Tag Archives: girl problem

Full circle

Well, things got interesting late last week.

Remember how my roommate, K., had done the stereotypical lesbian two-dates-and-move-in-with-her-girlfriend thing?  That was about 6 months ago, and apparently they’ve now hit the relationship expiration date:  my roommate has left her and moved back in with me. I kind of knew that it was going to happen… they had been fighting and bickering for 5 of the 6 months they were together — they didn’t give themselves a chance to ease into the relationship and missed that special window of time when it’s easy to dump someone because you’re not trying to pick out curtains with them at the same time as you’re trying to get rid of them.

So, last week, I got a call at work:  “Is it okay if I move back in?”  How could I say no?  I knew she was unhappy — one of those relationships where when it’s good, it’s great, but it’s more often bad or worse — but I wasn’t actually expecting her to cut bait and leave.  I got home that day, saw her big ass bottle of raspberry vodka on the counter and to my surprise, knew she had followed through. K. isn’t one for being on her own, much, but end it she did — I’m proud of her for doing so.  She had been staying because it was easy, but not necessarily because it was the right thing to do, ya know?

I’m ambivalent about her moving back in, to be honest.  To be fair, she’s one of my most favorite people in the world and I’ve found that it’s good to have someone in the house again — not that talking to my dog Belle wasn’t satisfying conversation.  And having K. around on a regular basis gives me less chance to wallow in my moods — and for someone who messes with depression, wallowing is like the gateway drug for a full-on depressive binge. Wallowing = seriously not good for me.

But her being around makes my relatively new healthy decisions a little more difficult to make on a daily basis:  K’s one of those lean, muscular, in-shape types who eats junk food non-stop and has some of the unhealthiest habits I’ve ever seen (especially for someone who’s in the fitness industry — she’s a personal trainer).  She’s aware and supportive of my situation, but unfortunately I like to use food to bond with people.  Nothing like spending time with someone eating pizza and ice cream to cement a friendship, right?  See, I know K. won’t say no to that kind of invitation, while if I cook all healthy and such, she’s likely to go out and find someone else to have dinner with.  I’d rather her eat with me.  See how that works?  Companionship wins out over healthy eating every damn time. I suppose I’m feeding one of my needs, just not necessarily the healthy one.

And then there’s the whole bit about how I have an on-again-off-again impossibly unrequited crush on her.  She’s not interested — this much I’m quite sure of — but that doesn’t stop me from occasionally having weird bouts of jealousy when it comes to her bringing home girls.  I can’t help it, I know it’s not rational, but I don’t like her being with other girls while she’s in my house. It also doesn’t help that her bedroom is directly above mine… it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what’s going on up there, if you know what I mean.

With her having moved out, the crush was a thing of the past — out of sight, out of mind, basically — but now that she’s back, it’s like I’ve got to go through the withdrawal process again. Which kinda sucks. At least there are no sex buddies hanging around yet, but that’s just a matter of time.

Overall I’m hoping for good things from this second round of roommate-ing together.  She’s the extrovert to my introvert and it’s good for me to be actively pulled out of my own head like that.  I also know this is a challenge for me:  instead of going out of my way to do things for her, I’ve got to live my life the way I want to… if she comes along for the ride, great, but if not, that’s okay too.

I need to do things to like myself, rather than doing things for K. to like me, if that makes sense.  And I need to let her live her life without my judgment or interference.  Be K’s best friend and not her weird stalker, wanna-be-your-girlfriend friend.

That’s all.  Easy, right?

If nothing else, day to day life just got a whole lot more interesting.  I’ll take it.


Session drama

So, I’m in therapy.  It hasn’t been long — about a month or so — but this has been a struggle since day 1 and continues as such.

By the time I get back home after a session, know what I most want to do?  Curl up into the fetal position and rock.  Nice, eh?

Therapy hasn’t been much of a feel-good, esteem-building exercise (though I’m not sure why I thought it might be that way) and rather, it’s an hour of crying and being pushed to acknowledge that at every turn I try to sabotage myself.

And yea, yea… I know… it’s good for me.  The tears and the trauma and the drama all point to her pushing me into facing some truths about myself that I’ve conveniently opted to ignore.  A lot of the therapy centers about the fact that most of my relationships have been ones of unrequited love — you know, the typical story:  girl becomes friends with Chick, girl falls in love with Chick, girl doesn’t make feelings known to Chick, Chick is oblivious (or straight or married or in a relationship), girl tortures herself for months or years on end until she finally lets go.  Whew.

But really – that’s how my life goes.  I could easily name half a dozen of my friendships that have followed that scenario — pretty much every girl that’s been a best friend.  And in every case, Chick hasn’t had any idea (other than perhaps the feeling that I was a bit of a stalker-type and too attached).

My therapist aptly noted:  “You never choose someone who will return your feelings.”  Um, yea.  No idea.  Just happens that way.

Or something like that.

Another gem from my therapist:  “You’ve got a million excuses why you can’t change your life.”  Not quite a million, I replied.  Sure, probably in the hundred thousands, but not a million.

(And yes, I make lame jokes when cornered.)

Of course, to me, they aren’t excuses, but reasons.

A concrete example of my “reasons”:  the apartment in the city.  My reason for not having one yet?  My oh-so-lovable pit bull … apartments have breed/size restrictions, as it turns out.  My therapist pointedly questioned: why not pay more for a place that will accept the dog?  I can’t afford it.  Why not recruit the help of friends and family to watch Belle while I’m in the city and get a pet-free apartment?  Well, because I couldn’t do that.  Why not?  Because why should someone else take care of my dog?  (see how good I am at this game?)

And on and on …until I end up in tears because I can plainly see how stubborn I’m being while trying to find a solution.

I’m not sure where the resistance comes from.  The apartment was *my* idea, and I felt like it was something that I really wanted to see happen.  But as my search got more difficult instead of being creative in finding solutions, I kind of just gave up.  “It’s fate”, I thought.

All this to say that I still need some work.  Until I can sit through a therapy session, confident in the direction I’m headed and the decisions I’m making, I likely still need to be there.  Even though the sessions turn me into Humpty Dumpty who breaks apart and can’t quite get put back together again.

(An aside:  this post has spewed out of me, all jumbled and feeling a little random and unorganized.  I’m usually all about the editing, but this time around?  I like the idea of the post reflecting my own chaotic and slightly dramatic feelings about this.)

The Lens of Time, part I

Back in college (a lifetime ago, it feels like!), I spent a semester studying in Germany (“studying”?  Um, SURE…).  I had gone entirely because my best friend was going and I didn’t want to get left behind.

She had a German minor.  I had taken 2 years of German in high school.  She was a Geography major with a bent on immersing herself in other cultures.  I was a Psych/CompSci major that felt vaguely uncomfortable in situations where I didn’t understand what was going and couldn’t get Taco Bell.

Despite this, I applied for the study abroad program, enlisted every ounce of charm and charisma during the interview and somehow shoe-horned my way in, with nothing more than a promise to take a German class over the summer.  To this day, I’m not entirely sure how any administrator in their right mind would have allowed me into the program, but hey — I took it and never looked back.

And that semester ended up being one of the best things I ever did for myself.  Not only was it a boatload of fun, but I did a lot of growing up and learning how to be independent and started the process of figuring out who I was and what I wanted.  Didn’t kick start the process enough for me to figure out that I was gay, but I’m apparently a slow learner.

Now, this same best friend that I spent the semester with is going to Switzerland to spend a few months with her husband and kids, while hubby is there on a physics sabbatical.  And so now she’s launching herself into this big adventure, much like we did 21 years ago (yes, I’m that old), and that started the both of us reminiscing and I even pulled out the journal that I kept (handwritten! It was 1991!) and read it through.

Reading my journal was a bit of an eye-opener:  the way I described the semester above?  Not entirely true.  While I definitely had fun, I guess over the years I managed to remember the good stuff and let the bad stuff fade into the background.  The semester wasn’t all good German beer and bakery goods (though – admittedly – that did comprise a large portion of the semester… and by the end it comprised a large part of *me*, too)… as it turns out, that semester started a pattern of behavior that I haven’t managed to break out of even today.

As I said, I was there with my best friend.  But – above that:  she was more a soul mate than just a best friend.  I was as close to her as I had been with anyone else and as it happened, but this semester abroad strained our relationship.

See, I depended on her too much.  Expected too much, as well.  I wanted it to be like back at school:  joined at the hip, very little that we didn’t do together.  But, once we got to Germany, she had a talk with me — she wanted a little freedom to meet new people and be friends with others, too.  Immerse herself in the experience.  To that end, she chose to not be my roommate and, in fact, got a room in another dorm.  Crushed me.

Now, before you get all up in arms about her behavior, it wasn’t like she dropped me as a friend, ignored me or anything like that.  All she asked for was the freedom to be her own person and not have her identity automatically twinned with mine.

So, I spent a lot of the semester being moody and unhappy and passive-aggressively mad at her for not loving me the way that I loved her.  I mean, I was there solely because of her, shouldn’t she treat me better?

She was probably the first person that I acted this way towards, but certainly wasn’t the last — it set a behavioral pattern up that I would wear out for the next 20+ years.  And more than that, I can’t believe that it took me 20+ years and re-reading a journal I wrote when I was 20 to even really understand how I keep managing to sabotage relationships.

Perhaps I just needed to be older and wiser.  Or something like that.  I’ll admit, though, it’s taken me a long time to write this post.  I keep trying to avoid it, as if by hiding it away it didn’t really happen — or, rather, isn’t really happening currently.

So, that’s the past, caught up to the present.  And what does it mean for me now?  I’ll save that for next time.

On Anonymity

I was reading a post by one of my favorite people — Sugar on The Rumpus —  where she talks about how she’s going to reveal her identity on Valentine’s Day.  She’s been writing her advice column (which is nothing short of soul-wrenching, insightful and, like, totally f’in awesome) under the pseudonym Sugar for a long time and come this February, she’s having her own coming out party and revealing her identity to all.

And this got me to thinking:  I’ve been trying to remain at least a little bit anonymous here.  Sure, there are enough details here that someone close to me would probably recognize my life, but I have barely let on to any of my friends or family that I’ve writing a blog, much less tell them where to find it.

In some respects, this sucks because it’s much easier to build a readership/community when you have a solid group of people that you know you can guilt into reading the blog on a regular basis.  But, this is a choice I made because I want to be able to write from my heart and not have to worry about how someone else might interpret it.

There are things that I write about here that I really haven’t divulged to anyone in my life — if I were in their shoes, I’m sure my thoughts would be something like, “Hmmm… I thought we were good enough friends that she could have talked to me about this…”.  And some of this is my fault:  despite being able to write about topics that leave me feeling very vulnerable, talking about them in real life isn’t something in my skill set.  I’ve never been all that good at the face-to-face sharing. Freaks me a out a little, to be honest.

The other facet to this — this space gives me the opportunity to vent without repercussion.  For example, I talk about my roommate quite a bit, and mostly just the situations where I’m frustrated with her.  In real life, 99% of the time we get along really well.  And when we don’t?  This forum gives me a way to release the frustration, think things out and say things that might not be an effective problem resolution technique in person.  You know, like screaming, “You are such a BITCH!!!” into my pillow and then turning around to calmly discuss the situation.

And so this site remains unvisited by the people who are closest to me.  I’ve given thought to changing my stance on this, but I’m not sure I’m ready.  There’s still a part of me that would edit and censor, knowing that the audience held people who get the joy of dealing with me in real life.  Hiding this space seems the easiest way to be 100% Laura, warts and all.

It’s the big One-Oh-Oh!

This is my 100th post!

I was in the middle of writing another post, when it occurred to me that this 100th one is a milestone of sorts, and that I ought to do something to celebrate.

So – break out the confetti! Woot!  Yippee!!

Okay.  Now that we’ve got the hootin’ and hollerin’ out of our system.

A touch of the serious:  I started this blog awhile ago (100 posts ago!), mostly as a selfish way to put my voice out there, a forum for my whines and rants and opinions, from important and meaningful, to, well, not so much.  It was (and still is!) a cheap form of therapy for me:  my own safe place and a way for me to work through what was (and, again, still is!) a confusing part of my life.  And it didn’t really matter if anyone was reading or not, because that wasn’t the point.

But, as I continue to write (you can see this coming from a mile away, can’t you?), I now hope that in some small way that maybe I can help someone else out there.  That you’ll read my ramblings and perhaps be comforted to know that you aren’t alone.  I know I’m not the wisest or the wittiest writer around, but with any luck, there are a few souls out there with whom my words resonate.

I’ve made it to 100.  With – hopefully – hundreds more to come.

(Lord help the virtual world!)

Indulge me…

…while I rant for a bit, would you?

A little background:  my roommate K had been in a year-long relationship with a girl who was not my favorite person ever.  Actually – on her own, while we had absolutely NOTHING in common, she was nice enough.  But, I hated the way she treated K.  Case in point:  her ability to sleep with many, many people while still proclaiming “they don’t mean anything to me!” and “you’re the one I love!”. And when K is with the GF (now ex, kinda), she seems to lose all understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around the (ex)GF and treats me kind of cruddy.  Just my $0.02, of course.

So – last night.  They’ve been broken up for a few months now, though still occasionally sleeping together and “hanging out”.  Last night, K tells me that the (ex)GF is coming over to drop something off.  This is the conversation we had, verbatim:

Me:  Is she staying over?
K:  Absolutely not.
K (turning to look me in the eye for emphasis):  No.  Absolutely not.
Me:  That makes me glad – you guys are loud when you’re up there (note:  K’s room is right above mine).

So, what would be the logical conclusion to that conversation?  That the (ex)GF isn’t staying.  Right?  You with me here?

It’s 10pm.  I’ve been in bed for awhile, just about asleep, and the (ex)GF makes her entrance.  Instead of just handing off something, they immediately go upstairs — not surprising.  They’re talking… which I can hear.  They’re doing … something… which is irritating the dog, since I can hear her stalking around.  I give it almost 45 minutes and then head to the basement couch, thinking, “Well, she’s not staying so I’ll just doze here on this uncomfortable couch until she goes home”.

Around 11:30pm, they come barreling downstairs.  I think, “Finally! I can go to bed!” and start gathering my stuff.  But – instead – my roommate goes out the back door with the dog.  The (ex)GF goes out the front door on her own.  And within 5 minutes, they’re both back and loudly heading upstairs.

I think,”Hmm… they must not be done talking.  I’ll wait down here for her to leave since I won’t be able to fall asleep in my own room with them talking.”

At 11:50pm I have a coughing fit and head up to my room to get a cough drop. She’s still not gone.

12:15pm rolls around and I’m totally not sleeping because I’m uncomfortable (and utterly irritated by this point) and so I head out for a walk in the cold. Apparently the dog heard me go out and when I come back, barks loudly for awhile to greet me.  Good dog.

This is the highpoint of my night.

My roommate’s slamming door tells me she doesn’t agree.

I check my phone — we have an agreement that if someone is staying over, we will explicitly let each other know.  Usually K will text me, knowing that I keep my phone off for texts at night — it won’t wake me up if I’m sleeping, but will let me know as soon as I’m awake — and there’s no text from K telling me that the (ex)GF is staying.

Now, logically, I know she’s staying.  The house is fairly quiet.  But still – they could be up and talking – I wouldn’t be able to hear that from my spot in the basement.  Or, if not talking now, then later on at night (Thanksgiving night they kept me up until almost 4am with their on-and-off again conversations) which would wake me up.

So, there I am in the basement, attempting sleep. Karma being what it is, because I disturbed the dog I’m now her keeper for the rest of the night and get to share the uncomfortable couch with her, making sleep even less likely. I get maybe – optimistically – 3 hours total…4:40am comes early when one is up to shenanigans all night.  I wake up in a foul mood, my day already spoiled. Which is probably my own fault.

Looking back, I should have immediately told them that they were being loud and to quiet down, please.  That probably would have either made them quiet down, or – if they didn’t – totally given me the high ground since I would have asked politely before getting mad.

I will say this:  because I knew I could fall back on the “you told me she wasn’t staying” thing, I didn’t exactly make it my priority to be quiet. Yes, I engaged in a little passive-aggressive warfare.  If they can’t be quiet for me, why should I be quiet for them?  Mature, right?

I get that my roommate is probably pissed at me for how I handled the situation.  I’m guessing that despite me not being informed that the (ex)GF was staying (and, in fact, explicitly told she wasn’t staying), she figured I’d make that assumption and should have been quieter.

Anyway, it’s the day after.  No apology text from K, which means she’s definitely mad at me.  And I certainly haven’t texted her, since I can’t seem to get this bit of nastiness out of my system either and don’t want to start a full-out war because of something that, in the grand scheme, isn’t all that important.

Yea, I get that part, too.  That I probably overreacted.

And that if it had been anyone other than (ex)GF it’s possible that I would have behaved more adult-like.

The resolution of all this should be interesting.  We’re usually pretty good at talking things out pretty soon after they happen — neither of us wants something to escalate into more than it’s worth.  Still, in my head, the conversation we’re going to have is heated and not ending well because it starts and ends with me doing a lot of accusing and not being nice.

What I’m hoping for?  That all those conversations die in my head.  That once confronted with this flesh-and-blood person who I love and really want to keep as friend and roommate, that I’ll do the compromising and apologizing that I need to do.  And also?  That she does the same.  She hasn’t let me down yet in this kind of situation, so here goes nothing.

No need for the dirty deed

Ever have one of those moments when everything is rolling along nicely, feeling happy, life is good and then a stray comment by someone totally takes you down?

That happened to me last night.

I was having a conversation with my roommate, K., about chicks and relationships and how it seems like everyone out there is crazy.  And then she’s bemoaning her awful fate:

K:  “…and I haven’t had sex in over a month!”
Me:  (incredulous look… I measure in years)
Me:  “Seriously? YOU are complaining to ME about THAT?”
K:  “But you don’t need sex.”
Me:  (silence)

She didn’t mean anything bad or evil or really ANYTHING by it, just an offhand, throwaway comment, I suppose.  But to me it felt like an absolute sucker punch. I went from joking and happy to barely able to contain tears.  I covered well, and K. didn’t really notice (she was caught up in her own girl problem drama). She kind of looked at me funny and was all, “I mean, it’s not like in any of your relationships that you’ve had a lot of sex…” … to which I responded that most of my relationships had been with guys and 99% of the time, it just didn’t feel right so it was something I avoided. And then I quickly ended the conversation.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want or need sex; I do.  Badly (how pathetic does that sound?).  But why talk about something that’s not going to happen anytime soon?  That’s just depressing.

I guess it was a shock to hear what her view was of me.  I mean, I’ve known forever that I’m not her type and she likely finds me as attractive as a box of rocks (doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, just no desire to nail me) … but to hear her say that she thinks of me as practically asexual — well, that was a blow. If the people closest to me perceive me this way, what must people who know me only casually think?  Am I a big, glaring, “no sex here!” billboard?

Most of last night into this morning was spent thinking about and over-analyzing my (lack of a) sex life.  It’s true — there’s been glaringly little of it through the years.  It’s also true that going years without sex makes the immediate need less, well, immediate, I suppose.  I’ve learned to just get along without it (well, at least with it involving another person, that is).  I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl (not that I’ve ever been propositioned), nor someone who will hook up with a friend just to have sex — that seems like it’d be fraught with danger (which has only happened once, anyway). So, I have some very long, very drawn-out dry periods.  One of which I’m currently in.

But maybe something needs to change.  I know that all things sexual make me blush — I come from a family where sex and love and anything vaguely related was never talked about, teased about, mentioned at all.  I know my family loves me, but we’re so anti-feelings, anti-touching, anti-communication that it’s always been a challenge for me to be open about anything, much less sex. But I think that maybe I just need to start being more bold, more outspoken.  Shock my friends with my willingness to chat about things between the sheets, perhaps.

Sure, I’d like someone in my life not only to rock my world, but do all the things that lead up to that.  This isn’t news to anyone.  But something to consider — that perhaps my dates don’t go so well because of some vibe that I’m giving off? Something that makes it seem like I’m closed off and not looking for a relationship (though, clearly, if I’m on a date — that originated from a dating website — I am)?  I don’t believe that you’ve got to be sexually over-aggressive to get what you want, but maybe I need to figure out a way to make sure that my big, gay, neon sign flashes, “Open for business!” instead of “Closed for the season…”.


I don’t get chicks.  I really don’t.

You’d think that being one myself, I’d have some sort of insight, but … no.

So – the first date I talked about last time?  It fizzled out in such unspectacular fashion that I’m still not quite sure what happened.  We emailed a few times, texted a few times.  She was going to Colorado, said that our schedules probably made it better if we hung out on the weekend (very true… I work early, she works late and we live about an hour apart) and that we could figure out a time to get together when she got back.

Which was great!  I was happy with that.  While she was in Colorado, I texted her and we exchanged a few notes.  She got back and I didn’t hear from her so I texted again and we texted for a few hours.  And then I started realizing that it was always ME texting and ME emailing and her just responding.  So – I decided to just stop.  She knows my number.

And you know how this played out, right?  I haven’t heard from her since then.

Which makes me sad.  Yea, I had thoughts of there being a potential relationship there.  But even without the romantic stuff, I thought we could be friends.  We have so much in common — and lots of activities to do together — that I thought it could be good.  I assume she’s all full-up in the friend department because I’ve heard nary a word from her.

It’s not as though she even really implied a future (aside from saying that we’d hang out when she got back from vacation), but I guess I would just like hearing, “Hey, you’re a great person and all but I’m not interested.”  We’re adults — I would welcome that far more than just silence and wondering what happened.

So, I’m making another foray into the online world.  At some point my luck has got to change, right?


So, as I alluded to in my last post, I actually had a date last night.

I know – amazing!  Will wonders never cease??

Let me back up.  I know I’ve talked about having done and been disappointed in the online dating world — people generally just don’t turn out to be who they say they are — and so I mostly gave up on it.  However, I still get the emails a couple of times a week, proclaiming that my perfect match IS LISTED RIGHT THERE!  HURRY!

And last week, the profile photo of the first girl listed caught my eye, for whatever reason.  With a hefty amount of skepticism, I clicked through.  And what did I find?  A profile that was apparently written by my stunt double.  I mean, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was trying to assume my identity!

I think I’m a bit of an anomaly out in the dating world; I don’t really like going out much.  I run and do triathlons.  One of my favorite activities?  Going to bed early so I can get up early and be active.  And this girl?  Well, it was like reading about myself.

When I got to her answer for “What do you typically do on a Friday night?” I knew I had a girl crush… her answer?  “Not much because I’m getting up early on Saturday to run.”  I mean, really — could she be more perfect?

So, I made contact — just a short email complimenting her on her recent Half Ironman race finish.  Didn’t want to overwhelm her with an epic novel the first time she heard from me, and plus — why spend time and energy on an email that will likely not be responded to?  That was my thinking.

To my surprise, about 5 days later I had a return email from her sitting in my inbox!  I was psyched.  And then?  A little email exchange happened over the next few days and it was all good.  No apparent psychotic tendencies. No requests for a threesome or her telling me she was married and just looking for something on the side because she was curious.  She seemed quite normal, in fact!  And like me in so many ways that it was almost a little eerie. Queue the Twilight Zone music, please.

We emailed about racing and our dogs and work and it wasn’t long before we were setting up a time to do a meet and greet.  Because no matter how well things go with correspondence, nothing takes the place of a face-to-face meeting to find out if there’s chemistry and if the person is who they say they are.  I mean, for all I knew, she could have been a 60 year old dude.  Or a talking dog.  Well, a typing dog.

The meeting was set for a local brew pub.  I got there early (it’s a disease! I can’t help it!) and was waiting at the bar, having a beer to both calm my nerves and talk myself down from the high expectations I’d built up.  She walked through the door, smiled at me and … wow.  First – she looked exactly like her profile picture (and that almost NEVER happens!).  Second – killer smile.

After the “wow” moment, we got a table and sat down and chatted for almost two hours.  Nothing earth-shaking, nothing too serious.  We have so many hobbies in common that it was easy to keep the conversation light without working too hard.

And I have to admit, by the end of the evening, I was definitely “in like” with her, but no longer overwhelmed and thinking about when we could move in together.  The difference between this and every other date I’ve had, though, is that I genuinely want to see her again.  I enjoyed her company and want to get to know her better.  If nothing else, she seems like a totally cool chick that I could see myself hanging out with at races and getting together with to ride bikes once the weather becomes a little less Chicago-wintery.

When we parted ways, things got a little weird and awkward … I’m still trying to figure this out.  Ending a date with a chick is like unknown territory for me.  My date seemed either nervous or not interested — I wasn’t sure which one.  I was just nervous.  So, from about 5 feet away from each other, we said our goodbyes.  I told her I had a great time, would like to do it again and if she thought so too, she should let me know.

I spent the ride home analyzing the date, trying to figure out what she was thinking about me, coming to no conclusions (I told you – I’m not good at this!). But an email was waiting for me when I got home… nothing too much more than saying she had a good time and thanking me for dinner, but I think it’s a good sign.

So… maybe?  Just perhaps?  The start of something?

A happy ending?

I lived on my own for a very long time.  Self-sufficient, independent, didn’t need anyone.  And then – in one genius move – I brought in a roommate about 9 months ago.

And it’s been HARD.  I know I’m not the easiest person to live with (though, to be fair, I totally warned K. of this before she made a decision), and I think I underestimated how big an impact this would have on me.

Sure, I’ve had roommates before:  one from a past life that ended when she started dating the guy I was was dating… while I was still dating him.  Another who needed a place to stay while she divorced her husband.  And a third that just needed a transition place while she saved money to move to a better, non-drug, non-gunfire kind of area.

None of these ended all that well.  I know that some of it was me, some of it not me, but in the end — I’m the common denominator, I suppose.  And so, while I desperately wanted K. to move in, there was a part of me that was incredibly reluctant because of the fear of ruining the friendship entirely.

But – as if the universe needed to prove me wrong – things have been working out really well, at least in the day-to-day living together kinds of things.  I cook, she does dishes, we both walk the dog and each of us is adult enough to do the icky household stuff instead of pawning it off on the other person — fun stuff like taking the garbage out and unloading the dishwater.  As a faux married couple who never leave the house, we’re a perfect match.

We’ve certainly had our ups and downs, though, and I can say that it’s mostly been because I had expectations going into this that didn’t match reality.  I thought that her moving in would automatically make her my best friend instead of just my roommate and my pretend wife-with-no-benefits.  Here’s a little foreshadowing:  it didn’t.

Yes, we’re friends.  Close friends, even.  But only really within the confines of the house.  Out in the real world, we’re two very different people — she’s more the party girl, going out all night, dancing on tables in bars.  I’m more the early morning run type, go out for an early drink and movie, and maybe twice a year go on a bender where I come home when the sun’s coming up.  So, we don’t socially mesh very well.

I’ve struggled with this, though.  I really thought she’d be the one to kind of take me by the hand and show me the city gay life.  But – that’s not to be.  We had a long talk today (in the middle of my trainer session with her… have I mentioned that she gets to beat me up a few times a week?) and kind of sorted things out.  I don’t know that I’m entirely happy with the outcome, but I get where she’s coming from.  And as always, it’s better to have more information rather than guessing about it.

So, I’m on my own.  But – very recently – light at the end of the dating tunnel.  Which just might help this situation out.  More later!