you've been lyin' when you should'a' been truthin'

i feel like a fraud. i have sat here, and in coffee shops and restaurants and bars, touting the same thing. projecting bravery when i feel nothing but fear. impulsiveness when i stand paralyzed, unable to move.

i thought that i was strong enough. i figured that since the weight of my past didn't seem so heavy anymore, i was ready to move on and look toward the future. but my future appears to be in front of me, my options are limitless, and yet here i sit, frozen in anxiety, unable to imagine a reality that isn't this.

someone has fallen in love with me. someone has figured me out, has seen me as me. i have never tried to seduce him, never hidden who i am from him...and there he is, overcoming his own serious baggage, to love me.

i have a job i can rely on. there are shitty politics and money isn't always great. but usually it is, and the people i work with are amazing. indeed, it is the best job i have ever had.

my family loves me, only wants me to be happy, and supports whatever i do even when they don't understand. i am finally building a relationship with a sister i've never felt close to.

so now i want to run. and not with the man, though he has expressed interest in going with me. i want to run away alone, even though i hate being alone (because i hate being alone???). i want to throw away everything i have worked for and want to sit on a beach and feel sorry for myself while sipping a pina colada.

nothing inspires me. i have no dream. no vision. any aspirations---career, family---are fleeting and forced.

i have all of the materials to create a masterpiece of a life, and I.CAN'T.DO.IT.

don't mess with texas

"you are the smallest person ever with a heart the size of texas"

words spoken by a new friend. and that's a compliment, right? i should feel warm, and fuzzy?

i didn't. and i don't. it made tears spring to my eyes and i feel defensive and used. my need for everyone around me to be happy has been affecting my own chance of that achievement.

a week ago, when i was responding to a verbal slap on my face from the "man" i was falling for, i found myself wanting to comfort him. all i could think of was that he must be feeling so terrible for saying what he was saying when he was saying it. and i didn't want him to realize i was as hurt as i was, so i smoothed over the situation and assured him i was ok. and why?! he was saying ridiculous things as i lay drunk and naked in his bed. tears streamed down my face as i lied and said i "didn't know what i wanted" from him, that i was "just having fun hanging out too".

i've always been this way. so determined to seem strong that i end up full-on lying. it always comes out, the hurt and anger i am feeling---although rarely directed at the person who deserves it.

in the last 3 weeks, i have been crying in public almost every day. it's not just this guy---there is SO MUCH more than that---but it's become abundantly clear that i have not processed my pain and anger from the last---oh, we'll say 3 years. given the opportunity, i can barely even speak about it. after a few drinks, well. that's a different story. and acquaintances wind up with the heavy load that is my baggage.

i know i'm not the only one going through a lot. i'm surrounded by people going through full blown crises. but i watch them go through the motions of life, and try to see how they're dealing with it all without crying at a bar after too much jameson, or comforting the asshole who just broke their heart. it's not that they're doing better than me---it's just that it seems like they are.

but even now, i don't know how i could yell at rob. or lawrence. or kyle. or my dad. i would start and then guilt and shame would wash over me and i would start to backtrack. declare i was overreacting, must be exhaustion/insecurity/pms...not them. no no, never them. it couldn't possibly be that they were flat out treating me like shit and i had the nerve to call them out on it. or that they lied to me and i want to know why. or that they single handedly broke me in half. or that they shouldn't treat the next one like this.

but really, all i want to say to any of them, or my girlfriends that have let me down, or to my bosses that have destroyed my professional spirit, or the monster that murdered my family friend, is:

please please please. don't break my heart.

keep on running

"i need you to be considerate. call/text when you say you will. assure me you prefer me on a sunday morning with my hair up and glasses on, but tell me how hot a look on a friday night. for the love of god, don't keep your hands to yourself. ever. kiss me---lots. make me laugh, let me cry. hold my hand. choose me over sleep, not all the time, just often. get to know my friends and let me get to know yours. cuddle me till we're both falling asleep and then give me some space. have your own life, but share it with me. read. get off the computer. put down the video game. don't keep your hands to yourself. ever."

i wrote that a little while ago, re: what i need. and guess what? i think i've found it.

well, i haven't cried, yet...

i've met a man. a MAN. he's amazing. by no means perfect in any way, but amazing. a few weeks ago, as i walked to work with my mum, i recounted my adventures in dating to her. she congratulated me for putting myself out there, for trying. i "harumph"ed and swore to take a bit of a break. i was exhausted in every way. after a summer of trying on every kind of guy, every type of "dating", every sort of approach, i was DONE. hell, i AM done. i dated kyle for 2 months, trying on the "cool easy going girl who doesn't ask for much therefore you should want to give it all to her" thing---fail. then i dated a couple guys at the same time: the actor douche and the ad exec i met at an afterhours---who, by the way, not only know each other but came in together after neither returning my last call---neither of which i slept with. nope. i went back to my roots for a bit and dated a kitchen boy dirtbag i met out late one night. he just asked for anal sex way too early and had the nerve to blow ME off. UGH. then i went on one date with a boy i actually picked up at my bar (not something i make a habit out of)---he was a socially awkward savant, i suspect. fail.

so that evening as i walked to work, i assured my mother i was taking a break from it all. i felt amazing throughout my shift, like a weight had been lifted. as we were closing the bar as quickly as possible to go downstairs and take advantage of the extended license, i got a text. it was from ryan, who i'd had a massive crush on in the spring but had gotten over. could i get he and some friends in? of course.

one of his friends is the man. i met him that night (although apparently i have met him several times in the past) and have been a goner ever since. he's interesting and mellow, with a super sexy record collection and the strongest lips i've kissed in i-don't-know-how-long. he's considerate and kind. he listens and remembers everything i say---which has made me more aware of what i say, something i do need to learn. there is an intimacy and comfort between us, and yet he keeps me on my toes. ugh, i'm just crazy about him.

and i am trying to focus on that. not get caught up in all the nuttiness that happens in my head when i like someone. i'm trying not to put too much on the poor guy. or assume the worst when certain things aren't how i expect. he's a man, finally. and i'm learning how to be a woman.

and the sky is gray

i've always had a hard time disguising my feelings. for better or worse, what you see is what you get in terms of how i feel about you, the situation i'm in, my mood...and for even better or even worse, it will probably have an effect on you.

at work, i've been instructed to take any steps possible to ensure my spirits are high. socially, the expectations are the same: people are used to me laughing, dancing, joking, smiling...i always have a bite to me, but generally i'm a happy girl.

on days like today, where my energy is low and my mood even lower, i find i end up feeling profoundly guilty. how dare i drag down my friends or coworkers because, essentially, "i don't wanna"?! and yet it pulls me down like quicksand. i can feel the metaphorical dark cloud settling above me and i see it i sense it i know it but POOF! too late and i'm done for.

it's one of my biggest flaws, and it affects every area of my life. i'm no angel, and i've had a fairly tough ride, but nothing holds me back more than my inability to essentially suck it up. maybe i haven't had it bad enough. the most consistently positive people i know seem to have the hardest luck. in fact i have three coworkers who's sparkle never fades, who always have a smile for me. and those three have had awful luck in so many areas of their lives. they're friends of mine, sure, but they treat everyone equally all of the time. it amazes me.

i focus so much on being positive and having good things happen. but when i have days like today, i feel like it's one step forward, 5 steps back. my impulsiveness seems careless. what i think of as decisiveness looks like forcefulness. everything i have worked so hard for seems like it could slip away.

it usually ends up ok, sometimes with an apology here and some backpeddling there (or just some time). if 70% of the time i am a pleasant and loving person, why can't i have some bad days? why do i immediately assume everything i love/worked for/accomplished is going to be taken away?

what comes first?

the chicken or the panic?

i've always prided myself in being a tough cookie. i have persevered through childhood traumas, my parents divorcing, being a teenager. first loves, first heartbreaks. big plans that didn't turn out the way i thought and big moves that left me coming home with my tail between my legs. not to mention everything else.

things that scare most people, don't seem to scare me. i'm not afraid of starting new jobs or moving across the country. when i know it's time to break up with someone and start over, it doesn't take me long to ensure that happens, while i watch people i love stay with partners they haven't loved for years. i can speak my mind and stand up for myself; confrontation comes easily to me. i make friends easily, get hired easily, and meet/date/fuck boys easily too.

when i meet someone i really like, as i have recently, i am not afraid to dive in. it doesn't even occur to me that my pace is unrealistic or that i may not get my way. sure i have the same insecurities as anyone else, but i just don't see the point in holding back.

within days of meeting this one, there is an intimacy beyond anything i've experienced before. to be honest, the closest comparison is when i meet a woman i know i will be friends with for life. but here, i also want to kiss the lips off his face and tear his clothes off. plus he loves all the same music as me and we talk about really amazing stuff. he thinks i'm fascinating and i think he's lovely.

when he confronted me with, really, some pretty rational fears and concerns, i panicked. it brought me crashing back to a reality i wasn't prepared for. at the same time, all i could think was "really? stupid, this is so simple! just relax, let this happen, it's amazing!". alas. the average person doesn't think like me. and while i can truly say he is not average...he's not me. and i would never claim to be better than anyone, but i feel very lucky that those hang-ups and mental blocks never happen to me. i even said, "what's the worst that can happen, you can break my heart. so?"

the thing is, most people would literally do anything to prevent their heart from being broken. and i get it, i guess...but...for your heart to be broken it means it was fully open. you got to feel everything and really love someone and let yourself be loved and open to things you cannot possibly foresee. and i know THAT'S what is scary. not knowing how something is going to turn out. but isn't it pretty exciting too?

i have no idea what's gonna happen with this super lovely, super sensitive, special man. but i'm definitely not gonna chicken out now, and not find out.

kyle

i was working at a bar about 5 1/2 years ago after returning from an ill-fated attempt at living back in LA. my favourite bar had launched an amazing dance party and one of my besties and i were off to dance our little asses off. i was actually living at my grandparents' WITH my mom in a single bed...not really relevant, just wanted some of your sympathy.

i saw him floating around the bar, laughing and talking to everyone, especially the girls of course. he was impossible to miss---tall, dark and handsome---and i turned to lily and asked who he was. "oh my god", she laughed, "he's the male version of you." indeed, i could see the social butterfly/flirt in me reflected by him.

being 23, and a gutsy little one at that, i went right up to him and poked him with my finger till he turned around. "hi", i said, "i'm ___, and you've met your match." he was intrigued, and within the hour we were making out in the alley behind the bar (nothing but class, ladies and gentlemen).

we hung out for about a month, really just spending our time in bed, laughing and, well, you know-ing, and laughing some more. i don't even remember exactly how it ended---i think just an unreturned text or 2. i heard through the incredibly short toronto grapevine that he'd met someone, then they broke up, then he moved to australia.

one night at work, he appeared as if from nowhere. i knew he was back, due to the miracles of facebook, and he and i had always bantered on there. he was drunk, at my bar, saying vaguely inappropriate things...and all i could think was, "hmmm..." i was definitely still interested.

back he came a week or so later, and this time we both kinda insinuated that a reunion beer was in order. now, i am not 23 anymore. i am way more bruised and battered, and cautious and careful...i am also no longer just looking for a good time. i hope, every date i go on, that yes i will have fun, but also that there will be a real connection. that we will laugh and there will be sexual tension and a meeting of the minds and similar relationship goals...and this seemed like a real possibility here. he mentioned his last relationship ending because "she wasn't the future mrs. _____" which told me he was looking for something serious.

we began what seemed like proper grown up dating, for two ridiculous flirts like us. excellent banter, ridiculous sex, and due to very different schedules, i didn't feel like i was losing myself in it. there were definitely things i disliked right away but no one's perfect and i really thought we were compatible in most ways. but after a couple months, i could feel him pulling away. he wasn't making time for me in his understandably busy schedule, and i clammed up as a result. after not seeing him for a couple weeks (except once when he came into my work, got drunk, and hit on every girl around), we got together to break up. it was actually the most mature break up i have ever had, totally amicable and friendly...

but the questions left behind unanswered haunt me. i'm a "why" person. i can better accept bad news or undesirable tasks if i understand why they exist. and i just don't get it. i don't understand why it didn't work, why he didn't want to make it work. when he said he just didn't have time for me, i responded "if you were crazy about me, you would make time". he hesitatingly agreed. so why wasn't he crazy about me?

and this is where i am right now. i am constantly assured by everyone i know that i am a catch. i am independent, fun, pretty enough, smart, i score low on the crazy scale...so why? why have none of these men thought me good enough to fall for?

three weeks in toronto

i met him at an after hours. i was sober, having just finished work. he wasn't, but wasn't after hours drunk, either. when i first bounced in, i didn't even notice him. i went straight for my friends i was there for, two of my lovely friend-men. having not noticed this stranger in my vicinity/beside me, and always being 100% myself to these two lovely gentlemen, i was full on ME. after some laughing and gesticulating and motor boating, i saw him. cute! i introduced myself, and made a quick quip of some kind. he left to pee or whatever and i asked my friend "is he actually cute? it's too dark to know" "yes, he is very handsome. and very nice. but shy, so you will have to make the first move" "ugh, forget it." awhile later, this guy and i got to talking, and had a really amazing conversation, esPECIALly for an after hours. after some torment by his idiot friends, he kissed me. we kissed more outside, and he told me how much he loved my mouth, what a great kisser i was, and how he just HAD to get my information, all of it. he texted 36 hours later, wanting to hang. the only night we could was THAT night. we had an amazing dinner, a perfect walk, a fantastic curbside kiss before he got in the cab. a couple days later he was at my place of work, which i was covertly informed of, and appeared. awkward. he went away for the weekend, and i sent a this-is-when-i-can-hang-what-about-you text. basic response. and then nothing.

i met him at my bar. he sat there with a friend, one i had served the night before and remembered, who drank rye and coke. luckily, he chose rye and water, and had a beard. i could tell he was looking at me...i could also tell he was a douchebag. meh, beggars can't be choosers and nothing like a 12 hour shift and some whiskey thrown in with good ol' rejection to make me overlook some major flaws. like the company he kept. and his mediocre tip. and, once we were seated at the bar downstairs, he borderline ignored me, showing me just enough attention to keep mine. we left the building and made out nearby. the sheer skill of his hands and mouth simultaneously turned me on and scared the shit out of me. i fought every urge in my body, and refused to go home with him---thank god for not shaving my legs, that's all i gotta say. some playful texting, and a promise to hang out soon.

we work together, he's new, and i have caught him looking at me. an easy target, but also the quiet one. we flirt when he's done, taking advantage of my free shots for staff policy. extended liquor licenses were thrown in the exhaustion/tipsy/rejection pile and before i know it he seemed like a real good idea. awkward kisses followed by awful sex and a sudden good bye. oops.

i was texting the douchebag, considering going there (i could use his razor/as if he'd notice). gossiping in the lobby, a few boys walked by. one of them caught my eye, i caught his and i said, not quietly at all to my coworker, "i want that one" and followed him. i found him, and asked where he was going, and led him to the bar. some giggles and shots later, we were chatting in a booth. he was funny, self deprecating, works in a kitchen. has the necessary beard to overcompensate for his short stature. some strange straight forwardness was happening. i went through my deal breaker list (he passes on all counts) and a cute kiss was snuck in. I led him out of the building and a half block away, where we smoked (he smokes! yay!) and kissed and giggled...he called me actually physically CALLED me two days later and wants to cook me dinner.

what i need

my dad always told me never to "need" anything, because then it will elude you. to only "want" or "desire" something, to put that into the universe, and then if you were meant to have it, you could create the reality for yourself in which you receive it.

well, tough. apparently he has borderline personality disorder and i no longer have to be brainwashed by that bullshit.

i have needs---everyone does. water, food, shelter, warmth...then there's a step up from that---family, career fulfillment, interests, hobbies.

let's pretend that all (or at least a whole bunch) of those have been met: i have a great job that allows financial security and freedom to travel. my friends and family are, in my biased opinion, the best fucking people on the planet. i never go hungry, i can afford rent and new winter boots.

and everyone has different priorities. i have friends who are desperate to marry and have kids, others who have no interest in those things. the number of home/condo owners i know increases by what feels like the day. RRSPs and 401Ks and investments are now discussed openly and seemly urgently. debt isn't laughed off as easily anymore.

my priority, for better or worse, my ENTIRE life, has been love. love of my life, my friends, my world, my interests, my job...and of course, as a straight woman, the love of a man.

i have certainly tasted this delicious treat. i have been lucky enough to have had men love me, who i have loved. i have loved when it wasn't returned, and in hindsight i am still so glad i got to experience love on any level.

i have always wondered why i lack the drive and ambition to carve out a professional life for myself. i grew up knowing that i had the smarts and faculties to accomplish anything i set my mind to. i've toyed with going to school, entering various other fields...but i never do it.

however, when it comes to love, man oh man do i go for it. as i have gotten older i have definitely become more cautious, but by comparison to those around me, i am an all-in, full on kind of girl. if i like you, i like you HARD. living a life without true love isn't even an option. i put a TON of energy toward finding the guy for me, and every time i have been knocked down, i pull myself up and keep going.

so what do i actually need? i have realized recently that a man having a job is pretty nice---not an issue even a few years ago. i love to laugh, and be social, and require someone with the comfort levels, social skills and sense of humour to match mine. sex is hugely important to me. and i have half-jokingly set up a list of "dealbreakers" to help me sift through the never-gonna-work-out dudes: 1) no consumption of rum & cokes (are you a 16 year old girl?); 2) you cannot be from sudbury (i have my reasons, and they are valid); 3) if the band slayer is in your top 5, i'm out (it has only proven to be a problem); 4) if the words "i never dance" comes out of your mouth, you are NOT the man for me (really, at our wedding, you won't DANCE with me?!?!).

i need you to be considerate. call/text when you say you will. assure me you prefer me on a sunday morning with my hair up and glasses on, but tell me how hot a look on a friday night. for the love of god, don't keep your hands to yourself. ever. kiss me---lots. make me laugh, let me cry. hold my hand. choose me over sleep, not all the time, just often. get to know my friends and let me get to know yours. cuddle me till we're both falling asleep and then give me some space. have your own life, but share it with me. read. get off the computer. put down the video game. don't keep your hands to yourself. ever.

i am learning how to date at 28, so i am open to all kinds of advice---from my ladies, from my boys, from strangers. "play it cool", "be yourself", "go get him", "let him call you first"; i've heard it all. i hate the idea of me and a 30-something man playing games instead of being ourselves. you're gonna get me eventually, you may as well know what you're in for!

it's obviously impossible to predict how things are going to go, but no matter what, i'm ready. because despite every lawrence, matt dickson, daddy issue and total freak-ass loser in between, i'd rather put myself out there and get a little beat up, if in the end, i am lucky enough to have love.

matt dickson

this one gets his full name, because on the off chance this gets read by anyone besides my friends, he deserves to be outed.

i wasn't going to include him. but i must.

i had just gotten back to victoria after spending christmas in toronto. after my break up with chris, i couldn't afford to move everything home yet, so i was back, trying to make enough money to move back across the continent for the second time in a year...5th time in a decade, i should add.

my friend and i wanted to go out dancing. it was a sunday in victoria, not exactly the best day in the best town for a party, but we persevered. we cabbed from place to place, the last of which was a club i had never been to.

we walked in, two of maybe a dozen people in a minimum 100-capacity space. we went straight to the bar and ordered two coronas, two tequilas. like good service industry kids, we made friends with the bartender right away, buying him a shot.

as we stood there, a man i hadn't noticed walked up to us and started flirting with me. right away, i knew i wasn't interested. he was very tall, with a to-the-scalp shaved head and an accent---new zealand, i discovered upon reluctant investigation. i was about 2 beers and 3 shots in---by no means my limit, but i was feeling good enough that i was able to at least humour the man who had the nerve to approach me---an uncommon occurrence.

as he got closer, and my friend continued to talk to the bartender, he bet me a dime that he could kiss me without touching my lips. innocent to this ploy despite years in bars, i took the bet. of course he kissed me and handed me the dime and i felt like an idiot, duped.

then i blacked out.

i woke up naked, in a strange bed in a strange apartment, with this man standing over me, fully clothed and brushing his teeth, waking me up.

now, i should state here, this wasn't TOTALLY foreign to me. i had definitely woken up in a similar situation as this before.

when i sat up, i felt like i was still drunk. so i assumed i had gotten wasted and just gone home with this idiot against better judgement. again, not the first time. i quickly dressed---my clothes were neatly folded and on the couch---and tried to pull it together, act cool, everything's fine. he called me a cab and on my way out the door, i stood up on my tippy toes and kissed him good-bye.

when i got home, my friend, who i was staying with, was already up. "how was YOUR night?" she asked. "ok i guess" was my response, i think. i stumbled into the living room/my room and passed out.

when i woke up, i knew something was wrong. i felt weird, wonky like i'd done e or something---and i have done enough drugs to know when something foreign is in my system. in an effort to straighten out, my friend and i walked to our usual sandwich place. it was when we were walking home that i realized, all of a sudden:

i had been drugged.

i had been drugged by some asshole at some bar, who knows what he'd done to me, and i had KISSED HIM WILLINGLY ON THE WAY OUT.

of everything that has come out through this experience---the hospital, the rape kit, the questions, the police reports---THAT is what kills me. that i have put myself in so many fucked up, terrible sexual situations that when i was put in one involuntarily, i couldn't tell the difference.

i wish i could say this woke me up, changed my ways... i went the other way. in my last month in victoria, i slept with half a dozen strangers, eager to erase any evidence that this piece of shit was ever inside me. when i returned home, i continued on this charming path, taking my clothes off for pretty much anyone who gave me the time of day.

but when i went to that bar in victoria that night, i was looking for the same thing as i have every time i've walked into any bar or social situation. a fun time with a girlfriend, and maybe a chance at love.

dad

it seems impossible to write about the men that have affected me and not write about the very first one.

obviously this is different. but having just seen this man, helpless and sick in a devastatingly depressing nursing home, with mixed emotions i can't even begin to list, i realized this is perhaps the most important one of all.

dad is and has always been dynamic. my charisma; my charm; my open book, no hold barred attitude, is all him. even laying in that bed, unable to move or even really sit up, he captivated my sisters and i. it is always, and has always been, all about him.

when i think about him, i think of promises. all of the promises he made, from a car at 16 to his support throughout my life, to barbies as a child. one of ten were met. most were forgotten about---by him---only to be replaced with new ones that would meet the same fate.

i also always get this unnerving and mostly unfounded feeling of inappropriate behaviour on his part toward me. the only tangible thing i can remember was when i was about 12. he began introducing me to his employees (he was a general contractor at the time), always making sure to note how "hot" or "gorgeous" i was. i'm sure other adjectives were used. being an awkward preteen, at the time i ate it up, although always with some trepidation. these poor men, aged 20 at the youngest, were of course forced to agree with him.

i was an excellent student, socially adept, well read, a budding writer...none of this was ever mentioned. it seems too simple, to say, "my attitude toward my sexuality was clearly coloured by this behaviour", and yet clearly that's true. i have never thought of myself as the pretty girl in the room, instead relying on my humour, wit, and innate comfort in social situations. but i also have always required that i be desired. to that end, i suppose i depended on being sexy, or sensual. hey, even the homeliest girl in the room can get laid if she puts it out there, right?

my dad left when i was 13. he informed me of his impending absence before he even told my mom. nice, right? i tried so hard to continue to allow him in my life, desperate to cling to this idea that my dad still loved me (obviously true) and that i was still, and would forever be, a priority to him (less true). in fact, at 23, i went to stay with him back in l.a., attempting to salvage a relationship, leaving with a final statement from him that would change our relationship: "you and your sister aren't my responsibility".

i couldn't say how exactly my relationship with dad has affected my relationship with boys/guys/men in my life. perhaps my opinion isn't very high of the gender in general, but i think that has more to do with actual life experience. i am definitely boy crazy; my troubled father-daughter relationship certainly hasn't scared me off men in general.

i have several very lovely male friends who i consider "bests". their advice for me is always to slow down, play it cool, don't sleep with them too soon, etc. I am compulsively incapable of any of those things. i suspect the shaky foundation beneath my father and my relationship makes me want to know, constantly, where i stand with men. do you actually like me or are you just screwing around? do you see a future at all with me? would you be a good father and do you think i'd make a good mother? does your last name go with my first? do you think i'm beautiful? do you think i'm smart?

these are questions i undoubtably ask way, way too soon. and who can blame me, as i remain, and will always remain, full of questions for my father.

chris

chris was the first man i thought i actually had a REAL chance at sharing a life with. should've known better. you'll see why.

i met him at the bar i worked at. he and his coworkers/friends would come in on a nearly nightly basis, and drink loads after a long day at the "office". the very first time i met him, he asked me for my number. we went for a smoke outside and he admitted to being fresh out of a marriage--not even divorced yet. this, coupled with my own knowledge that he consumed more cocaine than has ever been my tendency, turned me right off.

that night, his over-zealous attitude about our vague date concerned me. i decided to blow it off, gently. to my memory i told him straight out why i couldn't go there. for three months, he continued to pursue me. i was simultaneously dealing with the aforementioned rob, so i was distracted.

in september, on the night i was meant to be at rob's sister's wedding reception, my absence due to rob's insistence that i not be there, i caved. we ended up snorting and snogging and shagging til daybreak.

i fell hard, and fast. in retrospect, all of the rob stuff probably pushed me to latch onto the first man who showed me attention. ah, retrospect.

about a month in, chris went MIA on me. a couple days went by, the first of which we had plans for, and this time i wasn't going to take it. i confronted him, told him either you're in it or you're out.

he was in.

the first year was amazing. we partied too hard, and loved just as hard. amidst all the drinking and e and coke and 6 am confessional drug fueled confessions, we built a strong relationship the likes of which i had never had. we became best friends. our friends liked each other, and each other's friends liked each of us.

we moved in together, with none of the doubts i'd had with my previous live-in boyfriend. we started to talk about the future in a real way, rather than "when we grow up, we should ______".

following a massive fight with his boss/friend, it came to be that he was moving to victoria, bc, for work. did i want to come with him?

BOOM! despite my enthusiastic (ish) "yes!" and plans going ahead, i panicked. i had always said i would move anywhere for true love, and i have never had any problem picking up and taking off. no, there was something else.

we both began the excruciating process of sabotage. i started. on the night of a friend's restaurant opening, i drank too much cava and tequila (a winning combo, lemme tell ya), he left early, and i had sex with someone i actually always quite disliked in the washroom downstairs.

low. LOW LOW LOW. lowest of the lows. you get the point.

chris found out. i failed to delete the text messages i received after from the other guy and chris found them. doesn't even matter why he looked at my phone, i was the guilty one.

after 24 hours of hell, he forgave me. i guess. then i got pregnant. chris, realizing that this would throw a rather large kink into our plans to move, combined with his knowledge that, unbeknownst to me, he'd become a full blown addict, made him suggest that perhaps now wasn't the time for a kid. after that whole process, i started to push him away, spending any time i wasn't working on the couch, stoned and depressed, or drinking til dawn.

his turn. about three weeks after my procedure, he woke me up in tears. he'd been fired, needles had been found at work. what? you're a tattooer, there's needles everywhere...oh. somehow for weeks he'd managed to hide evidence of shooting up cocaine. brilliant. by the end of the day i'd rallied his two best friends, gotten him to his hometown, and a bed coming up in a detox centre. ok.

he got sober, i began to forgive him, and poof! it was time to move out west. smart, right?

yeah, no. the first month or so was great, discovering the beautiful town together, looking for apartments, beginning what seemed to be the rest of our lives. but i was lonely, and his band of tattooed/semi sober/alternarockabillymetalheadweirdos weren't gonna cut it. i tried to make friends at work, but i was also trying to avoid drinking etc for his sake.

my turn again! rob got in touch with me, missed me, loved me. i was thrown off. of course we all know rob didn't follow through, and instead disappeared again. apparently, i found later, on his own coke-addled journey. when chris found the emails, he somehow let it go. i guess.

it was inevitable, our separate lives. i began going out, he stayed home. and one drunken night, just a day after we had already discussed the very real possibility that this wasn't working, i slept with someone else. two days later, i repeated the offence. i had, i thought, learned my lesson and deleted any correspondence between this man and i from my phone. but drunkenly, stupidly, there was one i forgot about. and once again, chris found it.

that was it. the next morning, i was out of there, and began the two month process of couch surfing in the homes of friends i had just made, people who barely knew me. i was disjointed and finding solace where there was very little to be scrounged up. when i went home for christmas, i felt lost. i knew that he and i weren't meant to be, but i had also lost my best friend.

a few months later, i needed him. i was in a strange town, surrounded by people who didn't REALLY know me, and i was drugged and assaulted at a bar. and he couldn't be there, of course. i understood. but it was the double trauma of breaking this truly deep down wonderful man and being shown just how disgusting and horrible a man CAN be. that finally taught me: when you break other people's hearts, yours gets broken too.

HE has moved on to a new woman, with whom he has a new baby. and me?

i went home, and, well...

rob

this is when it all changed.

this is when everything i thought i knew, about men, and about myself, went flying out the window.

i had decided i didn't want to serve or bartend anymore. what else did i like? hair! i started at a salon as an assistant and befriended the only girl who wasn't being supported by a parent.

it turned out, we had so many mutual friends! and this discovery without the help of facebook!

one night, she took me to visit her boyfriend and brother at the bar they worked at. i had already been filled in a bit. rob had just returned from new york following a nasty break up with a girl i apparently resembled ever so slightly. okay.

he came to the table to introduce himself and i almost died. it was like the scene in "big fish", when he sees his future wife and time stops and the popcorn is still in the air... i didn't have a chance in hell. he was gorgeous. clean cut, but with tattoos...i still get dreamy when i think of how gorgeous he was. is. whatever.

he ate me alive for a month or so, saying things like "did you feel that?" when we touched, and ended it suddenly around christmas. when i saw him 6 months later, at one of those mutual friends' birthdays, we both stopped in our tracks. within minutes we were making out in the gross bathroom of our friend's bar. within hours we were tearing each other's clothes off. i was done for, worse than before. he had so many issues at this point---the ex was married, he was doing a ton of blow, his job sucked---but i was determined to elbow my way into his life, i suppose thinking what so many women make the mistake of thinking: i can change him, i can fix him, i'll be the exception.

i couldn't, i didn't, and i wasn't. and yet for FOUR MORE YEARS, despite other relationships and months without seeing him, he had me. he had me in a death grip that i saw no way out of. i fancied myself a tough girl, but with him i was a puddle, a shell of myself. i felt sick and elated simultaneously every time i saw him. he consumed my thoughts and coloured my interactions with other men. somehow despite his shoddy treatment of me, no one seemed to measure up. it was the connection we had, the time-stopping-pulse-racing...it made me believe that if i was patient, he'd wake up and realize we were meant to be.

patient. one night, at our friend's bar, he put "patience" by guns n' roses on, said it was "our song", and proceeded to slow dance with a girl in front of me. THAT'S the kind of "man" he was. is. whatever.

every so often, like clockwork, as soon as i started to heal from the last heartbreak he'd put me through, he'd appear again. "oh! she's not thinking about me enough! i should call her/email her/show up where i know she'll be!". his psychic abilities astounded me. and every time, i succumbed to him, completely addicted to him. every time, he swore it was different, that he loved me, that he was sorry for before. and i'd pretend to fight it, trying to salvage whatever dignity i was under the delusion of having until i crumbled under the weight of my obsessive love for him.

and he'd disappear again.

and again.

and again.

then i started dating leland, his friend of sorts. who i swear is the last of that group of guys who will ever be inside me, so help me god.

and leland had insider information. rob was gonna be a dad. i saw him a few times, thankfully sans baby mama. he told me how he thinks about me all the time, how much he misses me, and how maybe in 5 or 10 years, blah blah blah...and still the nauseous elation every goddamned time. the last time, i think was the last time.

i was at a bar with a girlfriend. he'd texted me the week before for my birthday. this time he asked where i was, and when i responded, assuring him that "no one knows him here", he showed up. i was just drunk and single enough to kiss him---oh the kissing.

(necessary tangent: no one in the history of anything has kissed like we kissed (just let me have it). the passion and craziness and desperation and oh my god everything between us, even the very first time---that's what did me in. our fucking kissing. i disappeared the moment right before his lips touched mine. the universe melted around me as we breathed each other in. when our tongues touched, my body was on fire. ridiculous. also, dangerous. pretty sure next time i'm kissed like that i will scream bloody murder and run in the other direction.)

but this time he stopped me. he told me he couldn't do it anymore, couldn't hurt me, couldn't drag me through his "shit" anymore. that it was different, now he'd really done it, there was a child on the way.

and as usual, i protested, insisting that i was fine, that i could handle it.

but this time he knew i was full of shit, and wouldn't hear it. and he left.

and after over 5 years of leaving me, he finally did it right.

ravi

after quitting a job that was affecting my sanity at a time of year not meant for quitting restaurant jobs, i found myself working at a shitty theatre district corporate type place. uniform, buffet brunch, menu tests...the works.

immediately, i came across a surprise. ravi, a man who'd lived with a friend's boy what felt like a million years ago, worked there. i was a month into living with my boyfriend, mark, who i adored but had already been unfaithful to.

luckily, ravi wasn't the "other man" type. we would go for a drink after our shift, talk, flirt, and i would go home and not have sex with my boyfriend.

i ended up leaving mark, and was able to explore other aspects of ravi. we had incredible sex, amazing conversation...i felt relieved. yes! this was what i wanted! he was supportive, encouraging, and seemed to think i was a rather special specimen.

then he told me that he was moving. to taipei. in a month.

suddenly my world crashed down around me. how was i not a priority? i had left my boyfriend for him (a detail they were both blissfully unaware of)! and he was leaving? mutually smitten, we made plans to keep in touch, maybe i would even visit?

i'd been through this years before, and knew that this was highly unlikely. or at least, i should have.

within two months the essay-long emails became one line notes. the occasional surprise phone calls stopped.

saw him again the next summer, had one night of awkwardly passionate sex.

i've never been sure why ravi affected me so much long term. i was young? on the rebound? but i still think about him, wondering how and where he is.

lawrence

i was working at a busy, trendy restaurant when an older man walked in. i was just a lowly busser type then, helping the servers make hundreds as i took my sad $50 home. he needed a table for two, his son was parking the car.

moments later, as i passed their table, i saw him. a mop of curly blond hair framing a smiling face and impossibly gray eyes. *swoon* the server was busy, could i get their order? yes, please.

what is my name? the father, clearly a lothario in his demographic, asked casually. then, what are yours, i asked? i was told to guess the son's name. it starts with an 'l'. liam? lawrence.

pause. my father's name. awkward. moving on. too hot to get discouraged by daddy issues.

could i wrap up his food, it was just too much!

i went downstairs, knowing i had to do something brave. as i scooped his food into the takeout container it occurred to me. egged on by the kitchen boys, i grabbed the nearby sharpie and scrawled my name and phone number (pager number, actually) on the inside.

the very next day, i received a page from a number i don't know. i called. it's him. he couldn't believe i had done what i had done, loved it.........but had a girlfriend.

two weeks later i got a page. the number looked familiar but i couldn't quite place it. it was him. they'd broken up, it's been a long time coming, could we hang out sometime?

we all met at a bar, my friends and a couple of his. a band was playing, the music so irrelevant i can't remember what it was. and he asked me to dance.

this, my friends, is my kryptonite.

when we slept together, i felt a need to please that i never had before. don't get me wrong, i was never a lay back and think of england type. but this guy, oh man. i just wanted him. i wanted him to love me and never leave me so it was acrobatics and blow jobs galore. it seemed to be working...

i was a goner. but a mere month after this, he was off to europe with promises of fidelity. i of course didn't believe him as far as i could throw him, especially assured by my worldly 19 year old girlfriends of the impossibility of this. at 19, i had never dated someone who had the resources (he was 21!) to travel abroad. what did i know of the power of actual french girls?!

i started up something with a friend of mine. turned out, a friend of his. it all imploded on my face after too much booze and a bit of lying on my part...and off he went, my gray eyed dancing prince that was the very last man i ever had the guts to really lay it on the line for. this, i have discovered, was the beginning of the end.