintentional insults. This happens more frequently than you may realize. Rule of thumb, if it implies anything negative at all, it’s an insult. Telling her to smile or cheer up implies that she looks bad. Telling her to change anything about herself, no matter how insignificant, implies that she isn’t good enough as she is. You will majorly strike out if you do so.
   
4. Grotesque flattery. This is when you pile it on so thick, or the compliments are so contrived, a girl feels like she needs to be hosed off. A little flattery goes a long way, but a lot of flattery sounds insincere. Back off, dude!

So, What Makes a Great Pickup Line?

Would I leave you with no guidance on how to do it right? What kind of pal would I be?

You may not have noticed, but my last post included an example of a great pickup line. While Rachel and I tried looking inconspicuous as a group walked by, my sister boldly stared and then engaged one of them with a simple remark.

“Looks like y’all are having fun!”

I know what you’re thinking. That’s too easy!! Doesn’t it fall under rule #1 by being unimaginative? Well, you’re right. It could, and maybe even should, but on that night, it didn’t, and I’ll tell you why. First of all, it was completely positive. People know that having fun makes you look like you’re a fun person, and everyone wants to think they’re fun to be around. It was complimentary. And while sounding rather generic, it wasn’t random. It indicated that his specific behavior had caught her attention. Next, it communicated an active interest. The line implies a tag of “…and I want to have fun, too!” Who can resist being told they look great, they look interesting, they would be fun to hang around, and someone wants to know them because of it?! Everything you want to communicate in one line! Now, was that so painful?

I must concede that, given the circumstance, this line may not always be as effective as it was that night. You could encounter someone that just went through a bad breakup, or who simply has a bad attitude that night or maybe permanently. (Well, looking at that list, why would you want it to work? Who needs extra baggage?) What I’m trying to say is that you should always have a backup. If the guy to whom Sis spoke had been shy, she would have gotten no more from him than a smile and maybe a thank you as he walked by. I like shy guys. I don’t want them exiting my orbit so quickly. So, what would be the next move? Ask a question. Questions require interaction. They demand response. And remember, you want it to start an engaging conversation. Generic and open-ended “how are you’s” won’t cut it. Ask about something specific and make it personal. My sister might have followed up her line with, “Do you like to dance?” “Do you dance a lot?” “Do you go to dance clubs?” and so on. Once he responded, she would have an answer to build on. “What are your favorite clubs?” or “I don’t like those either. I prefer live music. Are you familiar with any local bands?” By all means, guys, please have a full conversation with us before asking for our number. I may be an oddball in this regard, but I find it distasteful to ask for a girl’s number based purely on initial attraction. I’m very distrustful of it, also, for what have you offered to make her want your phone call? And don’t use that other very tired old line, “I just want to get to know you better.” At the end of a long conversation, it’s okay, but when you don’t know anything about her at all, where do you get the ‘better’ from? My immediate thought is always, “I’m right here, so get to know me.” I have a theory that guys who do this don’t want to get bogged down with one girl. There are too many women to meet and phone numbers to acquire. You can tell me if I’m wrong, but this is the impression I get, just so you know.

So, let me clarify what makes a good pickup line. I wouldn’t mind hearing about your good ones, as well, but be warned. If it’s one you use, you may open up a can of worms (i.e. criticism) by posting it here.

1. Show specific interest. Letting a girl know that something specific about her caught your attention will catch hers.
   
2. Be complimentary/positive. Tell her that she has an engaging smile, that she walks like a dancer, that her laugh is infectious. Don’t gush. Just one will do, and make it sincere. Don’t say it if it isn’t true. What made you notice her? Tell her. (Within reason. Colorful comments about her booty will not impress.)
   
3. Ask questions. Make certain there is one in your arsenal that requires more than a one-word answer, even if it has to be the follow-up question. Specific questions indicate more than a passing interest. The type of questions you ask and the interaction that ensues also tells her a lot about you.
   
4. Relate to her as an individual. If you notice a cross around her neck, a band logo on her jacket, or a movie star’s image on her handbag, she’s telling you something about herself without saying a word. This is her interest, maybe even her passion. Asking her about it is an easy way to start conversation, and your noticing it will make a good impression.

The best advice I have about pickup lines is to stop thinking of them as a means for getting a phone number or making a date. (Of course, if all you’re interested in is the proverbial booty call, this much work is contradictory to the easy lay.) Focus instead on the conversation being your ultimate goal and enjoy it. Think of the pressure it relieves. While hoping the conversation is a precursor for more, enjoy the moment for what it is. Meeting new people, sharing common interests, is a gift in itself. Not every girl you meet is going to be worth a phone call anyway. Why waste your time and hers?

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

A View from the Sidelines

I wonder if I could invent a career of sports casting the bar scene. While sitting unobtrusively in an alcove, I would give play-by-play accounts of the various dramas, peppering my commentary with witty insights into events. What do you think? Is there a niche for this? All I know is that it would be a blast.

Saturday night. The scene is Bojangle’s, a favorite neighborhood bar newly re-opened. Partners in crime include the ready-for-anything Rachel* and my never-meets-a-stranger sister. We arrive around 8:30pm. The place is full but not yet packed. A band is prepping. We easily find a bar table with a view of the stage. Our table is next to the rail that surrounds an elevated bar. It’s an easy-going night, for us anyway. We enjoy comfortably sporadic conversation while observing the surroundings, noting the new tables and chairs, trying to remember if the painted concrete floor had formerly been tiled. I notice a scene playing out at the rail by our table. Patrons standing by the rail easily forget how close they are to the tables below and mistakenly feel a sense of privacy. A handsome, dimple cheeked young man wearing a knit cap is flirting with a pretty young woman in jeans and a button down shirt. She is flirting in kind. Both are clearly intoxicated and looking for a hook-up. In dance-like movements they move closer only to separate and move closer again. Her hand rests on his wrist, inviting him to touch her in return. Not garnering the response she wants, she moves in even closer and escalates to running her hand across his chest. I can barely stifle a guffaw. I look to share this with my sister, but she is already transfixed by the show. I’m facing the couple’s profiles. Blatantly watching them in such close proximity becomes uncomfortable, so I settle for quick glances.

After a distracting conversation with Rachel, Sis fills me in on the couple’s progress. Dimples apparently backed off from Button Down causing her to seek comfort from his buddy, an older, attractive man wearing a t-shirt. T-shirt was previously in conversation with a girl in a halter top and jacket, who then appeared peeved by his redirected attention. We spend many minutes trying to determine if Dimples and Button Down know each other or have just met. Dimples returns from the bar and resumes flirting. Sis notes that T-shirt doesn’t enjoy Halter Top’s attention. The band kicks in. Dimples leads Button Down off of the platform, and T-shirt follows. Halter top, apparently caught off guard by his departure, yells “Hey!” and follows. In front of the band, the foursome dance in couples. I ask Sis if we should bet on how long it takes the young couple to start making out. They appear to be on the verge of it several times. The other two aren’t doing so well. Halter Top does her best to be seductive, pulling her jacket back to reveal white shoulders, eventually removing it. She provocatively rotates her hips. When all else fails, she resorts to groping her own breasts.

This is where I begin my commentary of the night, explaining to Sis that T-shirt is the wingman, sacrificing himself so his buddy can get the pretty girl. He indulges Halter Top as little as possible, but cannot reject her outright for the sake of the team. Halter Top isn’t bad looking, but had fallen into the unfortunate role of “the ugly friend.” Any physical attributes were undermined by her air of desperation. Meanwhile, the other couple dances intimately until Dimples takes a seat at the dance floor’s edge.

“Watch. She’ll sit in his lap shortly,” I predict. “Watch…. Watch… there she goes…. Woops, not quite… now… now… there she goes. Ah, there it is!”

Halter top tears herself away to make a request of the band. T-shirt takes this opportunity to approach the other couple. I offer my take on their interaction.

“T-shirt is telling Dimples that he can’t take it anymore. He tried being the wingman, but this woman is getting on his nerves. He’s sorry, but he needs to get away from her. Dimples tells him that it’s ‘okay, man.’ He’ll take care of it. They’ll get her off of him, just don’t leave.” Dimples heads toward the bar, so T-shirt talks to Button Down. “He’s telling her how sorry he is, but Halter Top came on too strong. She says it’s okay. She understands. He’s telling her what Halter Top did to make him reach his limit. She laughs because she knows what he’s talking about. Their gestures indicate that they see eye to eye.” His mood is lightened. They walk toward the bar to join Dimples, leaving Halter Top to dance by herself. Rachel and I duck our heads to appear oblivious, but my sister … she blatantly watches them walk toward us. She speaks briefly to T-shirt.

“Looks like y’all are having fun,” she says. T-shirt rolls his eyes and makes a comment about how it could be better. They move on to the bar. After a few minutes we notice them leave without Halter Top. Rachel thinks she saw her leave with a group from another section of the bar.

There’s a story every night we go out. There was the night at T.P. Crockmier’s during the Christmas season. The place was packed with parties. Our table had a spare chair that was often requested, but never taken because there was no room for it anywhere else. Eventually a handsome man asked if he could sit. He was part of a group at the next table, but couldn’t squeeze in with them. He was there with his wife and her friends … well, his ex-wife, he qualifies, but Rachel doesn’t hear. Before he sat with us, we had pointed him out to each other. He wore no ring. She began chatting with him out of friendliness. I managed to warn her about the wife at the next table, but we remained friendly with the guy. Shortly, his wife, or ex-wife, or soon to be ex-wife comes by our table and screams at Rachel, “If you want him, you can have him!” Rachel was flabbergasted. We were all speechless. His wife and her group left. We urged him to go with her, but he refused, remaining at our table all night. He alluded to getting a ride to Pensacola with my sister, which she ignored. He played the pity card, saying he would have to walk home. We told him to get a taxi. We offered to call one for him. Last we saw of him, he was walking out of the bar and into the night.

A few weeks later, again at TP’s, I catch the eye of an attractive man across the bar. Rachel mentions him a few minutes later, but he’s wearing a ring. I dare not catch his eye again, but much later he walks over to the waitress’ station that’s by me. He strikes up a conversation, asking where I went to school, trying to name people I might know. We haven’t talked long when a woman enters, strides up to him, and announces herself. “I’m his wife,” she says very pointedly to me. I greet her graciously, and try ignoring their ensuing argument. She tells him that she’s going to have one beer and leave. I’m aware of her sitting in his old seat across the bar for the next half hour. He is nowhere to be seen. A couple of girls pity her sitting miserably alone and try consoling her. After a single beer, she leaves as promised. When Rachel and I leave after another hour or so, we pass her husband re-entering the bar. We warn him about the dangers of not going home. He’s as concerned about it as the last guy. It’s not a glowing testimony for marriage.

In any case, I’m always entertained by the antics of people in that setting. If only there was some method of capturing it and sharing it. All the microcosms of society, all the otherwise subtle nuances of human behavior are found under the magnifying glass at your friendly neighborhood bar.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

Why Did It Move Me....

Why did it move me, whatever he said? Why do I still savor the few delicious words that survived my alcohol induced fog? Why do I long for more?

Last week Rachel* and I enjoyed an impromptu girls’ night out so much that we decided to repeat it, this time including our lazy, undependable friends. I knew it was probably a mistake. Those evenings always turn out so great just because they are impromptu … no expectations. However, I couldn’t resist inviting everyone once plans were secured with Rachel and Miranda*. We were to meet for dinner, move from there to TP’s, and then head downtown to hear my nephew’s band. I didn’t ask for any confirmations unless they intended to eat dinner. Otherwise, they could just catch up with us whenever, if ever. The first mistake is leaving plans open like that. While saying that it doesn’t matter whether anyone else shows up, you can’t help but watch for them.

It was just the three of us at dinner. Looked like it would be just us three for the night, but then The Flirt showed up. The party band kicked into gear, and the primarily middle-aged patrons hit the dance floor. We amused ourselves with watching them and pointing out the funny ones, the drunk ones, or the pathetic ones. The Flirt sat across from me. Having only finished off my first drink, I had difficulty maintaining eye contact. I longed for the booze to set me at ease. We’d had one other encounter since Halloween night, even more intimate, and it was the last time I saw him. If we had spoken more in the time since, it wouldn’t have felt so awkward … if I didn’t know about his little “booty call” in Kentucky during my New Year’s Eve party, or if I hadn’t confronted him over instant messenger about that and other perceived slights. I noticed that he wasn’t quite himself, either, but I doubted it had to do with me. He asked where the guitar friend was, and I replied that I had no idea … that I hadn’t heard from anyone really, and didn’t know who would show up. I realized that he missed male company that would echo his machismo. He spoke on his cell phone often, some received and some outbound calls, never offering the names from the other end. After another hour, he announced that Big Red and two other friends were coming. Into my third drink, I was finally comfortable with him.

We stayed and danced a little more after Big Red and the girls arrived. I could tell they weren’t very impressed with the band or the crowd, but they did get into the party atmosphere a little. One of the girls took The Flirt to the floor for a slow dance. Rachel turned to me and said, “The Flirt has two women here that he’s fooled around with.” I told her that I’d thought of that. He had both of his “booty calls” in the same place at the same time. We both laughed. His dance partner was the one who came as “Cher” to my Halloween party a year ago, and with whom he had conspicuously disappeared that night. I watched them. It meant nothing to me, and yet I wished he had asked or would ask me to dance … a small stroke of the ego, a reassurance that he enjoyed having me in his arms. I announced that we would leave once the band did their “party thing” – a dance gauntlet of sorts. Try as I might to push the girls out there, they wouldn’t go, but Rachel and I both showed off. Afterwards, we collected the checks. I handed mine over to The Flirt. He owed me money from last summer, and since I knew I would never get the cash out of him, I told him that he was paying for my drinks all night. He was surprisingly cooperative.

Rachel, Miranda and I arrived downtown together. The Flirt arrived by himself. The rest of our group had abandoned us for other entertainment. After The Flirt bought my first drink at the bar, Rachel told me that my guitar friend was there with some friends. He had informed her that since it was past midnight, it was technically his birthday. I waited a couple of minutes before approaching him, repeating what I’d heard and wishing him a happy birthday. He introduced me to his friends. I carefully repeated each name to secure it for memory. I recognized two of them. The other two were unfamiliar, and I wondered if the woman next to him meant anything special. Rachel wondered the same when I returned to her. Then, while we danced a few feet from the stage, my guitar friend approached to stand behind us. The girl came with him, dancing provocatively against him. Question answered. I was disappointed, even a little hurt. I had known something was up. I had even offered him a chance to come clean about it during a conversation about him missing the New Year’s Eve party. Why didn’t he take the bait? Why are men such cowards with women, acting as though we’ll shatter if they indicate disinterest in us? I would have rather learned about his new girl then rather than being surprised by it in person. Nonetheless, I kept up my spirited, care-free appearance, and suppressed my ego-bruised tears. I frolicked and laughed in hopes of putting a little damper on his ego … making him wonder why I didn’t seem to care. I was thankful to have The Flirt there, using him as a buffer from feeling like the undesirable cast-off.

It didn’t seem long before The Flirt told me he was leaving. I walked with him to the bar. As he took care of his tab, I thanked him for being there. It turned out great for me that he was with us. I asked him to stay … offered to let him sleep in my spare room if he rode with us, but he had reached that point I’d seen so often, where he starts shutting down. As I spoke with him, I noticed my guitar friend closing out his tab down the bar. “Oh, there he is,” I uttered in mid-sentence.

“Who?” The Flirt asked, whipping around to see. He incorrectly guessed at some other guy.

“What? No, GF!” (get it? Guitar Friend…?) “You know, we dated for a couple of months,” I clarified.

“No! Well, that would have been good to know.” I didn’t know what he meant by that. I couldn’t believe he had been so oblivious.

I looked at him imploringly and asked, “Why do all the guys dump me to go out with homely girls.” Here was the crux of my pathos. My vanity aside, they had moved on. They each found someone new. Feelings or no feelings involved, both the SoHB and my guitar friend were involved with new people while I wallowed in singleness. At that moment all I felt was the rejection.

His arms engulfed my shoulders. I clung to his waist, holding him close for comfort, but also to make my guitar friend suspicious of us. I desperately wanted to avoid being the pitiable spurned girl … probably overdid it. I must have blamed sex for my rejections, for he cooed soothing words saying that it doesn’t matter, not when you care for the person.

“Do you know what happened with the SoHB?” I asked, not caring whether he wanted to hear. “He told me he had feelings for me, but then decided it was more important to get laid.”

“Oh, well, I’m not saying…” he began, but his words didn’t reach my ears. I may have elaborated on my experience. I may have painted a brief verbal picture of the last intimate moments I shared with the SoHB, but I can’t remember. “He wasn’t right for you, anyway,” he said.

“I know. I know, but it hurts,” I replied.

His head was bent near mine in order to better hear. He stilled with his lips near mine. I thought we would kiss, but he didn’t move when I reached for him, responding, “No, I’d better not.”

“Come on, it’s just a kiss. What harm is a kiss?” I asked, but he wouldn’t.

My memory becomes vague. I recall him saying how tempted he was during our last encounter … how much he had wanted to take things to their natural conclusion. Then he said the words that reached my deepest fears and consoled me best. He told me that I was doing it the right way, and that he admired me for it. I was nearly in tears as I thanked him. We embraced a final time, and he left.

Were they nothing more than placating words from a friend wishing to console me? Was there any truth to them? If not, does it matter? The fact is that he said what I needed to hear, whether or not the sentiment was genuine. I run them over in my mind. Someone who chose a different path, and still chooses it, admires me for mine. I am moved. I am inspired. I’m grateful.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

Reasons to Avoid Dating a Drinker

This may seem like a no-brainer, but believe me, you, too, can be lured by the tragic beauty of a drinking man.

While out with friends this weekend, I ran into a guy with whom I had one date. The reason we dated only once was because he drank 6 beers to my 2 during a couple of hours, and our conversation gave me a pretty good idea of his regular drinking habits. Having been through the ringer with a heavy drinker, I saw the signs and ran like the wind. The two occasions I’ve encountered him since have served to reaffirm my decision. He was my single experiment with picking someone up in a bar. I will NEVER do that again.

Anyway, seeing him and remembering why I didn’t want to go past that first date inspired me to create a list of reasons why we should avoid dating drinkers, based on my first-hand knowledge.

1. He will endanger you physically and emotionally through his reckless disregard. Endangerment can come in the form of violence, but it can also be his drunken driving, his lack of self-control and hurtful words during your attempts to aid him, and enticing you to adopt his self-destructive lifestyle as your own.
   
2. Some of your most bonding moments will occur while he or both of you are drunk, rendering them almost completely worthless. The endearing words that you take to heart won’t be remembered by him the next day. A tally of all the tender moments occurring while under the influence will reveal that nearly the whole relationship is built upon alcohol.
   
3. His pattern of alcohol abuse includes denial, which you will be unable to derail. Even if he acknowledges a tendency toward drinking too heavily, he won’t consider it significant enough to address. His lack of accountability will extend beyond his drinking and into your relationship. He will miss appointments, overlook important events, and neglect your feelings, all with a plausible excuse … at least completely plausible to him. And any fault you find with something that occurred while he was drinking will fall under the “that doesn’t count – I was drunk” excuse.
   
4. You cannot fix his drinking by building up his self-esteem, raising awareness of his self-destruction, or loving him enough that he’ll change for you. All of his previous girlfriends have tried, and you are NOT better nor do you mean more to him than them. He will probably look to you as a rescuer, which will bolster your desire to help him, but his idea of a rescuer isn’t the same as yours. Instead of helping him, you will be one of his excuses for why his life isn’t so out of control. If he genuinely wanted to change, he would have started the process on his own.
   
5. Instead of competing against other women, your competition for his affection will be the invisible force of alcohol. His mistress has enticements no woman can match. The security you offer is substantial and real, but establishing it takes commitment and work from both of you. You will be willing and eager to face the trials which establish intimacy, but these are the very things he wishes to avoid. It is the trials of living from which he wishes to be rescued, and you cannot compete with alcohol in the effectiveness of accomplishing that task.

I was sucked into dating a drinker because I had never been around drinkers and didn’t know what I was dealing with until it was too late. There may be plenty of you who think you’ll never be naïve enough to fall for one, as I once believed. To those of you, I wish you the best of luck, but also a warning. This line of thinking makes you very vulnerable. During those crucial first days and weeks, you’ll be tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Choosing to disregard those early warning signs will be your downfall. The truth is that most heavy drinkers are really great guys underneath, but they have so many invisible barriers around that part of themselves, you’ll never break through to reach it. Some of you may see your current situation in the words written here. I hope you will be inspired to acknowledge the destructive cycle you’re in and put a stop to it. Remember that if he isn’t doing his part to meet your needs, it isn’t a real relationship. Relationships require effort from both parties. He should be recharging your batteries, not draining them. You can’t fix him, but you can make positive changes in yourself. Do it.

Blessings in a Special Blend

It is a cup of Santa’s White Christmas from Barnie’s. I’m welcomed by its soothing aroma. It is a gift to myself … a congratulations. With satisfaction I sip it slowly, knowing that somewhere there is a person I cared for, someone who claimed affection for me, who simultaneously may experience a moment of greater significance or excitement, but isn’t enjoying it nearly as much. Not needing him has become my ultimate revenge, without the strident accompaniment of anger and helplessness. Here I sit with my simple cup of coffee, loving my life despite his not being in it … celebrating my liberation in several small indulgences: An uncustomary glass of wine with dinner. A luxurious soak in the tub, complete with bath salts and a good book. Having a tug of war with Gert, my mini schnauzer, who shows me what pure, uncomplicated affection is. I had forgotten how beautiful a day’s simplicity can be. There are so many blessings, but the greatest one is recognizing them.

I think of that poor man, made all the poorer by the fact he isn’t able to share in these little joys. He has his pleasures too, but moments of true value are lost on him. Escape from reality is found in select bars all over town. He runs from his desolate emptiness into a relationship that won’t test him, a woman who won’t hold mirrors up to his self-deceptions. I know him, even from this distance. He believes life should be easy. I believe life should be fulfilling, and fulfillment won’t come through easy living. While with him, I questioned my gifts of friendship, doubted my expectations of all relationships, and surrendered my romantic dreams. I imagine him now moving day to day. I know his patterns. Boundless blessings won’t content him, for happiness eludes him in his efforts to avoid all fear.

I think of that poor girl. She is drawn to his vulnerability. She wants to prove his gifts to him. Accompanying him into his dark hiding places, she hopes to be a beacon for him. She can’t understand why he resists her, why he won’t venture into the brighter places for her. She wonders if his resistance is truly just self-doubt, or might it indicate a lack of devotion? She sees all of his wonderful qualities ... his gentleness, his humor, his sense of integrity. She perceives his potential. It’s so near to touch. All he needs is a little courage, so she errs in his favor, hoping to boost his self-esteem. She justifies unreasonable sacrifices for the sake of helping him. She wants to smooth his course, to make his fears less threatening so they will be easy to conquer. In time, she’ll let him talk her down from the image of a man who can fulfill her deepest needs. She’ll question whether she must be too demanding. She’ll put her expectations under the knife in order to make herself fit him better. She’ll spend years trying to help him, trying to understand herself with him. Then, when depleted by the effort of loving him, she’ll leave. He’ll be devastated and confused. He’ll claim she was cruel with him at the end because she’ll be frank in her exasperation. In a short time, someone new will amaze her, for she had forgotten how it felt to be appreciated. He’ll find an untapped ear to bend. In drunken self-pity, he’ll cry, “You’d never believe what I’ve been through. You’d never believe what they’ve said to me.” He’ll tell her about J, who said she never felt an overwhelming passion for him. He’ll tell her about me, who poured a drink down his shirt and told him to f*** off instead of being happy for him … of how I was supposed to be a friend. And he’ll tell her about the recent betrayer and whatever insult she paid him. She’ll listen sympathetically. She’ll be drawn to his vulnerability, but in the back of her mind she’ll wonder, could all of his ex-girlfriends have been so bad? Is there any person with a past who can honestly claim being wronged in every case? But she’ll err in his favor, because he has so many great qualities . . .

I see the bottom of my cup. It went so quickly, I hardly noticed. That isn’t how a cup of coffee should be enjoyed. There is just enough left for one more. This time I will take more care. This time I won’t let anything interfere with my simple pleasure, and when it is gone, I will look forward to the next. There is so much to appreciate. I am overwhelmingly thankful.

Resolution: An End to Begging for Crumbs

The most amazing fact about resolution is that it isn’t an act of reaching common ground with another person, but finding resolve within yourself.

The Christmas season came and went. It was particularly trying for me. Little had I realized its concealed importance in my relationship with the SoHB. I never believed it to have any special meaning for us. Other than a cursory exchange of gifts and spending New Year’s Eve at the same parties, we observed no holiday traditions together. Even when we dated, it wasn’t an especially romantic season. But this year, as my ex-co-worker friends began their two-week holiday, I was flooded with nostalgia for Christmases past. It was at this time that most of our circle left town to be with family or used the holiday for road trips. Being natives of this city, the SoHB and I were always at loose ends. We relied upon each other for company more than ever. During the holidays, we were nearly all we had.

The feeling of loss began with wondering if he missed me at all … if he was experiencing the same sad nostalgia. I wondered if he wistfully remembered how we used to meet at Drayton Place or Paddy’s for drinks, eat at favorite restaurants which were distant from work, and talk on the phone constantly. I wondered if he wished those days hadn’t ended as I do. Something told me he must. In his last e-mail, he said that he guessed we wouldn’t be attending the same New Year’s Eve party this year. But if he felt a twinge of sadness, I know it was easily resolved with a call to her. For him, being without me didn’t really mean being without. For me, there was nothing new to replace old memories.

On the brighter side, having been away from work for months, I didn’t feel the loneliness that normally accompanied the days apart from friends. If there were any gaps, my family filled them superbly. I also had a purpose once Christmas passed ... preparing for the New Year’s Eve party. But, pain struck at unusual moments. While browsing through a book store for Christmas gifts, I was stricken with an unbidden fear of running into them together. Once acknowledged, the fear would rear again on subsequent shopping trips. You never know who you’ll encounter during the bustle of the season. I had to talk myself down every time. During a family Christmas party, I felt an intense urge to flee because displaying cheerfulness all day had become an overwhelming burden. Then, while listening to a newly recorded song by my nephew on Christmas Day, I darted out of the room and hid to avoid crying in front of everyone. I broke down at the line that said, “No excuse for me to be here. No excuse for me to be here still.” One small grace was that I had forgotten my cell phone. It remained home while I stayed with my parents a few days. It couldn’t torture me with the silent mockery of an absent holiday phone call. I felt empowered knowing that, while he wouldn’t attempt to call, I wasn’t available to him if he did.

I felt surprisingly fine after Christmas Day. A resigned sadness remained, but it wasn’t nearly so haunting. There was work to be done: a house to be cleaned (or made to look clean), food to be prepared, and decorations to finish. I didn’t have time for wallowing. Over the last month I felt rather self-satisfied that I planned the New Year’s Eve party with no ulterior motives. There was no particular man for whose attention I aspired. While longing for a midnight kiss, only The Flirt might oblige me, and his attendance was doubtful. It seemed I conquered my weakness for planning parties with unreasonable expectations, but I realized the day before the party that I wasn’t quite free. My motivation had merely shifted enough to escape detection. What I wanted this time was to throw a party which would be talked about for days. I wanted it to be gossiped around the water cooler. I wanted the SoHB to hear how great it was and feel the regret of missing out. I had even planned the theme with him in mind … an indicator of my new attitude. “Kiss Off 2004,” read the invitations. Even after making that discovery, I felt self-satisfied. So, I did have an ulterior motive after all. At least this one was well within reach. They still talk about my last party, and that was over a year ago!

My sister helped with last minute preparations. Rachel* came over early to help, as well. We spent every minute in action, even past 8 o’clock - show time. Eight-thirty passed, and still no one. The minutes ticked past 9 o’clock without an extra soul arriving. Despite trying to remain positive, I couldn’t hide the disappointment. Miranda* finally entered at a quarter past. Other guests began arriving, but none of the friends I considered so dependable. Out of all my guests present at midnight, only three were from my old company. The majority were family and a few friends of my nephew. The complete guest count was nine. (One other work-friend stopped by as the party waned, bumping the night’s total to ten.)

Rachel and I were in such disbelief at the turn-out, she started calling around to find out where everyone was. Big Red* claimed to have drunk too much during a football game, and he was too depressed with its results to party. His roommate’s excuse was a bad back. My guitar friend, who intended to come, couldn’t be reached. The Flirt had been uncertain about leaving his Illinois family in time for the party, but was found visiting a “friend” in Kentucky. Our last phone call, made to Ditsy*, revealed that The Flirt had just met his “friend” at the recent company conference. Ditsy said she might come by, but she first had to call Big Red to see what he was doing. In other words, none of them came, all offering lame excuses. While everyone else reveled outside, I retreated to my bedroom to indulge in a couple of tears.

At midnight, everyone donned silly hats, twirled their noise-makers, and lit sparklers. The atmosphere picked up and my mood instantly lifted, never faltering again. The party was a success despite the low turn-out. I’m humbled that its salvation came mainly from my nephew and his friends, who had never been to my house. I hope they enjoyed it enough to return. But my perspective about my friends has shifted. I was always the organizer; planning our events, notifying everyone about them. Most often there was satisfactory participation. Sometimes there wasn’t, and sometimes there was too much. I enjoyed my role of “social butterfly.” Perhaps, since it was opposite from the “loner” role I lived in school, it made me feel secure. It made me feel popular. But, after leaving my company, after going through all the trauma with the SoHB, and after being let down on several occasions (of which the party was a culmination), I see how much unreturned effort I’ve made in maintaining friendships. I feel taken for granted … unappreciated … disrespected. Everything has been lopsided, so I’m pulling back. I’m abdicating a bulk of the responsibility to them. If I allow myself to do all the work, I’ll wear myself out. It’s not that I should do nothing, but that I shouldn’t be so eager for their company that I allow disrespect. The same mistake I made with the SoHB has been made with all my friends. This was a year of revelation, a year for renewal, and a chance for change. I finally feel confident that I have made commendable effort at being a good friend … that there is a point when I must step back, let go and see what happens. I am resolved that the outcome, whatever it may be, will be right for me.

Happy New Year, everyone.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.