I always wished that the makers of the “–for Dummies” and “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to –” would do something about those obnoxious and easily recognizable covers. Don’t they know that someone who has been blogging for three-plus years FEELS like a dummy just holding “Wordpress for Dummies” when standing in the checkline at Borders? Those yellow and black covers with their little “a reference for the rest of us!” subtitles will make you feel like a dummy just by touching them. Anyone looking at you will assume that you are not one of “the rest of us,” but that you are, in fact, so dangerously daft that you need a book colored like caution tape to warn people out of your path. Yes, it shows through the white plastic Borders bag.

That being said, “Wordpress for Dummies” helped a great deal and I do recommend it if you’re starting off on Wordpress.org and you think that a plugin is the thing at the end of the laptop-charging cord. These books should come in nice, faux-leather covers with a ribbon bookmark, like Bibles.

But welcome! Have a cookie! I’m not sure about this design yet, but I always wanted to do something with that picture of the redhead over there, and she seemed to fit with the yellows and pinks and brighten things up here. I need to sort out how to give this thing a custom header, I think. Due to a very unfortunate cash flow problem (almost-dead laptop, ornery major appliances), the professional design from Delicious Design Studio must be delayed. I like yellow, and now that I’ve figured out this FTP crap, I’m feeling invincible with my shiny NEW laptop. This will work. At the very least, I’ve passed a mostly pleasant sober Saturday night.

Baggage Update:

I don’t think that I mentioned that Kayak was an SGB reader for many months. When we first started hanging out a few weeks ago, he told me he’d stop reading if it made me uncomfortable. I told him that would be good, and he agreed to stop. Our time spent together and even just in conversation has tapered off considerably this week, which is probably just due to the fact that I am sour on everything right now and not afraid to share the fact – but a tiny part of me wonders if he read those posts about E. He’s probably just giving me space, though. Probably.

E and I spent some time on the phone on Wednesday night, and we have plans to hang out Sunday evening. I need to spend some time with the boy in a less emotionally-charged situation than we had on Monday. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Of course, I haven’t really tried.

I spoke with Ben on Tuesday night and he’s completely messed up; he can’t understand what happened and where it all went wrong. Of course, having spent a considerable amount of time listening to Mel that day, I knew exactly what was going on with her and why.

But of course I can’t tell him that. That’s her place to make him understand as best she can. The only reason I get it at all is because I’ve been in such a similar situation. I’ll have to tell that story another time. Of course I love Ben and want to give him all the support I can during a time like this – they are going to do a sort of trial separation – but I’m afraid to give him any remark or comfort resembling hope. It’s not that I don’t believe something could change in Mel’s heart, but I can’t offer hope of that and I know it’s what he wants to hear.

I can hardly even think of it without wondering, wondering, wondering. So I have to think about something else.

I mentioned briefly in my last post that I had started dating a guy from work a few weeks ago. I can’t name this one after his job like I do so many others, because “Talent Acquisition Specialist” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue (or the keyboard) nicely. So I’ll call him Kayak because he has one and I dig that. We have similar interests in outdoorsy things and taste in films. He lived in France for a year and will watch subtitled Audrey Tautou movies with me, and not just “Amelie.” He’s affectionate and will hold my hand while we walk to dinner and cuddle me when we watch movies. He’s cute and has admitted to having a crush on me for some time. It’s been about 2 ½ weeks now and Kayak and I have seen each other a lot – it’s been moving rather quickly, but it’s been nice. Captain, schmaptain.

And then E.

He texted me over the weekend, saying he really wants to talk to me, thinks of me all the time, and that at his Metro stop near my work he’s gotten off and looked for my car in the parking lot to leave me a note because he was too nervous to tell me what he had to say. He never did leave that note, and I texted back that if he wants to talk, he should call me. He did, and we talked for about 45 minutes on Saturday afternoon. It was the first time I’d heard his voice since the day I gave him all of his stuff back in early June. He apologized over and over for the way he’d treated me, and I have to confess that although I accepted his apologies, I did light into him about WHY what he did was wrong.

“You LIED when you said you didn’t love me?” I said incredulously. “You lied. About that.”

“Yes. I’m still in love with you, I never stopped.”

“Why, of all things, would you lie about loving me?” I practically yelled. “You ripped my heart out when you said that!”

“Look, I was scared, and it was the stupidest thing to be scared of and it was the stupidest thing to lie about and I’ve regretted it ever since. I acted for the dumbest reasons and felt pressure from other people–“

“Which is a FINE reason for making decisions about our relationship, really. I love when you use that as an excuse.”

“I’m so sorry, I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I know you don’t trust me, but I really am.”

“Well,” I said evenly, “for future reference, when you want to know what a girl wants from you and from your relationship, you should ask HER. No one else. And when you let other people’s pressure to get married or not get married or whatever make decisions for you, then you’re not a man about it.”

He was silent. I was seething. “Say something,” I demanded.

“I need to see you. I need to see you to talk about this.”

“We can do that,” I sighed.

“I’ll call you later this week when I get my work schedule,” he said quickly. “We’ll go get coffee, something. I promise I will call you.”

“Okay.”

Then came Monday night and everything with Mel and Ben, and I needed him more desperately than I ever had before. We’d had arguments before about how I felt he was dismissive sometimes when I was upset, but on Monday when I called him, he dropped everything and came over. Some of that is documented in my last post. Some of it is here.

When my tears for Mel and Ben were spent for the time being, the conversation turned back to our own breakup. “I’ve been seeing someone,” I said abruptly as we sat on the porch in silence.

“Really.”

“Just for a little while. It’s nothing serious.”

“Why isn’t he here with you tonight?”

“Because I needed you,” I said simply.

“It’s so weird that this all happened tonight of all nights,” he said.

“Why?”

“I talked to my dad today.” E’s dad has had two failed marriages and is a bitter, cynical old man. He warns his sons that women poke holes in condoms to get pregnant and demand shotgun weddings. He’s never minded me but I am a woman and therefore not to be trusted with his son.

“And?”

“He was glad about the changes I’m making in my life, of course.” E finally, FINALLY left The Restaurant and got another job. He’s still in the restaurant industry and working as a line cook and not as the big-cheese chef anymore, which of course is not ideal, but at least now he’s at the Four Seasons, making more money and not in that shitbox working for those idiot owners. E is also moving out of the apartment he’s shared with the stoner roommate and getting his own place. He is making positive changes, the kind he’d always talked about making and never did.

“I’m glad too,” I said. “You needed those things.”

“And so you know my dad, all business,” he said slowly. “He asked me if I had a five-year plan.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “And I do. I want it to be with you. I want you to give me another chance. I want to be with you and move our relationship forward, to build a life with you, to raise a family.” E got down on his knees in front of me and had both my hands in his and for a terrified nanosecond I thought he was going to propose or say something equally stupid. The words just spilled out of his mouth. “I know I’ve fucked up and I haven’t been a man. But I want to be. I’ve been trying, I’ve been making changes and I want to make more. And I need you, I want to do this with you.” He cupped my face in his hands and leaned his forehead against mine.

I closed my eyes.

“You told me the other day that if I want something from a woman I should ask her and no one else,” he continued. “And my dad thought I was an idiot until I looked him in the eye today and said ‘Dad, I love her.’ He shook his head at me and said I should do whatever I want if I’m that sure of myself. And I am. I don’t care if he still thinks I’m an idiot or if he approves and just isn’t telling me. I don’t care. So I’m asking you, only you, to give this another chance.”

“E… I don’t know… I can’t even think…”

“You don’t have to say anything now. I know this is an awful time to ask you to make a decision. But I had to tell you this and when you can make a decision, then make it.”

“Everything is falling apart.” I leaned back in my chair and looked in his eyes. “And now you want everything you said you didn’t want. Do you really mean all this?”

I dropped a tear and he brushed it off my cheek with his thumb. “I’m done lying,” he said.

“I can’t think.”

“Then don’t. Not just yet.”

He stayed with me all night. I lay awake in his arms and didn’t sleep. God, I’d missed those arms. I missed how the shape of his body fit the shape of mine when we lay in bed together. I missed his little beer belly because it made for such good hugs and snuggles and tickles. I missed the smell of him and the way he tangled his hands in my hair when he kissed me, and that he always knew exactly how to kiss me. I missed the way he rolled over in the middle of the night and grabbed me close, buried his head in my neck and made growly noises while he tickled my neck with his tongue. I missed his touch, his voice, his snores, the way he spreads out like a starfish on my bed and I have to shove him at least once a night. I missed playing with his hair in the morning and making the curls fluff out.

I’d missed him like crazy.

Everything he said to me that night was beautiful, and it’s hard for me to believe that he would say those things just because they’re what he thinks I want to hear. I say that because E has really never been that great at knowing what I wanted to hear. There were times I couldn’t shut him up spouting off his own opinions about a subject we’d beaten to a pulp, times when all I ever needed was for him to apologize for something and instead he’d get defensive. So when he said these things – I want to believe him. I want to trust him. But I don’t know how yet.

I don’t want to go back to E just to have affection and companionship again. I could have Kayak for that – things are going well and could be very promising. I could take that chance and not worry every day about being betrayed by E again. Kayak is an unknown. He could lie to me, hurt me or break my heart just as easily as E could. And chances are it would hurt a little less than the pain and indignity of being hurt by E a second time.

So I’m freaking terrified.

My bedroom is painted a medium-deep blue color, and has room-darkening fabric shades and navy curtains. It gets no sun until the late afternoon when the light hits the west window. On Tuesday morning, E and I lay there together, holding one another and sharing pillows and covers in what we always called our cocoon. Wrapped up with him in the isolated, darkened room, I felt a small peace. Outside the door there were choices and changes, inside the room I was protected by the arms of a man who loved me and wanted me to love him again. I don’t know if it was fear of the choices and changes outside or my love for that man inside that made me want to stay in there forever.

It’s 6 am and I’m in my study, tap-tapping away at my keyboard while E snores. I can’t sleep.

Twelve hours ago, I turned my phone on vibrate as I was getting ready to go to dinner with a cute coworker I have been sort of dating for the last two weeks. More on him some other time. On my way home, I discovered I’d missed a text from Mel, followed ten minutes later by a call from her husband.

“Call me asap,” she’d written. Mel does not overuse ASAP. I phoned her immediately – she said “I’ll call you right back” and disappeared. Something sounded wrong, very wrong. I waited ten minutes and called her husband instead.

“Ben?” There’s silence on the other end of the line but I know he’s picked up. “Ben, what is it, what’s going on?”

“Melissa’s out.”

“Out? Out how? What?”

“She’s leaving me. She told me she wants out and she doesn’t love me anymore.” His voice was tiny, I could hardly hear him, I must have misunderstood because that did not add up at all. I swerved into the parking lot of the nearest gas station.

“Say that again. Please tell me I heard you wrong.”

He says it again. “She says she’s been thinking about this for six months.”

“No no no, she can’t have been–” I choke on the words. “Ben, she never said, she couldn’t have–”

“She says she didn’t tell anyone.”

I pull back onto the road, forcing words out. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Where is she?”

“On her way to work.”

“Do you need me to come over?”

“Tim’s here. My brother is on his way.”

God, how I love the two of them, Ben and Melissa. They’re my family. Their families are my family, their parents and sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews. They live half a block away. They grill out every weekend during the summer. They have an 18-month old baby. They love each other, they have the marriage Tim and I always said we envied. They just had their five year anniversary. They’ve been together for ten years.

And she left him. I keep thinking I misunderstood.

By the time I got home, I was in hysterics. Mel hadn’t called back. I needed to talk to someone, and I don’t know how to explain it except to say that I needed to talk to someone who knows me and who knows my relationship with them. Tim, of course, was with Ben, but in all honesty the first person who sprang to mind was E.

E called me over the weekend, I hadn’t gotten around to posting that. We talked the other day for about forty-five minutes, a conversation full of apologies (his) and acceptances (mine). If we hadn’t had that conversation I don’t think I could have called him – I don’t think I would have called anybody. But I did call him, and he called a cab to come over.

While I was waiting for him, Mel called me back. We spoke for about twenty minutes and it began to sink in that she didn’t just storm out. They didn’t have a fight and a huff. I’d heard Ben right, she knew exactly what she was doing and it was real. Not “I’m thinking of leaving him” or “I don’t know how much more I can take,” it was simply “I’m done.”

“You’re really on your way to work like this?” I asked. She’s a cop. She can’t be even slightly off for a minute.

“Never let them see you sweat,” she said tiredly. “I have to.”

“I know. Call me at seven when your shift ends. I’ll take the day off, I’ll be with you, we’ll talk or listen or anything. Call me as soon as you’re off.”

She started to cry. “I will.”

“I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you too, B.”

I had almost regained my composure when E showed up. I hadn’t seen him for over three months and I just fell against his chest, sobbing when he walked through the door. He held me for a long time. We sat out on the back porch and talked for hours about Ben and Melissa, about other friends and our families and catching up, and about us. It was not an ideal night to have that conversation but it’s another one that just spilled out. Divorce is a topic that has always made him cynical – he’d always say things like how he doesn’t want to get married or have kids because everyone’s marriages fall apart, blah blah.

Tonight he threw cynicism to the wind and said he loves me, never stopped, lied because he was scared, and wants another chance. He said he’ll do anything for me to take him back, that he wants us together for real, to make it work, to raise a family – holy shit, did he say that? Ladies and gentlemen, he did. On the night when the relationship I thought was my aim in life is crumbling around the people I care about, E says the things I never thought I’d hear. I used to hold Ben and Mel up to him as an example of how people could get married and balance time together and time on their own, how they could have a baby and still have a sex life and a social life as a couple. I’d say look, just because you’ve got friends who’ve had screwed-up marriages doesn’t mean every marriage is like that – see, Ben and Melissa make their life together work, they do it right.

What the hell did I know, anyway? What did any of us know? They’re my best friends. I had no clue, Ben had no clue – and although I know it’s been on Melissa’s mind and heart for months now, I know it’s something she never expected either.

The marriage I wanted and never had is falling apart. And E wants to get back together and build toward that relationship he says he’s finally strong enough to have. He wants what he said he didn’t want. Melissa wants what she never thought she’d want. Ben wants what he can’t have.

My alarm just went off to wake me from the sleep I didn’t get to start the work day I won’t have. Am I even oriented enough to think about what I want right now?

“I want to be called THE RAVEN!”

We’re at our third bar of the evening. I take a small sip of my seventh Sprite.

“You said everyone gets a code name.”

“I didn’t say you get to pick.”

“Come on.”

“What makes you think I’m going to write about you anyway?”

“Because I’m interesting. I bet this is the most interesting conversation you’ve had all night.”

“Perhaps it is. But that doesn’t guarantee you posterity on the Internet.”

“I love when you use big words. That’s so cool. See, we’re both literary!”

“Wanting a code name from a piece of poetry does not make you literary.”

“Come on.”

“It’s not like you’ll get to read it anyway.”*

“Please?”

“Shut up, Frank.”

Across the room, Captain raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug.

“You have a top for that thing?” The barely-past-puberty valet gestures at my Jeep, where KK, her boyfriend, and Captain are jumping out by drunkenly swinging off the roll bars.

“It’s got the safari top on,” I say. “Besides, it’s not going to rain.”

“Not rain. If you’ve got the top you should, like, put it on.”

“Do I look like I have it on me?” I ask, holding up my purse. “What’s the problem here?”

“Well, it goes in an unattended parking lot.”

“And?”

“It’s like, open. And no one will be watching it. You should really put the top on it.”

I speak very slowly. “I am not going home to put the top on my car. Anywhere, any time I park it and walk away, it is unattended. Trust me, the poor thing is used to this treatment. It does not have a nanny. This is why I have insurance and you have a no-liability clause.” I force my keys into his hand. “Park. The. Damn. Car.”

He hands me a paper ticket and practically runs for the driver’s seat. God, I’m bitchy when I’m sober.

“Wheeee!” The blonde girl crashes into KK and knocks both of them off the chair, almost but not quite spilling her champagne as they tumble to the ground laughing. Captain and I watch incredulously from our seat on a neighboring couch as the waiter brings yet another round of shots and they grab for them from the floor.

“To the bride!” the blonde girl yells, knocking one back in honor of the girl I don’t know and whose bachelorette party I am attending for reasons I have yet to ascertain.

“Yay!” “Bride!” “Woo!” All the girls join in, picking up glasses from the tray. There is one left.

The blonde girl snatches it up and lurches toward me. “’Have it!” she slurs. “All th’ girls are ‘aving one!”

“Thanks, I’m good.” I sip my eleventh Sprite of the evening.

“No, a toast to Angie! The bride!”

“That’s all right.”

“You sober driving?” She gets close to my face. “Cuz one’ll be fiiiine.”

“I’m pregnant,” I say dryly.

Her mouth opens in a wide “o” and she plops down on the couch next to me – on TOP of Captain, who had leaned behind me to say something to a friend and is now unfortunately pinned sideways by the blonde girl’s hip.

“I got a great boyfriend and I love him sooo much and I’m not after your boyfriend, I promise,” she whispers, gesturing at Captain in his awkward horizontal position.

“Oh, he’s not my—”

“He’s NOT? But does he know you’re… you know?”

Captain is trying to wriggle free. The blonde girl, I may have forgotten to mention, is not especially tiny. I help him out by giving her a friendly shove and he manages to sit up, and the blonde girl is now perched unsteadily on his lap.

“Hey there,” he says wearily.

“YOU drink this!” the blonde girl says, handing him the shot. He obliges. “Did YOU know that she’s—-“

“Not a big fan of cherry bombs, yeah,” I finish for her.** I turn to Captain. “Are we leaving soon?”

The Jeep, of course, was perfectly fine.

After that bar there was another, and two more Sprites before last call. I drove the drunks home and stopped at Jack in the Box for a chocolate milkshake before heading to my house.

It sure would have tasted better with a shot of Bailey’s.

—————–
* I learned something in Chicago.
** Yes I am.

I had a third date with Copper on Wednesday night, and was actually a little excited when I was getting ready, thinking maybe the apathy was dissipating.

Heh.

Dinner was fine; he told a lot of funny cop stories, perhaps a bit embellished, but he made me laugh. We continued on to one of my favorite bars, had a drink and watched the ball game and the drunk fans for awhile. He drove me home and…

Okay, this is pleasant. I like cuddling and kissing. We’ve had a good time so far tonight and I’m getting more comfortable with this guy, I think. Potential, perhaps? Except for this action. I think his mouth is bigger than mine. Kind of uncomfortable. Is he trying to chew on my lip? Weird.

No really, Copper, that feels funny. Close your mouth just a little.

STOP TRYING TO EAT MY MOUTH!!!

Hah, thwarted him by pushing his head away a little. Now I get to be in charge a little and he doesn’t get to eat my face. Smaller kisses, that’s better. But really, what is he doing those little tongue flicks for now? It tickles. I swear I’m going to laugh and bite his tongue if he keeps doing that. No really. I will not be responsible for my actions if he doesn’t STOP THAT…

“That tickles!”

“What?”

“That thing you’re doing with your tongue. It tickles my mouth.”

Sorry. I just had to say something. I don’t want blood on my couch. This is better, maybe he’s trainable. Oh yes, much more pleasant, this is good with cuddling and being all affectionate and WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT HAND?!

Oh. That. That’s nice. Just keep doing that. Do we have to keep kissing the whole time? This mouth is getting a little tired from having to fight you off.

I need to move my neck. Yeah, that’s better – ooh, the phone just beeped for a new message! I wonder who it is? Oh SHIT, I bet it’s someone twittering the DNC, and I forgot all about it! Bill is speaking tonight and I’m missing it! I heard HE was going to be the controversial Clinton, not Hillary and her speech was incredible last night—

No dude, just because I am stretching my legs does not mean I am inviting you to take my pants off. Oh. But that’s nice though. Just do that. Leave the pants alone. Leave the – well, maybe just a little.

I wonder if I stretch a little further if I can hit the remote with my toe and “accidentally” turn on CSPAN. He’s pulling on my hand like he wants me to grab his – but should I really encourage him? I mean, it couldn’t hurt and that thing he’s doing is quite nice – gah! The phone beeped again! What am I missing? I see you, blinky blue message light!

Okay now the tie on my shirt is getting all twisted around so I’m going to try and untangle myself. I am not taking it off, Copper. Stop trying to “help” me. Ooh, but that’s nice. Yeah, you can – OW! What IS it with this guy trying to chew on things? First he tries to eat my face and then he’s biting my – that damn message light is driving me crazy.

That’s better. Gentle, dude. Mind the teeth. I have to be drunk to really get into that stuff.

I ought to be doing something. He seems to be really into this and I’m just sort of laying here, thinking about politics. But really, this is the first presidential election where I’m honestly not sure who to vote for. I don’t know much about either of the candidates and I wish they’d give some more details about exactly what they’re going to do to fix the economic situation and exactly how they propose to pull the military out of Iraq in however many months. I think if I remember to watch the debates this year I’ll get a better grip on things and I won’t feel like a bad citizen.

My arm is asleep. I need to wiggle it out from under him and not bump his – oops. Bumped it. Yeah, he really IS into this, I see. That’s kind of nice. And since he did figure out how to kiss me properly, I could just – oh, man, three messages now?! What if they’re not DNC twitters? What if someone needs me? What if it’s Captain, confirming plans for tomorrow night?

Oh yeah, tomorrow. That reminds me, I need to tell KK not to say anything to Captain or Copper about each other. I think she knows, but after what happened with them running into each other at that thing last weekend, even though I wasn’t there – I just need to be sure. That sure sounded like a funny night though.

Still haven’t done anything with that hand. I probably should. Maybe I’ll just do the old tuck-the-thumb-into-the-waistband trick, that usually gets a good reaction without making it seem like I want to take his pants off. Oh. Well, he’s apparently going to do that himself. God, he sure does make me feel lazy – I’ll help a little.

Mmm. That’s nice. Don’t go too crazy with that thing, but this much is fine.

Hah, I remember the time E and I fell off this couch and he practically crushed me on the hardwood floor. We didn’t even stop and I don’t remember anything hurting till the next day when I counted up my bruises. Seven, I think. It kind of makes me want to get a nice, soft rug for this room, because that bruise at the base of my spine hurt for a week. Well, a hot and passionate moment can make a girl do some pretty crazy things.

The blue light is still blinking and it will blink until I check those messages. Oh fuck it, I’ve already decided I’m not going to sleep with this guy, I probably need to throw some cold water on this situation pretty soon.

Did I miss the speeches?