Century Man.

I was so annoyed after coming up short in my biking group’s recent century ride, I scheduled another one three days later, on Tues, the 27th of Oct.   Posting a notice on the club’s message board, I was lucky to find another rider to go with me.  Masuo had missed the previous ride due to the flu, but was now recovered enough to give it a go.  We elected to tackle the same hilly “Sunrise Solitude” route as the previous ride.

Goofing around the night before, I procrastinated my bike maintenance until after midnight, fixing my flat, and installing my new lights in case they would be needed.  I was set to get a reasonable night’s sleep, until I suddenly remembered I also had a bent crank from my previous spills to repair.  It was a tougher job than I expected, because the aluminum alloy had a rather springy quality that made it resistant to straightening.  Eventually I figured out a way to rig it in the vise with strategically placed spacers, and crank it down to where it needed to be.  By the time I was done, I would only get three hours sleep before the alarm clock’s pre-dawn jangle.

I found driving through the heart of the metro and heavy rush hour traffic to get to the ride slightly ironic…isn’t cycling all about getting away from traffic?

We got rolling right about sunrise, and set a steady brisk pace.   We had short bathroom/snack breaks every 20 miles or so, with a long lunch break around the half-way point. I had gotten this tip from an Online cycling site, and I recommend it for anyone planning a century. Getting off the bike for a while and enjoying a nice sit-down meal will completely recharge you and make the rest of the ride feel so much more manageable and fun instead of formidable and grueling. For this Blue Book p56 loop, I highly recommend the Scandia Cafe at mile 57. (Note: they’re only open until 2pm on weekends.)

I couldn’t believe what a strong rider Masuo was, not only just getting over the flu, but also recovering from a serious rock-climbing fall where he broke several ribs and bones in his foot.  In fact, that’s the biggest reason he took up cycling, because his foot injury precluded him from running.  It was good for me to ride with him, though, because being slightly faster, he got me out of my comfort zone, pushing harder than I would’ve imagined was possible for me on a century ride.

It was a wonderful day for a ride, the sun was shining and temps were moderate. The Gateway trail was beautiful, fall colors at their peak, with the breeze sending brightly colored leaves dancing and cavorting down through dappled sunlight to rest softly on the trail like rose petals on a pillow. Speaking of the breeze, the wind picked up throughout the day, whitecaps on the lakes, flags straight out from their flag-poles, and we were riding full into the teeth of it on our late south-bound stretches where we were already feeling exhaustion. It was tough-going and I struggled to maintain my speed, several gear ratios deeper than usual.   Adding the wind made this ride seem so much more grueling compared to Saturday’s group ride. Running a faster pace at my limit was one thing, but those long stretches into that brutal wind took a lot more out of me than I care to admit. Couldn’t fake my way by with bravado and bluster, I was suffering, and had to dig deep.

My mind wandered, and I hallucinated about Deezy in her soft turquoise mini-dress, and I wondered what was wrong with me, putting myself through hell on a lonely road, when I should be in Las Vegas with her, relaxing by the pool, holding her hand, maybe stealing a kiss.

We finished in about 9 hours which isn’t bad considering our lunch break and the wind.  I think my first century, years ago, took over 10 hours.   I know on a calm day and a less hilly route, I could easily knock an hour more off this new century time. 

We celebrated our feat at Barley Johns, a local brew-pub near the route terminus.   Masuo treating himself to a $9 glass of designer beer, and I had my coffee, of course, and the most exquisite raspberry cheesecake with a tasty graham cracker crust that was at least a half-inch thick!

Unfinished Business.

My Meetup biking group’s century ride was on Saturday.  I had a blast, but things didn’t exactly go according to plan.  I have been riding all summer on knobby mountain bike tires, not minding the 10% or so extra rolling resistance as compared to everyone elses road tires, because I was still able to keep up with the group, and just get that much more of a workout.  For a century ride, I didn’t want 10% extra work, and have the equivalent of 110 miles of output, as well as worry about keeping up if I got tired, so I bought a new set of slicks from REI about 5 minutes before they closed on Friday night.  I installed them after midnight, didn’t get to bed until 2am, really compromising my sleep.  Not hybrid tires, full slicks.  Ill-advised.  I wiped out twice on wet leaves, bent my left crank, as well as took a few scrapes and bruises on my left knee, hip, and elbow.  Nothing like getting tossed around like one of Deezy’s bull-riders, but not exactly fun either. 

 

The biggest problem was the group spent too much time lolly-gagging on it’s breaks, and we were blessed with one slow rider who couldn’t keep up.  Group pace is dictated by the chain’s weakest link, meaning everybody else had to keep waiting for this one rider.  I took more than my share of time at the back, riding with him, pacing him, encouraging him, giving him little pep talks.  God bless him.  It would be convenient to complain about him, but I have to admire someone who’s in over his head, but too stubborn to quit.  Reminds me of me!  When it became clear that due to our slow average pace, finishing the full 100 miles before darkness was in jeopardy, the group elected to take several shortcuts on the route to make sure we all got back safely.  My plan was to somehow figure out a way to make up the lost miles after dark at the end of the ride. 

Bam.  8 miles from the finish, I had a flat tire.  My spare tube was the wrong size due to the new tires, I didn’t have a patch kit, and because I was stuck at the back, I didn’t have access to anybody else’s kit.  And my shitty cell phone died.  But I was lucky our volunteer “sag-wagon” eventually came along and stopped for me. I had my knobby tires in the wagon, but by the time I would’ve completed a tire swap, it would’ve been too dark to continue.  So, I sadly accepted a ride back to the finish in the sag-wagon.  And due to the extra missing miles, I put plans to complete repairs and go the full distance on the back burner.  

I didn’t mind that the sag-wagon was a Mercedes C230 Kompressor driven by a pretty and vivacious blonde group member.  I’m definitely not her type, and in Deezy mode, so I didn’t even bother flirting.   Besides, even though I like the active women in this group, I just want to be respected for my riding and for being a nice guy.  I certainly don’t want to get a reputation as one of those guys who is constantly on the make.  I just sat in the Kompressor’s passenger seat and decompressed with Sooty, the driver’s pooch, in my lap.  Hot and sweaty from the ride despite 30-40 degree temps, I didn’t even bother to object when she cranked my seat heater on “high” for me. 

So, I had an enjoyable post-ride meal with some of the group at a sports-bar.  I even got to watch a little Wild hockey at the same time.  It was good to see Cal Clutterbuck back in the line-up.  My kind of player.  I want a Clutterbuck jersey for my back, and a Clutterbuck mentality for my life! 

 

Then I performed some fatherly taxi service by shuttling Dana and her friend Ashley to Dana’s house for a sleepover change of locale.  I wasted an hour by first going to the house of the wrong Ashley parent.  Pffft.  Too tired to listen properly.  And after I dropped them off, I had to endure a 30-minute rant by former-wife (FW) since Dana apparently failed to obtain permission from her mom for the manuever.  But that’s something I’ve managed to get good at, standing there and patiently taking the abuse like a saint, without getting mad or fighting back.  This skill comes in handy.  Last winter, on a narrow Minneapolis street, the mirror of my truck whacked a mirror of a parked car.  I drove around the block to find a place to park and leave a note, but when I got there, I encountered an angry woman who felt the need to ventilate. I had Dana and one of her friends with me, so I had to set a good example. I just stood there and calmly handled it.  Practice makes perfect.  We went on to our bowling meetup and had fun like it never happened.  Previous versions of me would’ve never been able to pull that off. 

 

So, I finally at about 11pm, I stop at a 24-hour Super-WalMart, the only place still open where I can get a light and a patch kit for my bike.  I am so exhausted, I lean back in my car and rest my eyes for a minute, only to wake up and find out it’s now 3am!  I buy the stuff I need, but scrap my ambitions to finish the ride.  So disappointed.  With circumstances.  And with myself.  I may come up short in other areas of my life, but I’ve taken a little pride in being a hard-core rider.  Coming up short here really sucks.  So, I’m looking at the 10-day forecast, trying to figure out if I can still crank out a personal century yet this season. 

Amelia

Last night, I went to an advance screening of the movie “Amelia” with my daughter Dana.  It was a good movie, perhaps a bit longer than it needed to be, and it did drag at times.  What I liked is it wasn’t just a biography of the aviator’s life and accomplishments.   It focused more on her complicated marriage with Putnam than on her mysterious disappearance.  She made her mistakes, but discovered she really did love him, and by the end, learned how to express her love.  Of course, that’s the Hollywood way.

If only life were really like that.

Exhausting epilogue.

I have already posted a final chapter about my last girlfriend, and a few sporadic post-scripts of little consequence.  Last weekend marked the final epilogue.  Nothing dramatic, but most assuredly complete closure.  

I use girlfriend/boyfriend terminology loosely, for lack of a better description.   We have been friends for a long time before having a very nice fling a few months ago.  We had good chemistry and compatibility, a lot of fun without getting too serious.  Things were rolling nicely, I was happy, but then she pulled the plug.  Whether I said or did something wrong or turned her off in some way she wouldn’t say.  Maybe kinder that she didn’t, as I’ve had my share of break-up “exit interviews” with all my short-comings spelled out.  (Yeah, I already know my flaws and what I need to work on!)   All I could do was accept at face-value her claim about being over-whelmed by too many things going on in her life and needing to take a break from dating.  Yet, I also got the impression that when she would be done taking her break, she would not be resuming with me, the upshot being a permanent break from me.

But I didn’t really believe it was over.  We clicked so well I arrogantly assumed she would be back for more, so I patiently waited for a change of heart, to no avail.  I can tell she still likes me, and is still attracted to me, but this woman, when she makes up her mind about something, it’s a done deal.  No indecision, no second thoughts, not a shred of sentimentality.  I had wondered if she ever laid alone in bad at night and missed me like I miss her, but I assure the reader she does not.  Closed off that part of her mind like a steel trap-door and threw away the key.  Most assuredly, “I want you to notice when I’m not around” (Radiohead,) does not play for Bobby here.

A few weeks ago I helped her move the big-ticket items and essentials from her old house to her new place, leaving the low priority clutter for later.  The plan was she was going to pack and move this stuff with her car gradually over the following weeks until her deadline to be out, which is now.  However, that didn’t happen, leaving everything to be done last weekend.  She didn’t come right out and ask for my help.  I volunteered.  Since I volunteered, there is no way to say she has taken advantage of me in any way.   It is hard to take advantage of someone against their will, and it was my will to help her, without complaint, without obligation, without expectations.

The thing is, I was up past 4:00am Friday night, spent most of the day Saturday on a ladder installing wiring on the machine shed for my father, before spending the evening past midnight helping my friend move her stuff.  And on Sunday, I had a Meetup bike ride and picnic, spent a couple of hours helping my father get the combine out and set-up for soybean harvesting, before once again spending another evening past midnight helping her move the rest of her stuff.  On top of that, I was coming down with the flu, and had a mind-blowing 4-ibuprofen headache, but I sucked it up and got the job done, but by the end I was unbelievably exhausted.  Certainly too tired to be a love-lorn ass and make a fool of myself!  Parting was  no drama.  A hug and a kiss on the cheek, before I was vapor, and out of her life for good.   Guaranteed.  I will not be hearing from her again. 

Things happen for a reason, and this exercise showed me that maybe she did me a favor by breaking up with me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am not going to complain or say anything bad about her.  She remains an unbelievably sweet and wonderful person, but…  We were just having fun, and in the early part of dating.  It was too early to look ahead to relationship questions, and I didn’t.  But if I had…  Helping pack and move someone’s stuff provides a lot of insight one might not normally get.  By what I observed, I learned if we had evolved to relationship status, we could’ve had issues with money and children-raising concerns.  Once again, I’m not saying there is anything wrong with how she lives her life, but how she spends her money and how much she spoils her children is a different philosophy then mine.  I am frugal, and careful with money.   And I don’t believe in giving children every single thing they ask for.   For me, there are limits.

I was in love with and married over 20 years to a woman with a spending disorder.  Discord over money issues is not fun.  I do not want to subject myself to that again if I can avoid it.  I am not saying my friend has a spending disorder.  I am only saying with what I have gone through, I am overly sensitive to money spending issues.   The child-raising issue is somewhat related, but not as big of a deal.  How many toys and games, how many clothes, how much stuff does a child really need?  How much is too much?  10 totes?  20 totes?  More?  Excess smells like buying affection, or placating.  Believe me, I am not exactly a good dad, but even I know a child would rather have my time than a new toy.    Maybe if we had evolved into a relationship we would have worked these things out, or maybe not.  Or maybe she did me a favor.

Besides the excess stuff, another small example…I offered to buy pizza late Saturday night since the kids were hungry, but I suggested she place the order.  The bill came to $57.  (She refused to let me pay for it, but she did let me contribute.)

For Sunday night’s late dinner break, she had purchased a couple of nice flank steaks which she marinated, but had me grill while she prepared the side dish.  This was more my speed, my kind of meal.  I do enjoy cooking, and I really enjoy cooking with her since she really knows what she’s doing.   If we had evolved into a relationship, this is one good thing we had in common that wouldn’t have required too much working out.   This meal was kind of like old times for me, and incredibly delicious.  What a sweet parting gift for Bobby!

An acknowledgement…All my observations about my friend breaking up with me and my helping her are only secondary concerns; minor little shit that happens to pertain to me.   I do not lose sight of the fact that the primary concern is her life.   She is the one under stress and feeling overwhelmed.  If she needed to break up with me to simplify her life, I simply have to understand it and accept it.  She is the one who has gone through a painful divorce and is facing foreclosure and bankruptcy and praying an 11th hour short-sale goes through.   Real problems in a real life.   My needs and desires are decidedly second fiddle.   Me supplying a truck and a trailer and a few hours of labor here and there is pretty small change to what she’s had to go through.

In my defense…I believe I was nearly an ideal version of myself with her.  I do not have many “what-if” thoughts of things I could’ve done better.  I have been a steady and good friend and came through for her whenever she needed me.  I like to believe I was a thoughtful and considerate lover who pleased her greatly.  I was good with her children.  I think I was a good boyfriend.  It is too bad she felt I was a complication instead of a complement to her life.

Old keepsakes.

I was updating my Facebook and Meetup photos, when I stumbled across a photo with my lost muse in it.  So pretty and happy.  Kind of took my breath away, and I missed her.  My life and my blog may be populated by lost lovers here and there, but my failed friendship with Mary gives me the most remorse.  She remains the one who got away.

So, what happened between us?  Let’s just say toxic and thorny is not a good mix, and let it go at that.  Some things are destined not to be.

I took the opportunity to catch up on her blog and was discouraged to find her sick and down-hearted.  I think I prefer the content and smug version of her who is openly contemptuous of me!

Oh, and she is pining for her last serious boyfriend, whom she surely pushed away as well.  But what a nice tribute to him, to be missed after he is gone.  “I want you to notice when I’m not around” - Radiohead.   Oh yeah. 

I would like to hope any of my lost loves still appreciate me and yearn for me like that on some level, but I doubt the likelihood.  Out of sight, out of mind.

Mary treasures a saved shirt from her old boyfriend.  

I left my billiards-championship wind-breaker with one lover as a keepsake of our cool evenings together outside.  It had a nice blend of aromas – me, her, smoke from romantic  bonfires on the beach.  But now she is anxious to return it.  She doesn’t even want it.

Drivel #16 – short and sweet.

An automatic windows update and computer reboot wiped out my unsaved biking/fitness log and misc drivel notes. So less drivel this week.  I am getting kind of tired of this quick and dirty drivel format.  I am thinking of getting back to essays.  And I’m thinking of going through some of my earlier essay-style posts for short story ideas since I have completely and utterly stalled on my novel.  For example, if I re-worked and polished Coffee-Stained Tile Grout, (with the help of a little retrospection), I might have a story worthy of publication.

With the biking, it’s the work that matters, not the report.  Nobody else but me cares about the miles.   The distance conquered, the ribbon of roadway and trail traversed, belongs to me, is personal, and I own it.   To a reader it’s just an abstract number.  No concept of what I put into it, or get out of it.

The abstract number that’s getting to me is the one on the scale.  It’s suddenly stuck on the 203-204 mark, refusing to budge any closer to my long-awaited benchmark.   That 200 number does mean something to me.  It’s not going to solve any of my problems, or make me a better man.  But it represents at least one example where my actions indeed speak louder than words.

Last Saturday, I had a ride scheduled with the local tri-club, but it was cancelled due to weather.  And here I had been looking up to tri-athletes thinking they were made of sterner stuff.  Another bubble burst.  But my Sunday 45-mile ride with my regular biking group went on as planned, the organizer had posted “zero percent of cancelling due to weather!”  So, it is good to know at least 6 other hard-core riders are left in the twin cities willing to brave 33 degree temps, and whatever the wind-chill was riding at 15-17 mph into a 10 mph wind.  I was bundled up okay, but my head was still cold even in a stocking cap.  So, on Monday’s 23-mile personal ride (warmed up to 34 degrees) I tried out a balaclava (thanks to www.dictionary.com, I avoided wearing a Greek dessert!)  which is designed for snowmobiling.  I was much warmer.  Since it is thinner on top, intended for a snowmobile helmet to fit over it, I can still wear my biking helmet.  Operative word being “can.”  I at least found and dug my biking helmet outta of the depths of my junk in my ex’s garage, but I still only wear it on about 10% of my rides cause it interferes with my head-phones.  Music is a big part of my riding obsession, I need the beat to keep my cadence up.

Dana has contracted H1N1 (swine flu).   I’m not sure how contagious it is, hoped to limit my exposure, so I spent less time with the kids this week, but I’ll probably catch it anyway.  She seems to be over the worst of it, and on her way to a full recovery.  Lola had pneumonia last month, and now it turns out this may have been H1N1 related as well.

 As a parent, I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I have to admit Dana and I click the best.  But we had a little dust-up this week.  Being a teenager, she is prone to teenage behavior, and she crossed a line when she posted something insulting/embarrassing to me on Facebook.  I didn’t get mad, but I had to make it clear to her taking disagreements public isn’t how things are done.  So I had to drop my own daughter as a facebook “friend” until she apologizes and promises not to do it again.  I’m still waiting.  Respect is something I prefer to earn, but sometimes it is something to demand.  When I see her, and when I talk to her on the phone, I also made it very clear to her I still love her.

 

On my way home from seeing the kids on Thursday, I stopped at my favorite coffee shop, the Dunn Bros in the historic Smith Douglas More house in Eden Prairie for a little coffee and WiFi, but ended up with coffee and hi-fi.  I was delighted to encounter a live acoustic music performance by Courtney Yasmineh, an artist I never heard before.   Wow.  What a treat.  She totally blew me away.  She just got back from touring Europe, and here she is playing a practically empty coffee shop, and not seeming to mind a bit.  Her performance was like a private show just for me, complete with witty banter.  At least she was witty, me not so much.  You know.  To top it all off, she even surprised me with a free CD of her latest album “Beautiful Lonely.”   

 

Another musician, Daniel Joseph Meyer, was in attendance and played during Courtney’s set breaks.  He wasn’t bad either.  And I identified with his quirky social awkwardness.  It’s not a bad thing if you can make it work for you.   After the show, I took a photo for them.

 

I am totally blowing it with Deezy.  1) By trying too hard.  2) By wearing my heart on my sleeve  3) By failing to come through.

 

A friend of mine posted this Whitney Young quote on her facebook: ‘It’s better be prepared for an opportunity and not have one than to have an opportunity and not be prepared.’  Arrrrgh, that is exactly how I feel about not having my shit together enough to meet Deezy in Vegas for the big PBR event!  I’ve had my whole life to get ready for her and I’ve wasted my time!  Ha!  So, I settle for correspondence and friendship, which isn’t a bad thing, in fact it’s a good thing, but…is it opportunity lost?  Who knows. 

 

I believe in the credo “actions speak louder than words.”  I can talk until I am blue in the face about wanting to meet her somewhere, or taking another trip to California, but until I actually make something happen, it’s all talk.  Just talk.  

 

Had my monthly billiards meetup last night.  It was a lot of fun.  I’ve missed a month or two, so I was rustier than normal, didn’t have my ‘A’ game, didn’t win the little tournament this time.  But, an old billiards friend, Debby showed up, and I had a nice session with her.  And after the meetup, I got to shoot for a while with Craig, the owner of the pool hall, and that was fun, too.

 

At last-call-for-alcohol, somebody offered me a free beer and I turned it down.  Still sober for the woman who broke my heart.  I love it!  Instead of heading home and getting some sleep, I parked  my lonely ass in a booth with my WiFi and free coffee refills until 4:00am closing time, just enjoying the familiar ambience of a busy pool hall.  The click of the balls, juke-box pop music, laughter and banter.

 

Spent a little time catching up on the blog of my lost muse.  I felt bad for her struggles and for having the flu with nobody to help take care of her.  In a moment of weakness, I posted a friendly comment on her blog.  In the whole time she was feuding with me, I respected her blog and basically left it alone, but suddenly now I don’t resist the temptation to comment?

 

I ended up sleeping in this morning.  Blew off a police auction in St Cloud with 150 bicycles.  I really need a back-up/replacement bike.  I  blew off my writing group too.  I volunteered to help T.A.B. move the rest of her stuff later today and tomorrow if nec.  Just a job.  Last one.  Ever.  I feel no qualms whatsoever.  

 

Drivel #15 blah blah blah

In my previous drivel, I failed to mention seeing a free advance screening of “The Boys are Back” last Thursday with one of my Meetup Groups. I thought it was a great movie with wonderful cinematography. And I have a soft spot in my heart for Australian film. The only drawback for me was the fact they announce up front it’s based on a true story – it seemed to make the storyline feel shackled by reality. I cry easily at the movies, and this film was reputed to be a real tear-jerker, but it didn’t actually get to me so much.

As is typical with movie Meetups, especially with free screenings, there wasn’t much meeting up. The plan to congregate before-hand seems to fall by the wayside due to concerns about the show being “sold out” and people rushing into the theatre to make sure to get a good seat. But I did happen to sit next to a nice woman from Prior Lake who was part of my group. She seemed nice, but I made no advances.

Later, after I wrote to LDP about seeing the movie, and I harmlessly mentioned going without a date, she was way too encouraging that I should be dating. I know what that means. Even though there’s been no promises, I felt like there was still an unspoken connection between us. It’s always that unspoken shit, though, that bites me in the ass. Now that she’s spoken, it seems she’d like me to move on so she can move on. Oh well, I knew all along I had already blown it with her due to my long-distance reluctance, and my recent efforts are probably too little too late, so no surprises here.

I have had a few more encounters with TAB, helping her pick up larger things with my truck that she’s obtained through Craigslist, but there doesn’t seem to be any drama for me anymore. Simple case of friends helping friends, as it is very obvious to me we are now clearly back to being “just friends.” Not having any grey area, and knowing exactly where things stand makes life easier for me. Is she taking advantage of me? So what if she is, I don’t mind, I like being helpful. One of the items I picked up for her was a basketball stand for her foreign-exchange-student boys, and I ended up having fun playing a little one-on-one basketball against them after I set it up. And then we all went to Chuck E. Cheese. Believe me, Bobby Toxic is not the Chuck E. Cheese type. But, all-in-all, good times.

This whole experience with TAB has been one of those rare opportunities for me to be a stand-up guy – unselfish, accepting, and understanding. Not all about me for once, bigger than the situation.

I suspect TAB lays alone in bed some nights and misses me.  I have demonstrated good character and no bridges have been burnt. Her phone lays charging on her nightstand, and she could always pick it up and ask me to come over. But she won’t, it’s simply not going to happen. Just one of those things.

LDP keeps suggesting I read the Women…Venus/Men…Mars series of books to better understand women, but I’ve been reluctant because I’ve never bought into that whole premise that men and women are so dissimilar. My contention is that we are so very much more alike than we are different, and paying too much attention to our differences may cause us to overlook our shared humanity. But there is one thing about women I don’t understand, and actually makes me wonder if they are indeed from a different planet, and that’s their profound power of self-denial. They can be like camels going without water.

Women I know can complain about being lonely, and have nice guys available, whom are compatible with them, and willing to provide companionship, but they turn it down for complicated reasons only they understand. Women I know can complain about being sexually frustrated, and once again they have nice guys available, whom are compatible with them and interested in satisfying their needs, and they turn it down for complicated reasons only they understand. I’m not just talking about me, this is a universal theme, just go ahead and ask any guy about this. Instead of seeming happy that their needs may be met, women start wanting something more, perhaps a soulmate, or happily ever after, so they raise the bar, and throw the baby out with the bath-water if things don’t fit their criteria of ideal. They’d rather deny themselves of what they want and need than settle for less than perfection. Fine, self-denial is always a personal prerogative. I just think they should then forfeit their right to complain.

My correspondence with Deezy is going okay. I can tell she is very intelligent, a deep thinker with interesting ideas, but she isn’t a natural writer, not quite as articulate as she is in person, and our communication lacks that finish-each-other’s-sentences feel. She’s not going to replace my lost muse. I remain muse-less.

The more I get to know Deezy, the more unobtainable and out of my league she seems. Not only don’t I measure up to her bull-riding stars, but when I said something about tri-athletes, she also mentioned a previous brain surgeon boyfriend who competed in triathlon. Seriously. My only saving grace is that many women as they get older and wiser seem to care less about externals and more about the quality of the man inside. At least I hope that’s how it works out. I just need to keep reminding myself she made the first move, and still seems interested in me.

Biking/Fitness Log

• Fri 0 miles
• Sat 60 miles
• Sun 40 miles & Snap Fitness upper body circuit
• Mon 0 miles rain
• Tues 0 miles rain, Snap Fitness upper body circuit & 1500 calories elliptical
• Weds 15 miles
• Thurs 24 miles

On Sat, I did a 38 mile ride in a light rain with my Meetup cycling group. I felt so braced and refreshed by the rain, “Bobby Berserker” tacked on 22 more miles. I was cold, wet, and muddy, but I felt so alive and world-conquering. I would’ve gone further, except I had a flat tire, and had to push my bike 5 miles back to my car. I actually jogged the first mile of that as a little experiment, and was surprised I was able to run that far without having to stop. I might’ve been able to run the whole 5 miles if my legs didn’t feel like rubber from having just biked 60 miles. And the muscles used are different, so it kind of felt funny and hurt a little. In my entire life, I’ve never been a runner. Even back in high school gym class, I was always the gangly geeky guy near the back of the pack struggling to keep up. But all the biking and cardio work I’ve been doing lately has jacked up my aerobic capacity enough so I didn’t have to stop to catch my breath, which was always my biggest problem with running in the past.

The running experiment was precipitated by a woman tri-athlete at a ride last Weds who planted the crazy idea in my head that I could, and should, attempt a triathlon. I explained to her that I simply don’t run, but she insisted if I could manage to run for 35 minutes without stopping, the rest of a triathlon would be candy for me. I might add some treadmill work to my winter workouts and begin prepping for the Lake Minnetonka Triathlon in June. You heard it here first.

Let me be clear here, I am not an athlete and have never been one, but my fitness mindset to “train” as if I were one has been paying dividends in making me much closer to being physically fit than I ever imagined was possible. Sometimes fooling yourself by pretending to be someone you’re not can help you grow into someone new.

Sunday, I rode 40 miles on a very scenic trail with the same group. It was cold and breezy, and I had to wear long pants, a jacket, gloves and a stocking cap for the second ride in a row. I had a little trouble in the morning fixing my flat tire from the day before, so I ended up being 45 minutes late for the ride. I rode like a madman, and I actually caught up to the pack at the half-way point of the ride. It’s not that I was much faster than them, with my balky mountain bike versus their more efficient road bikes, it’s just that I didn’t stop for any breaks. It’s like the old tortoise and the hare parable, they may outrun me, but they can’t out-grind me!

With lousy weather, I have been spending more time at Snap Fitness lately to make up for less riding. The location in Prior Lake has a recumbent bike that is okay, but they don’t have elliptical machines for some reason, so I have been driving to Shakopee or Savage locations to use theirs. Believe me, I will be campaigning the franchise owner for Prior Lake to get with the program on ellipticals. I love love love the ellipticals because with the arm action I am working more of my body, plus I feel I am getting some core work with a little torso pivot. With the recumbent, I typically can crank about 130 watts of output, but with more body action in play on the elliptical, I generate over 200 watts of output, which with my current cardio conditioning has my pulse around 150, and I burn 1000-1100 calories per hour, which is nice.

I started something at home last winter, where not only did I cut down on my TV watching, but if there was something I really wanted to watch, I forced myself to multi-task by putting my exercise bike in front of the tube and peddling away while I watched. Now, with my Snap membership, I am able to carry that tradition even further when there is a sporting event or movie on cable TV that I otherwise wouldn’t get to see at the farm, I can go to Snap and watch it while working out. Just one more incentive, and another way to trick myself into doing good for myself. For example, Tues night I went to Snap to watch the last half of the Twins baseball game, plus the home opener of Wild hockey. Got in my upper body resistance rotation plus a lot of cardio. By the way, if the reader thinks 1500 calories burned in one session is no big deal, just go ahead and try it sometime and see how it feels.

Weds evening, I went to a winter riding seminar at a bike shop to learn what I needed to know about studded tires and stuff. I don’t know how much winter road or trail riding I might actually do, but I thought it would be cool to plow/snow-blower a curvy bike path on the frozen lake this winter for fun! You don’t have to say it, I already know I’m a little crazy. On a more conventional note, I am also planning on cross-country skiing this winter. That is, unless I happen to move somewhere warmer.

I have been following a few tragic local news stories about women who were killed by abusive/stalker exes. Two friends of mine have survived and escaped similar abusive relationships, and both seem to have recovered just fine, but do you ever fully recover from something like that, and does the fear ever really go away?

http://www.startribune.com/local/north/63455982.html?elr=KArksUUUoDEy3LGDiO7aiU

http://www.startribune.com/local/north/57702817.html?elr=KArksUUUoDEy3LGDiO7aiU

http://www.startribune.com/local/59868137.html?elr=KArksUUUoDEy3LGDiO7aiU

http://www.startribune.com/opinion/editorials/61283857.html?elr=KArksUUUoDEy3LGDiO7aiU

http://www.startribune.com/local/63573282.html?elr=KArks:DCiU1PciUoaEYY_4PcUU

When things go wrong and love goes south, some men bend and some men break. I obviously learned to bend, as do the majority of men. The headlines/tragedies are stories of the men who break.

I am in favor of the idea of GPS monitoring bracelets for domestic abuse offenders to better protect victims and potential victims. I think law enforcement needs to place more emphasis on the “protect” aspect of “to protect and serve.” And I think the justice system, and society as a whole needs to stop looking the other way and re-prioritize its resources. Let’s stop spinning our wheels on trying to win an unwinnable “war on drugs” and instead fight the good fight in our own neighborhoods against domestic violence. (Granted, chemicals are often a component of domestic violence, but criminalizing drug use doesn’t solve the problem. The power of addiction far out-weighs any deterrence the threat of prosecution bears. People with addictions don’t need to get locked up, they need help, they need treatment. But I digress.) A society should be judged on how well it protects its women and children, and we’ve been coming up short. Paper restraining orders are worthless. Perpetrators need to be monitored and kept away from their victims. And if behavior modification programs as discussed in Gail Rosenblum’s column really work, what are we waiting for?

Drivel #14 – Boring week in a boring life.

Biking Log

• Sat 0 miles busy with kids
• Sun 20 miles & Snap fitness
• Mon 0 miles too windy (hiked 2 miles)
• Tues 38 miles & Snap Fitness
• Weds 20 miles
• Thurs 28 miles (recumbent exercise bike) & Snap Fitness

I may have spoken too soon about no more contact with T.A.B. Last Saturday, she asked me to pick up a sofa for her she had obtained through Craigslist. Transporting the couch was easy, but getting it into her basement rec-room was very difficult, even with assistance from the two boys. T.A.B. sat upstairs the whole time, feeling unwell from a bad lunch. I had my two youngest daughters with me for the weekend, and we didn’t loiter too long, for we had a pot roast to get started on. I felt very little emotional turbulence for T.A.B. this day, matching her recent apathy for me with my own surprising ambivalence.

I don’t acclimate well to life’s perplexing incongruities. Like the contrast between bonding and feeling like a stranger. I must be an idiot because I thought we were making love, not just having casual sex. I must be a fool, because I heard “oh, Bobbys!” that sounded real. Heaven forbid if I should become accustomed to this dichotomy between night and day, during and after. If becoming jaded about passion and romance is a part of becoming more mature, I am not sure I want to grow up.

T.A.B. may also be looking for more help from me to move her barbecue grill and other stuff still at the old house. Is she taking advantage of me? So what if she is, I don’t mind. This scenario now feels more like a simple case of friends helping friends than it does anything else. Having been lovers now seems like a some kind of fluke. But I haven’t heard any more from her all week, so I guess she figured something else out. Besides, I will be busy this weekend with long biking meetups both days.

I am giving myself an F on my report card, because in a lonely moment of weakness today, I sent her an email where I probably said too much. I said things didn’t have to be black and white between us. I said she had options. That if she liked having me around, but didn’t want the complications of a “relationship” I could live with that. Or that is she would like some kind of relationship without the intimacy, I could live with that as well. (How pathetic is that?) Or even the other way around, have the intimacy but keep it only casual. Geez, wasn’t I just complaining about that? I even said she could continue to look for “Mr Right” and keep me around as “Mr Whatever.” Honestly, I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. Right after I sent it, I was already wishing Yahoo had an “Undo” button like my photo editor has. She won’t write back, and I can’t really do any damage to a dead relationship, but what about the damage to my dignity and self-respect. And what about the lack of respect to her and failing to leave her alone. Pffffffft.

Touched base with Deezy Sunday while she was in Ontario, CA for the PBR event. She was nicer to me, but she still hadn’t managed to get Online yet. But then Tues I saw she managed to get on Facebook and add me as a friend. And Thurs she got rolling with Yahoo and sent me an email. So, hopefully we are off to the races. If I can maintain a nice correspondence with her, I will be devoting all my writing energy to her, and letting this blog slip even further. Only time will tell.

I sometimes feel I was born in the wrong era. Perhaps I belong in the Victorian age, where couples actually courted, and letter-writing was integral to the process. So, yonder fair maiden, I dip thy quill within thine ink, and set my gaze upon thee.

Deezy bought her tickets for PBR in Vegas. I am paying the price for not having my shit together and being broke. If I could go there and be with her for two weekends and the week in between, I think I could win her over and make magic happen. That’s how long I had in California, I found her and she found me, and we almost launched. If I miss this chance, it will be like missing that first trip with Cecy, where I had to wait for twenty years and dual failed marriages for another chance.

Not much going on with LDP right now. The more I think about it, the more I realize she is the one I should be concentrating on. She is so healthy, healing and wholesome for me, and I haven’t been giving her her due consideration. There have been women whom I believed I was good for, only to have them overlook and not appreciate what I had to offer them, and now here I am guilty of the same thing with a woman who is so good for me.

I can’t help it, but I’m gonna chase this hot little Deezy lark for a while, then I’m gonna get some sense and start thinking straight. LOL. Yeah, famous last words.

Speaking of a woman whom I thought I was good for, but apparently wasn’t,…I’ve closed down my Toxic Pen Pal Blog. She still hates me, and refuses to meet me or make peace, but at least she’s done driving me crazy. I haven’t had much to post in that blog lately, and it all feels like so much yesterday’s news now. Some days I feel like I dodged a bullet, but most days I kind of wish I had figured out a way to take that bullet.

Had a challenge in my photography group to shoot the same item seven days in a row and submit a different pic each day. Here’s my project.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is another weekly challenge to submit a photo for a different theme each week. This week’s theme was “You can’t always get what you want.” Everyone else submitted materialistic images of things like cars, or wine cellars even. Here is my pic with the caption “I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control – Radiohead.” After all, how many of us actually feel like we have control of our lives.

Drivel #13

Friday was my birthday. The big 5-oh. I don’t feel old. I still feel like a kid.

Ummm, no cards, no gifts. Ouch. A few facebook well-wishers, though. It’s okay, though, because people who know me understand I’m not sentimental about birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. Kind of hard to make certain arbitrary days special when every day is special.

I’m working on a project for my photograghy meetup group.  Most recent contest I finished 3rd out of 23 entrants with one of my sappy sunrise/sunset shots.  I get a lot of mileage out of my obsolete little 2.3 megapixel joke of a camera.  This challenge is to submit a different daily photo of the same item over a 7 day period.  I was going to make my subject the lake in front of my house, but I figured that would be too easy, so I decided on my bicycle instead.  My bike is a true friend, even if it’s a pain in the ass sometimes.

Biking Log

• Last Sat & Sun – 0 miles due to T.A.B. move
• Mon & Tues – 0 miles due to weather
• Weds – 23 miles & Snap Fitness.
• Thurs – 30 miles
• Fri – 21 miles

 Thurs ride at Cleary Lake, the smiling/waving jogger was there. I gotta figure out if she’s friendly to everyone, or just me. If just me, do I maintain my own taking-a-break-from-dating moratorium, or do I introduce myself? Hate to sound like such a dirty old man, but thong girl was at the park too, walking with a friend. Does she have any idea at all what a sexy look that is, wearing a thong under silky running shorts? Somehow, I think it’s sexier than bare-ass thongs at the beach. I gotta imagine it must feel sexy, too, soft swish of smooth fabric across flexing cheeks as you’re walking.

It rained cats-and-dogs during the day on Friday, but let up before sunset. With a little over an hour to spare before darkness, I took a hard, fast ride without pacing myself, essentially a sprint. It was chilly out, so I wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Ugh. Long sleeves on top was the correct call, but not the jeans, way too sweaty and stiff. But what a nice endorphin rush and just a general rush to be alive! The post-rain sky was big, with towering battleship clouds in the distance, and an optimistic sun painting the landscape a glorious golden hue. Felt great to be outside and active; stolen time from a lost rainy day.

I’ve decided I want to tackle at least one 100-mile ride before the season is over. I completed one previous one from Boca Raton to South Beach (talk about thongs) and back in the 1990s when I was living in Florida, and it damn near killed me. Dehydration is dangerous.

Despite the lost riding days, my increased metabolism and healthy eating still rewarded me with a 210 lb scale reading on Tues. That’s taking back off the 3 lbs I gained in California plus 5 more. Woo woo! Looking in the mirror, I am gratified by the results I see, but it is evident that my 200 lb goal won’t be enough. I think I need to shoot for 180 lbs.

Going off on a tangent, as I am wont to do…I remember admiring the total narcissism of the killer in the movie “American Psycho.” At the time, I told myself,” I wish I was more narcissistic!” LOL I’ve got a long ways to go to get to that level, but maybe I am a little more narcissistic these days. But everything is relative. I gotta believe a little healthy narcissism is better than the alternative – feeling totally inadequate and worthless. Been there, done that. No thanks.

I’ve always liked the Brett-Favre-like scruffy look on me, and I’ve taken to “shaving” with electric clippers instead of a razor and leaving some salt-and-pepper stubble.

So, I’m standing there with the clippers in my hand, checking out my weight loss in the mirror, and I find my unruly mat of pubic hair slightly unattractive, and I impulsively shave it off. Is that too much information? LOL Too bad, it’s my blog. Two things, even clippers can nick sensitive skin, and stubble can be itchy, but those two negatives aside, I like the new look. I feel like a porn star. A quirky porn star. Now all I need is a tattoo to complete the look!

How about a “Deezy” tat for the California Dream Girl I will never have. After disrupting my communications with her over the weekend for the T.A.B. move, she was a little curt with me on my Tuesday phone call with her. The laptop still hadn’t arrived, and I haven’t spoken with her in a couple of days.

But I got to hear all about last weekend’s bull-riding event, a rider getting hurt, and the PBR’s #1 fan rushing out to the ambulance to check on/comfort him. Once again, no way I can be jealous, I wouldn’t wish getting roughed up by an angry bull on anyone, but it just goes to prove I’m just some tame midwest farm-boy by comparison. I somehow got her attention in the beginning, but I’m gonna need some kind of edge to keep it.

Update: Deezy called Thurs in a good mood about getting the laptop, but didn’t have much time to talk, but she promised to call me Friday afternoon. But no call Fri, and when I tried to call her, only got voicemail. I presume PBR’s #1 fan was on the road to the next event in Ontario, CA. Have fun, my California Dream Girl!

I’ve gotten a little away from phone calls with L.D.P. and more towards emailing, and things are going better with her. Her up-north trip may be scrubbed/post-poned again to help care for an acquaintance dying of cancer. (Note: being a nurse who works with terminal patients, it’s what she does.) I’m not bumming over what may be a lost “booty call,” it’s not like that at all. I just think to have any chance at a re-connection, seeing someone in person and engaging in face-to-face conversation is essential. We just need some sort of touchstone to see where we are at.

My conscience has been bothering me a little with the overlap sensation of keeping L.D.P. on the back burner while I dated T.A.B. I didn’t mean to keep her on the back-burner at all, the stove was actually turned off and I was kind of just letting things fade because I had promised myself no more long-distance relationships after I blew it with Cecy. I am a prisoner of logistics. While I believe in pure love that transcends time and space, (which is what I will always feel with Cecy,) I am a simple selfish man who prefers to have a little physical contact in his life – holding hands, kissing, and all the rest. I even told L.D.P. my position on long-distance relationships, and made a point of saying there were no promises or commitments whatsoever. So why the hell did I turn the burner back on? Have I changed my opinion about long-distance relationships? I dunno, I dunno, I dunno. To tell the truth, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Seriously.

And Deezy is long-distance too. Whats up with that? Well…that’s different. Deezy is a lark. Deezy is a far-fetched fantasy. Deezy is like the high school crush I had on my cute Expository Writing teacher, very nice to day-dream about, but not very realistic.

Wednesday’s final encounter with T.A.B. went okay I guess. I gave myself a “B-minus” due to detractions for making one suggestive joke, “it takes two hands to handle a whopper,” (which I don’t exactly have…more llike a whopper jr.,) for rubbing T.A.B.’s back without thinking of what I was doing, and for once again, maybe out-staying my welcome. After moving the dinette set, I inquired if she was ambitious and wanted to tackle another load from the old house, and she declined saying an inspector for the foreign exchange program was scheduled for a visit, and I said, “I better get out of your hair then,” and she said, “you don’t have to go right away if you don’t want to.” So I stayed.

The inspector showed up about a half-hour early, well before I expected to leave, so to eliminate the distraction of this guest and a hyper-active 4-year-old, I walked the little one to a neighborhood park we had looked up online. Of course, she played ’til it got dark. Darn near wore my arm off pushing her on the swings…I’ve never seen a kid so hooked on swinging. Upon returning, it was Burger King for dinner. When asked what I would like, I suggested a double-cheeseburger, and perhaps an iced-coffee I know is on the menu. T.A.B. made an extra stop and treated me to a caramel high-rise from Caribou. It was good. Watched a little TV, bid calm farewells, and left.

It might seem I’ve been trying to suck up to T.A.B. and weasel my way back into her heart through her family, except for two things: my fondness for her family is genuine, and after this inconsequential little “moving” epilogue, I foresee no further contact or invitations. In the gap between when she broke up with me and accepted my moving help, she had gone beyond “unspoken” into full incommunicado mode – I was basically shut out. That’s just the way it is, and just the way it will continue to be. Imagining being in her shoes, I believe she felt like she needed to make a clean break and be sure I didn’t get the wrong idea or harbor false hope. It’s always easier to make the step from friendship to intimacy than it is the step back again. Avoidance is the easy way out.

I keep getting told by various women friends that women in general are prone to having second thoughts and may easily have a change-of-heart, but that’s rarely been my personal experience. Of course, my former spouse had a change-of-heart and came back to me after her big affair, but after the final break-up, I wasted four lonely years of my life waiting for her to come around again, and it never happened. I’m not going through that again. I am no longer so patient, (or foolish,) and I won’t be holding out for anyone else’s change-of-heart either. T.A.B. has made her decisions, I’m out of her life, that book is closed. I doubt if we will see any more drivel about her in this blog.

Update: after the moving melodrama that was entirely within my head, I’m back to normal. (Whatever that is.)  I’m grateful and happy. The fun to hurt ratio with T.A.B. was like 100 to 1. She sure was fun. She was kind and gentle with my feelings, and I hardly got hurt at all. I am at peace, and all is well.

Drivel #12 – Moving Day

I spent last weekend helping my recent ex-girlfriend T.A.B. move. My report card for the endeavor: “A.” The only detraction keeping it from an A-plus was for the email I sent Friday evening saying something that could’ve easily remained unspoken…that my help came with no strings attached and absolutely no expectations.

Otherwise, I was on my best behavior, no weirdness or awkward moments. No talking about “us,” no persuasion, no looks, no flirting, no touching*, no nothing. (*I accepted several hugs, pretending not to notice the tantalizing breast contact.) I helped, I stayed disengaged, I went with the flow, and I kept my big mouth shut. I was the good-natured, hard-working, soft-spoken stoic man who I believe is the best possible version of me. I am proud of myself even if nobody else noticed or cared.

I sacrificed my weekend rides, my Snap Fitness workouts, a billiards meetup, my writers group, a board-games & potluck meetup, a biking meetup, and an opportunity to see a musician friend perform, not to mention compromising my communications with LDP and Deezy, but I’m glad I did it and would do it again. It was challenging but cathartic. I grew, I processed, and I felt some closure.

On Saturday, T.A.B. was exhausted from being up all night packing, and stressed out by so many details like meeting the Dish Network guy at the new place, and taking one of her foreign-exchange students to his first high school soccer game. I just quietly worked with the 2 guys she hired to load and unload the big furniture. I also loaded and unloaded smaller furniture and boxes of stuff with assistance from the older kids, while also keeping my eye on the four-year-old. And I drove the U-Haul truck back and forth.

One thing that got to me a little early in the moving process was when I was carrying some dresser drawers from T.A.B.’s bedroom, I noted a rather large selection of condoms of different brands than we had used. Having them clearly visible like that wasn’t very discreet, (especially with the children helping out,) or maybe I was meant to see this…impossible to know with her whole leaving-things-unspoken M.O. While it is possible these condoms are from before my time, I think is is far more likely she has moved on. Just kind of curious what she did with “our” unused condoms. Used them up already? When she broke up with me, I obviously didn’t ask for them back, nor did she volunteer to return them, in line with her premise that it was merely “taking a break.” But T.A.B. is a very passionate woman with a strong sex drive, and really doesn’t seem the type to take a break from passion. My impression was that she was taking a break from me. A permanent one. For reasons she didn’t care to share. I think the whole taking-a-break ploy is just her own technique of ending relationships and moving on with a minimum of fuss or drama. I generally would prefer openness, cold hard truths, and tangible closure, but I have to admit she knows what she’s doing; her unspoken and undefined break-up with me was the most painless I’ve ever gone through. Anyhow, this condom observation was a minor confirmation for me where things stood with us, and actually helped me keep my game-face on and increase my resolve not to make a fool of myself.

When the major work was done, the workers paid, and the truck returned, I assumed my work was done as well, and I would be scooting so she could get some sleep, but she surprised me by having me stay late to re-assemble furniture, install appliances, and cook dinner for the family. This included trips together to Menards for a new dryer cord and to Cub for a few cooking supplies. The Cub excursion was a flashback to our romantic forays when we were dating and picking out fun stuff to cook together for candle-lit dinners and breakfasts-in-bed. This time, I was in detachment mode, leaving the shopping to her, while I wandered around the store with the 4-year-old looking at Beanie Babies and coloring books. Perhaps T.A.B. felt nostalgic as well, soliciting my input on a few things, like the bread for making garlic toast. I merely shrugged and commented that she knew best what the kids liked, but in the end she selected the expensive New French Bakery cibatta bread she remembered I like. Yeah, the garlic toast was exquisite, and everybody applauded and appreciated my spaghetti and meatballs dinner, but frankly it wasn’t up to my usual standards, ’cause I couldn’t find the right cookware or spices and had to improvise. It didn’t help either that T.A.B. slapped a lid on my sauce to prevent more stovetop spatter…the secret to my spaghetti sauce is making a mess and letting it thicken a little. Plus I was chagrined to learn I couldn’t use any diced tomatoes due to a picky eater. There is no way my meal measured up, because T.A.B.’s ex-husband was a master chef, and she is a very talented cook in her own right, but I don’t care…I had already failed my audition for this family. LOL.

Seriously, though, my fondness for her family was something I failed to take into account when I was bracing myself for this weekend. Being a shallow man, I was so fixated on lost romance, I failed to see the big picture, and was caught off-guard by a another kind of love, my affection for her children. T.A.B. broke up with me, but the kids didn’t; they had no say in the matter. It is widely acknowledged I am the only T.A.B. beau that the 13-yr-old has ever liked or approved of. She has terrorized all other suitors, and even scared a few off. The two foreign exchange students quickly warmed to me, as well. The precocious 4-yr-old is crazy about me, and insisted in riding in the truck with me on every trip. When I helped tuck her in Saturday night, she asked if I would be there when she woke up. Sigh. I made it through the weekend by hardening my heart a little and acknowledging I would probably never see any of them again. I made the Showtime Network’s sociopathic Dexter my role model; detached, disengaged, disconnected. Unfazed and unaffected by human emotion. The only problem is I’m no Dexter, and I’m crying as I write this.

Late Saturday night, after washing the dishes, taking out the trash, and cleaning up in the kitchen, I was carrying my shoes as I slipped past T.A.B. dozing on the couch, and I was halfway out the side-door back towards my own dysfunctional life when she stirred back awake and came to the door. Another nice hug, and the millionth “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She has a ton of friends, but I’m the only one that came through for her. I had expected to be a small cog among a gang of helpers, but I was it. An army of one.

And she mentioned Sunday. (?) Catching me off-guard. Even though all the furniture and necessities were moved, there is still a bunch of non-essential stuff left at the old house that doesn’t have to be moved for another month. She gave me the impression she would be moving that stuff a carload at a time over the coming weeks. I had originally volunteered my truck and utility trailer for the primary move, but this was rendered unneccessary by the renting of the U-Haul truck. She had asked about me using about the truck and trailer Sunday evening to help her pick up a dinette set she was purchasing off Craigslist, but on Saturday she informed me finances forced her to bail on the dinette set, so I just assumed there would be no Sunday activity. Apparently, I assumed wrong, and she was ambitious to keep moving stuff over the weekend.

And she handed me a stack of linen she had mentioned earlier. She bought it for the exchange-student’s beds, washed it, discovered it was the wrong size, couldn’t return it, but knew it fit my bed. I took a whiff; clean and fresh smelling. Here’s the thing…same color and fabric as the linen on her bed. And even though the scent was only fabric softener, it’s also the same scent I associate with her bed. Do women go through special secret training on how to torment men? I must decide if I am going to rewash this linen, or put it on my bed as-is some night I may want to reminisce, or wallow, as the case may be.

I had spent some money on various souvenirs she asked me to collect during my travels for the exchange students. However she didn’t even glance at the stuff I collected, (I just left it on top of the fridge,) nor offer to reimburse me, so I guess the value of the bed linen offsets that. But it’s not like I’m keeping score, or anything.

Home alone late Saturday night, facing a bout of insomnia despite my exhaustion, I reflected on my day (and started on this post.) If I wasn’t on the wagon, it is one of those times I’d pound a few stiff drinks, blur everything out and numb myself to sleep. Yeah, I miss my vanilla-flavored vodka. But why anesthesize myself when I can marvel at my surprising mettle, soberly examine my flaws, and continue to confront my insecurities.

So, Sunday after some communication snafus, (it’s a break-up and not a taking-a-break if they remove your phone number from their contact list!) I show up at the old house expecting to find her packing and organizing stuff, and nobody is there. So, I take advantage of a neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi, and check her most recent email…says running over to the old house for a couple of things, but spending the day at the new house. “..feel free to come by if you’d like.” I must have just missed her. But I am confused as hell about what the plan is supposed to be. So I drop the trailer at the old house and go over to the new house. And when I get there, she confirms she has no interest after all in going back to the old house and moving more stuff. And I’m wondering to myself, “then why the heck did you have me come over? You broke up with me, but do you now want me to hang out? For old time’s sake?” It’s these kinds of mixed messages that drive me crazy and get me all emotionally twisted up. So, I’m kind of standing around trying to figure out what’s going on and what I’m supposed to do, when she announces a shopping trip to Target and invites me along. But with all the kids, it’s too many people for her car, and I have to drive separately. Of course, the 4-year-old, bless her little heart, once again insists on riding with me.

At Target, I wandered off on my own for a bit, picking out some milk, eggs, and butter I needed for my own larder. But mostly, I was still trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. I chalked up her mixed messages to simple exhaustion and changing her mind about her plans. I conclude I was “accidently” invited over, was somewhere I didn’t belong, and should figure out a way to make a graceful exit. But everytime I started to rehearse how to do that, my eyes began to well up, and I was embarrassed to realize I wouldn’t be able to pull off that move. Yeah, it’s a well-known fact I have a real problem with good-byes. Separation anxiety or something. Good thing I had my sunglasses on, wandering around Target, in minor emotional distress. It really sucks being me. It really sucks not being a real man. Eventually a revelation came to me – I didn’t want to leave!!! I didn’t have to leave! I didn’t have to do the right thing or make some grand gesture. Even if I wasn’t where I belonged, I was actually invited, and I could just go ahead and hang out, go with the flow, see what happens, and worry about the goodbyes later. A weight was lifted off my shoulders, and a smile was back on my face just in time for the family search party that tracked down wayward Bobby.

Back at her house, I was just hanging out with the 4-year-old, watching a little Nascar on TV, while the exchange students were studiously engaged in their homework, and T.A.B. and the 13-year-old were redecorating the upstairs bathroom. I laughed and admired the result, a complete “Hello Kitty” theme replete with pink lighting.

T.A.B. surprised me by saying she wanted to sneak out without the kids and go back to the old house for more stuff. Our first alone time together of the weekend. Did she have anything else in mind? Doing it on bare hardwood floors? Bent over the old over-sized beanbag chair left in the basement? Typical Bobby would’ve made some kind of pass to find out, but the cool-as-a-cucumber Bobby of this weekend, shooting for that “A” on his report card, didn’t even blink. He just pretended he wasn’t alone in an empty house with his young and pretty former lover. Instead, he visualized his 2000-mile-away hot little California Dream Girl in her skimpy powder blue mini-dress, hard nipples bumping the soft fabric, calling out to be caressed…this fantasy distraction helped keep Bobby pretty cool and remote. (Even if third-person-speak isn’t so cool!) Gave T.A.B. a page from her own playbook, nothing spoken; let her guess what I’m thinking, let her make the first move. She didn’t blink either, nobody made a move and nothing happened. Did she even notice my decorum? Did I let her down? Did I miss an opportunity? Probably not on all counts. But even if by some fluke I did blow it, I earned my stupid “A!”

Without dialog, all my thinking about T.A.B. and “us” is pure speculation. Just my imagination at work, and who knows how close to reality that may be. In review, my imagination now sees where there was once a cozy little fire is now an abandoned campsite, embers died out, ashes disbursed by wind and rain, and weeds beginning to sprout.

Writing this post has allowed me to make a couple of observations I may have otherwise missed, and helped me understand why this relationship may have been doomed to fail from the start…she’s attracted to bad boys, and I’m simply too nice. Seriously, I mean, look at it…

• Of all the men in her life, why am I the only helper to show up? Because all the rest are self-centered jerks. Bad boys.
• Of all the men in she has dated, why am I the only one the children like? Because all the rest are jerks. Bad boys.
• Even her ex-husband turned out to be a jerk, and the kids can hardly stand to see him on his custody days. Another bad boy.

I was really “right” for T.A.B., we were compatible, and we really clicked, but as I learned in a college marketing class, perception is reality. If T.A.B. didn’t feel I’m right for her, then facts don’t matter, I can’t be right for her. L.D.P. has suggested I read “Smart Women, Foolish Choices” not only to better understand why some women push away us nice guys in favor of “bad boys,” but also to understand my importance as a father to my own daughters, the premise being that something missing from father-daughter relationships is what somehow causes women to make poor choices later in life. Whatever the case, I don’t think T.A.B. will ever look back in regret and think of me as the nice one she let get away. And this post is about as much looking back at her as I’m ever going to do, either. I’m moving on.

But I digress…We loaded up the truck and the trailer, with one decent load salvaging some productivity out of what was otherwise a do-nothing day. I was happy to work hard, be useful, and get something done.

After unloading, T.A.B. provided dinner in the form of delivered sandwiches from Milio’s. We watched the end of a movie on TV, and after T.A.B. dozed off, I whispered a quick goodbye to the kids, grabbed my shoes, and was once again slipping out the door, when just as she had the night before, T.A.B. stirs awake, and surprises me with new plans. The dinette set is being held for her until she gets paid, and she asks if I would help her pick it up on Weds evening.

So, there’s one last tiny encounter to weather, and then it will be goodbye forever. Or will it? This is serial drivel, the reader will have check back in again on the life of Bobby Toxic to find out what ever may happen next.