Caribbean Tales...

So the new guy is no more per his parting words that if he left tonight, that was the end.

To quote Paramore, "maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul that love never lasts.  And we've got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.  I've always lived like this... keeping a comfortable distance.  And up until now, I have sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness.... because none of it was ever worth the risk."

Along with being completely head over heels for the new guy, I've been privy to the few woodwork guys who've come forth during the theoretical K-Going-Out-of-Business-Sale who've professed their undying love to me, etc.

Why haven't I gone for them?  Why have I chosen to stick around for the guy who's not sure after a month whether or not I'm girlfriend material?

Why do I listen to said guy contemplate whether I even rank up with such a title when others would bend over backwards for such?  (or so I've heard.)  :-)

I've been content being my island thus far.... looks like it's time for more Caribbean tales.  Haha :-)

Foot-in-Mouth Disease - Part 1

Yet another fun first-date story… because, it’s required, right?  Well, it should be.  Not having a good meeting/first-date story should be grounds for annulment in my book.  If you can’t tell that one with some laughs, then you have no business being together in the first place.  J

Without further ado, here is the meet-cute of me and The New Guy.

The New Guy.

The New Guy and I met over drinks following a long day at work.  I had zero expectations.  In fact, I was more looking forward to my delicious chicken dinner waiting for me at home than getting drinks with a relative stranger.  Yay for blind dates!  :-/

But nonetheless, I went.  And within seconds of meeting TNG, I came down with a terrible case of foot-in-mouth disease (not to be confused with foot AND mouth disease – which really is terrible… my fake ailment was tragic at best).  I could not say anything right.  In fact, I’m not sure whether he felt bad for me and this was part of an outreach program… or he just had nothing better to do… or maybe he really found my ramblings endearing...  (My money would be on the second option.)

First horrible interaction of the evening:

(Following several exciting stories of his world travels, etc…)

Me:  “So what do you do for work again?”

TNG:  “I’m a rep for Generic Financial/Insurance Company.”

Me:  (Eek!  *Obvious roll-of-the-eyes*)

TNG:  “Um…. What was that all about?” (referring to my less-than-stealth eye-rolling).

Me:  “Um… nothing.  I mean…. Ok… let me explain” (This is where I should have just apologized and changed the subject… but no… I continued) “my ex-boyfriend was not very good… at life.  And we ended up breaking up over some financial issues.  And months after we broke up he called me to tell me he had gotten a job as a financial rep with Generic Financial/Insurance Company so I just assumed they took anyone.  And really… a monkey must be able to do that job if they hired him…”

(and as the word-vomit continued, he sat stunned)

Me:  “But, I mean, you’ve done all these wonderful things with your life and now… you just work there?”

...How he didn’t just get up and walk out is beyond me.  But I couldn’t stop it.  It’s not how I felt about the company OR him – it was just the only association I’d ever had with GF/IC.  There was nothing I could really do about it except apologize for my ignorance.  And apologize profusely, I did.  And blush out of extreme embarrassment, I did as well.

But he hung in there.

Because my foot-in-mouth disease was not anywhere near healed…

More on that later.

Wars are based on religion. :-)

Now don’t get me wrong… I LOVE a good smart guy.  Someone who can keep me on my toes and can make me question whether or not I’m right (in a rare case when I am not sure).  However, there is a fine line between intelligent and douchey.

Enter:  The Master Debater.

The Master Debater and I met for drinks on our first date and we hit it off.  We decided that we didn’t want the date to end just yet (since it was only mid-afternoon) so we figured we would see a movie together.  It was easier to take one car, so into his little s#%!-box I went (first clue?).

His iPod was hooked up, and if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that a man’s choice of music says a lot about him.  Scrolling through the artist list, it was like a little trip through TMD’s inner-workings.  While there was definitely a variety of musical genres represented (kudos to him), I apparently was in the mood for some Bob Dylan.  Success!  “Forever Young” is one of my favorite songs.  And he had six versions of it.  Not one of which, however, was the one I had on my iPod – the one they play at the opening of the TV show “Parenthood” – the fun, upbeat, not-nearly-as-depressing-as-the-rest version.

Now, I told him that he was missing one of the crucial versions of a classic song.  HE responded by telling me that I was crazy – and that said version of that song did not exist.  Oh, but it did.  And thus began the beginning of my crusade to prove myself right.

Even in the world of smart phones, Google, and YouTube – I could not manage to find “proof” that the upbeat version of “Forever Young” existed before the movie started – the only thing I could find was that the Planet Waves album might be the one that had it (he, however, insisted that he had that album, so no such song existed).  While a normal person might concede that the guy with SIX versions of ONE song would be right instead of a girl with only ONE version, that normal person would still be wrong.  I seethed throughout the movie.  When it was over, and TMD drove me back to my car, I made him come into my car to hear the version I had, which he decided, would be a cover.

But, no dice for the Master Debater… it was indeed Bob Dylan.  It was indeed the upbeat version.  And it was indeed from Planet Waves.

Katie – 1.  TMD – zip.

Fast forward to our second date:  another lively topic of discussion comes up – ethnicity – one of my favorites!  When people play the ethnicity game with me, they consistently get it wrong.  The answer I hear most is “Eastern European” thanks to my dark hair, dark eyes, and light skin.  However, then I get to explain that I am a mutt – my dad is mostly English and bits of other various wasp-y origins and my mom is half-Cuban and half-mutt-y as well.  To which 99.9% of people reply, “You’re part Cuban?  But you don’t look it!”  The Master Debater was no exception to this rule.

The second part of my explanation is always due in part to the “You don’t look Cuban!” commentary.  I began to explain to him that Cuba is like America where there are Caucasian-Cubans and African-Cubans – and my family was of the Caucasian persuasion.  TMD said “no.”

Um… huh?

The Master Debater decided to tell me how wrong I was.  He told me that all Cuban’s were African-Cuban.  And all Cubans had dark-skin.  So I was wrong.

Um… what?

So I began to explain the second part again.  He stopped me right away.  He said we should agree to disagree.

Um… about history?

It’s not like I was making a subjective statement.  Like saying all wars are based on religion.  J  (Which clearly is not subjective at all, but is an inside joke for one of my favorite readers – thank you all for just going with it!).  Regardless, the presence of both Caucasian AND African backgrounds in Cuba is a fact.  It’s pretty much black and white.  Ha.

So, agree to disagree in some scenarios – I get.  But not in this case.  I am not conceding that history is subjective – especially the history of my own family.  I was pretty sure the next sentence out of that guy’s mouth was going to be something about the Holocaust not being real or that 9/11 was a government conspiracy.

Clearly, that was the end of that date.  Debates – I love.  People who cannot admit when they’re wrong and ridiculous spouting off the cuff – I can definitely do without.

After all, the Bob Dylan thing… I could have been wrong (even though I wasn’t).  The Cuba thing?  Come on.  Looks like he’ll be debating by himself for a while…

I think, therefore I am... not?

Well… I just started seeing someone.  Henceforth, he shall be known as “The New Guy” (unless things go sour – then, of course, he’ll receive a more descriptive moniker which I hope not to use anytime soon).  J  So, yeah, The New Guy and I just started seeing each other, and of course he was unaware of “The Middle Headache” until I let it slip.  And then he ‘let it slip’… to his sister, his father, and I’m not sure how many other impressionable people whom I have yet to meet but who now have entirely too much insight on me.  Keeping that in mind, I obviously will be keeping The New Guy out of my postings as much as possible.  (And I will be praying that I make a fabulous first impression when/if I meet the sister/father/insert-other-relative-here in order to make up for this blog… )

That being said, to the past we go!

Jim.

I’m still not entirely ready to share the whole Jim story/fiasco, but some new information recently came to light that makes for an interesting piece of trivia I’d like to share with you here.  The background information you do need to know before I continue is… Jim and I dated during his senior year (my freshman year) of college and the following summer.  Jim was my first real love.  And Jim broke my heart in a way that if our relationship had been a movie, the audience would be sure it was pure Hollywood – and that people don’t really do that in real life.

So the interesting piece of trivia… Jim wrote a book about his senior year of college.  Yep.  That year.  The year we were together.  I had heard about said book a year or so ago but figured it was more or less about his trials and tribulations of his prison-like college experience, and that perhaps, he might leave out the girlfriend part of that year altogether since there was more than enough fodder for a book with the school experience itself.

And then I did a quick search of the book online.  And there was a review that read something to the effect of Jim’s recollection of his college experience being so universal… including the relationship aspect.  Uggh.  Now I have to read the book.  He talks about relationships… which was obviously about our relationship – as I knew for a fact he didn’t date much prior to me and we were pretty serious for that while year in question.

So, by now, you might be thinking to yourself, “K.  Why would you want to read that?  It might be pretty hard to read.”  And I answer that by asking you, dear reader, how could I not?

Being a self-published book, I didn’t want to order it myself, so I had my best friend from college order it.  I started to forget the whole thing until the other day, when my phone rang:

Me:  Hello?

BFFC:  Hey there.  I’m reading a pretty interesting book.

Me:  (Oh God.)  Oh yeah?

BFFC:  Yeah, I wasn’t sure whether or not he would talk about relationships, but I skimmed through and there was at least one chapter purely dedicated to relationships… and…

Me:  (Oh God.)  Oh man…

BFFC:  Yeah… you don’t exist.

Me:  Huh?

BFFC:  You don’t exist.  It’s not like he just referred to you as a generic girlfriend or anything.  And he does talk about some girl he went on one date with and how she was the one who got away.  But, he specifically says he was single… during his entire time at college.

Me:  Huh?

BFFC:  Yeah.  You don’t exist.

I don’t know if it would’ve been worse to read insight into our relationship or not, but I can’t help but feel entirely weirded out by the fact that, according to BFFC, EVERYTHING else is pretty accurate and he uses real names and everything.  But he completely erased my existence from his world.  (Sounds a little Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-y to me.)

I have yet to read the book.  And BFFC has yet to read it in it’s entirety.  But I’m pretty sure when I do, I will find the same thing – that I was removed from stories.  That I am erasable – not forgettable or unimportant – because if I was, mentioning me would not have been a big deal, right?

Regardless, this was years ago… but I just find it odd the way some people actually do exist.

So far, in this blog alone, I’ve been stalked, condemned to Hell, ditched at a restaurant, etc, etc, etc… and now, my new favorite guy-move…

…erased from existence.

Not to wax philosophical or anything, but Descartes would tend to disagree.  

Photo Credit: Brian Hillegas