Between Second Chances and First Kisses

I think I'm mostly done prattling on about the anxieties and frustrations that dating can bring. For now at least.

To recap, Dragon left me looking smoking hot in a parking lot, Brother Bear saved the day, and didn't judge me when I drunk texted Philly. Instead of being most girls, and wanting some affection in the loins, I wanted to sincerely apologize. And I asked if he would be up for meeting again.

Much to my anxiety, and I can't blame him for waiting to answer, he gave me an answer the next morning. A second chance.

We agreed to meet the next weekend on my side of town at a restaurant we'd never been to. I walked in and it was like we picked up where we left off. With little hesitation, we jumped right into a conversation as if nothing had changed since we last met.

(Haven't you heard?)

I figured I'd spare the mea culpa for later. You know? After a beer or five. And we enjoyed a nice tapas dinner. He told me about leaving to take a trip to his dad's so he could get his bird, a macaw he had as a child. He drove up to Philly to bring a female bird named Arnold that was his childhood pet home.

Not gonna lie. I kinda swooned. I liked how unusual it was. I told him about how racing was going, and he said that he was getting back into it too. Awesome, I thought. Please don't ask if we could run together. We caught up with each other, and after some tapas and dessert, we noticed that we were the last patrons inside and decided to it was time to go

I felt like that night was on a high. But I didn't want to stop while I was ahead. What? NO! I'm still Jax Single Girl. I have adventures dammit. He started to say a loaded goodbye but I figured (probably out of nervousness and guilt) I'd ask if he really wanted the night to be over.

To my relief, he was open for more. Next door we went to the coffee shop which also happens to serve beer. And you know what else? It's a coffee shop where CSB frequents. Remember him? The Break-up Texter? Surprisingly he wasn't there, but who was? A few of Dragon's friends, one of whom stared at me as if to question if it was me or not. Yep, dude. It's me. Oh, he didn't tell you? Yeah, I've moved on. My thought was this: I'm not going to hide. There is no reason to deny myself an enjoyable date, even if it means running into an ex...or two...or his friends.

Because Philly paid for dinner, I offered to pay for the beer. It was my way of saying thank you for dinner. However, it was mostly to apologize. I explained that the previous month was pure insanity. He let it roll off his shoulders. That's the thing I've learned about those who live near beaches. Much like the waves in the ocean, beach residents go with the energy, never fighting it. His easy dismissal made me a little uneasy. He probably knows I was seeing someone else, doesn't he? I asked Brother Bear about this, and he thinks that Philly probably had a hunch. But the fact that he was willing to take a second chance on another date with me either says that he's a nice guy who genuinely had a great time and wants to have another, or that he's just very polite. Brother Bear and I both think (and really hope) that it's the former.

(Kind of like this but with less WASP-y)

At the bar, we talked about our experiences with art and running. We talked about traveling. The conversation was fluid, and constant. It didn't follow a logical format. Because I said A, he didn't give the obvious B response. Instead, each time words came out of our mouths, it created more stories and ideas that we both got excited about.

With each laugh and story that was told, more chairs were getting put on top of tables.

More clean glasses were inverted and stacked.

More wet towels were there to clean areas left behind by other patrons.

We were so involved in what was going on between us that we shut the place down. With eyes lit and smiles across our faces we walked out. There was a bit of a breeze that night. The kind of breeze you are grateful for when you live in the South. I felt his arm reach around my waist and then he told me he was glad we could do this again. Nervously clutching my purse in front of me, I told him I couldn't agree more.

Much like our last date, our cars were the only two left in the area. I told him, beer sticking to my tongue and my brain that (once again) I was sorry, and that he should call me. He smiled and wished me good night.

You know that pause? It's not quite thick enough to be called a pregnant pause, but not short enough to be a minor schism in time? It's the kind that you feel a weight drop from your shoulders to your toes. It's the only kind of pause I am aware of when you wonder if the time is right to kiss someone.

And in the first time throughout this entire adventure, I took the lead. I stared him in the eyes, and stood up on my toes to reach his lips. He didn't back away (victory!) and he started to pull me in closer. Then time catches up, and that weight that flushed so easily from your body is now up to your shoulders again, like a string pulling you into perfect posture. That's the feeling I call "save some for later and don't bring him home."

I told him to drive safely as we went our separate ways.

There are very few ways I know, truly know I've had a great date. These ways include singing classic rock on the top of my lungs in my car, laughing because laughter is my body's natural reaction to a great date, and driving with my windows down, letting the southern humidity kiss my face.

Three times: once with The Trainer, and the other two with Philly.


So I'm not sure if we're halfway there, living on a prayer. I definitely know we're not knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. I at least know that I won't stop believing and will continue to hold on to that feeling.



("Just a city boy, born & raised in South Philly" doesn't have the same ring to it)

I took the lead this time. And now I'm curious, but mostly nervous, because it's not that I want fewer dating adventures.

It's because I want countless adventures to share with someone this time around.

If I Lay My Heart on the Table

Sometimes I wonder if I get in-depth enough here when I write. More often than not, I present to you my stories, full of analogies and zany emotional grievances.

But beneath my ribs of steel lies a heart, ready to burst at any given moment; a heart that murmurs nervously more than it beats steadily.

Too often I can't find a happy medium: should I allow myself to give into everything that turns those murmurs into heavy beats, or should I keep it in a cage where it's safe from anything that could touch it?

These are the questions that weigh on my mind. Because how do we know that we are ready to dive in and let go of the things we fear about love and the like? I can preach all day about having fun and not taking things too seriously, but maybe that is really my problem.

I haven't taken myself seriously. My friends can attest to this. I haven't totally considered how the actions of those I allow to walk by my side affect how I love.

But what if I did put my heart out on the table? What would someone say? Someone may examine and see the scar tissue of loves lost and not totally healed. Another might see the stitches I've haphazardly sewn myself because I was too stubborn to let anyone else touch the injured part of me. One person would definitely see the burns which became dark spots, the slowest to recover.

There is a lot going on in my heart, and I assure you not all of it is negative. The parts of my heart that have been hurt the most are the ones I've tried to heal by myself. And the parts of it that are still full of life, are what I want to keep the safest. Those parts are innocent and should not be punished for having good intentions. But experience tells you that exposing your heart means letting people treat it like a specimen...to let it be examined and discarded when it's no longer of use.

Falling in love is scarier to me than jumping out of a perfectly fine aircraft. I walk by myself at midnight and have little fear about what will happen to me. But to expose the ugly, dark side of myself? That's horrifying. There's a struggle when you understand that you can see the bright side of everything. However bright it may be, the light can blind you from seeing what's underneath. That's what happened with CSB when he told me we never were. That's what happened when I decided to continue seeing OGM even though I knew he would move.

I can be selfish and flakey. Rude and obnoxious. Inconsiderate and foolish. Needy and angry. Who wants to see that? I don't like wearing my heart on my sleeve. People who do annoy me. They can't bend and adjust to obstacles. As for me? I try to take the most logical approach to love.

What?

The logical way. Tactical. Having a Plan B in case Plan A doesn't work. To consider all the horrible things that could happen, and creating a mental survival plan because experience taught me that I will get hurt, and I will need to learn to stitch the wounds. Bandages unravel, so I must learn to cauterize.



(Source: zenpencils.com)

Every time I feel my heart try to rattle its cage, I think about the next best way to repair it. Because I know I will let it happen. Believe me, I know it's not the best way to live. And then there's this school of thought: fall in love because it happens naturally, not because the opportunity appears to present itself. Fall in love with the person, not with the act itself.

These thoughts wake me at night. Hell, they prevent me from sleep at night. The difficult part is to dismiss that I am the common denominator in why my relationships crash and burn. The end result is always the same: I learn and move on. Sometimes the end isn't so horrible. Other times, it's devastating.

I'm prattling on because what it comes down to is the biggest question: how much should I hold back from falling for someone? One of the mothers I adopted sympathized with me one time. She told me she falls fast, hard, and at one point very often. I tend to do the same. In an effort to protect what's left of my heart, I hold back. I put on this front that I can move on. It's not me, cupcake...it's you. My time is valuable and I don't want to waste it falling in love only to hit the ground hard. I've done it enough. I don't know how much more my heart can handle. I don't know how many other hands I can trust to touch it.

My burlesque mama is of a different school of thought: enjoy it, but never settle. If I enjoy it, that's how I get blinded by the deceptive rays of something good. It's this game I tend to lose very often.

And then there's TD.

• The way he kissed my shoulder the first time while he was capturing video of my dog acting like a fool for her toy.
• The way he melted into my back while we watched TV
• The way he leaned over, closer to hold my hand while we lay on the couch
• The way he traced my back with his hands and I felt a surge charge all the way from my toes and up to my lips where I met his

And then...

• The way I melt into his arms when he reaches for a hug
• The way I found the perfect nook on his shoulder to lay so I felt safe in his arms
• The way I look forward to hearing him tell me sweet dreams every night
• The way I smile when he asks me to let him know I walked safely into my home and my doors are locked
• The way I felt when he smiled at my excitable reaction to the end of my favorite show

It has been one week of this. Not to say that anyone should put a time stamp to matters of the heart, but when your heart is healing, it knows what it needs for nourishment. I wasn't expecting it this soon, and especially not from him.

Again it's just the way he is so open with me. By showing me he can be comfortable giving the caring part of himself to me this soon, it's like he's giving myself permission to do the same. I guess that's how it's supposed to be...

With bated breath and one eye open, I find the key to the cage. The hesitation is still there, but my hand is holding the key, resting in the lock, almost ready to release it into someone else's hands where I can trust that they will help me heal it so I don't have to do it on my own for awhile...