the fool

The winter melted away, and I prepared for a summer in the Rockies.  My job ended in early June, and I had time to kill before starting a teaching position in September.  I spent most of my time hiking, going to free concerts, and reading by the river.

Out of the blue, Amy texted me to ask if I would ever consider giving Kurt (see “The One Who Got Away”) a second chance, assuming of course that he would apologize extensively for messing up.  I was puzzled, but said yes.  How could I not?  She explained that he had been talking to a mutual friend about me and his regrets for what had happened.  The x-girlfriend was supposedly now the past, and he was wondering if he could have another chance with me.  I tried not to take this too seriously, but despite myself all the dormant feelings began to bubble back up to the surface. 

One day, Amy and I went on a hike on the day of another friend’s party, also a friend of Kurt’s.  Amy's boyfriend called to ask if I was going to the party because Kurt wanted to know.  I couldn’t quiet the butterflies that started frantically batting their wings about in my stomach.  Before the party, I got a haircut and put on my most killer, curve-flattering summer dress.  It was a while before he showed up with a group of friends on bikes.  We smiled at each other but didn’t start talking right away.  I figured he owed me the first move.  From a distance, I noticed him talking a lot with a pretty blond girl that had arrived with his group of friends.  At one point when she was elsewhere I went over to talk to him.  He said something nice about the job I had gotten, and we chatted about how things were going.  But the conversation faltered, and we drifted off.  Later on, I saw him talking with the pretty blond for a long time in the candlelight.  They looked so engrossed in conversation, the way we had been on that first date.  I left the party with that same sinking feeling in the stomach he had given me so many months before. 

Amy later found out that he and the girl had been friends on Facebook.  She lived in a bigger city a couple of hours drive away and showed up on a whim that very day to visit him.  He had been looking forward to seeing me, but then she arrived.  Apparently she won him over because shortly after I heard they were together, and she moved here.  Truly, I suppose, it was not meant to be.

Not long after this disappointment, I was at a summer concert with my friend Rachel, also a friend of Mason’s (see the “Yoga Gansta”).  We ran into him.  I wasn’t overly friendly to the guy that had blown me off so many times and walked off to get a drink.  Later she told me he had asked if I hated him and wondered if I would give him a second chance.  She encouraged him to ask me to out again.  I didn’t hear from him, but shortly after Rachel and I ran into him at the farmer’s market.  I was friendlier this time, and we chatted.  He asked what I was up to later that day and if I would like to go for a hike with him.  Like a sucker, I accepted.  I waited for his text, and waited, and waited, as the hours went by.  I noticed the weather storming over the mountains where we had planned on hiking, but all the same, that’s when he should have called to ask me to go to a movie or at the very least rescheduled.  But no, nothing.  I felt like such an idiot for falling for it all over again.  For an “enlightened” person, he sure knew how to make a girl feel like crap.

Later that summer, I took a road trip to the national park where I worked the previous year.  A month before the trip, I had Facebook chatted with a former summer fling, and he expressed excitement to see me again.  After my recent luckless experiences, the feeling was mutual.  At the very least, I would have a couple days of romance that summer.

When I showed up, he already had a girlfriend – a beautiful, blond, blue-eyed Russian-American girl.  One of the evenings I somehow got sucked into playing a Russian card game with the two of them.  It was a game called “the Fool”, that she taught us.  The point of the game was not to lose, or be “the fool”, rather than winning.  I lost round after round and, yet again, was the fool.

All summer I was very aware of the fact that come late August, I would be starting my job as a first year teacher, as well as beginning an intense online graduate program.  The summer seemed the perfect time to find some romance.  I had absolutely nothing of importance going on and was in many more social settings than usual.  Nonetheless, it was a summer of constant disappointments in the love department.  Ironically, as soon as my job and graduate classes began (and I became ridiculous busy, stressed and antisocial), the dating scene picked up its pace.  That’s the trouble with romance.  It doesn’t come just because you’re ready and want it.  It comes when you least expect it, when it’s least convenient, and when you least look for it.  I swore off boys for the school year, believing I would need to focus on my work.  But that’s when the all boys showed up.

the perfect guy

So there’s this coffee shop/bar.  Right around 3 p.m. the crowd changes from coffee drinkers to beer drinkers.  I like the place because I can go there and get some work done without feeling entirely like I’m working. 

I was doing just that one Saturday when a fit, decently attractive man maybe in his late 30s with salt-and-pepper hair sat down on the couch across from me.  The weather was crummy, and he was also on his computer.  After a while he struck up a conversation.  We talked on and off, about nothing much. 

Later that week I went back in the evening to get some work done.  He was there again with a handsome, tall, well-built, blue-eyed guy, late 20s.  They got some drinks and sat on a couch nearby.  I made some eye contact and smiled, but was mostly focused on my work.  Still I noticed them noticing me.  After a while, Salt-and-Pepper and his buddy came to sit beside me, and he said, “We’re going to bother you.”  I smiled, put my computer aside, and said, “Okay”. 

What followed is best described as an interrogation… a very friendly one.  They bombarded me with questions and barely let me return the favor.  An hour and a couple drinks later they knew my whole life story.  (Good strategy, I must say.  People love to feel interesting, me being no exception.)  I did gather that Salt-and-Pepper was from Alaska, had lived for many years in Japan and was a serious cyclist.  Blue Eyes was freshly returned from living in New Zealand and so stoked to be back in the place he loved most.  He was also an avid mountain biker, which is how he had met S.N.P and was now his roommate.  S.N.P. was more reserved and had intensity about him.  B.E., on the other hand, laughed easily and was enthusiastic about everything.  He had a great smile.  We connected over a shared fantasy of living in a little cabin in remote Alaska.

When we were getting ready to go, I was feeling pretty entertained and wondering if any digits would be exchanged and with whom.  I went to the bar to settle an earlier tab and they stepped outside.  When I walked out the door, only Blue Eyes remained.  He asked for my phone number.  

For our first date, we decided on a time, but he told me he had the place figured out.  I hung out at Amy’s house waiting for him, and we spied through the blinds when he showed up wearing a white shirt tucked in and slacks.  I was surprised:  it had been ages since I’d seen a guy looking even remotely “dressed up” for a date… I dunno, maybe prom?  He took me to a fine dining restaurant.  I found this both flattering and unsettling.  I had been expecting a pub/restaurant type place and didn’t feel dressy enough.  Plus, as you may remember, I am a Beer-and-Pizza-First-Date type girl.  Nonetheless, the conversation flowed with the wine, and my biggest impression of him was, he is just so nice.  So friendly and smiley.  The good-looking part didn’t hurt either.  He had also grown up on his farm (apparently a prosperous one) and was now a landscaper/ski instructor.  Love it when men can do useful things with their hands (see "...Handyman", Dec.).  Things got a bit awkward when the bill arrived because I couldn’t even honestly offer to split, but we got past it.

We continued to see each other regularly.  The dates were great:  going to an outdoor concert, riding cruiser bikes to the brewery, getting beer and then ice cream.  Nonetheless, by about the third time we hung out, something started to waver.  He was so damn nice, so friendly, so enthusiastic, so good-looking.  Still, something wasn’t there.  I started to find myself sort-of bored in his company.  I couldn’t figure it out or even explain it to friends.  On paper, he was so perfect.  Thoughtful, sweet, outdoorsy, handsome… pretty much the image of my dream guy.  But the conversation was flat.  There was something about him that seemed forced and uncomfortable.  Like he was trying too hard and never just himself.  He also would give me lingering goodbyes that did not include a kiss.  I could tell he thought about it but just didn’t know how to go about it.  And the truth was, I didn’t really want him to (again, couldn’t really tell you why).  In some ways he seemed so young. 

You’re probably rolling your eyes at me again, like why don’t you rename the blog “Miss Picky”?  Or perhaps “Miss Crazy” for getting more butterflies from a middle-aged white skinny yoga-gangsta than the virtual dream guy.  Hey, I’m just as perplexed as you.

I realized the plug needed to be pulled when I was at dinner with him at a nice Italian restaurant and caught myself wondering how much more time I had to kill.  In that moment I looked at him, so handsome, so eager, so nice, and thought, “This isn’t fair”.  Here he is spending all this money and time on me, being so wonderful, and I’m bored.  This guy needs someone that appreciates him.

Now here’s the worse part of all.  How do you break up with the perfect guy?  How do you tell him what’s wrong when you don’t even know yourself?  How do you tell someone that’s just been so great, so very very nice?  I’m the type that finds confrontation excruciating.  So I played cool and went on vacation and just kind of hoped it would fizzle by itself (such a guy move).  It didn’t.  He texted me while I was away hoping that I was having an amazing time.  And I did something that’s still hard to admit.  I sent the BREAK UP TEXT.  Yes… yes, I did.  I kept it short and swift.  No audible words were exchanged.  Terrible, I know.  But you know what, I’m not sure I buy all that about it being best to do it in person.  On the receiving end of the breakup, you have to look at the person’s face who’s telling you they’re just not feeling it while your heart cracks into a million pieces and you have to act all cool and natural and come up with a casual response like you were really thinking the exact same thing, oh what a relief.  On the phone it’s only slightly less humiliating.  So the way I see it is I saved him some face and gave him the perk of being able to think of me as a total bitch for doing the breakup text.  Plus we never even locked lips, so how serious of a breakup is called for?    

Okay, yes, all my excuses are pretty weak sauce.  But the job got done.  Sometimes I come across his startlingly handsome face on Facebook as he’s on some impressive backcountry adventure (sometimes accompanied by this gorgeous blond girl that doesn’t appear to get bored with him in charming Italian restaurants), and I’m like, Really?  What were you thinking?!  If only I knew.