change of scenery

i decided to take a leap.  make a change.  abandon ship -- the ship being my life in Philadelphia.  6 years was long enough.


as i write this, i'm sitting on my bed in my new apartment in Baltimore, Maryland.  after two months of back-and-forth, spending weekends in Baltimore so that i can acquaint myself with the city and meet some new friends, today it's official.  i'm home.  the only thing left in Philly for me to bring here is my catticus.  by the time he gets here, the place will be put together and ready for him.  


for now, there are boxes and suitcases everywhere.  the apartment is a mess.  i have a lot of organizing, unpacking and decorating to do, but i'm excited and happy to do it.  i'm excited and happy to be here.


i'm living in a beautiful, historic neighborhood within walking distance to the Inner Harbor.   i don't yet know my way around, but i have some before starting my job; i'll get to know the city in time.  

i'm hoping that this graffiti-covered bench is correct.  i'm hopeful that, for me, Baltimore will be a great city. 


here goes...
    

that means he likes you, part III

i'm picking back up with a series that i started last summer, and for which i honestly haven't had much material during my past year of dating abstinence.  i had forgotten all about my own series when something so random and cute happened that i was reminded and inspired.  


today's general rule is this: 

If he commits an unexpected and thoughtful act of kindness for you, that means he likes you.

because men don't do such things regularly, the way a woman might.  women are prone to think about you and pick up a card, a small gift, or your favorite [insert noun].  women are caretakers like this, and their thoughtfulness comes so naturally to them.  


not to men.  men don't usually just think of you while they walk around the grocery store.  men usually don't happen to be at Hallmark and see a card that seemed absolutely perfect for you.  if he's thinking about you at a time when he's able to pick up or buy something for you, that means that he's thinking of you constantly.  the random act of thoughtfulness from him means that he can't get his mind off of you.  


having shared with you that general rule, let me share with you the specific one that inspired me today:

If you text him to complain that Target is completely sold out of Bridesmaids on DVD, and his response only 4 minutes later is, "I just bought it for you on Amazon.  It'll be here in 2 days. Come and get it." that means he likes you.

the dog days are near

for those of you who know me IRL (in real life.  i just invented that.), it's not a surprise to you that i very much want a dog.  


i love dogs.  i love my friends' dogs. i love TV dogs.  i love strangers-on-the-sidewalks' dogs.  i love dogs. 


when i was 7, i opened the best birthday gift of my life: a dog. a beautiful black lab named Bawl-Baby (my choice btw.  don't ever let a child name a pet.  srsly.).  the name was given because in the beginning she cried constantly.  no matter, i instantly loved that dog.  i slept with her and held her like she were my favorite "April" Ninja Turtle figure.  i remember her puppy toys.  i remember excitedly coming home to her every day after school.  


after 6 months, my mom decided that it would be better for BB to live with my aunt and uncle on a farm, rather than waiting on me to get off the school bus every day.  i.  was.  devastated.  i may or may not have written to Oprah, who was very picky about material at that point. it was my first heart-ache.


fast-forward 12 years: i love my cat.  above all other currently living mammals, i love my dear Atticus.  BUT that doesn't change my desire to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a canine.  a canine who sleeps on my legs and gets beyond excited when i arrive home for work.    


recently, with all of life's changes, i've been thinking often about adulthood.  for me, "adulthood" entails a mortgage, a partner, and a dog.  i'm not sure why Atti isn't quite sufficient for my adulthood equation, but it is what i imagine it is.  and my imagination has a dog in mind.  that seems redundant.   


not today.  not tomorrow.  soon.  time passes quickly these days.  

post(ing) secret(s)

i'm not really sure what i think this secret means.


i am really sure that my someone is a man.  

 

back in the saddle

last night i got hit on and "picked up" at a club.  wait, "picked up" doesn't mean taken home, does it? because i wasn't taken home.  i was just picked up, as i understand that terminology.  


and i'm not telling you in order to brag; rather, i have to tell you how out of practice i am.  i'm only 29, but sometimes i feel like i'm past my prime.  then again, 29 is equivalent to 43 in gay years... maybe i am past my prime.


back to last night.  my friends and i were dancing.  he and his friends were dancing.  he smiled.  said hello.  asked if he could buy me a drink.  all was going well, and i was enjoying the conversation.  then...


we were at the bar chatting and ordering drinks when he put his hand firmly on my leg.  not a light brush (which happens to be one of my signature flirting moves).  not a tap.  not talking with his hands.  just planted an open palm on my thigh.  this is there point at which i felt like an old man.  should he have been touching me already?  is this acceptable courtship behavior?  all this guy knew about me is my name and my alma mater (we quickly established that we attended the same law school, though he was about ten years ahead of me).  i let it go, but i thought he was being too forward.  am i a prude?


then it got worse.  i should preface this by pointing out that it was around 1 AM, and he was probably as tipsy as i was, but he touched my belly.  my beer belly (my new rule is that once i'm out, i drink only beer, because that way i remember everything the next day.  the pre-gaming is still with the love of my life, vodka.  when i hit the streets, i'm finished with vodka for the night.)  so he casually reached over and rested his hand on my side, with his thumb touching my stomach, as if it were a normal gesture that one would make to an acquaintance on the street. yeah, i probably looked touchably good, but still, no.  just, no.  my belly is boyfriend territory, not new-potential-friend-in-a-club territory.  so i backed up.  my non-verbals made it clear that he shouldn't be touching me so prematurely comfortably, and he returned his hand to my knee.  


in the end, i gave the guy my number.  it won't go beyond friendship, but he's a successful lawyer who seems to have a nice group of friends. and it can't hurt to meet someone new, whether he turns out to be a personal or professional contact.  he texted me today to ask me to dinner, which i'm happy to let him pay for.  


that said, i felt uncomfortable with the personal bubble violation, despite it having happened in the wee hours of the morning.  i wasn't drunk, and i don't think that he was, either.  a friendly, almost professional (due to work and school talk) conversation got unexpectedly physical.  am i being crazy here?  am i being a prude?  (my personal dating history reflects that usually i am not.)  be honest.


pray tell, is it normal to touch strangers like that when you're not dancing with them, but rather are simply sitting on adjacent bar stools?  i submit that it is not.  and that is just one reason why i feel that i might be too old for this game.




i need to meet new people.  i need to get back into the dating game.  i think i need to loosen up and not be so quick to back away from new people.      


  

coelho says...

You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it.

these days, i'm gasping for air and trying to grab onto rocks along the way.

  

"Who's Caleb?"

if i had a dollar for every time i've been searching for a contact in my phone and have noticed a name that rings absolutely no bells...


it's always a male first name.  never a last name. that would jog some memory. probably.


there's usually not a descriptor, because that also would help my memory.  i've recently used a few descriptors in my address book.  you know what i mean by a descriptor, right?  i've been chatting with some Indian kid named Sam but haven't met him or Facebooked him yet, so he's obviously in my phone as Sam Indian.  


i need to just save boys in my phone according to how we met, or where our one and only date occurred.  John Irish Pub.  why don't i do this every time?


oh, i know why.  because at the time when i'm first talking to a new guy, i assume that our courtship will go so magically and unprecedentedly well that within a short time, i'll not only know his last name, but will be making plans to add it to my own, after a sexy hyphen.  because i'm a romantic.  because i'm always looking for my future husband.  because i'm an idiot.  


and i have absolutely no idea who Caleb is.


  

bad times in Philadelphia

WHAT -- a weekend.  if this holiday weekend were a mixed drink, i'd tell you not to make it again; however, if you were to do so, you'd need one part fun, two parts anger, three parts frustration, and one part much-needed therapeutic drunkenness.  garnish with a few tears.


let me elaborate.


Saturday night i was out on what was shaping up to be a really fun second date with a tall lawyer when my phone begins ringing repeatedly.  it was one of my roommates.  of course i immediately feared that something bad had happened.  it had.  


i rushed home to find my roommate Moody talking with police officers, as our apartment had been burgled within the short, two-hour period between the time that i left for my date and when the roommate got home from his.  despite the police officers' warnings to leave everything as the fu@$%ng criminal pieces of s&%t (hereinafter, fcpos's) had left it, i ran around checking to see what was taken.  at first, it appeared that not much was taken.  the fcpos's left our flat-screen televisions and my four bottles of vodka, so i wasn't too alarmed about my weekend plans being ruined.  oh wait ---- 


every small, portable and prized valuable was taken.  our laptops.  our watches.  our backpacks.  our jewelry.  my prescription eyeglasses (who the -- why would -- whatever).  just things, i know.  i've told myself repeatedly that they're just things, but i haven't been convinced.  because my roommate's watch wasn't just a super nice watch; it was a gift from a family member.  and our laptops aren't just electronics, but they contain so much information -- mine contained almost seven years of my music, my writing, my photographs, my favorite po--- um -- websites.  and yes, it's almost all backed up, thank Buddha.  but some of it's missing, and worst of all, some fcpos out there has MY STUFF and MY INFORMATION.  i'm so angry right now.  angry again.  angry still. angry FOREVZ.


and then worst of all, for me:  my backpack -- you know, my North Face "hiking" backpack that came with a wine/water pouch and drinking tube.  not because it's a nice one and it was a great gift from Moody that i wouldn't have bought for myself because it was expensive, but because it contained so much.  the journal i had kept since high school.  that's where the tear garnish comes in.  that's the worst for me.  my roommates have their own worst losses from this event, but mine is the journal.


so i do the only thing i know how to do: i shift into attorney mode and try to think ahead, rather than to be emotional. 

• first we demanded that the locks be changed (did i mention that there was no forced entry? long story.).  the locks to our building and apartment were changed within hours, thanks to Shaunice's screaming.  
• next we catalogued every item missing and looked up either cost or replacement value.  
• then i pulled out the only laptop left in our house (again, thank you Buddha for the one) and drafted a demand letter to several potentially responsible parties.  someone is responsible for our loss, and i'm happy to let the Philadelphia civil court system sort it out if necessary.  i'd be happy to tell you details, but i shouldn't do that right now.
• now we wait, but not patiently; rather, we make life miserable for our apartment management company until we get somewhere.  

 i'm ready for this weekend to be over.  i'm angry and in a bad mood, and drinking my feelings only works for so long.


   

coupland says...

In the end, I think relationships that survive in this world are the ones where two people can finish each other’s sentences. Forget drama and torrid sex, and the clash of opposites. Give me banter any day of the week.

yesterday my best friend and i drove from Baltimore to Philadelphia.  as we arrived in Philly, i noticed that during the entire drive, for approximately an hour and 45 minutes, we never stopped talking. we never turned on the radio.  

that's a great relationship -- a best friendship.  i can only hope that i'll find a man with whom i can have that kind of relationship.  any day now.