So when we last left off I was gathering up all my moxy to call Zach.
Normally, I wouldn't need a moxy gathering session to make a phone call, but things had fallen off a bit weirdly and I was miffed.
Yes, miffed. Blame that word on the Brit I dated briefly.
Why doesn't he like me anymore?
Do I stink? Do I have an annoying habit I am unaware of? Had I done something to freak him out? Had I said something dumb? Was I hitten by the ugly stick in my sleep? Did he find out about the blog?
Then I started with the "what ifs".
What if I had played harder to get?
What if I hadn't returned some of his calls?
What if I had been less available?
What's spiral quickly out of control. Blame it on my over active imagination and hyper-analytical thought process. I was driving myself crazy.
I was turning into that girl who was insecure and on a continuous downward spiral of self-doubt. And I really don't like that version of myself. It isn't me. It is a version of myself that comes out once in a blue moon, which coincidentally we experienced at the end of August when this was going on...
Quite frankly, I am simply not that girl.
I have, as my friend Joe called it, a robust sense of self-confidence.
Obviously, any one who thinks she can get 52 dates in a year must not be lacking in the confidence area...
So, after driving myself crazy about why we hadn't hung out, I decided to call Zach.
I'm a modern lady. I can ask a guy out.
No answer. But it was the middle of the day, so this wasn't surprising. I left a message asking him if he wanted to get a drink that night since I would be near his house for my riding lesson.
When I came out of my riding lesson at 7:00 I had a missed call and several texts.
Whooo hoooo!
In my mind I was jumping and clicking my heels together.
More likely it was an awkward victory dance that combined the cabbage patch with my horrid version of the moonwalk.
After I quit doing my victory dance, I called Zach back and he said a drink sounded good, but he needed to check and see what time his contractor would be finished.
Always with that dang contractor... GAAAAAAAAAAAH!
His contractor thought he would be done by about 9:00, so it looked like drinks around 9:00 and an end to the drought.
WRONG-O!
About 8:30 Zach called and said his contractor wouldn't be done until around 10:00 or 10:30. And I had a 7:00 am meeting so getting together at 11:00 was just not going to happen.
"How about Friday?" He asked.
"My friend Chan is coming to visit. We'll just be catching up. Probably drinking wine at my house. You are welcomed to come. We may hit the bars after."
"I don't want to be a third wheel. I know you haven't seen her in like three years. Maybe sometime over the weekend?"
"Yeah. I'll keep you posted."
Saturday Zach invited us to a party, but I was already committed to another party.
Sunday I invited him to the beach with us, but he had two fantasy football drafts to participate in.
Monday and Tuesday didn't work either. Chan and I had commitments and he was busy with work, though the texts were still coming in regularly.
On Wednesday night I was supposed to participate in my fantasy football draft and completely forgot about it until I was already at the Angel's Baseball game. I mentioned this to Zach and he offered to complete my draft for me. This was a lovely gesture, and likely to result in a much better team than I could probably select on my own (let's be honest, if they aren't a Steeler I probably know nothing about the player, unless they are super famous. You know the Favres, the Mannings, the Tebows of the football world).
BUT this offer was also fraught with peril. In order for him to do the draft for me, I had to give him my Fantasy Football username and password. Ordinarily, no big deal, but the way this account is set up requires signing in through my Facebook account.
If Zach finds out about the blog, this isn't really the way I want it to happen.
And I just generally don't want him creeping on my FB. There are a myriad of reasons I haven't friended him on Facebook. Not everyone needs to see me dancing on tables, while sporting a purple crown and wearing polar fleece over my candy stripper outfit
Yes, stripper-- It was a Let's Play Doctor theme party!
Oh, and let's not forget the cigar.
Those photos are only for my 1500 FB friends-- none of whom I am trying to date.
Anyway... he promised not to be a cyber stalker. And I took him at his word and let him draft my players. I did of course change my password as soon as I got home just incase curiosity got the better of him.
Though I seriously doubted it would.
We texted again on Thursday on my way home from taking Chan-Chan to the airport.
Don't worry, I wasn't driving. And it was exceptionally brief. I sent those texts while I was stopped at the red lights.
And then crickets.
FOR A WHOLE WEEK!
Which of course made me act like a full-on, crazy person. I was googling his company. I was googling him. I was trying to construct reasons I needed to be in his neighborhood. I was thinking of passive-aggressive ways I could get in touch with him. The fake butt dial was starting to sound like a pretty good idea. The rational part of my brain had been completely taken over by this psychotic freaker-outer.
Usually when things go south with a guy I like I can literally just stop thinking about him. I'll give myself a few days to be a nut and then I grow up and act like an adult. I put him in a box, wrap it up like a 5 year old wrapping Christmas presents for the first time using too much tape and about three layers of paper, and I stick that box in the attic of my mind.
The I promptly go out and find another date.
This time it has not been so easy.
I fall asleep wondering why he hasn't called. Which means I wake up clutching at pillows, searching for my phone in hopes that he has called or texted. I find myself scanning crowds looking for him. I hope against all odds that he is thinking about me too and the reason he hasn't called is because he is trapped under something heavy.
I try to distract myself. I sewed two new dresses. I painted a table. I finally cleaned underneath my sink. I've run the distance from here to San Diego in and effort to distract myself. I've cleaned horse stalls. I go to yoga to relax and pump up my endorphins. I end up crying in pigeon pose because I am releasing all the pent up emotion I have been carrying around; or at least that is what my teacher claims. I always thought they were full of crap when they said this to other people. I am re-thinking that position.
I went on a date with a former Pro golfer. If that doesn't distract me, not much will.
Finally after a week of silence I broke down and sent him a "Happy Friday!" text. To which he responded immediately. A good sign? I thought so.
"Sorry I've been out of communication for so long." He wrote. "How was your week?"
"No worries. (I've only be driving myself crazy wondering what I've done make you hate me shrieked the mellow-dramatic version of myself that I keep carefully hidden from all except my Mother, sister, and best friends) I've been super busy at work. I should just move into the dorms."
"How was SD?"
"SD? I haven't been down lately."
"Oh, I thought you were there for Labor Day."
"Nope. I was here. And in LA and Ventura."
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"Flag football. A six mile run. Chi O BBQ. Football watching. You?"
"Hanging out with the roommate tonight. Watching the Bears. Getting a hair cut at some point. Hopefully some beach time."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you want to hang out. I'm around."
"I certainly will."
AND THEN NOTHING.
Just go ahead and get me a room at Bellevue, because the crazy girl might be coming back.
At least for a day or two. Until I can pull myself out of these murky recesses and return to being my normal laid-back, cool girl self.
I hope she comes back soon. I don't like being one of those girls.
Normally, I wouldn't need a moxy gathering session to make a phone call, but things had fallen off a bit weirdly and I was miffed.
Yes, miffed. Blame that word on the Brit I dated briefly.
Why doesn't he like me anymore?
Do I stink? Do I have an annoying habit I am unaware of? Had I done something to freak him out? Had I said something dumb? Was I hitten by the ugly stick in my sleep? Did he find out about the blog?
Then I started with the "what ifs".
What if I had played harder to get?
What if I hadn't returned some of his calls?
What if I had been less available?
What's spiral quickly out of control. Blame it on my over active imagination and hyper-analytical thought process. I was driving myself crazy.
I was turning into that girl who was insecure and on a continuous downward spiral of self-doubt. And I really don't like that version of myself. It isn't me. It is a version of myself that comes out once in a blue moon, which coincidentally we experienced at the end of August when this was going on...
Quite frankly, I am simply not that girl.
I have, as my friend Joe called it, a robust sense of self-confidence.
Obviously, any one who thinks she can get 52 dates in a year must not be lacking in the confidence area...
So, after driving myself crazy about why we hadn't hung out, I decided to call Zach.
I'm a modern lady. I can ask a guy out.
No answer. But it was the middle of the day, so this wasn't surprising. I left a message asking him if he wanted to get a drink that night since I would be near his house for my riding lesson.
When I came out of my riding lesson at 7:00 I had a missed call and several texts.
Whooo hoooo!
In my mind I was jumping and clicking my heels together.
More likely it was an awkward victory dance that combined the cabbage patch with my horrid version of the moonwalk.
After I quit doing my victory dance, I called Zach back and he said a drink sounded good, but he needed to check and see what time his contractor would be finished.
Always with that dang contractor... GAAAAAAAAAAAH!
His contractor thought he would be done by about 9:00, so it looked like drinks around 9:00 and an end to the drought.
WRONG-O!
About 8:30 Zach called and said his contractor wouldn't be done until around 10:00 or 10:30. And I had a 7:00 am meeting so getting together at 11:00 was just not going to happen.
"How about Friday?" He asked.
"My friend Chan is coming to visit. We'll just be catching up. Probably drinking wine at my house. You are welcomed to come. We may hit the bars after."
"I don't want to be a third wheel. I know you haven't seen her in like three years. Maybe sometime over the weekend?"
"Yeah. I'll keep you posted."
Saturday Zach invited us to a party, but I was already committed to another party.
Sunday I invited him to the beach with us, but he had two fantasy football drafts to participate in.
Monday and Tuesday didn't work either. Chan and I had commitments and he was busy with work, though the texts were still coming in regularly.
On Wednesday night I was supposed to participate in my fantasy football draft and completely forgot about it until I was already at the Angel's Baseball game. I mentioned this to Zach and he offered to complete my draft for me. This was a lovely gesture, and likely to result in a much better team than I could probably select on my own (let's be honest, if they aren't a Steeler I probably know nothing about the player, unless they are super famous. You know the Favres, the Mannings, the Tebows of the football world).
BUT this offer was also fraught with peril. In order for him to do the draft for me, I had to give him my Fantasy Football username and password. Ordinarily, no big deal, but the way this account is set up requires signing in through my Facebook account.
If Zach finds out about the blog, this isn't really the way I want it to happen.
And I just generally don't want him creeping on my FB. There are a myriad of reasons I haven't friended him on Facebook. Not everyone needs to see me dancing on tables, while sporting a purple crown and wearing polar fleece over my candy stripper outfit
Yes, stripper-- It was a Let's Play Doctor theme party!
Oh, and let's not forget the cigar.
Those photos are only for my 1500 FB friends-- none of whom I am trying to date.
Anyway... he promised not to be a cyber stalker. And I took him at his word and let him draft my players. I did of course change my password as soon as I got home just incase curiosity got the better of him.
Though I seriously doubted it would.
We texted again on Thursday on my way home from taking Chan-Chan to the airport.
Don't worry, I wasn't driving. And it was exceptionally brief. I sent those texts while I was stopped at the red lights.
And then crickets.
FOR A WHOLE WEEK!
Which of course made me act like a full-on, crazy person. I was googling his company. I was googling him. I was trying to construct reasons I needed to be in his neighborhood. I was thinking of passive-aggressive ways I could get in touch with him. The fake butt dial was starting to sound like a pretty good idea. The rational part of my brain had been completely taken over by this psychotic freaker-outer.
Usually when things go south with a guy I like I can literally just stop thinking about him. I'll give myself a few days to be a nut and then I grow up and act like an adult. I put him in a box, wrap it up like a 5 year old wrapping Christmas presents for the first time using too much tape and about three layers of paper, and I stick that box in the attic of my mind.
The I promptly go out and find another date.
This time it has not been so easy.
I fall asleep wondering why he hasn't called. Which means I wake up clutching at pillows, searching for my phone in hopes that he has called or texted. I find myself scanning crowds looking for him. I hope against all odds that he is thinking about me too and the reason he hasn't called is because he is trapped under something heavy.
I try to distract myself. I sewed two new dresses. I painted a table. I finally cleaned underneath my sink. I've run the distance from here to San Diego in and effort to distract myself. I've cleaned horse stalls. I go to yoga to relax and pump up my endorphins. I end up crying in pigeon pose because I am releasing all the pent up emotion I have been carrying around; or at least that is what my teacher claims. I always thought they were full of crap when they said this to other people. I am re-thinking that position.
I went on a date with a former Pro golfer. If that doesn't distract me, not much will.
Finally after a week of silence I broke down and sent him a "Happy Friday!" text. To which he responded immediately. A good sign? I thought so.
"Sorry I've been out of communication for so long." He wrote. "How was your week?"
"No worries. (I've only be driving myself crazy wondering what I've done make you hate me shrieked the mellow-dramatic version of myself that I keep carefully hidden from all except my Mother, sister, and best friends) I've been super busy at work. I should just move into the dorms."
"How was SD?"
"SD? I haven't been down lately."
"Oh, I thought you were there for Labor Day."
"Nope. I was here. And in LA and Ventura."
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"Flag football. A six mile run. Chi O BBQ. Football watching. You?"
"Hanging out with the roommate tonight. Watching the Bears. Getting a hair cut at some point. Hopefully some beach time."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you want to hang out. I'm around."
"I certainly will."
AND THEN NOTHING.
Just go ahead and get me a room at Bellevue, because the crazy girl might be coming back.
At least for a day or two. Until I can pull myself out of these murky recesses and return to being my normal laid-back, cool girl self.
I hope she comes back soon. I don't like being one of those girls.
No comments:
Post a Comment