Caterwauling

… and it probably won’t be her last. Shame on me for buying an indigo-blue car when I work in a neighborhood overrun by Bloods.

I was driving along Liberty Avenue today when I started crying. Life should be wonderful for me right now. I have disposable income, a car, a social life, a wonderful family … what more could I need?

I need a new job. Desperately.

HRP is one heinous bitch to work for. I’ve been screwing up left and right, and she isn’t mincing any words by reminding me what a failure I am. Daily. Sometimes even more frequently than that. I understand that she has to criticize my work. But now that she’s dragging my personality into it, she has gone too far.

I refuse to record the hell I’ve lived through during the past six workdays. I have learned, though, that I will never, ever be right. And it doesn’t count that with the exception of Tiffany (whom I only have part-time till she leaves in June), she gave me a useless staff. I think it was the written warning that topped off my week, though. She’s a prize, I’ll tell ya.

I told F/OM that the directors are all a bunch of self-loathing masochists, as we take so much unnecessary abuse, act like she’s right all the time, and keep on trucking. I told him I am looking for another job, and that I can’t stand being this unhappy. He seems supportive of me, but I see his own weariness that he tries to hide. He loves his work, loves the agency’s mission. I don’t. I understand the mission, and I want kids in foster care to have good lives, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about their crackhead birthparents, nor their food stamps or TANF and whatever else.

My car got scratched up in January. My beautiful, brand-new baby. It’s a gang thing, I think, as I have an indigo car in a neighborhood overrun by Bloods. Parallel, 14-inch scratches on the hood. Mom has a cop friend who said that is a calling card, a sign that someone will be back. I am so sick of all the trashy men who hoot and holler at me, slimy bastards. It could be anyone. Brat was kind enough to walk me to my car for a few days, but now I just jet out early, as long as it’s daylight. HRP said that I can just pull my car around the front of the building, so I don’t have to walk so far in the dark by myself. Now why couldn’t she just tell me to keep going home at a reasonable hour? It’s not enough that I hate my job, but I hate the areas in which we work (East Liberty and Homewood).

It’s ironic – I used to feel unsafe outside of our buildings. Now, with her temper and ultimate distaste for me, I feel just as unsafe within the doors and walls, as well.

Brat got suspended for a stupid reason, and much to my chagrin, he wasn’t in the office on Monday. We’d gone to happy hour the Friday before that. No major highlights other than before he left, he pulled me into his arms and squeezed me so tightly. I ended up walking him to the door of Buffalo Blues, where we talked and looked into each other’s eyes. I know I could have kissed him and gotten away with it, but I didn’t attempt it (god knows we’re in enough trouble – I am starting to see very clearly why, even back then, he warned me that we could get fired for the slightest thing). When we were talking in the doorway, I could see him trying to reach out to me, and I finally let him. How I missed holding him. How I loved being pressed against him, stroking his side with my hand, holding my cheek against his.

I didn’t even try to put my lips to his, although I wanted to. I wanted to take him outside, to throw him against the nearest wall and slide my tongue into his mouth. But instead, I said, “Goodnight, Sweetie,” and our eyes met. He left shortly afterward. And I’ve been longing for him ever since.

It was the right thing to do, not indulging the magnetic force pulling us together, right? Because he’s been fine, living without me, for the past two months … and even though I want to love him and show him that love in any way possible, I can’t keep waiting for random moments like these. It does my heart well to know that he still wants me, and it gives me the hope that perhaps in his heart of hearts, he longs for me in some way. But I need so much more than this. So very much more.

The magic’s still there. I knew it would never leave. And if it’s meant to be, our time will come. I was hoping that Jeff’s existence would catapult Brat into reaching out for me again, but it didn’t happen. Not yet. I guess I hope that, when one or the other (and hopefully both) of us finds a new job, then we can be together.

There is always the chance that we will lose touch, when we each find new employment. But that is a chance I have to take. I love seeing him every day. I love the way our eyes lock unexpectedly. I love the way his eyes light up when I walk into his office to ask him a question or hand him Cassandra’s timesheet. I love the heat that passes between our bodies when we touch, and even when we don’t.

Jeff’s entry into my life was unexpected, and his departure, I have been expecting since the beginning. He’s still around – calls once in awhile; always instant messages me when he sees me online. I check up on him now and again, as there is a chat room I know he frequents.

In all honesty, I never trusted him, and I still don’t. And frankly, I don’t enjoy spending time with him. The sex is mind-blowing, though. That’s the only reason I didn’t make him hit the road. We disagree on pretty much everything, and he refuses to spend weekend nights with me. He was content with weekday sex, so he could get up and run home afterward. He did stay over a few Friday nights, though. But once the booty calls were over, there was nothing left for us. I think we had our last fuckfest two weeks ago – our “one for the road,” if you will. Valentine’s Day came and went, and Dawn, Lynda and I called him from the bar at Alexander’s, and I decided once and for all that I no longer need the occasional fuck from him. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up with a disease.

At any rate, it is sad that I can sum up our two-month relationship in one paragraph.

I’m not sure what I want out of this journal entry today. Maybe solace, maybe sanity, maybe sapience. At any rate, I hate working for Two Strikes, and without Brat’s smile, CTL’s concern, F/OM’s empathy and Tiffany’s wit, I would have left a long time ago. Now is the time for me to springboard, to use my title and position to find an even better job, even if it means taking a lower position and/or salary with another company. HRP has been threatening me with demotion and termination. I’d like to beat her to the punch. And frankly, sometimes I just want to punch her instead. There were two good jobs in the classifieds today (gotta love the Sunday paper) – I think I need to update that resume ASAP.

I speak to Wayne frequently. He’s so happy, now that he owns his own business. Works crazy, long hours, and love every fricking minute of it. I want to be that deliriously happy with my chosen profession. Friends are reminding me that I was never really happy with Two Strikes, even from the beginning. They say that I needed out of ES, and now I need out of here, too. It’s too bad, because I can really make something out of my position. But there’s too much to do, and not enough qualified labor. And they’re not happy that I am not in school yet. When the fuck would I find the time? And the energy? And the heart?!?!

All I want out of life, right now, is to be happy. I want health, wealth and love. I don’t’ need riches – I just need enough to be comfortable. I want a job that makes me want to awaken in the morning. And I want Brat by my side. Is that too much to ask?

I’ve been meaning to write, but I have been neglecting a lot of things lately. Work is so hard; I think I took on way too much, and now that everyone’s expectations are so high, it seems that I am disappointing them with my lack of outcomes. I’ve been thinking about leaving for a long time now, but then last night, I attended the staff Xmas party at The Priory, and I feel a bit rejuvenated by the fact that I really do work for a great company (if only on the surface, at any rate).

The party was eventful, to say the least. I spent a lot of time with my guest, and I spent precious little time with my boys, Brat and CTL. I guess I should qualify that I have been dating Jeff for two weeks now, and this was his formal debut into my life.

Jeff and I met at a party hosted by a friend of a friend of Judy’s on Dec. 8, and she and Chris had invited me to crash the party with them. Crashing parties is absolutely my idea of fun, and I was a willing cohort.

I was there when Jeff arrived. I noticed him right away, and he noticed me. I kept catching him looking at me, but I didn’t approach him. He spoke to everyone but me – I knew, though, that he would approach when he was ready. In the meantime, I was having fun hanging out with his friend Tom (who was just as sweet and as adorable as can be — and I wonder why I didn’t end up with him).

As predicted, Jeff saved the best for last, and he caught up with me when no one else was around me. We really started talking, though, in Tammy’s kitchen. Chris was on his usual mission to ensure that I was trashed – he was making drinks and shots for me. Jeff was in there with us, and well, Chris and Judy knew I had my eye on him. So we started talking and goofing around, even more so when Chris gracefully excused himself. After awhile, Jeff also left the room, kissing me on the forehead as he left.

I saw him again outside in front of the portable fireplace. I remember the smell of the burning logs and the crispness of the newly chilled December air (after weeks and weeks of a heat wave). Right by the fire, Jeff grabbed me and kissed me, and I liked it. We ended up hiding in a corner of Tammy’s yard, leaning against her white picket fence, kissing and doing whatever else came naturally. 🙂

We exchanged numbers and then he left. When I caught a glimpse of myself in Tammy’s bathroom mirror, I looked like I’d been in a car wash with the sunroof open — I was a wreck. But I had a grin on my face that seemed to be permanently etched there.

Jeff called the next day, much to my surprise and delight. We set up a date, and he took me out. Honestly, I was less than impressed with the outing (i.e., he bought a sandwich for us to share, and asked me to buy a six-pack of beer to take to my place). Argh!!! I was so tense that I needed that damn beer, and I vowed to myself that this was going to be the last time I ever saw him.

Once we were at my house, drinking and watching TV, well, let’s face it — we were both insanely horny and basically raped each other. While I did not forget that the date was unremarkable, I definitely took note of the fact that we clicked sexually. Right away, I realized that the best way for me to deal with him was to either feed him or fuck him — as long as he had something in his mouth (preferably me), he was all right by me.

The sex is awesome. Hell, I’ve been leaving work early (as if you could consider leaving work at 7 p.m. early) so I can go home, scrub my butt and be ready for him to come over. I am such a ‘ho, but damn it, I am entitled, especially given my recent past, to have a good time for a change.

So, for the Two Strikes holiday fiesta, well, I was debating about whether to invite him. I mean, I figured it might be best to go solo, because of my position, as I knew everyone would be judging me and monitoring my every move. But then I decided to bring him along — he’s a part of my life right now, and well, I hadn’t really told Brat and CTL about him, and maybe this was chickenshit of me, but it was kind of my way to show them — at least Brat, anyway — that I can move on … that I’m not just his discards … that other men find me desirable and want me in their lives.

Argh.

At any rate, the Two Strikes party was a lot of fun for me. I loved having someone there at my side, holding my hand and kissing me in the darkened room. It also kept me from being forced to socialize with HRP’s various relatives — I had someone upon whom to focus the bulk of my attention.

Dealing with Brat and CTL was an experience in discomfort, but Jeff seemed oblivious. I introduced everyone to each other, and I know all the boys ended up outside together at the same time on a smoke break, but other than that, we never crossed paths. Somehow, I felt the boys were avoiding me. Maybe I was being hypersensitive — or maybe they were graciously staying out of our way so that Jeff wouldn’t get any idea of what was really going on with all of us. All I know is that there was to be an after-party somewhere, but the boys left without even saying goodbye to me, let alone telling me the details of where to meet up with them afterward, as I had expected. Oh well. Jeff took me to the North Hills, where we barhopped and eventually met up with some friends of his. I could tell that his friends loved me (I’d met them at Tammy’s). We looked so damn good, all dressed up for the holidays, amid the local yokels. Some joking ensued, that he had to pull it together and work a little harder to impress me. lol. If they only knew …

Of course, we went to my place late that night and had a mindblowing fuckfest.

I know that we will never end up together, and I don’t even want it. I am committed to enjoying the bounty of orgasms that he brings to my world. And with all the tension that my job gives me, I get to work out that aggression nearly every night in bed with him. Aaaah. What a perfect arrangement!!!

Got an email from CR today, complete with a link to a website with photos of his new baby, born 10 Nov. 01. Lewis Robert. Cute as a button. Looks just like his dad. Oh, the agony.

Between the twinges of guilt for what I did in June to the pangs of loneliness I feel without CR in my life, I feel like hell. Couple that with the loss of Brat that I am finally beginning to accept, add to it the frustration of CTL still actively pursuing me and multiply it by the general depression I experience as I enter yet another holiday season as a single person, and what do you get? Psychotic soup. A recipe for disaster.

And that’s to say nothing of the bullshit that Incoherent Twit keeps pulling at work. But she is of no consequence to me – just another cross I have to bear.

I was wondering when I would hear about this blessed little event (the baby). I figured it would come as it did, via email, like the announcement of the pregnancy did. I’m sure CR is excited about his newborn son, but I reflect upon Kristin’s certainty that this baby was probably conceived to save this marriage.

Oh well. I really hoped that someday, somewhere, we would be together. But now that child #2 is here, I know that will never happen. Not in this lifetime. Maybe as CR and I go into our seventh lives together (as the sixth life for both of us is nearly halfway over, with no signs of us gravitating back toward each other), we’ll get one step closer together. Who knows?

Outta my system. Over it.

Now to reach the same “over it” attitude with the feelings I developed for Brat. Not sure what he felt for me. Am sure it was something. But now, where did those feelings go? Do they still exist? Or are they transparent, almost nonexistent now? What do I have to do to get him back? And can I? And how?

And then there is CTL, who confessed to me twice this week that he still harbors feelings for me and wishes I would come around. Keeps asking for my number and reminded me of one time when he asked for it and I said I didn’t want him calling me. I feigned surprise and said that although that sounded like something I would say, I never said that. (heh heh – I’m such a bitch!) He asked me out for this past Wednesday, and I said no b/c I was meeting the family for dinner (honestly, I was). He said he could go with me. I said no. Then he asked me out for yesterday (Friday). Said I was seeing my mom for Light Up Night (which truly was the plan although it didn’t happen). So he said he’d be glad to come along, and maybe we could find a night that just the two of us could go out.

On Monday night, he walked me to my car and said that he knows I have feelings for Brat. I said I would neither confirm nor deny that statement. He said he could see it in my eyes.

My question to myself, then, is why does he keep pursuing me if he knows I have fallen so hard for Brat? Would I honestly work my way around the circle of friends, when my heart is with the other guy, whether that other guy wants it or not?!?!

Lori pointed out to me that CTL is still with his girlfriend, so if he’s willing to dump her for me, wouldn’t he dump me for the next good thing? I honestly never went that far in my mind, b/c I don’t see us dating.

Lori had posed the question to me that, had I never developed an interest in Brat, would I date CTL? I said yes – I think CTL is sweet and fun and that he would treat me phenomenally well. And if Brat truly doesn’t want anything to do with me, then why not consider CTL’s offers?

Honestly, if I would say yes to CTL, it would be purely to spite Brat, and I don’t want to play that game. I have played the games; I know them well. I am tired of all that shit – I told Brat that when Colin was trying to get laid. And I meant it. Been there, done that, over it.

I know Brat and CTL went out together on Thursday night. CTL gave me the details – that Brat had an extra ticket to an event, and that Brat asked him to go. (Could Brat have asked me to go?!?! Hmm. Ouch.) Blah. At any rate, at Dave & Buster’s on Thursday, Harvie was asking us to stay for happy hour later, and those two got to talking about their night ahead. Something was mentioned about them having a “double date” with two girls. I was not a happy Dawn, but I said nothing, hoping for more details. I didn’t get them, unfortunately. And CTL was gone all day yesterday. Brat sure as hell didn’t offer any tidbits, and I didn’t ask. Instead, I finally called CMU Boy, the professor with whom I’ve been playing email tag, who is single and up for meeting. Left him a message. Again, is it the spite issue? I guess not, ‘cuz Brat doesn’t know about it.

CMU Boy had a great voice on the machine, but his message was kind of odd. Something about the caller can leave a msg saying what they want. Of course, he could be direct like me, and that ain’t a bad thing. How bad of a person can he really be – after all, he loves Melissa Etheridge just as much as I do!!!

Mom says I always have an ace up my sleeve. Damn right I do. Can’t sit around all my life, waiting for men to figure out what they’re missing … I’d die an old maid!

“It’s been awhile

But I can still remember

Just the way you taste.”

– Staind, ‘It’s Been Awhile” –

I haven’t really had the inclination to record my life since the night Brat left me here alone. I did do some scribbling when we were in South Carolina, sure, because I was losing my mind and needed some kind of outlet. It was so hard being with him, having fun, going to dinner, meeting between seminars for smoke breaks, wandering around the city … and not being able to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him how lost I felt since that fateful night.

Two weeks before we left for Charleston, he invited me to a CYF happy hour that was being held in honor of his 25th birthday. I was hesitant to go because I left CYF on a bad note and I thought they would stone me on sight. But the people I knew seemed really happy to see me, and the new people I met were congenial and pleasant to drink with. Happy hour started at Roland’s in the Strip, and we made our way to North Versailles to go bowling. (Yes, I bowled! What kind of cosmic accident could cause such an occurrence?!?!)

On the ride to the bowling alley, I was toying with when to give him his b-day gift (a Dale Earnhardt Sr. watch – He has Earnhardt memorabilia in the bedroom where I stayed). When we parked, I gave him the gift, and he surprised the wits out of me by saying, “I love it!” and kissing me full on the lips.

Then he jumped out of the car, and I was slightly dazed, but I soon followed. Then, walking across the lot, I slipped my arm around his waist, and he placed his arm around my shoulders. Twice, I stopped to kiss him. Both times, he kissed back. It felt so right.

Alas, though, that was the end of the affection, as we were meeting people and as far as anyone was to know, we were merely colleagues. And besides, later a Two Strikes caseworker showed up (unexpectedly), so it was best to not be touching. She seemed surprised as hell to see me out and about; I guess people don’t think directors have lives – either that or she was just shocked to see me fraternizing with the masses. Whatever. I didn’t care.

Well, I am a horrible bowler, so I wasn’t too unhappy when we left at midnight when the place closed. As he changed back into his regular shoes, he looked straight at me for the longest time with those amazing eyes of his. I felt warm all over, and I couldn’t wait to be alone with him.

The ride home was silent. Period. He said nothing the whole way from North Versailles. As we turned onto McArdle, I finally commented on how quiet he was. “Just thinking,” he said.

When we pulled up in front of my apartment, we kissed a few times. I wanted him to come in, but I could tell he wasn’t budging from his seat. He smiled while we kissed – that turned me on incredibly. I invited him to come in for awhile, but he said no, that we were going to have a whole week together in South Carolina soon enough. So I asked him for a hug. He knew what I was up to, and he didn’t resist. Once I had him in my arms, I started kissing his neck and his ear (I gathered from our first time together that he really liked that). That did it – he said he would stay.

Once inside, I played with Maddie for a few minutes, and then I put her down and crawled over to where he was sitting on the floor. And then I basically ravaged him. 🙂 Maddie seems cool with him, so I told him my house rule was that if one pussy likes him, he gets the other one for free.

The foreplay and everything else was just fabulous. I had missed having him next to me. We kissed for the longest time … it was sweet and tender and sensual. He was wearing the sweater he had given me to wear at his house. He knew I remembered … later, when I pulled it off of him, I commented, “MY sweater!” He laughed and said he knew that was what I was going to say. (Between you and me, dear journal, it looks better on my floor than on either of us!!! I love having him naked in my arms.)

When we were kissing, I said, “I want you.” He asked why. (This was a repeat of our first time together, when he told me he wanted me and I asked why. This time, I said, “Because I do.” We kissed again. “Do you want me?” I asked. “Yes,” he breathed, as he pushed me onto my back and began grinding against me and kissing my neck (which he knows is my favorite place to be kissed).

If only I had known it would be the last time he would be in my arms. If only I would have known of the heartache I still face today.

Can’t write anymore tonight. Just can’t do it.

The silence remains unbroken.

Tonight is the worst night of my life. The absolute worst. I can’t believe I can feel this absolutely rotten.

Tomorrow (today) is supposed to be the best day of my life. I bought my very first car, an indigo blue 2002 Pontiac Sunfire. I don’t even remember how to drive, and I’m 27 years old. I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car since Halloween day, 1993, when I was 19 — the day I passed my driver’s test. I’ve relied upon Pittsburgh’s lovely public transportation system ever since. I finally, a week ago, got fed up when it took me two hours to do my two-bus commute from the ghetto where I work to my apartment high atop Mt. Washington — which is, in a car, a seven-mile commute each way. Waiting for the EBA for an hour (for the six-minute ride), and another 45 minutes for the 41E (then 15 minutes on that), was unacceptable.

My new car, which I will name after the “Sex and the City” character Samantha Jones, was the first car I sat in. And yes, I sat in it. When the dealer (a flaming gay guy who also goes to my beloved Pegasus bar) asked me to take it for a test drive, I just laughed. Told him he must not value his life. He laughed at me — he’s never had a customer who decided to buy a car who didn’t DRIVE the car off the lot that same day. Heh. It’s silly, I know, but I’ve always worked jobs with shitty wages, so shitty that I could barely afford my $40/month bus pass. But now, I’m an executive, and I need to have a car so I can actually get to work and go to off-site meetings without sheepishly asking fellow directors for a ride. It’s just plain humiliating to not have a car, at my age, in my position.

But now I have a car. Mom is going to come to my house, and we are going to take two buses out to Bloomfield, to my dealership. She rocks. She is going to drive the car off the lot for me and take me out on the road. (And she thinks she has a gray hair or two NOW. …)

While I am excited about acquiring Samantha, I am sick and sad. He left me. He left me here, naked and begging him to stay. Begging him to reconsider our clandestine entanglement — begging him to not walk away. He says it’s because we work together, because I have a higher position at work, because it just can’t happen anymore — it can’t happen at all. I hate him. I wanted to tie him up, tie him down, reason with him, tell him that you just don’t leave someone in the middle of, well, nighttime festivities.

Yet I don’t want to hurt him as much as he’s hurt me. I could never do that — I don’t ever want anyone to feel the excruciating agony that I am feeling right now.

I never dreamed I could ache so much. And given what I went through this summer, I truly believed that I’d never feel so terrible again — I can’t believe I deserved to hurt as much as I did then, and now, I have new wounds with which to contend.

I simply cannot take any more pain in my life. Cannot. Cannot. CanNOT!!!

At least, it seems that things are headed that way.

Brat and I hooked up last night, and I find myself hoping that it was the first time of many that we share a symbiotic breath.

The song that keeps running through my mind:

“Running down a central reservation

In last night’s red dress

I can still smell you on my fingers

And taste you on my breath.”

— Beth Orton, “Central Reservation” —

It was quite unexpected, actually, but not unwelcome. It felt so real. I can’t get him out of my head … the taste of his kisses, the softness of his skin, his gentle giggles and murmurs. I can’t let this become a one-nighter — I didn’t want him to leave my bed, ever. It’s incredible to be with someone for whom I have a deep well of feelings. Are my days of empty, cheap sex finally over, or are they still simply in progress?

How it all began was with an invitation from Brat to attend a Two Strikes happy hour at Buffalo Blues in Shadyside. I was apprehensive about going (what with My Hero, at the command of Her Royal Pretentiousness, continually discouraging me from fraternizing with anyone in the agency), but he talked me into it — not that I needed much convincing from him.

Conversation at the bar stopped when we walked through the doors together. I wasn’t sure if they were curious about us or if they were simply amazed that I would defect from the director’s circle. ‘Twas probably a combination of both, but I wasn’t overly fazed at being a show-stopper.

Surprisingly, I had a lot of fun with my colleagues — the ones I am all but barred from getting to know on any more than a surface level. Met an ex-employee, Beth, who made quite the impression. When she cozied up to me and absentmindedly brushed the hair from my face, I knew I’d met a kindred. (I later learned that she and Brat had been involved.) I ended up with her phone number and a kiss on the cheek. 🙂 Chris in Minnesota is MOST impressed with me!!!

Beth and Brat have apparently had some discussions about me. She was telling me that she told him she believes I will take over her reign as queen of Two Strikes. I told her I could only hope to be the princess to her queen. 😉

My buddy Steve (from college, not the wack-nut ex!) arrived awhile later — we had plans to do dinner and drinks, and I had gone to happy hour to kill time till he was available. When he arrived, I noticed that Brat and I really weren’t talking anymore. Steve also commented to me that Brat seemed really uncomfortable, watching me laughing and joking with Steve. Hmm. Interesting.

Finally, I was sitting between Brat and Steve, and I told Brat about Steve’s comment — in response to Beth’s saying how cute Steve is (hey, she’s right, ya know!) — “Yeah, so is my boyfriend!”

That did the trick. Brat warmed up again immediately. Strange.

Beth next cozied up to Steve, and Brat and I went to get drinks. We took different seats and started talking. I was aware that Bonita and Sonia were listening to us, so we attempted to talk in riddles. I asked how Colin was, and from the look on Brat’s face, I knew that was not the happiest relationship. I said that I nevr wanted Colin to be mad at me, and I don’t want tension between them because of me. Brat said that Colin is mad at him. I was surprised by that and asked why — I’d figured Colin was pissed off at me for rebuffing his advances — why on earth would he be mad at Brat? “For obvious reasons,” he said quietly.

I wondered why, because nothing happened. Oh, to have overheard that conversation. …

Steve and I left shortly afterward. Brat walked out with us so that I could get my briefcase and jacket from his car. After he handed me my stuff, our eyes met and we began to embrace. I went to kiss him on the lips (it was reflexive, really), and I thought he would go for it (given the tension building between us thus far), but he turned and kissed me on the cheek instead. I kissed his cheek, too, and Steve and I left. That’s when Beth saw us and had Steve pull over, whereupon she ran up to me and kissed my cheek. One only wonders what would have happened if I’d turned to face her full-on instead. …

Steve theorizes that Brat didn’t want to kiss me in front of him, but I was convinced that either he didn’t want to kiss me on the lips or that he was afraid a colleague might see us — and unfortunately, our grapevine at work has a direct line into HRP’s, and therefore My Hero’s, office.

At any rate, after we left, we met Steve’s friend Matt at Steve’s house. I reached for my phone to call Kristin, only to realized that I’d forgotten my cell phone at Buffalo Blues.

We went back to the bar, but no signs of my phone were evident — the group was gone and the bartenders hadn’t picked one up when they cleaned. I knew the crew was headed to a scary (to me) bar in Wilkinsburg, and we went there in search of my cell. While Steve and Matt sat safely locked in the car, I strolled in to find my buddies. (Let’s just say I didn’t have enough gold ‘teef’ to fit into that bar. …) I went to the back of the bar without incident (whew), and the first person I saw was Brat (hard to miss a hot white boy in a bar like that!). He had my phone in his pocket. He fixated his enormous green eyes on me and wordlessly handed him the phone. I thanked him and whispered that he should come out with my friends and me. I think for a moment he was highly tempted — or, at least he seemed that way — but he thought better of it and opted to stay. I left, looking over my shoulder, noticing that Beth and company were watching our every action.

So, Matt, Steve and I went to dinner at Vinnie’s (I take everybody there — best pizza on earth! I even cheated on my Atkins diet so I could partake). As we were driving back to Pittsburgh from the North Versailles-based restaurant and debating about where else we could go to drink, my trusty cell rang. (Glad I got it back!)

It was Brat. When I picked up, all he said was, “Where are you?”

I knew it was him; I love that voice. I’d know it anywhere. I didn’t need a hello or even a moment to wonder who that was. My body warmed up instantly.

I told him that we were looking for a place to go next, so he suggested The Attic in Oakland. I estimated that we’d be there in 15 minutes. Ten minutes later, he called to ask if we were in Oakland yet (which we were). I noticed later that I’d missed a call in that timeframe — could he have called me three times?

The Attic was, as usual, filled with underage kids — there was a rave going on at the bar below it (formerly The Upstage — I think the new name was Lava Lounge), and it was a dry rave. Ugh. So we went to Denny’s Bar, a tiny place a few streets over that was playing a bunch of Bon Jovi songs on the jukebox (yay!). Brat chose not to drink, which struck us all as odd. I had a few sips of my beer — I wasn’t really in the mood to keep drinking, because I was insanely curious why he wanted to see me.

We started exchanging those unmistakable “I want to kiss you” glances. He would look at me, look away and smile, and I would do the same thing. Finally, he decided it was time to leave … together.

I didn’t even think to say anything to Steve — I was so swept away in whatever heat the moment was holding for me that I couldn’t even form a thought or a plan. All I knew was that we were on the cusp of something and that the night was only just beginning.

Once we were outside, we began holding hands. Across the street from the bar, I turned to him and kissed him on the lips. This time, he didn’t turn away.

I thoroughly enjoyed kissing him. I could seriously kiss him every day for the rest of my life and be happy.

We ended up hiding under someone’s balcony and kissed some more. The taste of him was familiar and sweet, as if I had known him forever. His fingertips found their way under my sweater, drawing circles on the small of my back. He was both cautious and bold, and I was swept away.

Eventually, we headed back to my place. In the car, he took my hand and never let it go. Even when he commented that it was difficult to drive with one hand, I opened my palm to let him have his hand back. But he didn’t want that — he kept his palm pressed against mine until I curled my fingertips around his again.

When we arrived on my street, there were no parking spots left. It was clear that it was my decision whether he came in when he asked, “Will South Carolina be more exciting than tonight?”

I said I thought so. But I invited him in anyway — not planning to do anything sexual. But in my mind, I was intrigued by his covert admission that he was thinking about the two of us during our upcoming escape to Charleston for a development/accounting conference … much like I was.

He said he would come in for a litttle while. Of course, the apartment was in complete disarray — very uncharacteristic of me, by the way — but hopefully I managed to distract him!

I brought Maddie to him. She was quiet, curious, compliant. He must have literally rubbed her the right way, because her tail began bouncing around, and she got her content-kitty look. Then she rubbed her nose against his — and the only other people she does that with are Mom and me. She was clearly — uncharacteristically — charmed by him.

Because Maddie was enthralled, it was just a given that he would have access to the other pussy in the house as well. 😉

I lit some candles and joined him on the couch, kissing him and curling up next to him. I couldn’t believe it — there I was, in the arms of the man who had consumed so many dreams for so many weeks. I was amazed at my fortune.

I’d prefer not to divulge the blow-by-blow (ahem) events of the evening, but let’s just say that it will be a couple of days before my toes uncurl! 😉

I remember every kiss, every tease, every caress. I especially remember lying beneath him, kissing him as he moved inside of me. I remember those phenomenal eyes glistening in the moonlight from my window as we clung to each other. I never wanted to let him go — I never wanted to surrender the ecstasy of being with someone for whom I had developed such intense desire.

Parting, as it eventually occurred, was difficult for me. What went unsaid was that I have never, ever wanted anyone to stay … usually I am thrilled when they are out the door (or, when it’s not my place, when I am the one sprinting for the door).

He quipped that nobody ever tired him out before that, but that’s what I did. I reminded him that he was tired before we even got started. 😉 Then I gave him a lil whack on his cute little ass with his belt.

We held each other for a few moments inside the doorway. He pressed his lips to mine for a very long moment. When he came up for air, he said he knew that kiss wouldn’t last forever, but that he really hoped the impression of it would.

It did — and will.

We talked briefly on the porch (and kissed). He watched till I closed the door — he told me there are crazy people out there, and he wanted me to be safe.

Yep, I’ve fallen. Hard. No turning back on this one.

As he was getting dressed, he told me that he knows that I have a lot to think about. “As do you,” I said. He told me that he would be thinking about this night for a long time to come.

Likewise.

“Are you breathing

What I’m breathing

Are your wishes the same as mine]

Are you needing

What I’m needing

I’m waiting for a sign.

My hands tremble

My heart aches

Is it you calling?

If I’m alone in this

I don’t think I can face

The consequences of falling.”

— k.d. lang, “The Consequences of Falling” —

The real reason that I think I am not into Phil, quite frankly, is because my mind was wandering on Friday night. Who was I thinking about? You guessed it … Brat.

I was wishing that I were looking across the table into green eyes, not brown ones. I was reliving the previous Friday night, remembering that the next morning, he made me breakfast. And even if Brat were the remotest bit interested in me, he didn’t make a single move. I think, if Brat might have the same feelings for me that I have for him, he is smart. He knows that I require a bit more effort than the average woman. I’m tired of games, no question about that, but courtship is a dance. When someone just puts it out there that he is interested (like Phil does), I think it’s cute and I get bored. With Brat, I am guessing and subsequently, my own interest is intensifying. It will be a real letdown if this is only one-sided. But I will live.

It is the series of memories and dreams involving Brat that keeps me alive. While I may never truly get over CH and the abortion, I thinkt that what has kept me going through these very difficult past few months was the promise of a tomorrow with a wonderful man. I hope Brat is that man. I have never met anyone like him. And I don’t think I will again, if I were to let him go without a fight.

That Friday at the Creekhouse, he gestured for me to walk in front of him. He always does that. Always holds doors for me, even if I opened them and told him to go through before me (never would he do that, but I wouldn’t think it wrong, if ever he did). Always insists that I go first up the stairs or in the hallway, when we can’t walk beside each other. There are so many instances of chivalry that I have noticed. Finally on Friday, I looked right at him and told him that I wasn’t quite used to being treated so well … that he has real manners. He looked squarely in my eyes and replied that his mother taught him well. I replied that, yes, she did.

Judy was just thrilled by the stories I was telling her last night. She loved how he offered to drive me home because Colin was acting goofy; she fawned over his concern that Maddie needed to be fed; and she absolutely gushed over the comment about his mom. Said that he’s clearly a wonderful man, and she wishes that I can have him as a permanent fixture in my life. Said I deserve somebody like him. Said she loves him more and more, with every story that I tell. And that he gives credit to his mother, well, that clinched it for her. Said I’ve got to love a man who loves his mother.

(In Steve-o’s case, he loved his mother and was seeking a girlfriend to take the place of his mother, so I won’t jump on that one! But I do see her point — Brat was truly brought up right.)

One other story that made Judy happy (oh, and me, too!): On Monday, we had a leadership meeting (read: public humiliation debacle) in scenic downtown Homewood (yay gang violence). At lunch, Brat and CTL and I met outside to eat and smoke together. Brat stood up and said he was going inside and wondered if we needed a drink. CTL said no, and I said yes. When he came back, he handed me a cup and said apologetically, “It’s not sausage and eggs.”

Sausage and eggs, of course, is what he had made me for breakfast only two days before.

So I said gently, “Next time.” I also said it with certainty, with expectance.

CTL asked what we were talking about. Practically in unison, we said, “Nothing.” And we shared a little smile.

Anywho, I find Brat to be such a fascinating individual. And he is the challenge, the intellectual equal and opponent I desire. He’s up on world events, he remembersmy stories and he has plenty of activities and stories of his own to contribute. I find myself being mesmerized by him.

Even when we are together and not saying a word, I am happy. And whether we are 10 feet apart or within two inches of each other, I can feel him. I want him to be aware of me, to feel incomplete without me. And if he is already, I want him to realize it.

Perhaps it’s the sincerity in his eyes that draws me to him. I don’t know. Mom used to say that when J.O. and I were in photos together, we both lit up around each other. At any rate, I know what she meant — that we were so close and so attuned to each other that we blossomed around each other, so much that it was visible in our eyes. Are my eyes glowing when I see Brat? I have no doubt about it. I know that, when I look into his eyes, I feel so calm yet so excited all at once. And even when he is having a miserable day at work (by the stories he tells, and given our environment, miserable days are to be expected), when he looks at me, he seems OK. I always wish I could make it better for him, and I always tell him that. And I sincerely would like to take away any unpleasantness in his life — if I could kiss it all away and be his source of happiness, I think I would be content on so many levels, for a long time to come.

And that’s just a scary admission for me to make. “Forever” isn’t really a word that I utilize in my vocabulary. And I’m not ready to integrate it just yet, either. But I’m willing to think about it.

But we hav so much in common. From religion (the lack of it) to music (rock and alternative), we never run out of things to talk about. And maybe, just maybe, if we would ever find a gap in the conversation, perhaps we can occupy our lips in another way!

And so the dreams continue. …

Went out with Phil on Friday. Second date. He seems to think this is going really well … as if I have girlfriend potential or something. I don’t know. He’s very nice, has paid for dinner both times, and seems genuinely interested in me. Had to fight him off, of course, to keep him from coming up to my place. Even though I am on the Pill now and my body is adjusting somewhat to the recent trauma it has experienced, I am in no rush to get into a sexual relationship with anyone, let alone someone I don’t know if I want in my life for very much longer.

I feel like such a bitch, but he just makes me nuts. Reminds me way too much of my nitwit ex Steve. (Incidentally, I just pitched all of my old Steve-o memorabilia … the ex-files, if you will.) Looks at me so darn adoringly (we used to call it “ooking” with Steve — rhymes with “kook”), and I suppose if I returned the interest, I would think it was sweet. On the first date, I thought it was cute, and I also thought it was cute how he would put his hand across the table, hoping I would reach for it. He kept doing that on Friday, and I kept withdrawing and lighting up cigarettes so that my hands would be busy. Ugh. What is wrong with me? I have been so pissed for so long because I couldn’t find a good guy. I’ve been wanting a relationship for a long time, and here is one, staring me in the face, and all I feel is pity for this man who seems to think I can be the love of his life.

He laughs nervously when I look at him. Again, I let it slide initially, but already it irritates the shit out of me. And in true Dawn form, I asked him if I intimidate him. He did that stupid laugh and said no. I didn’t believe him — why else does he giggle so crazily when he looks at me, when nothing is being said? I told him it’s okay, that it amuses me that I intimidate people (he’s certainly not the first), but if people are so insecure that they let me bully them, then I think it’s funny, because I am usually pretty harmless.

Like I said, he was offended, but it was in response to a comment that I will detail later. Furthermore, if he weren’t easily intimidated (even though he seems to think he isn’t), then he would have found a way to put me in my place. The opportunity for a challenge for my tired mind went unrecognized … by him. Damn it — that could have been an easy way to keep me amused.

(Sidenote: When Phil was in the restroom, I called Chris K.’s cell phone and announced that I was bored out of my wits. We were supposed to get together later in the night, but it never happened, and my call was to check up on him and Judy and to find out when they could possibly bail me out.)

After the first date with Phil, I was okay with the way things went, but I don’t think I would have cried if he didn’t call me again. In fact, I was rather proud of myself for not fucking him, as is my ritual. Typically, I figure that I should find out right away if he’s a good enough lay to keep him around, but since my abortion, I figure that it is my right as well as my choice to wait, to save myself for someone who will be worth it. Not that fucking CH, in and of itself, wasn’t worth it — I had a great time with him,b ut I need someone who is going to be around if I want him to be around. CH can’t give me that. However, I think Phil would be more than happy to stay around,b ut I also feel that if I do give it up for him, I won’t be able to rid myself of him (and it would be the whole Steve-o pattern again).

Phil made the MISTAKE of saying, early in the date, that after our first date, he really had me pegged as a complete airhead. (?!?!) He said that he was pleased to learn that I was an intellectual, that I am a lot smarter than my initial impression. Chris K. is literally ready to hunt him down and beat some sense into him — Chris told me that there are many names that I can be called, but airhead isn’t one of them. If anything, I am way too smart for nearly everyone who crosses my path. (Yay Chris! I love that guy!)

I disagree with the last part of his statement, although not entirely. I told Phil that there is no need for me to discuss the world economy or how to solve the energy crisis in California. I informed him that while everyody else is watching movies and reading the National Enquirer, I’m reading books and keeping up on world events and am constantly trying to expand my knowledge of anything and everything. I know that I intimidate people with my brainpower, and on the first date, all I am out to do is see if this person can carry on a conversation and to learn more about them personally. It’s the second date where I pull out the political diatribes and see if I’ve found a worthy opponent.

And that’s the thing … he seems to think that he’s my intellectual equal. I can say that I do NOT believe that. And that’s what I want, more than anything. An equal, an opponent, a challenge. I do not find that in him, at least, not from what I have seen so far. He could end up being the love of my life, for all I know. But right now, I won’t venture down that road … because it’s probably a short road, from the looks of it.

Chris always says that it’s pointless to play with an unworthy opponent. He reminded me of that sentiment yesterday. Furthermore, Chris is still pissed about the airhead comment, even though Phil qualified it that he has certainly changed his mind. I had told Chris that I walked away from Date One with the feeling that Phil wasn’t the smartest condom in the case, and Chris said that after Date Two, Phil has only served to validate my initial impression.

My summary on Phil: great guy, good intentions, nice looking (Italian!) and seems to care about me. On the other hand, I don’t think he listens to me (I told him that on Date One), although he made it a point to announce on Date Two that he remembered my fondness for Bon Jovi, punctuated with the comment of, “See? I really do listen!” He shouldn’t have to TELL me that he listens … he should work a lil harder to prove it!

For instance, I told him on Date One that I do not like Friday night outings because I am tired by the time I arrive. And especially, I hate going straight from work to a date because I think everyone should go home and freshen up, and that would also break up the workday from the playtime much more effectively. I asked him if he felt funky from not going home to get ready. He said no, but after I shot him one of my famous (patented!) death glares, he agreed with me. (Note: I at least freshened up at work — even though I knew he wasn’t getting laid, I washed my coochie, freshened the deodorant and updated the hair/makeup/perfume just so I could feel good, but I could tell that he literally jumped out of his chair and raced down the street to see me — he was slightly disheveled and could have smelled better.) Whatever. At any rate, I reiterated that teh only way I can last on a Friday night is to go home, rest and jazz myself up, and then go out around 9 or so.

Did he listen? We will see, when and if he calls for Date Three. And as far as I am concerned, No. 3 is Make-or-Break-Date. But I do know that is difficult because neither of us has a car, so it’s not like I feel like traveling by bus to hang out. But why can’t he ask me out for a Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning? Oh wait. He goes to church. Ugh. Definitely NOT my cuppa tea!!!

Mom thinks I am being WAAAYYY too hard on him. First of all, she knows how hurt I was by CH and his apparent interest in forgetting what happened to us, particularly the suffering that I eventually incurred. So she (and some others) wonder if I am punishing Phil for getting scorched so badly a few months ago.

I don’t necessarily believe that. The only impact that my abortion has had, as far as Phil is concerned, is that I don’t feel I have to fuck him if I don’t love or desire him. (Per the old “Seinfeld” episode, he’s not “spongeworthy”!!!) And I don’t even have to love him — I just don’t want to reproduce with him. I wouldn’t have minded having CH’s baby. It would have been beautiful and brilliant, and I had enough love in my heart for CH at the time to understand that he couldn’t be a full-time father. And at that time, I thought he even might have come around eventually. But then we look at my own father, who hasn’t come around in 27 years, so I couldn’t fool myself into thinking that CH wouldn’t follow suit, and I didn’t want a daughter as disappointed in her father as I was in mine.

Oh well, back to Phil. With the whole airhead issue, the likelihood of him getting a third date is relatively slim, and anything else is out of the question. Read the next entry to discover why. …

I write today with an unfamiliar sense of certainty. The thought crossed my mind yesterday that I am in the right place at the right time; that all roads have led me in the right direction; that those roads are converging right before my very eyes.

In summary, whether or not my job at Two Strikes is right for me, my arrival there might have been the best thing I could have ever done for myself. Had I never arrived at Two Strikes, I never would have met Brat, adn right now, I can’t imagine what life would have been like, had we never met.

Long story short, I spent Friday night with him and his friends, and I stayed at his house that night as well.

It was the first time I’ve slept over at a straight man’s house … and actually slept! 🙂 And I have to say tha tit was one of the better nights of my life.

We started out at the Creekhouse with Colin and Bob and two other guys. I’d been there once before and hated it. Didn’t have a much better impression of it this time, either. Brat and I ended up taking off before everyone else, in search of more activity and excitement.

Drove to the Fox and Hound in Northway Mall. He was an awesome tour guide, pointing things out to me throughout the North Hills. Learned a lot abut him and saw some of the places and the home of people that are important to him.

Time absolutely seeps through my hands when I’m with him. Hours pass, yet it feels like only seconds, every one of them more precious than the last.

I keep looking for something more in his eyes — a sign that he will be in my life for a long time to come. In the intensity of his gaze, I think it’s there … at least, I hope it is.

We played darts until the rest of the crew arrived, which was about three rounds of darts later.

The four guys played darts and shuffleboard for the rest of the evening. That’s what I get for always hanging around groups of all men! But in true Dawn fashion, I found my kicks elsewhere. Hung out at the bar and met a guy, Carl, who was only too happy to buy me a drink and keep me company till Colin came looking for me! 🙂

Colin added an interesting twist to the evening. He made it clear, through little slurs and not-so-subtle hints, that he had full intentions on fucking me senseless that night. At first, I thought he was joking, but I quickly caught on and refrained from encouraging the banter. It’s not that I am opposed to sexy talk or even the act of fucking itself, but something was holding me back … something that would turn out to be a respect and maybe even a desire for the friend who introduced us.

I figured nobody heard his little asides (such as his comment that he was looking forward to looking through my CD collection later on), but Brat doesn’t seem to miss anything. The plan was that Colin would drive me home, because he lives closest to me (on the North Side), but Brat must’ve realized that Colin had no plans on seeing his own apartment that night. At some point, Brat put his hand on my knee and offered to take me home himself, but that if it were OK with me, he’d take me to his house to crash and then take me home Saturday morning, when he was more sober. He said he felt bad, but he was closer to his house where we were, and that he could take a couple of back roads and hopefully not get lost and/or pulled over on the way to mine.

I appreciated the offer, and a few minutes later (after another loaded comment from Colin, which later I learned was a blatant lie anyway), I agreed.

Brat was so sweet about it. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I know you have a kitty at home who probably needs to be fed.”

My heart absolutely melted What a sweetheart! I assured him that Maddie had plenty of food till the next day, but I appreciated his concern.

At that point, we all decided to leave — and no one knew what we were talking about. It became evident that Colin was more than ready to get me out of there, but I told him I had left my stuff in Brat’s car (I had purposely left my jacket in his backseat, I guess in hopes of having him decide to take me home instead of having Colin do it). Colin was pissed. Nastily, he snapped, “Fine!” and announced to the other guys that they were staying for another drink.

Outside, I thanked Brat, and I explained to him that I could definitely handle Colin and his advances, but I was grateful to not have to. I made it clear that I was neither scared nor offended — I just wasn’t in the mood to deal because I knew I would end up fighting him off. In my inebriated state, I went on to say that I don’t really need another notch in my belt — I’ve kinda been there and I’ve done that, and then some. I want more. And furthermore, Colin was doing a lot of talking … is he all talk?

Brat said he is, that he’s all bark and no bite. I laughed and told him that I bark, but I also bite! 😉

I recounted a conversation I’d just had with Chris and Judy, how I found myself asking why people can’t just go out for dinner and drinks anymore. It seemed to be Phil’s expectation that sex was a given. Chris reminded me of my old belief … why can’t I just fuck the guys? Why do I have to date them? Do I really need to talk to them too? 🙂

Brat was laughing. He promised to rag on me about this during future smoke breaks.

(I just realized I never recorded the info about my date with Phil, but I’ll do a synopsis later … if I feel like it!)

Brat brought it up about how he’s amused that I let him pick on me, but he reminded me that I’d told him long ago that I was fine with it. I said that I absolutely love it when he picks on me (I really do — the way his eyes glitter when he “gets” me is worth it!).

We got to his house, and all I can say is that I could see myself living there. 🙂 I just felt so at home, so comfortable. Loved his dog, Buster. Found myself wondering if he and Maddie could ever get along.

After my grand tour, we watched TV — “Real Sex” was on HBO. I curled up in the armchair and he stretched out on the couch. I found myself wondering what our boss would have to say about this situation.

We went to sleep awhile later. I cozied up in his spare room and he went up to his room. I was freezing, so I stayed dressed. Moments passed, and I heard him say my name. I extracted myself from my frozen fetal position, and we made eye contact in the dark. My goodness, what stopped me from pulling him closer to me? In that darkened room, with the faint hallway light behind him, he was incandescent.

He came over to offer me a sweater in which to sleep — he said he didn’t want me sleeping in my dress. It was a beautiful olive green. It smelled like him. I gladly wore it.

I awakened a few hours later, freezing despite the heavy sweater. Put my own clothes back on and put the sweater over everything. Traipsed downstairs, put on the TV and fell asleep watching “Bridges of Madison County,” which is a great movie to sleep to. (Loved the book, though!)

Was later awake and watching “90210” when Buster bounded down the steps. I was in the armchair again, with his sweater around my shoulders.

He came down awhile later, in glasses and a baseball cap. Adorable.

He let the dog out. He loves that dog so much, and I can tell the feeling is mutual. Just watching them playing and goofing around on the floor was quite endearing — I could see that he’s a very good daddy to him. 🙂

I promised to let Buster back in the house while Brat took a shower. Found myself wishing I had a change of clothing and some of my cosmetic products myself, because I was feeling not-so-fresh and wanted a shower myself (preferably with him, but I digress. lol). Oh well.

When he came downstairs, he made us breakfast. My, my. I was beyond impressed. Told him I’d love to hire him to take care of me.

We hung out and watched TV. He didn’t seem to mind having me around. I could have stayed there forever, but I really was longing for a shower and some different clothes.

When he brought me home, we hugged. Much as I wanted to kiss him goodbye, I was well aware of the fact that my teeth needed to be brushed (although I was chewing gum and I did use toothpaste), so I refrained. We did embrace, though. He held me so tightly. I nuzzled my cheek against his, and I was sated by that. We let go of each other, and our eyes met. He seemed happy. I know I was happy, too.

The rest of the day, when I was alone, was bizarre. I was visited by fragments of dreams and visions I’ve had throughout my life of a nameless and faceless entity. The visions came fast and furious, and for the first time in years, the random puzzle pieces of insight began to make sense. The nameles, faceless entity suddenly emerged with green eyes, light brown hair and a smile that could illuminate a starless night.

Will these newly clarified visions, though, reflect a yet-undiscovered reality?

Is he my reality?