I have a last minute date tonight with Tow Guy.
I love my car. But unfortunately, it's an Alfa Romeo, and Italian cars, like Italian men (I married one...), need constantly coddling and attention.
The clutch was out and it was parked behind my house which is only accessible by a long, steep and narrow driveway. When the tow truck driver arrived, I told him there was no way we could possibly get my car onto his massive truck. It would never fit down the driveway. So he bet me a drink that he could do it without hurting my car. It was precarious and tense, but after 45 minutes, my car was safely on the flat bed of his truck and I had a date for tonight with Tow Guy. Great. One drink and then I am GONE.
Speaking of one drink, I got a less than friendly email from Downtown Hipster:
wow, you are an angry woman, wonder who did the damage.
a nice girl never cancels at the last minute, when i am already on my way. what did you want me to do? turn around like a puppy and wait for another night?
nope.
find someone who has the same standard as you. and you need to chage those pics to something that is more applicable to your current features.
take care.
Now, by "on his way", he meant "walk downstairs to the bar located directly below me". And he was pretty bitchy about my pic. Let me tell you, every guy i have met has made a point of telling me that I look better than the picture I posted. I could not say the same for Downtown Hipster with his giant head, narrow shoulders and tiny legs stuffed into jeans that Pat Benetar would have blushed in. He looked like an Emo Pez dispenser.
But my favorite part was the "take care". Thanks buddy. I make sure to do that!
In the meantime, Crafty and I have been texting all day. Some funny, some sexy, some sweet. It was a day of waitng around and little annoyances--hey, my ipod was stolen! Hey, I left my wallet in the valley! Hey, I bought a phone charger that doesn't work and now I have to go back and stand in that big ass line at Fry's again!--so having a text here and there made me feel a little better. Then he tells me that he will probably spend another night in Vegas, as the winds in the desert are topping 70 MPH. I immediately go to the bad place. Why is he staying another night? Does that mean I don't get to see him tomorrow? What's on his agenda for Vegas now that his sister is gone? It was ugly, When Douchebag cancelled on me, which was often, it always made me feel "less than". You know, less than his girlfriend, less than loved, less than pretty, less than wanted. He chipped away at me until I was just a memory, and in my place was some needy girl who was grateful any time she got to see him. And then of course, I later find out that he cancelled on me to hook up with another girl. Fantastic.
So I am in a moody place, but I remind myself that Crafty and Douchebag are two different people. I can't infect this new relationship with poison from the last one. I let it go and ask if he'll be back in time to see me before I have to work tomorrow. He says he hopes so, but it seems non-commital.
We keep texting funny things back and forth. He sends me some pictures from Vegas. And then he mentions how some old woman is hitting on him, asking if he is a model. Now, for SURE this broad was hitting on him, because, although I think Crafty is adorable, there is nothing about him that would have you mistake him for a model. Then he texts me that some girl has sent him over a shot of tequila. Well that's it. I'm done. I'm already checking out, planning my next dates and running like hell. That's what I do, see? I check out when things get scary or tough. I thought that was how I protected myself, but in the end, that is why I am alone.
I send him a text
Me: Scary
C: Me?
Me: You. Shots. Old pussy. Young Skank
C: I told her I was engaged. She was yucky.
Me: It's alright. Have at it. Just close your eyes and think of England.
C: You got all these dumb girls beat
Okay, so I feel a little better. But see how petulant I can be? Am I being childish or is Crafty yet another charming yet weak charactered man like the others? I've already got one foot out the door, I am so terrified of being hurt.
My problem is being present. I can rehash what's already happened (hello blog!) and fantasize about a myriad of potential futures, but I am rarely here. Now. Just breathing. I think we as women are taught these things. We take on so much blame, and so try to foresee every possible disaster in an attempt to avert it. But really, there is so much that is out of our control. I, we, need not be mothers, creators, nurses, and teachers to all things. Sometimes, we need to remember that the only thing we can really control is ourselves.
I can't control what anyone else might or might not do. Have fun in Vegas, Crafty. I am going to trust that I am in your thoughts. I am going to trust that you are a good person. And I am going to be here waiting for you when you get back.
