The subject of this blog was going to be about my recent break up, how devastated I am of having lost what I thought was the love of my life, how it has ripped my heart out and left me an empty shell, just existing for weeks on end eating way too little and sleeping way too much.
But then I thought, Fuck that.
Out with the old, in with the new, I say.
So as the old man is out I would rather discuss the new men in my life.
Let me introduce you to:
A very cute, self-made, successful, and funny man. Great qualities, right? I thought we got along great. Somehow he started calling me "Bubba", which I found cute, and returned the sentiment by calling him "Gus". It was fun. Just us, Bubba and Gus. We had these great conversations on the phone, but whenever we got together, all we could talk about was the weather.
Two dates into it, and it's not looking good. (red flag #1)
I also noticed that both times we went out, somehow I would end up ordering items on the menu like Meg Ryan did in "When Harry Met Sally". You know, the scene where she orders her meals with special instructions like; the salad dressing "on the side" or about how she wants her pie heated and the ice cream either strawberry or vanilla, and if they have neither, she wants whipped cream but only if it's real whipped cream and if it's not then nothing. Kinda like that.
What's funny is I never order my meals like that, and it makes me wonder why in the world does that happen every time I'm with him? I explain my embarrassment to him and chuckle about absurdity of it all and how this is not the way I usually order my food.
He smiles, gives me a look of disbelief, and no matter what I say, it still makes me look like a neurotic wacko.
Which of course, I'm not. I'm just saying.
So that's Red Flag #2, and I haven't heard from him since.
So, on to Guy #2.
Out of the blue, I receive a text from a guy I met over nine months ago, saying that he wants to test my memory skills by seeing if I remember him. His text sounds like we had this long courtship and he's my bestest buddy. (red flag #1)
Annnd, here we go.
Here's the condensed version. We first met while I was on my morning run and he was driving by on his Harley. We chatted for a bit after I finished, and exchanged numbers. He said, "Give me a call the next time you want a running buddy. So, I let four days go by before I gave it the old college try (twice), and he never called me back. Figuring he had a change of heart, I tossed his number and actually forgot about him.
Until his text showed up on my phone.
By the way, women never forget guys who don't follow through.
So, I humor him and agree to talk. I want to know the reason he never called me back.
This ought be good, I think to myself.
We exchange a couple of texts and talked on the phone one night. First, I tell him that I'm flattered that he had my number all this time and remembered me, then in the same breath, ask him, why he never returned my calls.
This was his answer and I quote, "Um, well, in all honesty, I was kinda in a relationship at the time."
Kinda? Wow. Not only did he hit on me while in a relationship, he kept my number for future reference! That flag can't get any redder now, can it?
I didn't think that guys actually had little black books anymore. I felt like a slip of paper in a Rolodex and he was up to the letter L. I begin to imagine if he had notes on me. Little adjectives jotted down next to my name that would spark his memory. "Cute runner"or "Big Boobs"or maybe "Townie".
I also wonder, when I didn't call him back this time around, if he crimped the corner of my note card, or put an "X" after my name in his blackberry.
Like the amount of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, somethings I will never know.
Let's move on to:
Cute, sensitive techie that cries at the drop of a hat.
Right-o. Onward to:
Hot. Ok. not just hot, but H-O-T kinda hot. Africa hot. We met in a snowstorm for some coffee and great conversation. He could have talked about his colonoscopy and this guy would have made it sound sexy.
Yeah, he's that kind of hot.
Twist my arm, but I'm willing to play this one out too. Ah, the things we do for love.
There are flags, they are yellow in color, but my God, did I mention? The man is hot.
Lastly, an odd thing started happening couple of months ago. Every week, I put my trash and recycling out like every good standing citizen. When I would return home at night, my barrels would be neatly placed back in its respective place, and not thrown across the lawn like everyone elses in my neighborhood.
Weird, I thought.
At first, I thought it was one of my neighbors being thoughtful. But then, I noticed that hers would still be on the sidewalk. I took a look around the neighborhood to see if anyone else had their barrels put neatly back.They hadn't.
Mine were the only ones placed back. Even if it was one of the other neighbors being, well, neighborly, they didn't take the time to bring their own in.
I was perplexed about who was doing this. Eventually, it became a game. Every Wednesday I would wait to see if my barrels were placed neatly back into their rightful spots, and every Wednesday, they were.
Until one day, I was telling my mother this story, and when I got to the part of not knowing who was doing it, my daughter chirps up and says, "Oh, the garbage man puts them back for us".
"Really?" I say, stunned, flattered, and bit creeped out all at the same time.
I quizzed my daughter. "What do you mean the garbage man puts them back"? "How do you know?" She responded, "Yes Mommy, He puts them back after he empties them." "I've seen him do it."
Oh. My. God. Could it be? Could the garbage man have a crush on me? Why else would a garbage man take the time out to neatly place back my barrels and recycling bin to the side of my house?
Besides the fact that it's entirely possible he's a lunatic stalker, why else?
I'm not definite on which one he is exactly, but I have a feeling. I've seen him a couple of times when I was playing "Beat the Clock" with bringing my barrels curbside. He would look and laugh at me, and I would just smile, wave and head back in the house. I never really gave him a good look, I mean, who really looks at the garbage men, right? Unless its the summer, and they are totally ripped (smelly or not) we sort of look past them, and really don't pay much attention to them.
Then one day, we were home when they came by, and I asked my daughter to point him out.
We sat in front of the window, peering outside from a distance. We didn't want to be noticed.
She looked at them. I said, "Which one do you think it is?" As one of the men came forth to grab our barrel I said quietly as if he could hear us, "Is that him?" She said, "Oh, yes, I think that's him!" I said, "Are you sure?" I leaned a bit closer toward the window to get a better look. Then with her next breath, said, "Oh, um, well, I don't know. Maybe not, Mum."
On that day, the barrels were not put back. They were thrown on my lawn just like every other garbage man handles our barrels.
It was not him. Or maybe it was and didn't want his cover blown. I may never know who is doing this, however, to this day, my barrels are still getting neatly put back every week in their rightful spots, and I am still trying to figure out who he is.
So there it is.
Here's to the new year.