Monday, July 29, 2013

Labels and Hugs.

Over a beer on the patio he commented on my blog. It’s always a kick to have someone who reads 'real' writers compliment my writing.  
Then he said “I’ll probably read about myself in it someday.”
I said yes and he laughed it off and said “You’ll never write about me.”
What I was thinking was No, by the time I write about someone they aren't reading my blog. Usually we are only on strained speaking terms by the time I get around to writing about them, so I don’t believe any of my formers read this blog, even out of morbid curiosity. Not just the ones I block either...

But perhaps he meant it was a goal? A warning? 
How do I get the most subtle foreshadowing in books, but clearly miss the most obvious instances in real life??

Since the night a few weeks back when he came around the table we stood at saying "I can't not do this any longer", put one hand one either side of my head and kissed me, I'd been firmly latched onto the plan that I wouldn't label anything.
Now lets pause for a minute for me to say, I don't really feel like I was properly dressed for such a Harlequin novel statement/moment. I'm sure I was wearing a skirt, as I almost always am, but it wasn't flowing (like in all the romance novels when that kind of sentence comes out) and my skirt was paired with cheap flip flops and a tank top. The scene really called for something with an empire waist, cinched with a velvet ribbon IMO. And heels. Most of my good scenes call for heels.

The night after that almost bashful sounding tease about ending up on my blog, he all but disappeared.

When I finally did see him it was in public and he acted like nothing was going on beyond being buddies. Then I got the friend hug. Not an awkward hug by any means, but not the kind that said "I should come over later...and make you coffee in the morning."
The friend hug can take many forms, but there are things missing from the friend hug that tell you it's not a gateway touch and that you aren't.  
You don't hold on that extra moment to take a breath together.
No possessive hand slides under your hair to the nape of your neck. 
As you step out of it, a hand doesn't run down the back of your arm to your fingers that may gently lace or linger there together. 
As you pull away you don't slide a publicly acceptable kiss on the cheek.
And you do not get the ever elusive fold out move - The one where you leave an arm around his waist and he drapes one across your shoulder and you remain latched from the hug.

This particular incident, er hug, may or may not have included the three pats on the back, the notorious signal for "We're just friends." 
I'm not sure if the pats came because by then my mind was rapidly putting the labels on us that I had avoided thus far. Shredding the romance labels and adhering labels like "friend who you are attracted to and you may or may not hook up with sometimes and will then still treat you like a friend and only a friend." 

Gosh. It's so rare to find quality applicants for that position that I almost forgot there was an opening in my friends with benefits department. 
And, not the least of importance, at this rate he will still read my book when I get around to it.



Friday, July 12, 2013

Googles with Friends

This morning I read the facebook post of a friend who claims to google pretty much everyone she meets. She explained her reasoning, which included making sure they are who they say they are, and having interesting things to talk with them about later.

I don't know about all that. It feels like it's a little... I know that sometimes conversations I have with people where they know all about me somehow but I don't them can be a little off kilter. It could feel really weird to know I had been researched.

I had my own little moment with google once that made me think twice about how I use it on people.

I had become enamored with a guy. I know, I know. He was special though... We were... Well, I thought so at the time...
We had just begun dabbling in a relationship of sorts and were in that giggly phase when you both text everything that you are doing from morning til bed, plus once in the middle of the night, and all of it seems either delightful enough to read it out loud to your friends (who only care because you do), or so sexy you simply blush and save it to re-read forever. 

Well, my bestie and I almost never, since high school, have lived in the same state even, so she had not met the recent fling. I was visiting her house during this particular high and she (very patiently) watched me beam off and on at my phone all day. Since I hadn't gushed about anyone like this in a while and he was obviously being regularly electronically attentive she understandably wanted all the details of this potentially long term addition to our lives. 
She may have been trying to figure out in advance who best to seat him next to at Thanksgiving and whether or not she would have to wear anything too formal and uncomfortable to the wedding. 
Or it could have been that my description was glowing, yet not all that flattering. It's hard to make certain descriptive words sound as sexy as you want them to. Like "comb over/mullet"; or "nose/ear hair"; or "speech impediments" (a frequent one for my men); or quaint and very demure neck tattoo. You can say some of these with all the lust in the world, but some descriptions lose something in the telling. 
This had undoubtedly been one of the times that I had not done a good job at relaying how lust-inspiring this fellow was because she was giving me that look when I tried to give some details. The one look she gives me that suggests that I might want to reconsider my position again sober.

So she suggests we look up his profile, knowing that the idea of looking at his pictures would be enough to get me passed the brief consideration that she would not be as impressed as I.

As I gazed at the adorable (again, at the time) photos of him looking everything from goofy to dignified and she humored me by saying how cute and smart he looked, we drifted in different directions... I was imagining our first trip to her house to sip wine and swap stories, holding hands on the beach... - she was noticing things on his profile I hadn't seen. Interesting things. Things which led her to google him.

Girl doesn't miss a beat. By that I mean how the hell did I not notice that laundry list of accomplishments? A quick google search brought up pages of glossy articles, photos in other lands... there might as well have been video of him giving a lecture to the united nations and/or/while conquering a dragon. 

I think very highly of myself. Almost every friend I have has some pretty amazing things they have done or are on their way to doing. I surround myself with the best and feel I belong there...
Now I was intimidated. I was freaked out. This could be my new boyfriend? Um... was that a picture of him with Bill Clinton?
As a long time bestie should, she was reminding me of all my best qualities while I tried to summon a single subject that I would now feel comfortable discussing with him. I pointed to yet another article and she says "It doesn't have to be about work."

The remainder of the evening I re-read and critiqued every text response I sent for spelling, creativity, wit. I really didn't think I could keep it up.
I was saved by a middle of the night phone call from him, stoned out of his mind and giggling at everything and gushing profusely. It's really hard to be intimidating while baked; not that intimidating me was his goal anyway, but my nervousness dissolved.
The google spell was broken. 

When the next guy came along we really did consider not googling him. 

I think we have settled comfortably into her googling them when I'm not around, then doing a little filtering for me. And then when the relationship does it's crash and burn, she tells me how terrible their last movie was, that their dissertation lacked substance, and that she isn't even sure that the FDA should have cleared their latest miracle drug for human use anyway.