This is not a particularly interesting post, but I’m puzzling over this and am sending it out to the intertubes for consideration.

I had a second date – if it is indeed a date – with Copper on Sunday night. He came over and we pretty much just laid around on the couch and watched TV. It was nice to be cuddled, nice to have someone to just hang out with at home, doing nothing. Chex Mix, beer and The Girls Next Door: it was a good way to spend a lazy Sunday.

Last night, Captain called me and we talked for about twenty minutes. The first three were nice and awkward, as they always seem to be with him, but we talked about books and history and other nerdy things for awhile, so we were both in our element and not so awkward anymore. Awkward returned when he tried to ask me out, and I do have to share it because it’s kind of cute.

Him: “So, I’m coming back into town this weekend.” (He is stationed about 100 miles from here.)

Me: “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a friend I have to pick up at the airport on Friday at like, 6:30.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“So, I don’t know, maybe after that we could, um, whatever.”

“You and your friend?” (This is my attempt at coyness.)

“No I meant you and me could, like, I don’t know…” He’s talking all stumbly which is kind of endearing.

“We could whatever?”

“Well, you know.”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to.”

And so I have a date on Friday night with the Captain. For Saturday, I have plans to go to a winery with a friend who I know, just KNOW will invite along a certain fellow she’s been trying to get me to meet for months. Hooray wine, boo setup.

But I’m tired. Straight up tired, physically tired. None of this feels like it did when I first met the Ex-Fiance, or Tim, or E. I think I had it wrong when I wrote before about a “click,” because maybe that implies one of those all-of-a-sudden things that are really out of the ordinary. I don’t necessarily need that. But the warm fuzzy just-starting buzz isn’t there. The giggle-giggle-I-like-him feeling. The I-want-to- look-just-right-when-he-comes-over feeling.

Now it’s more of an I-don’t-even-need-to-shave-my-legs-since-I-don’t-want-anyone-rubbing- them feeling.

It’s not that I don’t like these guys. I think they’re both nice and I have a good time hanging out with them. I like the texts and phone calls. I like to be held. I like to be kissed. And while it’s probably too early to just call it with either one of these nice fellows, this “meh” feeling is kind of disconcerting. Dating is supposed to be fun, not meh… and it usually was before.

Today I wore my dance shoes to work because I knew I’d be on my feet and in dress clothes all day. I used to wear them when I was in theater, and I could stand or dance in them for hours in rehearsals. And this afternoon they gave me a whopper of a blister for the first time. First. Time. Ever.

So is it the boys or is it just me?

I had a first-date last night. I’m getting a lot of practice with those.

On Friday night, I was feeling sickish in the stomach and a bit green around the gills, so I had no desire to go out. Mel texted me at about ten o’clock.

Copper’s been asking about you since we went out the other night! You should call him, his number is blah blah blah.

Does this sound familiar to anyone? The Copper is a friend from Mel’s police academy class so she can vouch for his character a bit. I’ve met him several times and he’s been very flirty, etc., but it was always when I was with E, so he got the brush-off every time he asked for my number. It wasn’t until an outing the other night that he even found out I was single. However, at said outing, some chick I’d seen him with before was practically climbing all over him and he was looking most uncomfortable. The word on the street is that they stopped dating a few weeks ago and she didn’t get the memo.

I text back: Isn’t he still with whatsherass?

No, they’re really done. He wants you to call him.

I am tired of being the aggressor. I am not trolling for men. Give him MY number, I wrote back, and we’ll see if he’s a man of action or a man of words.

Well, he was a man of action. I appreciate that. He called me yesterday morning and we made plans to hang out that evening. We went out for drinks, met up with Ben and Mel for awhile, and had a very nice time. I always have a very nice time when three buckets of beer are involved, but in all seriousness, it was fun to hang out with him outside his usual group of mad cop friends. He didn’t try to get me to go home with him or really do anything but kiss me goodnight. Again, this “taking it slow” thing. And, unlike Captain, he has already asked me to go out again.

I am completely weirded out.

The first part of that Tim-coming-home story was actually written as an exercise of sorts. What I’m about to tell you now was never really written before, so forgive me if it’s a little less polished.

Mike and I drove to the airport to pick Tim up, got pulled over for speeding and got out of the ticket because Mike is military police. Tim got off the plane drunk and proceeded to make out with me for about 5 minutes before he said anything to anyone else. Mike went to get the car, Tim and I got his bag and stood outside in the snow where he said many mushy things to me about looking at the moon and it being romantic (this is how I knew how drunk he was). We went home, hijinks ensued, and we stayed at the base for a week. Came back to Saint Louis, I treated him to a hockey game, he told me I was the best girlfriend, he was so lucky, blah, then the next day he got up and said he was going over to see his parents, and no, I didn’t need to bother coming (never mind that I hadn’t seen them for 4 months either and I was the only one who wrote to him on a regular basis and effing deserved to stand next to the returning hero thank-you-very-much). He said he’d call that afternoon when he knew what was going on.

He finally grew some balls and called two weeks later so I could quit crying and break up with him. And that was the end of our relationship.

Some of you may recall that about a month ago I posted a piece about my re-entry into the dating game. I indicated in that post that I was asked to be the object of a few setups, one of which would involve the friend of a friend’s boyfriend and possibly a nice dinner. The potential setup was planned a few weeks out, and when I hadn’t heard anything as the date neared, I disregarded the idea and went ahead and committed myself to plans with some girlfriends for that particular Saturday instead.

On the Friday before the date that I didn’t count on, I actually met the guy. Oops. I was at a party with friends and KK was was there, all of a sudden introducing her boyfriend and his friend Captain.

Those of you who have been reading this blog for more than five minutes might have noticed that I have a slight weakness for the men who serve our country. Captain? I am not making that nickname up. Uniforms, girls. It’s the damn uniforms.

So I met him and that was fine, I think – but there was really no click. We chatted for a bit and I excused myself to say hello and to dance with an acquaintance who is one of my favorite drunks ever. I was aware of Captain watching me. After peeling my drunk friend off me and returning to the table, KK grabbed my hand.

“Captain likes you!”

“Uh…”

“He wants to know if you’re gonna come with us tomorrow night.”

“Well, since I hadn’t heard from you about that since the first time we talked – ”

“Oh, but we want you to come! He totally likes you.”

“But I made plans.”

“Come on, he’s only in town with my boyfriend for the weekend.”

“One of my girlfriends just got un-engaged so we’re having a girls’ night tomorrow.” I shrugged helplessly.

This was both wholly true and completely impossible for another woman to raise a word against, so KK made the appropriate disappointed noises just as Captain came up and asked me himself if I would join them the next night. Silently thanking Amy for being a runaway bride and keeping me out of an awkward, no-click date, I explained the situation.

“Where are you girls going?”

“I don’t know yet, I guess wherever she feels like… we might just stay in if she wants.”

“Well if you go out afterward, will you call me?”

“I don’t know if we’ll- ”

“Let me just give you my number and you can call me if you do, okay?”

“Um.”

But I took out my phone and punched in the number, clicked “save” and didn’t give him mine, We talked for awhile longer but still… nothing. He was nice but there was no click. I need a click. And the reason you haven’t heard anything about this encounter to date is that it really didn’t seem that important. A one-off. Not even a what-if, really.

This morning, midnight-o’ clock, KK texts me.

Will you be around this weekend? Boyfriend and Captain will be in town… Captain keeps asking about you.

Keeps asking what? I avoid that part and just answer her direct question.

Yeah, I’ll be around.

She writes back and tells me of their plans for Saturday night. They’re places I like to go, so I text back:

Hanging with the group is cool, but no date setups allowed.

KK agrees and promises to call me with details. I hope she knows what I mean. I never did talk to her about the not-click with Captain, and since the girls’ night was a real and valid excuse, it never came up again. I guess I thought it was mutual. And, as usual, I am wrong.

Saturday, then. Blog fodder.

I am 5’3” and I weigh 120 pounds. Yay me. And I am just as entitled to worry about my health and appearance as you are. The problem I have with you is that you don’t seem to believe that I am just as entitled to TALK about it as you are.

Today I was on the elevator with two of you, my coworkers, heading to lunch. You were talking about how you wanted the ribs or the fried chicken but should probably just have the mandarin salad with lite dressing and a glass of water, and what would I be having?

I informed you that I like the cheeseburgers at this restaurant, and was considering ordering one.

You both narrowed your eyes at me. Whatever, you said, at your age you can eat anything you want, cheeseburgers, all of that, you don’t know what it’s like to have to watch your weight.

Yes, I pointed out. Yes I do.

One of you looked me up and down and said yeah right, it wouldn’t hurt me to put on a few pounds.

I pointed out that I am a perfectly healthy weight right now (I owe that to my Depo shots, without which I would still be a gangly 105 pounds soaking wet) and I intend to stay that way. So yes, I am watching my weight. Exercise, I say, that’s where I really need to step up. I may be skinny but I have terrible muscle tone.

Again, you sniffed and rolled your eyes.

What is your problem, people? Is it so wrong of me to say that I want to take care of my body and I realize that I could have healthier habits? Just because my problems are not the same as your problems gives you no right to be rude about it. And I tell you this: you are rude. Rude, I say.

You’ll see, you say, gray-haired and ageist. You’ll see, when you get older and you’re not 100 pounds anymore, it won’t be easy.

Ladies, it’s not easy for me NOW. I have to fight to keep weight on while I’m trying to keep my hypertensive diastolic under control. That in itself is a quandary, because steamed veggies are great for my blood pressure and don’t help me maintain my weight. I don’t like that my muscles aren’t what they used to be, so I exercise and you sniff that I don’t need to get any skinnier. You’re right, I don’t. Until I started my Depo-Provera shot and gained 15 pounds, I was pale, anemic and basically had no immune system. And back then you said I was anorexic and bulimic. You said it was my fault. You were never happy with my body and you never will be until I start wearing clothes in double-digit sizes.

Guess what? I have a little pudge on my tummy and I don’t like it. I should probably do some crunches. I have cellulite on my butt and my thighs and I don’t like that either. Maybe I need to get out the weights and do a few squats. There are things I can do to be healthier, and do you really want to discourage me from doing them? Does it make you feel better about yourself to be rude to the skinny girl, to belittle her problems because they happen to be the opposite of your own?

Sometimes the grass sucks on this side of the fence too.

I eat cheeseburgers because I like them and I need to keep my weight up, I exercise because I need better muscle tone and it helps lower my high blood pressure (My cholesterol, by the way, is quite fine). And you tell me to enjoy it while I can, because I am surely doomed to one day be as fat as you perceive yourself to be.

Leave the labels out of it: fat and skinny and obese and scrawny and plus-size and anorexic and all the others. Good health is the best goal for all of us, whether that means gaining weight, losing weight, maintaining weight, working out, watching what we eat, or building our self-esteem in what we are. I don’t want to be skinny and sick any more than you want to be overweight and fighting your own set of health issues. So we have a common goal and we both struggle. Don’t tell me we’re so different.

Healthy is beautiful.

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I cross-posted this one on BlogHer and got a nice e-mail from one of the Community Managers. That made me happy.