Don’t be THAT Girl…Who Dates THAT Guy

Click!  Flash!  My bright eyes sparkle in the glow of paparazzi, and a giddy laugh wafts into the warm night air.  With a toss of my freshly blown-out hair, a mischievous dip of my pert chin and a sultry smirk that plays straight to camera, my adoring fans scream my name and I lovingly throw a kiss with my fingertips.  Stunning, in head to toe Oscar de la Renta (borrowed!), I thought it fitting: an Oscar for an Oscar, what a night!  As I glide gracefully down the red carpet, my heart catches a beat.  A familiar face.  One I have not seen in years.  A face that I loved and that loved me back for longer than he or I’d ever loved before.  He’d hurt me and left me and never let me contact him again.  And here he is, amongst a sea of faces.  And I look spectacular.  Never looked better.  Ha Ha!!  I win!  First time running into THE ex and I LOOK GREAT!!  I’ve dreamt about this moment, and damn it, look what he’s missing!  Boy, isn’t he sorry now!!!

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen remotely like that.  No.  When the chance meeting occurred, I had been up all night dancing, drinking, fighting and crying till the wee hours of the morning and my face and belly were bloated with tears and buffet food, respectively.

He was my first long-term love.  My savings had just dried up, my back had just collapsed and over the phone he broke my heart.  I was broke, broke, broke.  Tears of rage and hurt and anger and sorrow and hate streamed down my face as I crawled (literally, I could not walk) into my bedroom and onto my bed.  I didn’t want to see him ever again.

But a few months passed and I wanted that elusive thing called “closure.”  He had gotten his say over the phone, but I hadn’t the courage to say my piece.  And that ate at me.  So I dropped him a line, and when he heard it was me, he dropped the line.  I discovered he moved into my neighborhood - I sent him a letter, to which he never replied.

Years passed and the broke went away: I worked and fed my savings account, I saw my chiropractor 3 times a week and fixed my back, I dated and slowly mended the crack.  Yet I still dreamt of that chance meeting when he would see me, thin and healthy and popular and stunning, with my hair blowing in the…yeah, yeah, yeah, you know where I’m going with this.

5 years passed, and for the last couple I had only google-stalked him once or twice – to see if he was still alive.  And shortly after the start of the new year (last year) I said to the universe, I’m letting him go.  And I did.  And I never thought of him again.

A few weeks later I was sunning & stuffing myself on a 5 day cruise.  The endless ocean and buffet – nothing could make this California foodie any happier.  Then night 3 of 5 happened: 3 girls met 2 boys and my jealous friend took her unhappiness out on me.  A drunken, teary, sleepless night etched its way onto my face, and the next morning I was haggard.  But hungry.  So onto the buffet.

Headed to the salad bar (it was time to clean up my fried chicken, pizza and cream-filled pastry ways), I thought I heard my name whisper-shouted.  Pausing, but thinking my hangover was playing tricks, I almost walked on.  However, something nagged at me and as I slowly turned, a man who was holding a buffet tray over his face shyly brought it down.  And there appeared THE ex.  No shit.  He had been within a mile of me for 5 years and I never ran into him, yet here he was, on a cruise, with me, saying my name, bearing a sheepish nervous shit-eating grin.  I’m not much of a curser, but all my mouth could form was the word “shit” and occasionally in front of it, “oh.”

The chance encounter.  My puffy blood-shot eyes, splotchy makeup hastily thrown on, greasy hair and certainly not brand-name bright orange (not my color) cover-all were nothing like my red carpet fantasy.  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

“I want you to meet my girlfriend.  I told her all about you.  She’ll be here in a second,” he said as I noticed something on his left ring finger.  “Girlfriend?”  I inquired, pointing to his wedding band.  “Girlfriend.” he stated emphatically.  A weird moment.  Thankfully, she was here in a second.  “Nice to meet you,” “Nice to meet you.”  Then the turn.  With a dismissive wave of his hand he said, quite simply: “Go.”  What?  “Go.  Go get your food, go do what you need to do.  Go.”  Stunned, I stumbled to the salad bar, blindly made a salad and turned to leave.  And who was turning my way the same time I was turning his?  Yes, Mr. “Go.”  Oh, shit, I did not want to see him again.  A stern hard voice spat out my name and I was forced to face him down.  He pierced my eyes with a cold mix of “get the hell away from me I’m still in love with you” and “don’t mess with me, I’m with someone else.”  He turned his back on me and left his fiancée/wife (or “girlfriend”) standing there as shocked as I was, so I coughed out “What’s your problem?”  No response.  “What’s his problem?”  No response.

Shaken like a baby with a bad nanny, I lurched outside to meet my friends.  Trying to laugh it off, I sat my salad filled tray down and started; “You won’t believe who I just…just…just…” but I couldn’t finish because the tears were choking me.  I ran the length of the deck to the nearest bathroom with my friend in tow.  Bolted into a stall and let them flow.  “I…I…I…just…just…just…saw my…my…my…THE ex!  And he was so mean to me!  And he had a girlfriend, and she was cute, but I’m way cuter even though I look like someone socked me in the face, and he was wearing a wedding ring, but said she was only his girlfriend, and I’m over him, but I haven’t seen him in 5 years and I never had closure and I know you can never have closure, but we REALLY had no closure and it’s just so weird seeing him here and I can’t believe I’m crying and I didn’t expect it to hurt so much and I’m over him but I’m still crying!!!”

The tears dried up and we had a laugh and went back to my salad.  Then to the gym (after I applied more mascara and slipped on a super cute top).  Got all dolled up for dinner and made an ass of myself in the conga line just to make sure he saw me having SO much fun (although I hate conga lines and was certainly NOT having fun).  And when I saw him the next morning in the breakfast line, I made sure he didn’t see me see him and laughed SO hard at the fake joke I made (and made my friends fake laugh too).  And when I saw him in the passport line, I made sure he didn’t see me see him and I flirted with the guy next to me (and he flirted back – although he didn’t know it was a fake flirt).  And we drove home, and I unpacked, and I wanted closure.

The weekend passed and I came home to a blinking machine…with his voice and number on it.  I sank to my knees and laughed, and cried, and asked my brain, what should I do?  And it said, don’t call him tonight, wait a few days.  A few days passed and I asked my brain, what should I do?  And it said, don’t call him tonight, you’ll call him, but wait a week.  A week passed and I asked my brain, what should I do?  And it said, you don’t want to call him, there’s no point in calling him; he’ll just hurt you again.  But Brain, I said, I want closure.  And it said, well wait a week.  And I did, and I’ve waited a year’s worth of weeks and I’ve never called him back.

Is there a lesson in this?  So many lessons.  But one that hits hardest is this: listen to your brain when it says don’t call back a married man who says she’s only his girlfriend (did I forget to tell you he’d been married twice before?), men like that will give you something, but it sure ain’t closure.

And to both Oscars’ – I gave you a shout out, so can I have a dress and an award?

I never questioned my sexual orientation until a college Jazz dance class.  She was sexy and sharp with a killer body.  I freaked myself – and my current boyfriend – out with my hesitant fantasies of her.  The flirtatious way she gazed back at me made my palms sweat.  Most boyfriends would get hot at the thought of his girl with another, but he was honestly afraid of losing me.  I played with the idea in my head, but couldn’t wrap my brain around her parts – familiar as my own, but foreign as a lover.  

Graduation freed me of my thoughts and of my current boyfriend – too insecure and needy - and my girl-crush dissolved as an isolated incident.  Never before or after was I attracted to a woman.  Not from fear, I just realized I preferred boy-parts.

When I was challenged years later into kissing a woman (a Playboy Playmate nonetheless), I accepted.  If Miss November couldn’t switch my team, no one could.  Her soft voluptuous mouth was warm and wet and still remains in my list of top 10 kisses, but when the kiss ended I continued flirting with the male who challenged me in the first place.  As hot as she was, she didn’t turn me on.  And that ended my brief foray with women. 

But why bring this up?  While it’s accepted (and sometimes encouraged) for women to experiment and figure out their orientation, it’s still taboo for men.  Which poses not only a problem for the men, but also for the women they date and often marry.

A girlfriend of mine just discovered what I had told her from the start: she was dating a gay man: a good-looking, fitness-obsessed actor-slash-model.  Now, if a male preens in the mirror longer than his female companion, that alone does not make him gay.  If, however, he doesn’t attempt to kiss you on the second date or make the first move on the third, or cum after 45 minutes of oral sex (which, by the way, is her “thing”)…you’re looking at a gay man. 

You’re also looking at a gay man when:

1. All his friends are gay and he’s the “token” straight man

2. He won’t cuddle with you because lying on his side will create wrinkles on his face

3. He has sex with men to pay the bills

A recent trip to Mammoth led me and my girlfriend to meet two extremely hot 25 year old guys, who to me from the start clearly liked to hold the big stick.  My girlfriend, on the other hand, was recovering from a traumatic breakup and was convinced they voted for bush.  A trip to the Jacuzzi allowed them to strip to their boxers, and the heat of the water and the moment swept her away.  I left them to their moment and went to the room.  Coming in later, she confirmed my suspicions: it was hot and heavy with Number 1, her top came off revealing ample breasts, Number 1 ditched his shorts and wanted to go bareback, Number 2 got jealous, tossed his boxers and asked his friend – not to share – but for a 3-way.  To both men’s disappointment, my girlfriend said no. 

Would this relationship transfer to the real world?  No.  He texted her he didn’t want to see her again.  And why should he?  He merely wanted permission to be gay.  Have you ever known a straight man to do a 3-way involving another man?  Never!    

So the lesson in this: Men: it’s OK to be gay, just don’t pretend to be straight and get our hopes up for dating the only clean, well-dressed, sensitive guy with a killer body in the neighborhood.  Women: if he’s the only clean, well-dressed, sensitive guy with a killer body in the neighborhood; he’s gay.  And it’s OK!  Just don’t date him.

And to Miss November: You’re still in my top 10.