Charming, but single

Note: Coming off of hiatus for a bit. To get some Katrina context, read my posts from a year ago here, here and here. And this one too.

A year has passed and the wounds are still very fresh. I don’t know what to say other than that it is heartbreaking to see a place you love in ruins, to see people on TV suffering and know, “That is in my backyard.”

To hear your family members talk about their homes. Their old homes that were underwater. Their new homes that could never be the same.

New Orleans is a city about emotion and wonder and merriment. And life without it could never be the same.

I don’t have wise words to say or things to offer. I still blink twice when I’m in New Orleans. And rebuilding is hard. Anyone who tells you that it isn’t has never really hit rock bottom.

But the signs of rebirth are around us – like the street cars rumbling down the streets, Mardi Gras and JazzFest, the new roof Superdome, beignets at Café du Monde, mail service, electricity. There is much left to do. Areas of the city look like a hurricane hit there yesterday still, one year later. But in a town that still manages to cheer for one of the worst teams in the NFL, the Saints’ bumper sticker rings true – “You Gotta Have Faith.”

New Orleans, for all your faults and problems and oddities, if ever I cease to love …

For the thoughts, the prayers, the money, the charity, the tears, the food, the donations, the clothes, your love, your support, your attention, the Gulf Coast says merci, mes amis.

Beaucoup.

All –

I am taking a blog vacay starting today and running until September 1. It is for a lot of reasons, all of them personal. But the most important is that I simply need a break from blogging and if I just stop posting for a few days that won’t be enough.

I need an actual moratorium on blogging here. Days and days of no new content to cleanse my blogger’s palate. I am tired and working constantly, I’m stuck in a dating rut from hell and am feeling like to put myself out there too much – and, in the wise words of my favorite cheesy country song of the moment by Julie Roberts, “Men and mascara, they always run.”

I know what you’re thinking. How many blogs disappear after a hiatus? Go on break and never come back? And how could I need a break from something I enjoy?

Not me my friends. I enjoy having this journal too much to leave for good. It’s become an extension of me, a cherished placed for my thoughts and a special secret that only I know about.

In short, I simply love it.

But it can be rough sometimes. I feel pressure to produce new and higher quality posts, to go on more dates, to give more of the dirty details about my encounters, to live the Charming, but single life … and sometimes it gets tiring. And I don’t always have something fun to do and I like to just hang and I really need some down time.

To be notified via e-mail of my return, please join my fancy Yahoo! Newsletter group and by e-mailing charmingbutsingle-subscribe@yahoogroups.com or visiting http://groups.yahoo.com/group/charmingbutsingle/. It is announcement only and I’ll be sure to send y’all an e-mail upon my glorious return to the ’sphere, feeling refreshed, relaxed and metaphorically tanned. And you can still send me e-mail at the address on the right. I will try to read and respond as I can.

Now drink a cosmo with me and go play with the other bloggers on my ‘roll …

Bye (for now),

La Charming

You know what I hate about dating? So much potential around me, but the time it takes to cultivate the seed and have it grow into something more moves at a snail’s pace. And I’m left just sitting here tapping my fingers impatiently waiting.

For the good stuff.

With The Nurse doing finals, our status is pretty much left hanging, though I have to say that we do talk everyday, which I think is promising. I wanted to have the Talk, but I’m very not very confrontational when it comes to these matters. But he hasn’t signed on to Match in two weeks (not that I know how to check without him knowing I checked … who me? Stalker?), which I think is probably a sign that he actually has been busy and stressed. Or that he’s not dating half of the city. Or that he’s already dating half of the women on Match, so he doesn’t need to sign on anymore.

And my frustration-fueled Match.com Man Spree of a few weeks ago left me e-mailing a few guys, but that seems to have fizzled, probably because I wasn’t very dedicated to it. I also chatted with The Blackberry, who I think doesn’t really remember too much about me, honestly.

Which is hysterical.

And The Crier has been messaging me. He’s moved into a new townhouse and he said he wants me to have me over for a glass of wine. (Even after I told him I was seeing someone. Because, you know, if you’re going to overstate a relationship, you should at least have a good reason, like not having to see the guy who cried on a date again …) That sound you hear is me blocking him on Messenger and running away quickly in high heels …

(Note: This is long. Sorry. Treats for people who read all 1700 words and comment!)

Friday night I had plans to get all gussied up with The Lawyer and pals because she was in town for some sort of law-related meeting for the day. I’d had a long week and I was feeling generally grumpy, hormonal, emotional and restless. I’d already cried once in the past few days from sheer frustration about nothing really important and a night out with my good friends sounded like just the salve for my wounded spirit.

I know what my friends like. And when The Lawyer comes in town, I always chill a bottle of cheap champagne and get guacamole, salsa and other nacho fixins for a pre-dinner cocktail-hour-slash-hair-and-make-up session.

A few glasses of mass produced champagne, some serious hair straightening, two black dresses and some heels later, we were off to eat at a new bistro I love with Southern Belle. We’d wanted to have a small girls-only dinner alone for the three of us to catch up about work and life and, most importantly, men and sex.

Now, I have to flash back to say that I did invite The Nurse to come meet us after dinner for drinks at a Fancy Downtown Wine Bar, but he declined due to low cash flow. He explained that he was on a tight budget while he waited for his fall student loan to come in and because of his lighter work schedule (he takes summer session finals next week) and that he couldn’t afford the Fancy Downtown Wine Bar. I felt for him because I remember being in school and looking down at my wallet, thinking, “How can I possibly only have $23.12 to live off of until my loan check gets here?” I thought about offering to pay, but decided that might bruise his ego too much.

That said, I was pretty hurt. TOO hurt. I explained that a friend was in from out of town and how we were getting dressed up all pretty and he apologized for not going. And I said it was okay because I didn’t want him to feel bad, even though it felt not okay at all. There was a little part of me that was furious – how did he not know how important this was to me? And I could feel the tears of frustration returning and I rushed to the bathroom at work and splashed water on my face and decided that before I let my outrage overtake me, I’d give myself a day or two to calm down. After all, I’d almost flown into a rage earlier in the week when I couldn’t find a Diet Coke at a store – clearly I was in the middle of hormone-induced hell. (As an aside, I don’t normally blame being emotional on my hormones and generally think women who use PMS as a constant excuse for bitchiness are pretty lame, but for various health-related reasons I had a much rougher time than normal this month. I feel much better now, thanksforasking.)

Also, I didn’t say, “[Nurse] this is a good friend of mine from college and I’d like you to come be my boyfriend for tonight so that my friends will get to meet you because I think you are fantastic and that they are fantastic and it would be nice if y’all met.” Instead, I said, “Oh, it’s okay! Another time.” And I decided that before I let Irrational Charming take over, I’d at least give it a few days to see if I was still mad. (And I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, because apparently he isn’t a mind reader? Who knew?)

But back to dinner.

We talked about a lot of things, but my giddiness about my blossoming relationship caused me to gush. A lot. And I’m sure I yapped on about him, as you would expect from someone who is generally over the moon with the person he or she is dating. And I didn’t feel bad about it because I have been in the opposite role many a time with The Lawyer when she was all breathless over some guy and couldn’t be stopped from sharing every detail of his wonderfulness. Sure, we all may gag and roll our eyes, but true friends sit there and listen to you drool about how cute it was when he cradled you while you were watching Rent that time and how cute he is when he smokes a cigarette. (Somewhere in the Best Friend Contract is a clause about listening to about your friends’ new relationships and new men because you know that they will listen about yours, which has a partner clause about breakups and broken hearts and men to hate.)

We left the restaurant and headed to the bar, texting people to meet us. In the end, The Banker and Prom Date joined us and we ran into some other friends once we got there. They were arranging our table and we were settling in when The Nurse called.

I left the group to stand in the lobby and talk to him.

“Heeeello,” he said, sounding so damn cute.

“Hi, how are you?” I replied, my voice raising a few octaves to my I-am-swooning-because-you-are-so-damn-cute level. I was hoping he was calling to come meet us.

“I have a song stuck in my head,” he said.

“Oh? What’s that?” I was confused. He called because he had a song stuck in his head?

And then he started singing the most ridiculous version of “Today For You” from Rent, which reminded him of me because we’d watched it together. It was so silly that I wished he was right there because I would have pushed him up against the wall and kissed him full on the lips in front of the Fancy Downtown Wine Bar and God and my friends and the whole damn world.

“Toooodaaaay for yoooou, toooomorrow for meeee,” he continued. I could tell his was dancing around being silly.

“You’d make a pretty mean drag queen,” I joked. “Maybe you can borrow some of my shoes.”

We talked for a few minutes and I decided then in there that The Nurse does like me and that while the relationship was far from ideal right now, the strong physical chemistry we have and the affection we both obviously feel for each other was a good enough combination to at least try to see where this goes. I wished him a good evening (he was heading to his dive bar, where we both could drink all night for the cost of one glass of white wine from Argentina that I drank with glee) and bid him adieu. We sent cute text messages back and forth all night.

I had a good time we my friends at the bar and I slowed my drinking to a crawl because it was obvious that The Lawyer was too drunk to drive us home. After several glasses of water and a few hours, I felt fine.

“Where is Nurse!” she slurred at me.

“He’s at his bar, I told you he wasn’t coming.”

“Then we’re going to his bar.”

“Oh, no we’re not.”

“Why?”

“I invited him to come, he didn’t want to and so I’m not going over there. He had his chance to see me tonight and he didn’t take it.”

“Are you ashamed of him?”

“WHAT?” I was floored when she asked this. I was so far from ashamed of The Nurse. I wanted to run around with him next to me and tell random strangers on the street, “This is The Nurse and he is my boyfriend and he’s a really good kisser.”

“Well, are you ashamed of us?”

“No, babe, I’m just unsure of our relationship and I’m not ready to bombard him with everyone right now.”

And then she went on a tirade about how she never came in town (not totally true) and she was never going to get to meet him and it was unfair. And she tried to grab my phone and send him a text message, saying that she’d explain that it was her and asking if we could meet up with him.

“No. Absolutely not.” I tucked my phone in my clutch and set it on my lap.

“He’ll think it is cute!”

“No, he won’t. He’ll think it is neurotic and weird and we are not doing it. Men do not think that stuff like that is cute.”

I shot Prom Date a glance and he nodded in agreement.

“We used to do stuff like that back in the day!”

“And none of our relationships have ever worked out before.”

She was silent.

We left several hours later after I was cornered by a man with the hugest ears in the world who talked my normal-sized ears off about school and work and whatever else interested him. He asked for a business card and I apologized for not having one and breathed a sigh of relief when he left.

I gathered The Lawyer up and got her to the car. And she slurred the whole way home about not getting to meet The Nurse. And I called him to tell him goodnight and she was yelling in the background about him coming over.

“So, what are you doing now?” he asked.

“Putting my extremely drunk friend to bed,” I said.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“Um, no movie tonight.”

And The Lawyer started yelling, “Movie! Watch a movie!”

I finally got her home and she put on her pajamas and ate her leftovers from dinner. We talked while snacking and somehow the conversation took a turn back to how upset she was that she hadn’t met The Nurse.

“I’m sorry, it just wasn’t the right time,” I said.

“Well, I had to hear about him all night, at least you could have introduced us,” she said, with a hint of venom to her voice.

I rolled my eyes and went into the bathroom to change into my pajamas. When I came out, she was asleep on the couch. And I didn’t know it then, but she would be gone before I woke up the next morning.

It took me awhile to get to sleep that night. I kept thinking about what she’d said. Had I talked about him that much? Had I been unreasonable? Had I acted any different than any of my other friends would act if they were in the midst of a fledgling courtship? Why did she seem so angry about this guy I was clearly starting to adore?

I didn’t get the answers just then, but I felt better about it all by the time the sun started peeking through my shades the next morning.

There was a time when I used to get all excited about my new matches from online dating. I’d get the little “potential matches” e-mails and think, “Oh! New guys! Yay!” Now, not so much.

My thrice weekly match.com e-mail of potential matches recommends that I could “match” with the following people:

• A guy I went to elementary school with, not to be confused with any of the other guys I went to school with that it has tried to set me up with.
• The Nurse, which is nice, because it’s good to know that Match thinks I’m compatible with a guy I’m dating.
• A guy who has a screenname that indicates that he is a “nuclear” provider of oral pleasure for women. (Seriously.)
• A man who is, no lie, dressed in a tux with no shoes and is standing with one foot on the ground and one propped up really high on the arm of a couch. (Really? That’s the BEST picture you have?) Also, he doesn’t want kids, which is not in line with my preferences at all. (Even when I SAY what I want I don’t get it!)

This is not helping. I just want to date one person and be done with it.