A Story of a Weekend
My friend and I have decided that we need to get out and try new things. As she pointed out "guys are not going to just drop into our living rooms. We need to go where the guys are." As I explained to another of my friends, who thinks that is a good idea, but wonders "where does one go to find nice, 30-something, single guys?", perhaps if we wander to the watering holes of men with an open mind, we might accidentally run across a nice, 30-something, single guy disguised as a regular guy. At least, that's what I heard.
And what with E speaking the rejection into existence, I'm free to travel the territory without hopeful heart attachements holding me back from trying something new.
This weekend we began our adventures.
Friday night: In a quest to make myself into "the perfect girlfriend", I decided a few years ago to take on the daunting challenge of learning about the idol many women become widows to: sports. I've covered basketball, baseball, football, toyed a bit with soccer, and dabbled with hockey. But there seems to be so much more. So, Friday night, my friend and I decided to take on lacrosse.
Fascinating. I was happy to finally see a Portland team win a game. And I enjoyed the occasional fist-fight (although, I'm really quite sensitive and got upset when one fight became more than "punch 1, punch 2, break it up"). And my friend and I figured out several things that were going on. Not bad for two single girls. Oh, and I got to do my favorite thing, too: eat a bunch of junk! Whoo-hoo! It's like the fair except inside and watching guys beat up each other for a little ball. Who could ask for anything more?
Saturday night: In a slight act of rebellion toward the one I have been trying so hard to please, I decided it was time to do something very un-Deema-like. So I put on my black dress and red shoes (which didn't make him happy, due to the fact that he knows what those look like on me), put on a mask, and crashed a party.
Okay, I guess technically I was invited. But I didn't know anyone there except the friend I brought with me, who was the only one I knew who would be daring enough to try something like that. And being that Deema usually avoids groups larger than four (especially when she doesn't know anyone in said group) this was a huge, huge, HUGE step for me.
It helped that I was wearing a mask. There was mystery involved. Oh, and it also helped that everyone else was wearing a mask; they didn't always know each other either.
We met lots of people. Or animals, I guess. We met butterflies and bugs and monkeys and an owl/crow/feathered cat without whiskers and an octopus and I think there was a horse in there somewhere. I wouldn't know any of them if I saw them on the street today, but that's okay. It was fun anyway.
At one point, I almost found myself banished from the party, which was interesting in itself. See, I forgot where I was at and who I was hanging around and I accidentally let it slip that I had attended a Christian college. I meant to express the irony of my experiences, but somehow the entire party stopped at the word "Christian". Oops. I felt the silence for a moment and then was bombarded with accusatory questions, as if I was a mole sent in from the enemy, trying to undermine their structure of society. I had a brief vision of being carried out of the house to be crucified on the stop sign by an angry mob of masked animals, while my poor peacock friend ran behind, crying "I'm just a wing-man!" as she was pelted with limes. (I guess there is something to the whole "me being a bit of a drama queen" thing). Anyway, I didn't need to worry. Apparently the sin of being a Christian was not enough of a reason to waste good fruit that could otherwise be used to make more fruity (and alcoholic) beverages. After pledging that I was not there to try to convert them to my way of life, I was forgiven and the incident was quickly forgotten.
Note to self: cranberry juice and vodka and talk of world domination does not guarantee immunity outside of the southern states. Silly rabbit.
Sunday morning: Despite the fact that I finally crawled into bed at the insane hour of 3 am, I still awoke and dressed and attended that which I was almost shunned for: my church. After the service, E caught up with me. As usual. And as usual, he invited me to breakfast. And as usual, I declined. But there was something different this time. He was being careful. Very careful. And politer than usual. And I was polite. And a little distant. And not at all broken (at least not as far as the multitude around me could tell). I went on through my day and not one tear was shed because he was once again there.
Maybe, just maybe, moving on really was the best thing I could have done for myself.
Oh, and one more thing. I accepted a date. Yes, me, the cynic who only dates because it's expected of her. No one told me I had to, so it's another step for me. And if I'm lucky, I'll manage to have fun and still be happy and confident when he loses interest and decides to stop calling. (I hate it when they die and I lose my confidence all at the same time).
Okay, so good weekend. Let's see if I can keep up the momentum!
And what with E speaking the rejection into existence, I'm free to travel the territory without hopeful heart attachements holding me back from trying something new.
This weekend we began our adventures.
Friday night: In a quest to make myself into "the perfect girlfriend", I decided a few years ago to take on the daunting challenge of learning about the idol many women become widows to: sports. I've covered basketball, baseball, football, toyed a bit with soccer, and dabbled with hockey. But there seems to be so much more. So, Friday night, my friend and I decided to take on lacrosse.
Fascinating. I was happy to finally see a Portland team win a game. And I enjoyed the occasional fist-fight (although, I'm really quite sensitive and got upset when one fight became more than "punch 1, punch 2, break it up"). And my friend and I figured out several things that were going on. Not bad for two single girls. Oh, and I got to do my favorite thing, too: eat a bunch of junk! Whoo-hoo! It's like the fair except inside and watching guys beat up each other for a little ball. Who could ask for anything more?
Saturday night: In a slight act of rebellion toward the one I have been trying so hard to please, I decided it was time to do something very un-Deema-like. So I put on my black dress and red shoes (which didn't make him happy, due to the fact that he knows what those look like on me), put on a mask, and crashed a party.
Okay, I guess technically I was invited. But I didn't know anyone there except the friend I brought with me, who was the only one I knew who would be daring enough to try something like that. And being that Deema usually avoids groups larger than four (especially when she doesn't know anyone in said group) this was a huge, huge, HUGE step for me.
It helped that I was wearing a mask. There was mystery involved. Oh, and it also helped that everyone else was wearing a mask; they didn't always know each other either.
We met lots of people. Or animals, I guess. We met butterflies and bugs and monkeys and an owl/crow/feathered cat without whiskers and an octopus and I think there was a horse in there somewhere. I wouldn't know any of them if I saw them on the street today, but that's okay. It was fun anyway.
At one point, I almost found myself banished from the party, which was interesting in itself. See, I forgot where I was at and who I was hanging around and I accidentally let it slip that I had attended a Christian college. I meant to express the irony of my experiences, but somehow the entire party stopped at the word "Christian". Oops. I felt the silence for a moment and then was bombarded with accusatory questions, as if I was a mole sent in from the enemy, trying to undermine their structure of society. I had a brief vision of being carried out of the house to be crucified on the stop sign by an angry mob of masked animals, while my poor peacock friend ran behind, crying "I'm just a wing-man!" as she was pelted with limes. (I guess there is something to the whole "me being a bit of a drama queen" thing). Anyway, I didn't need to worry. Apparently the sin of being a Christian was not enough of a reason to waste good fruit that could otherwise be used to make more fruity (and alcoholic) beverages. After pledging that I was not there to try to convert them to my way of life, I was forgiven and the incident was quickly forgotten.
Note to self: cranberry juice and vodka and talk of world domination does not guarantee immunity outside of the southern states. Silly rabbit.
Sunday morning: Despite the fact that I finally crawled into bed at the insane hour of 3 am, I still awoke and dressed and attended that which I was almost shunned for: my church. After the service, E caught up with me. As usual. And as usual, he invited me to breakfast. And as usual, I declined. But there was something different this time. He was being careful. Very careful. And politer than usual. And I was polite. And a little distant. And not at all broken (at least not as far as the multitude around me could tell). I went on through my day and not one tear was shed because he was once again there.
Maybe, just maybe, moving on really was the best thing I could have done for myself.
Oh, and one more thing. I accepted a date. Yes, me, the cynic who only dates because it's expected of her. No one told me I had to, so it's another step for me. And if I'm lucky, I'll manage to have fun and still be happy and confident when he loses interest and decides to stop calling. (I hate it when they die and I lose my confidence all at the same time).
Okay, so good weekend. Let's see if I can keep up the momentum!