He Likes Jane Austen, by Doris

Still haven't called Hunter Parrish. Probably will tonight. I intended to last night, but I'm taking some much needed "me-time" and didn't want the stress that goes with calling a boy who gave you his card at a bar three days ago. Which hasn't happened to me in a looong time, I might add.

As for Jim Berger...the short but cute emails keep coming, back and forth, fast and furious. We're into a lot of the same things. He can cook and bake really well, and I want to ask him to teach me but I'm too shy to do so (and that's a lot to ask of someone). We've both gotten a little teasing and flirty the way you only can in writing.

This has been going on for over a week. I keep waiting for it to stop. It doesn't.

At this point, I know Rock will yell at me to do something about it. To call or text, as I now have his number which he freely gave to me. To just freaking ask if he wants to see a movie, grab a coffee or a drink, go to a play (yes, he likes going to the theatre. Fuck me).

I want to make it clear: Rock has a very valid point.

I just want Jim to be the one who initiates.

There are a few reasons for this: my sister and I were saying last night that maybe it makes us bad feminists, but we like it when a guy makes the first move, even if it's just platonic. There's something about feeling wanted, whether it's by a friend or a potential makeout buddy.

Also, there's the elephant in the room known as his ex-girlfriend who's also my friend.

Again, even if it turns out to be platonic, I don't want it to look like I was biding my time until the breakup so I could pursue him. That's not true at all, but let's face it: in awkward relationship situations, whether it's straight-up cheating or more of a gray area, the woman gets blamed. Hell, I've blamed the woman several times before, in situations with friends and in my own life--I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

It's frustrating. I feel like we're now going back and forth, like "your move." "No, YOUR move." I wish I could make it clear that I will say yes, I won't turn him down, and I will take his cues. If he wants to be friends, that's totally cool (and it really is, I've crushed on all my straight guy friends at some point and it always, always passes once we spend some time together). If he wants to go for more...well, I won't stop him.

And I almost know that if I called, or texted, or even asked to hang out, he'd be very receptive. That said, if he asks me, calls me, texts me, I'll know he's not humoring me. Does that make sense?

I haven't said this until now, but the other day I remembered how I initially felt about Excalibur, in those halcyon days when I was pretty sure he liked me but didn't know 100%. I remember thinking he was really funny and cool and we had things in common, and if he wasn't into me like that, I'd be completely fine being his friend. I just wanted him in my world.

It's been almost 15 years, but now I feel that way about Jim Berger.

I just want him in my world.

Cue toughlove comment from Rock in 3, 2...

Oh Happy Day, by Doris

After four months on OKCupid, I have to say, I'm discouraged by what I see.

I mean, really. Married dudes who pull disappearing acts! Rent-star look-alikes with funny voices and awkward demeanors! Hipsters upon hipsters upon hipsters, some of whom wear purple pants!

That's not to say my offline life's any better. I mean, I've got ex run-ins in the supermarket parking lot, good on paper platonic pals, and crushes on friends' former lovers!

Between walled-up preppies, dudes who text mid-date, and faux Spaniards, Rock's fed up too.

So we made it official.

Last night, Rock and Doris flew to Vegas and got married.

To each other.

We will enjoy a long sexless life of brunches, showtunes, white wine and well-decorated apartments.

Cue the Mendelsohn!

Life Could Be a Dream. A Bad One, by Doris

Excalibur, I can't get you outta my head.

And it really, really sucks.

Apart from Rock, my roommate Stan, and my therapist, I have told no one about the almost encounter of last week. I feel like that gives it too much power, and the goddamn thing already happened so I really don't need ten different opinions on how I handled it. My therapist had some very wise words: often in relationships, there are a lot of gray areas, and this is one of them. There wasn't one right or wrong way to handle things. My problem is, I'm thinking there WAS a right way and I didn't do it.

Then last night, I had a dream.

I'm a big believer in dreams: I really do think they're a cocktail of your scrambled subconscious and if you analyze them carefully, they can provide real wisdom. (Some of them. Others are just garden-variety weird, or they're just further proof I want to bang Jon Hamm.)

Basically, I was en route to some sort of vacation with my family in tow, and who do we run into but Excalibur, who really, really wants to talk to me. Like, won't leave me alone wants to talk to me. I very specifically don't want to speak with him and keep running away. At one point I even run out of my jacket like you see on sitcoms.

Then somehow my family and I end up in a car, sans Excalibur, but with his girlfriend.

And we drop her off at her house, and it turns out she's rich. Really blonde. Tan. Sorority girl all the way. All pink paddles and gold-edged mirrors and as far a cry from my pale-skinned, apartment-dwelling, citygirl existence as you can get.

I don't know why, but I was very disturbed by this dream. Upset. To the point where I woke up with a stomachache and I almost called in to work.

I miss Excalibur. I'll own it. I think it's normal. He was a part of my life for fourteen years, and he's not anymore. Judging from his texts, he would like to be, but I'm not ready for that yet. I don't know if I'll be ready for it ever.

And missing him doesn't mean I want things to be the way they were. Not at all. I think I'm better off, because I realize how emotionally dependent on him I was for so long. I enjoy being single and meeting new people.

Just, that dream. It really threw me off.

Oh, Rock. Between your letting-go woes and my toss and turn night, we are quite a pair this Tuesday.

Ron and Tammy, by Doris

If only I'd remembered my hat.

If only I hadn't realized it minutes before our bus was scheduled to arrive.

If only Rock weren't such a good friend that he trekked back to the theatre with me.

If only the hat wasn't in the first floor office and we would have had to go upstairs to find it, making us miss the bus we ended up taking.

If only I hadn't expressed an urge for hard liquor at the end of a long week.

If only we'd taken a different street to the grocery store and arrived a few minutes earlier or later.

If only I'd decided to go home rather than to Rock's.

If only any of these had happened, I wouldn't have had the Excalibur Encounter.

Oh yeah, and one more:

If only my Excalibur intuition weren't so goddamn strong.

I don't know if I believe in psychics, but I do believe in intuition/wavelength. Sometimes when I spend a lot of time around a person, I develop it. I've got countless examples of this where Rock is concerned.

With Excalibur, I always knew when he was going to say something big, or something I wasn't going to like. The air changed, buzzed so only I could hear.

And in the milliseconds before, when Rock and I were crossing the parking lot, I thought his name.

Only to look up from underneath my hat and see him.

(My hands-down favorite episode of the wildly underrated Parks and Recreation is last season's episode "Ron and Tammy." Not only are Nick Offerman and his real-life wife Megan Mullally brilliant, it has a great message that exes are exes for a reason. Anyway, there's a moment when Ron is going on about his own Evil Ex and suddenly, unprompted, he stands up, looks around and goes, "She's here, isn't she?" Well, this was my Ron and Tammy moment.)

I saw his eyes. I recognized the coat. I know it was him.

We didn't make eye contact, didn't say a word, didn't even physically run into each other.

I was with Rock, whom he knows and would recognize, but there was no acknowledgment of Rock either.

Oh, and he was with a girl who I assume is the girlfriend. I didn't get a good look at her. It felt like an invasion somehow, and anyway I was hustling for the entrance.

As we wandered down the produce aisle, Rock asked, "Do you want to leave?"

My eyes were shifting back and forth, my head swiveling almost 360 degrees.

"I don't want to, because what if they're still out there at the Redbox? Let's do a lap."

As we selected what we came for--frozen hangover food for Rock, chips and whiskey which I now REALLY needed for me--Rock was my rock. He checked down every aisle to make sure they weren't there. He reassured me that Excalibur hadn't actually seen me, and that he could have said hi if he did.

We never saw them again.

Back at Rock's apartment, I proceeded to drive my best friend crazy when all he wanted to do was fix potato skins and turn on the TV.

"Do you think he saw me?"

"No? Are you sure?"

"Well, at least I look good. Right?"

"I just couldn't do it, Rock. It's been too long of a week, and I didn't want to have an awkward conversation while you and the girlfriend were just standing there or whatever. And not two weeks ago I emailed the guy saying I didn't want to talk to him for a while. Oh yeah, and . . ."

"Doris. Chug your drink and stop rationalizing." Again, my voice of reason, now calmly popping potato skins in the oven.

"I know, I know, I'm being neurotic. I'll shut up in three minutes, I swear." I went into his bathroom, sat on the toilet and cracked the door just enough that we could keep talking. I didn't want any silence at that moment.

"You can talk about it, but you don't need to justify. I would have told you if I thought he had seen you. I would have told you if I thought saying hi was necessary. I really, really don't think he saw you. If he did, he could have said hi too, you know. I get you're weirded out. Just don't feel like you had to force an interaction you didn't want to have."

Friends, the boy has been talking like this since he was in high school. I think it was all the O.C. he watched.

So I did one last thing before we settled in to watch Australian comedy and pig out: I checked my phone. No text. No email.

Either he was abiding by my "no contact, please" edict, or he really didn't see me.

Thank God.

Oh, and here's the song I listened to this morning to wash the ex encounter taste out of my mouth. Nothing like rapping along with Nicki Minaj to make everything better.

Texts From an (Evil) Ex, by Doris

On Tuesday night, in the midst of texting with my Russian, I receive another message:

"Haven't talked to you in a while. What's up?"

Ex-calibur strikes a-fucking-gain.

Since early November, when I found out from other sources he has a serious girlfriend--this is after I hadn't heard from him in two months and I figured he had a relationship goin' on--Ex-calibur has texted me once before. Right after Thanksgiving, ostensibly to see how my Thanksgiving was.

And now he wants to know "What's up?"

UGH.

Back in November, I texted my Thanksgiving was great and I hoped his went well too. This was after a frantic text to Rock, wondering if I should even respond to this inanity. Rock said yes, because if I ignored the text, it would look like I was mad at him and therefore a bitch. As usual, Rock was right. So I texted Ex-calibur back, he said, "good to know" and that was that.

Back to Tuesday night.

I told him I was fine and went back to texting the Russian.

But Ex-calibur wasn't finished. He wanted to know how work was. Then, how I was doing outside of work.

Seriously?

I texted back polite but short answers, then ended the last text with, "Hope you are well. Have a good night!" At this point, I didn't care about being rude. I just wanted to get off the damn phone (or text?).

He responded, "Good night," so I guess he got the message.

Now, before you write me off as a total bitter bitch who doesn't want to be friends with her ex, please hear me out:

As I said in an early post, Ex-calibur did nothing wrong by getting a girlfriend. We were not in an exclusive relationship, and when I didn't hear from him in a while, I assumed that's what was going on. I wish him well, I really do.

That said, I have no interest in being friends right now.

I'm not saying I want him out of my life permanently. We have a shared history. It might indeed be nice to catch up sometime.

However, he has been in my life one way or the other, FOR FOURTEEN YEARS. I am 30. You do the math.

If this makes me an un-hip chick, so be it, but I need not to talk to Ex-calibur for a while. I need to live my life, date other dudes, acknowledge that he is a part of my past and my past informs my future and I can learn from him and all that, all while not speaking to him. Maybe someday we and our respective significant others can have dinner together and laugh. Maybe Ex-calibur and I can get a sense of closure as Rock did with Evil Ex #5 shortly before he moved.

I need at least six months before I make that decision.

And here's the other thing:

I don't think Ex-calibur texted me just to catch up.

He doesn't do that. Fourteen years with the man taught me that he uses shooting the shit as a warmup for dropping a big ole bomb.

I could have told him to stop beating around the bush and asked what's up.

But quite frankly, I was sick of his coyness and didn't feel like coaxing it out of him.

Maybe he and his girlfriend broke up. Maybe she's knocked up. Maybe they've shacked up. Honestly, a little Facebook investigation could probably provide me with answers.

But what's the point? What's happened has happened.

And obviously, he was too big of a wuss to tell me. Which is his problem and not mine.

Is it so bad if I don't want to know? Not that I'm super-jealous or sad or whatever. But he doesn't owe me an explanation. He's living his life, I'm living mine. If I hear the news from other people, I'll deal.

Complicated, I know.

If he texts me again, he's getting a very polite email saying I wish him well and perhaps we can be friends someday, but please do not contact me again for six months.

A cool girl would be hunky-dory, be there for him, try to coax the news out of him and be a fucking cheerleader.

I ain't a cool girl.

Can You Hold On For One More Day?, by Doris

Now that Rock has encouraged me to be picky, I'm worried I'm getting TOO picky.

There's this semi-cute, very articulate guy who I've been messaging with. Notice I said semi-cute. Now, I'm not holding out for Jon Hamm (though that would be amazing). Ex-calibur certainly was no Adonis. But when I was in my early twenties, my very Catholic mother shocked the almighty hell out of me by saying, "You need to ask yourself: do I want to wake up with him in the morning?" Unexpected words of wisdom from a woman who married her high school boyfriend.

I'm not sure I'd want to wake up with Semi-Cute in the morning.

I'm torn. I mean, I wasn't attracted to Ex-calibur at first. Granted, I was in high school at the time, and I'd like to think my taste has gotten more varied than, say, Leonardo DiCaprio (who's still pretty hot, in my opinion).

But I'm getting a friend vibe from Semi-Cute. And this may sound bitchy, but I have enough friends.

In the meantime . . . there's another guy. I don't want to say too much, except I thought we really hit it off in messages, but I haven't heard from him in a couple of days. And this is bothering me more than I'd like to admit. Now, I know it's the weekend. And the holidays, where everyone is traveling and partying like crazy. AND not everyone checks their online dating accounts all the time. Not everyone is blogging about it like me and Rock.

I hate this. I hate being the whiny girl who waits.

I guess I'll poke around the site a little more.

But I'm afraid "semi" just isn't enough for me.

NEW IN TOWN, by Doris

"How was your Thanksgiving?"  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I'm sure I sound defensive right now.  But when you get a random text from the guy you've been seeing on and off for fourteen years, who recently DIDN'T contact you for two months until you found out via your parents and his that he has a "serious girlfriend" and your mom's more broken up about it than you are . . . well, it's kind of a gut reaction.

Me and the dude, let's call him Ex-calibur, we've never exactly been friends.  We met when we were just seventeen (him) and two days shy of sixteen (me).  At that time I was convinced no boy in the world would ever like me, and I was soooo old not to be dating.

Now I see us for the embryos we were.

Did we stay together that long (six years mostly on, eight years mostly off) because it was right, or because it was easy?  I guess I'll never know.  At any rate, I don't know if I've seen the last of Ex-calibur.  He's had serious girlfriends before, has been known to call me--drunk and sober--whenever they have a fight, and then again after the breakup.

And for a long time, that worked for me.

I'll own it.  It was friends-with-benefits in every sense of the word.  He was amazing in bed.  But he was also fun to talk to and snuggle with while watching MST3K (he'd put on the Mike eps for me even though he was strictly a Joel man).  When I lost my job four years ago, he was the first person I got ahold of.  I was there when we were younger and his parents' divorce was incredibly nasty.  We've used each other, fought tooth and nail, disagreed more often than agreed, loved, hated, you name it. 

I'm not a victim.  I was a willing participant.

In the meantime, however, I didn't really date.

While Ex-calibur was getting serially monogamous (sort of), I had various crushes that went nowhere.  Once I slept with one of Rock's friends--this is when Rock and I were living together, which made for an awkward Sunday morning.  I've dallied, made out a little bit, even tried Craigslist (nothin' too dirty).

But dating?  I've always thought it wasn't my thing.

I'm still not convinced.  Six years of being in a serious relationship, when I was very young to boot, has me thinking that I rather like flying solo.  That said, I'd like to get laid again before my thirty-fifth birthday.  And as Rock points out, it's not just the sex.  Sometimes you just want someone to watch MST3K with.

So when Rock, my best buddy of ten years--since I told him Survivor was shit, he accused me of not having a TV, and we just sort of went from there--proposed Our Grand Six Month Dating and Blogging Experiment, I was sorta game.

The very next day, I found out about Ex-calibur's dating situation.  

Now I'm really game.

It's not a revenge thing.  I wish Ex-calibur well.  Though I hope he stops texting me.

Because I want to meet some dudes (surely there are some in this big beautiful city who won't find me totally repulsive).

And for the record?  My Thanksgiving was great.