The CFO (Redux)

From the Single in the City archives (2/2/09):

"So....we left it with a kiss and a goodnight and I wrote him a note that night to say thanks.....but I haven't heard back yet. Not worried about it, either, and that itself is a weight off. Really. It seems important that we had a reunion....for me to realize that I still liked being with him but could live without him."

I know I wanted to tell you yesterday all about the boy from San Francisco, who dominated the weekend and deserved the space.

But I didn't mean to not tell you the details of my CFO date on Sunday afternoon, our first since November 2009.

(We reconnected via e-mail after I thought July 4th was his birthday -- it isn't -- and wrote to wish him a happy one.)

I saw his apartment, saw photos of his 2 sons for the first time ever (one recently graduated from college and one from high school), and he gave me the book I picked up while browsing his bookshelf, not expecting its return.   We then cruised out towards the Lynn Woods Reservation for pajama brunch at the place of his longtime female friend.   Him indeed wearing pajamas. Me too, recalling this is how he rolls: taking one woman he used to date to a party given by another woman he used to date -- everyone wearing pajamas, everyone totally fine with everything.

Brunch was decadent and tasty and the afternoon quite nice.   The CFO still oozes joie de vivre and ranks as a gregarious and giving conversationalist. Unchanged in his conviction that he's already been married and raised his kids and wants to date as many women as he has time and energy for without commitment. Still as frank as ever about his (still) varied dating life and skilled at drawing frank details about sex and other assorted wildness out of mine.

What our "date" came down to be was the equivalent of a couple hours of road-trip girlfriend chat. He asked for my take on perplexing females in their 50s. I bemoaned men in their 40s who had never settled down and didn't seem to ever want to. He drove me home and we left it with a kiss and a goodnight again -- followed with a solid, lingering hug -- and I went off to go running and watch the sunset with the boy from San Francisco. It was the CFO who wrote me later that night, saying thanks for making the date. We haven't (yet) made another.

With all due respect to my past self, it amuses me now to read how I wrote about the CFO in 2009 with such heartbreak because we weren't working.  (We certainly wouldn't work today, either, despite his being a guy who commits to reading the Sunday Times cover to cover.)  Three years younger, yes.  But that level of naïveté doesn't feel like an emotion I remember having. 

Of course, though, I did.

Am I more laid-back since then? More circumspect? More seasoned?

Maybe more of a realist, most of all?

Happy (felonious?) anniversary!

On Wednesday, it will be one year since I put a profile on OKCupid.

It was a conversation over coffee with the CFO that led this horse to that particular water and, I should note, the CFO is the oldest man (56) I've ever dated.

Which makes it mildly ironic that today at 10:14 a.m. (10:14 a.m.!) I received this inquiry from a local guy who was a whole 19 (no-I'm-not-joking) years old:

"Hey. You want to be a good Lutheran and have sex with me this weekend before I go to Marine bootcamp?"

My. (Big sigh.) We've broken through the basement floor.

What next? A 17-year-old hits me up and I run the risk of being charged with soliciting statutory rape?

Unwinding, if possible

Tuesday was an overwhelming, frustrating day at work.

To remedy, that evening I asked a friend to join me for a beer and chat to unwind.

Perhaps it was a poor idea to try and unwind from being overwhelmed with a friend who is himself overwhelmed, because his unwinding (which was quite necessary, don't get me wrong, I understood it) overwhelmed me even more. I left him inexplicably needing to drive ... went north on 93 instead of south .... up to Lawrence, west on 495 to Littleton, and back to Boston via Route 2, some 78 or more miles, with the moonroof and windows open and the BBC World Service as background, eating a King-Size Hershey bar, thinking about nothing but the dark highway, pulling into Southie at 12:55 a.m., finding myself still so wound up that sleep didn't come until after 2:30.

Which in turn made Wednesday an overwhelming, frustrating day at work. Perhaps the crankiest in my history of work. Enough where co-workers backed away at my approach.

Last night my attempt to unwind was no more successful.

Power yoga? No good ... a substitute teacher with no sense of flow and the stretching hurt more than anything else.

An hour on the Steinway at church, improvising with my eyes closed on hymns? Nope.

A nice run? My left ankle is oh so unhappy with me and the 80-percent humidity outdoors is hardly relaxing. Not possible.

And getting to bed before midnight? Ah. You all know me well enough I can't manage that even when totally inspired.

So here we are, Thursday morning, facing an inbox of remnants from yesterday's work crankiness without the fortitude or restfulness to deal. Stomach hurts from frustration and weariness. And in an enormous outpouring of salt .... woke up to discover that in my relative haze last night, I forgot to lock my bike to the street sign out front as usual .... and it is gone.

My rusty, unstealable, brakes-that-suck, free bike from the landlord was stolen.

All I need is for my car to get towed and life will be complete.

But hey ... The CFO. (Reminder: he's become a Friend who is a Boy, rather than boyfriend.) We last met up in early June for burgers and martinis at Lucky's, venting off whatever frustrations we both had at that time, but haven't communicated since.

This morning, an e-mail out of the murky, black sky:

"Been thinking of you lately ...

I was thinking of going over the Boston Harbor Hotel after work and catching some music .. I just checked and tonight's a blues band out back on the water. Any interest in meeting me there? I've not been, but have a sense it's a good crowd and a nice place to meet for a beer. "

Wow. His message produced an unexpected feeling of comfort and familiarity so acute it was like falling back onto a pillow.

Like it might be possible to unwind, tonight?

Useful euphemism

Precisely 5 hours after last suggesting I had zero date action in play, I struck up a Gmail chat with one of ye olde bare-chested dudes from days past.

(See #4.)

Bare Chest and I had one previous such chat on Memorial Day weekend.  To characterize it as titillating would be exceedingly polite.  X-rated would be more accurate. I enjoyed it as a girl should enjoy a frank sex discussion on occasion.   And since this is a family blog, that is where the details stop.

Today's chat started out benignly enough. 

BC: How was jury duty?

K:   Long, but interesting. We finished last Thursday.

BC:  Cool.

K:  Medical malpractice. We exonerated some MDs.

BC:  I would love to hang out with you sometime.

K:  Sure. Realistically, what would you have in mind?

BC:  Let's grab some coffee and take it from there.

We talked about setting up a date.  Five minutes later, he asked me what I was wearing. Two minutes later he crossed into a territory I am now censoring ... in other words, the meat of the conversation.  I went with him for a spell.

And I'm still blushing a little.

(This is not the first time you don't get the whole story.  Readers who have been around might recall the expression "satisfactory goodnight kiss" to discuss the more intimate details of my outings with the CFO.)

For the myriad of personal life details I am compelled to spill (down to how many boxes of cereal I consume per week), I'm amused how shy I am when it comes to discussing sex.  Which partly has to do with a readership that includes both my former pastor and my mother.  And that a Lady Never Really Tells.

Nonetheless, I'm 36 years old.  Sex comes up either conversationally or actively (although by no means exclusively) on many dates I have been on.  Perhaps as a reader you have inferred this. I'd hope that since I don't admit to doing anything more than kiss a boy, yet just confessed that sex frequently comes up during my dates, that you can agree I've kept a somewhat tactful lid on the subject.

Entirely coincidentally, as well as fortuitously, I today clicked on The Boston Globe advice blog by Meredith Goldstein, Love Letters.  ("Sometimes love stinks. Let us help.") Goldstein invites readers to anonymously submit their woes; the host herself first offers a solution, then opens it for comments, and often hundreds of readers weigh in. It's good stuff.

Here is the intro to the June 2nd entry titled "Allergic to 'Grilled Cheese'":

"A disclaimer from Meredith: When this letter arrived in my Love Letters InBox, it was too risqué to post on Boston.com .... But because I believe the reader’s question is valid and worthy of our discussion, I’ve decided to post it -- with all of the writer's R-rated phrases replaced by my G-rated euphemisms. I'm asking that you use my euphemisms in your comments so I can post them .... "

You can read the entry if you're so moved.  However, I will tell you now that this is a column about sex.  "Making Grilled Cheese" is not about making grilled cheese.  The kitchen is not a room in the house. And it is f#$*ing hilarious.  Especially when 300-plus readers got into the spirit and extended the metaphor to all facets of preparation, cooking and consuming ... among other activities.  All the while extending relatively useful advice.

I'm inspired.  I'm all ready now to brainstorm more creative ways to tell a story about sex, should I find myself heading into Satisfactory Goodnight Kiss territory anytime soon.  My mother might still not approve .... but then again, maybe she'll not read under the surface and just be glad I'm baking cookies for a friend.

Which would certainly be OK.

Frosting

So.....I had a beer in Davis Square tonight with The Artist from the Western Suburbs. It was agreeable. We kept it short due to the late hour (post-rehearsal for me) but agreed to meet again.

Then if I play my cards correctly.....outings on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. All with different dates.

To to top it all off,  I also heard from the CFO today. It's been a couple of months. He's wondering if I'd like to meet him tomorrow after work for cocktails and catch up.

And to think Friday was the only free day that needed filling.

Perfect.

It's probably a sin....

....that when 600,000 people dressed in greeen beads strode into my neighborhood this morning, followed by 600 Boston policemen revving their motorcyle engines, I strode out.

Sorry. This girl is Norwegian and Swedish and while I have no vendetta with the Irish, I do not get riled up over Southie St. Patrick's Day.

I like beer plenty fine as you know...but don't enjoy when when it runs in the gutters like water, when the crisp air is permeated with malt, when it drips from keg cups spilling out of 3rd-story rowhouse windows.

It's probably a double-sacrilege that today, instead, I head for a coffee in the (gasp, Italian!) North End with my old buddy C (finally!). Then off to have a drink and a chat with the CFO (hopefully).

Then home to find that, perhaps, I might be able to find a parking spot within 2 miles of my apartment.....

Bad attitude, I know.

Reverse trend

From OKC, yesterday, in the inbox:

Subject: Awesome!
Text: "Hey! You run AND you're a democrat. Instantly I'm a fan."

Naturally, I had to set this man straight: it is hardly difficult to find a liberal-minded runner in this town. Flattery is good...but he would have to find other reasons to be my fan.

So started a conversation with Young Scientist. (And no, it isn't difficult to find a liberal-minded scientist in this town, either.)

He's 26, works in infectious disease research, and is a rabid runner himself currently laid up with knee issues....so he inquired about the foot woes. Tallish. Handsomish. Plainly honest. We exchanged e-mails about running and dating histories yesterday; at the end of the third back-and-forth he asked me out for dinner.

I accepted the invite. His response?

"Awesome!"

(P.S. He already signed off on the blogging permission slip, thank you very much.)

You might remember Young Engineer from last week: age 25. After the months of hanging and talking with and kissing the CFO (55), this new inquiry continues an enjoyable reverse trend. Both men are highly attractive, yet intellectual. Both have been alike in their bold straightforwardness, interested in me first and not shying away from the age difference.

As, of course, this was always the case with the CFO and me....despite the fact he could remember watching the Watergate hearings (which I was born in the middle of), we had a great time together. In my case, I'll be able to tell this new man all he ever wanted to know about Ronald Reagan. Let's hope we also can have a great time.

I'll confess: this wooing by younger men is a substantial ego boost. Will our maturity levels match up?

No reason to not try and find out.

Re-Matched, and otherwise....

Tonight, I had no place to be for anyone else. This was good. So....

To the gym....5.5 miles on the treadmill at 8.2-minute miles, nothing hurting.

To the bus, then home. Snow and wind outside. Fireplace and stereo inside.

Then to the stove. Two helpings of rosemary sausage risotto washed down with the dregs of the pinot gris used to cook it. Red Hook Late Harvest Autumn Ale for dessert.

This was all very good.

Then, to the computer. Tonight I also re-upped the match.com membership. (No, it's true. Hold off on the cardiac arrest.) I'm revamping my profile as I drink....which is really the only way to go about it....since this is like writing a term paper.....who am I looking for, what's the last thing I read, life goals?....blah, blah, blah. Laboriousness reigns. Need to get past this step.

Meanwhile in a third web-browser window, I'm simultaneously putting down a profile on OKCupid.com. Less expensive--free, actually--and cheekier, which is more my mood tonight, so this profile will now get more of my attention. And will probably get even moreso the farther down I get into this bottle.

It's good to occasionally be in the mood for such activity.

Hmm. So in part I've been urged back into this dating pool by an outing with the CFO Sunday afternoon. No salicious details or make-out sessions in alleys. Just coffee at Peet's and the sun in our eyes and conversation about the Obama Inauguration and the financial climate.

We walked the side streets around Coolidge Corner linking arms like bosom friends, only then getting into our romances (or non-romances) of the last 4 months. Not surprisingly, we're both in less impulsive moods and places than the summer. And the resulting quality of our conversation was tame, guarded. Undramatic.

He was frank about the woman he saw, who moved to Africa, and who he now misses. I told him how lethargic I'd felt about dating lately, and rather helpless to help myself up and out. He advised me, much like a college professor might about a job search.

So....we left it with a kiss and a goodnight and I wrote him a note that night to say thanks.....but I haven't heard back yet. Not worried about it, either, and that itself is a weight off. Really. It seems important that we had a reunion....for me to realize that I still liked being with him but could live without him. I'm not sure what sense we still make....although if we wanted to, we definitely still could make sense on a certain level. I'm now waiting to see what he thought. But, let me be clear, I am not waiting around for it.

Amen.

The CFO is actually the one who mentioned OKCupid....the hodgepodge Facebook of dating websites.....as maybe a new place to spread out in. Haven't seen much of it yet, but got a glimpse of quizzes and chats and compatibility tests and randomness.....and, as I was pleased to see, a less earnest mood. Which seems just the way to dip the toes back into the water.

Oh, that those waters not be stagnant....(!)

People like me

A joy of writing 200 blog entries in the past 9 months (yes, what I did instead of gestating a child) is that, now, I find articles all the time much like something I've already written. Every possible essay topic will eventually be explored in someone's online diary and if you don't get there first....it's a rehash.

OK. So if you've been with me for even half of these monologues, you know the saga of The CFO:

Somewhat Older Craiglist Respondee
turned River Gods Great Date
turned Even Better Kisser
turned Casual Boyfriend for 2 Months
turned Disappearing Act in September
turned Back Up in October But with Girlfriend and Looking for an Open Relationship
turned Totally Ignored By Me and, finally,
turned Back Up in January with Girlfriend Moving to Africa and Looking to See Me Again if I wanted to see him.

(Which by the way, for those of you unhappy with my choice to consider it....well, still considering. We haven't gone out yet, but exchanged texts on Inauguration Day vowing to get together to celebrate. And that's the latest.)

I struggled when the CFO came forward with the open relationship proposition, even though I originally accepted him as a man who saw other women. Which is why it took me months to get back to him. When he then replied, in apology, he talked about how he too struggled....even though he thought he knew what he wanted for us (casual), for him and his girlfriend (open), for himself (fancy free). Even though all parties had agreed to the terms. This line stuck out:

"What I've learned and continue to learn is that any sort of open relationship or non-monogamous situation is an emotional land mine and there aren't any maps!"

Right or wrong, approved or disapproved of, mapless is certainly a way many of us make our way from day to day. I empathized. Which is why the situation still exists.

While trolling the Times during mid-afternoon procrastination hour today, I encountered this column published last Sunday under the category of "Modern Love". Katherine Ruppe found her a man the equivalent of my CFO: The Engineer. Except that her story involves Moby concerts, Las Vegas trysts, and a phone showdown with the Other Woman revealing the existence of the Other Woman's Husband and Other Woman's Husband's Girlfriend.

Katherine did not empathize with this drama. It's juicy, and makes the CFO look like Ward Cleaver. Enjoy.

Back in with the Man (Redux)

I appreciate friends who continue to respond to the plethora of e-mails I write about dating attempts....even well after certain men's expiration dates. With this latest spin to the CFO story, I've preached digital sermons to a few. Perhaps I believe in the power of my persuasion technique.

But so far, no. This should tell me something, yes.

Nonetheless, I stay honest in my desire and they stay honest in disapproval...but, I think, trust me to not be an idiot and, like any good parent, know I might flounder regardless. It's good to have these folks around. When I'm balancing desire and loneliness and pragmatism and expectations and sweet talk from old flames...thoughts are constant noise, disturbing clarity. Forcing them into written words is helpful.

So thanks again to A. I've hashed out this recent bit with her since Saturday. But something she wrote this morning caused me to respond with the paragraph plaigiarized below, which I think is a clearer evocation (than yesterday's blog entry) of my current rationale:

"I know I'm going to run into this with folks who see it as odd to put in time towards anything that does not have marriage at the end of it. Is it self-abasing? Depends on your definition. I don't feel that way....my eyes are wide open here. It takes many kinds of people to make the world turn. Including those who do like to go out on enjoyable dates just because they're enjoyable. I believe I've been upfront about yes, wanting someone to be in a relationship with, but just wanting to date, period. That in and of itself is difficult enough. Much less search for soulmate. There is an ideal, of course, but there is also real life and how one chooses to go day to day.

But you've heard this all before, anyway. And who knows, it might be a moot point. We [CFO & I] haven't written in 3 days and maybe it will amount to nothing."

Back in with the man (in a fashion).

At 3:15 on New Year's morning--pinot grigio in hand, Bach's Art of the Fugue on the stereo--I sat in the dark at my kitchen table and wrote to the the CFO.

As y'all know, I was grounded by weather and circumstance from spending the evening with friends.....and it was the first instance I felt lucid enough to articulate the thoughts conjured by the CFO's October 21 e-mail. (Which I won't rehash....feel free to follow the label trail and save the sanity of those who labored along with my indecision since then...)

Sparing most details, I told him I had felt hurt. That I regretted not saying sooner that I was. How I came to learn that our style of relationship was emotionally dangerous. That while time had passed and this was a certain dredging up, I thought of him too frequently to not respond.

Cartharsis generated my best sleep in months, and not just because it was 4:30 a.m. I told myself if he doesn't respond, it's closure. OK. And if he does, well, then, I'll deal.

So. He wrote back the next evening....with, in his words, surpise and gladness. Then he wrote at length again on Saturday, responding almost point-by-point to my points. Apologizing for "mishandling" everything, which he regretted because of how much he enjoyed our times together. Then....that his relationship was coming to a mutually-agreed-on close next week because she's moving to Africa, and he wants to start dating again.

And he'd like to go out with me, if that's agreeable.

That's sweet talk, is what it is. Because I find myself so inclined. I wrote him back last night and told him so. For any number of reasons....mostly because he apologized thoroughly but not gratuitously. Because I'm a complete sucker for articulate men. And because I'd really like to see him again and he wants to see me. We had seriously good times last summer and I'd like to have more.

So I don't know what exactly will come of it. As of tonight, I'm OK with it. He responded, and I'm dealing.

My decision has not sat well with the 3 friends I've discussed it with. Bill says: "You can do better than the CFO. Thats all I'm going to say." Another FWAB, sitting across the table at The Paramount on Sunday, listened for 20 minutes before replying, "Karin, run away." A is not keen on me retreating again to the dating-just-to-date scenario, and wrote in an e-mail:

"The second go-around with him might be different, but remember the first--meant to be casual but distressing when things didn't continue as you had hoped despite your first intentions (case in point). Just don't like to see you get hurt, and would rather see you with your "soulmate" which doesn't sound to be him."

Can I disagree with all of them and still feel good about going forward on my own path? My initial thought....was the ungenerous try being 35 and single and not having a date for 3 months and then tell me that every date should be with the man I'm expecting to marry. It's easier to say "wait for 'The One'" from the vantage of the relationship surety you're all in.

I felt bad for thinking it, because these folks all seriously care about me. So I've rather stopped thinking it and will try not to think it again. I don't like feeling my friends disapprove of me.

And if I see the CFO again and he stomps on my heart, I will tell them they were right. If we have a splendid old time doing up the city, I won't rub it in.

Nonetheless, it seems the storyline has re-upped. More to follow.

(And don't think y'all are going to pile-on in the comment section now and give me a lecture.....!)

Anger (Warning: adult content)*

Somedays I get angry at my feet for hurting. Last night I ran hills, and today my feet just hurt all day.

Then I get more angry when clients take their accounts away from our firm, and I have to help them do it. I helped millions of dollars of assets move today.

And then Damien Rice, my favorite Irish boy, comes on the iPod with *(warning: adult content) "Woman Like a Man". Wicked guitar riff to start. D minor. Sassy. I'm sitting at the computer, closing accounts and icing my feet, grooving to the walking bass, getting by. Damien wails. The chorus is a relentless chant. I'm thinking

this is my song today. It is angry. It is me. I need to be this song.

I play it many, many times, maybe 20 or 30, which is what I do some days to distract myself. Not so much listening to the lyrics. Then, perhaps on the 10th go-round, I clearly recognize a phrase: "wanna get f***ed inside-out." And then again.

I listen more closely. Damien's got a mouth on him, to be sure. Lots of metaphors, but between the lines, clearly an angry song about sex. Definitely not your father's Marvin Gaye put-on-the-moves song.

Reminded of something the CFO said when we were dating, after I'd send him snippets of blog entries that were, as any good date story should be, edited for public consumption:

"I do like reading how you view me and us in our time together, knowing Grandma might read it, and as I've said, I wonder how you'd paint the picture if (you had) complete anonymity...."

This is not an anonymous blog. I wanted to write about this song's effect on my mood today, and I did work pretty assiduously to not offend people....Grandma and otherwise.

And am generally not a fan of angry songs about sex. (Really. Play me the Cranberries singing about lingering if you want to woo me.) Before today, I really didn't know any angry songs about sex. But today I spent most of the workday listening to an angry song about sex. It did help me corral my anger. Go figure.

It would have been more interesting, probably, to paint the picture according to the CFO's wonderings.

Hopefulness, thankfulness

Tuesday found me so listless at work that the following tasks were too arduous to complete: 1) entering a client's accountant name into a contact database; 2) printing labels for new account files; 3) remembering to eat lunch; or 4) phoning my parents. 

Today was different. Maybe it was the extra-bold extra-large Sumatra that doubled as breakfast. Or the third straight up-market day. Or that the office cleared out for the weekend starting at 1 p.m. Or, funny, six hours of sleep the night before. (Yes, sleep occasionally helps matters.) 

Whatever the case, not dissing the mood shift to this hopeful productivity.  I first noticed it during a particularly challenging power yoga class at lunch:  to some surprise, I executed 20-some chaturanga dandasanas without complaint or loss of stamina. That's a lot of suspended low push-ups, folks, and a surprising lot.

When I got back to work, I swept through the pile of undone schmaltz on my desk. Then I paid bills, signed up for my 2009 flexible benefits, and uploaded pictures from 2002 onto my Facebook account.  I ran down the street in my high heels to the Thanksgiving Eve church service. 

All the while, I thought about how I had Friday night free, and how I had Saturday night free, and that I should write Tim, John or A or M and see who wanted to go "out" out.....like strap on the knee boots and go dancing-with-naughty-beverages-"out" and see what happens. I thought, maybe I should write that long, friendly note to the CFO that has been on the brain since October 21....using the magnanimity of the holiday to finally explain why I never wrote him back when he asked. 

Hopeful. Hmm.  Slogan and results of the Obama election aside, I can't think of the last time hope was my prevailing emotion. And I can't tell you, or even myself, why. But I'll take it. Whether or not I run with it.....will have to get back to you there....

Stats: 10/28/08

(With grateful attribution to Miss Bridget Jones.)

4.15 hours slept.

8:22 a.m., got out of bed.

10.35 hours worked.

889.35 points risen by the Dow Jones Index.

2 clients who closed their accounts anyway.

154 openings (give or take 10) of the Politico.com website.

142 realizations, to the point of near-nausea, of how much I want the presidential election to be finished.

1 rainbow over the Back Bay.

4.93 miles of running, in the rain, after work.

15 minutes of nap, in the Healthworks sauna, first.

19 Weight Watchers points consumed after 10 p.m., justified by hunger from the 4.93-mile run....

15 points over today's allotment. (Including total annihilation of)

1 box of GoLean cereal, bought 24 hours ago.

42 minutes to write this blog entry.

28 minutes longer than it should due to wicked-slow wireless connection.

5th night straight the laundry was supposed to get finished.

But didn't.

7 days that I haven't replied to the CFO.

28 times today I've thought I should write.

26 times I decided I don't care enough anymore to write.

2 times I wanted to write him but realized I was too tired.

1 mini-nap while sitting at the kitchen table in the last 42 minutes.

10 chastisements in the last 42 minutes for blogging and eating GoLean cereal instead of going to bed.

Bedtime: 12:53 a.m.

(3 hours later than desired).

Distracted, Part III

So the good news is I've rarely touched my computer this weekend.

What this means is:

a) I have a life.

b) I spent the majority of the weekend NOT writing the CFO. Or even thinking about writing him. Mostly because I was distracted by, I don't know, actual life that didn't include him.

Today at 4:30 p.m. I was in the balcony of my church, singing a Bach cantata with the choir and orchestra in celebration of the Lutheran Reformation. Then I listened to a whole ton of Bach, Buxtehude and Pachelbel on the organ. Then went out for Thai food with all the musicians to hash out the music we just heard. I had to actually fight to remember that the CFO was pissing me off.

Am I right that we all do that from time to time.....that it's fun on some level to be upset and indignant...and so rather than letting it go when you stop thinking about, you force yourself to think about it so you can feel upset and indignant once again? Someone tell me if I'm wrong here.

It's very late on a Sunday. I just spent 5 hours drinking wine with a Hungarian, Belgian and Pole--all organists--and have nothing to show for it. But it was time not being in a bad mood.

So.....PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT!

Distracted, Redux

There are benefits to splaying my soul out on the blogosphere. Any time I go a little nutso in this space, I get several e-mails from friends checking in on my mental health.

One boy friend, J from NJ, was especially kind on Tuesday when I said I felt like lying on my bed and crying:

"....so…i take a little break from my crazy day. stream of emailing and calling that doesn’t seem to quit. sip on some coffee and read the latest election news AND your blog. after doing so, I just wanted to hop on a plane and buy you a round of drinks or go for a run together…because it seemed so blue. sorry about everything… "when it rains it pours” is only a truth-tell-all, not comfort. and “this too shall pass” definitely lands flat in an email. Know that you have friends who care about you an awful lot…and hope things start picking up soon.

as for CFO. yeah. done. totally."

Several folks and I conversed via e-mail today over last night's think-tank on the CFO open-relationship proposition.

From a family girlfriend in Minnesota:

"I agree with your friend "M".....although the thought of being someone's occasional booty call could be appealing on certain levels, you deserve so much better than being just someone's "whenever I get around to writing/calling you" cake, as "M" put it so succinctly below. love you lots...

ps - I overslept today too. :)"

Then you've all met Bill's online persona in past entries. In person he's 6'3 and 220 and for years worked as a security guard. He and I went running on Tuesday after the initial receipt, so he got a raw earful about it then. His advice, equally, was to jettison the situation, but more aggressively:

B: How you doing? Make any decisions on the CFO? You really should just ignore him. You deserve better treatment that that.

K: Yeah....I should just be polite, firm, say no, don't settle for something half-assed.

B: BE POLITE? No f**king way. This guy hasn’t earned polite or nice, or even civil. You have a right to be angry. If you do him the honor of actually acknowledging his existence, I’d totally rip him. I don’t think he was honest with you from the start.

K: There is power in calm. If I rationally refute him I think that's more effective than losing my s#*t. It is possible to be cutting and brief.

B: Yeah, but its not nearly as emotionally satisfying as ripping this jerk a new one. He deserves to be made uncomfortable with how he treats people. I say go nuts…

K: Maybe I'll just sic you on him. We could set up a hit.

But the most impassioned advice came from another girlfriend, who has known me for a long while and heard every last blasted story of angst the last 10 years. She's had many herself that I've heard too, and thus rarely trivializes:

"i agree with M. he is being disrespectful to you and to who you are. despite you having admitted to this kind of a relationship, you have also talked closely with him about what you DO want (in openly addressing your profile, for example) and if he cares an inkling, he would put your desires to have something real over his desire to have a tasty little situation with women on both ends who require no work.

love is work, relationships are work and that is why they get deeper and get more rewarding with time. maybe it was easy to be with him because he knew he wasn't going to be held accountable, he could thrive in the superficial stages and have no need/urge to probe to the "if she's sick would i bring soup?" level. he has decided not to do that in his life. that's fine. he can. he has every right. but, honestly, you don't want that life and while you let him play that role in your life, you are denying yourself.

..... you are stuck in a cycle that is unhealthy becuase you crave what little he has to offer......you are selling yourself WAY short. being alone is tough, but being a sub-par karin is absolutely worse. you put blinders of complacency on when you keep hanging on to or waiting for him and instead you need to shake it all off and be you....

i am being harsh. yes. but i honestly believe you need to hit the wall here. i would write something short like: Thanks. I don't think anything more will work for me. Good luck.

The jury of peers has spoken. Free advice from people who care: priceless.

I did read the CFO's note again today but with less empathy and tolerance than yesterday.

It was a long, non-sleep week and tomorrow I've got the morning off before a rehearsal, run and cocktail party. So I'll sleep in. Then will probably take the laptop to Cafe Arpeggio, order a red-eye and an egg-tomato-cheese bagel sandwich, and write the man back.

Distracted

Economy tanking. Obama in the lead. Work projects promised and piling up.

Yet all I can think about is how--or if--I'm going to respond to the CFO's e-mail from Tuesday night.

Overslept this morning, out of bed at 8:18. Still took a 12-minute shower, because for 9 minutes I stood with the water running on my back, staring at the soap bottle, thinking about the 100 different ways I might phrase my e-mail:

"What the hell. How long have you been dating her? Why didn't you write me 3 weeks ago and tell me the situation has changed? To tell me you were off the market? If you enjoyed our passionate moments so much, why weren't you missing them enough to write me and tell me? Oh yeah, otherwise occupied."

Then, to myself:

"Like hell you're going to respond. Ignore him. Three weeks? Now that he's in this cozy set-up he can just say mea culpa like he hadn't been forgetting about you? Keeping all his options, of course."

In other imaginary conversations I lecture and rain down guilt with all my evidence of his selfish egoism. Or am terse and blunt (i.e. "Take your suggestion and stick it...."), but with style. Then I wonder why I'm even thinking about it.....and then get intensely sad for a few minutes. Kind of because I have a man who likes me enough....but obviously doesn't like me enough.

Then it's quickly to the fairy-tales.

"It could be kind of cool... The occasional casual date... Still no strings, but a good time. I should be so glad that he's thinking about me..."

If you're just getting the bulletin, I'm bad at ending things. It comes from having had such a good and easy time when we were together. Makes me want to forgive him and deny that, under the surface, I feel he deceived me.

Meanwhile, about 10 minutes ago, my friend M wrote--yes, the one who has heard more than her desired share of this situation. She isn't nearly so ambiguous:

"...the CFO's response angers me quite a bit. Basically his email is saying "I don't respect you and really I just want my cake and to eat it too. Do you mind if I eat it off of you?" A**! I understand that you two believe in open communication and have always been honest but does he realize how wrong it is to send an email like that? Did he READ it first? Clearly not. I'm glad you're done with him and I hope you sent him an email telling him so."

Touché, M.

The longer I wait to answer, the easier I'm finding it to simply ignore the e-mail and see how he responds to that. Two days and six hours it has sat unanswered, even though I've read it 20 times.

It should be so much clearer than this.

Hormones + beer = desire to curl up & stare blankly at wall.

Strange day.

The first tangible effect of the finance meltdown....a longtime colleague in my department was downsized out. (I missed the event and her dramatic exit....on the phone with my sister, deep in conversation about an equally distressing situation in her life, go figure.) To their credit, the CFO and president called the other client service rep and me in to explain that our jobs were not imminently in jeopardy. Unless, of course, things got a ton worse.

This was at 3 p.m. The market dropped a 200-point anchor by 4. Tomorrow the head salesman and I discuss what ex-coworker tasks fall my way. Grateful for my employment at this point, I guess....the benefit of being the only person who knows how to do my job.

So I was already in mid-afternoon tired when this happened, not focussing. Then the CFO -- the one I'm Done with -- reappeared in an e-mail at about 6. Not surprisingly, he apologized for his 3 weeks of silence. More surprisingly, he suggested that he had started "seeing someone a bit," which left him little energy except to see her and watch the Red Sox playoffs. (This is my celebrated ability...to meet men who don't want to be in a relationship until they meet the person they start dating immediately after me.)

Most surprisingly, he and the "someone" were discussing having an open relationship. Hence. He had enjoyed our time together so much he wondered if, once he got a few things sorted out, we could discuss "picking up where we left off" and seeing each other on a mutually agreeable level.

Yes. Getting my brain around this: A scheduled and approved other woman? Sounds peachy.... I could choose not to be the first woman in a man's life, but the second.

(I promise this is not the last commentary on this subject. The brain is moving slowly. And I feel like I got punched in the gut.)

A good thing the day ended soon after with a cathartic 5-miler, in the dark, in the brisk chill, around Southie's Castle Island, with my boy Bill, in from Holliston. (And who, ironically, is the first one who told me to be Done with the CFO, about a month ago....) The legs, still overaching from Saturday's hike, functioned in run mode when they had to, and it felt good. Then we went down to Shennanigans for some salmon filets and beer and talks about our grandparents.

The beer was the last ingredient....combining with the day to provoke the desire: to do nothing but stare, think, and weep a little for reasons I can't articulate. All of which I will probably do when this sentence is complete.

Done.

For a girl who hasn't dated in what feels like two presidential election cycles, last weekend was pretty darn social.

The aforementioned Organ Tuner incident Friday. A baby-shower BBQ for 25 for C&A on Saturday. The reemergence of a certain urologist from Indianapolis -- church friend last seen in 2003 -- that led to a Sunday lunch date and walk through the Public Garden.

I even attempted some valid networking later that night: drinks at Enormous Room via Opus Affair, a group that brings Boston artists together for a drinks outings. Risking egoism, I give myself points....I dressed up pretty, went by myself, knowing no one. Which proved to be a tough nut. The crowd stood in tight twos and threes deep in conversation; I downed one potent vodka drink, met one striking professional baritone, and left an hour later.

So, 9 p.m. Sunday instead found me over at M's apartment in Jamaica Plain. M is my girl gossip friend.....listening to months of ranting about Another Man solidified her credentials. In return she shares details of her own relationship (with a Republican!), itself full of aggravations. This summer, after six months of dating, M learned that her man saw this "relationship" much differently than she....as in, casual and not for the long-term. She's still deciding what to think about this but they're still together... which has produced months of fodder for our conversations.

In the meantime, I admire her: since they're only "casual," M has a side affair going on, just ramping up and very fresh. And which falls much closer in tone to my thing with the CFO. (Who, by the way, has been persona non grata for 13 days.) This is what we hashed out on Sunday, lounging on her bed in our socks, like a slumber party: lots and lots and lots about "casual dating," and what one should expect.

Speaking of the CFO, I left my conversation with M deciding I'm done with him. Done. Done. He ended his last message with a "talk soon." I've always believed that as a professional casual dater, if he wanted to end it, he would end it without a lot of fuss. But he has not tried to reach me, and he has not replied to an e-mail I wrote last Thursday.

However, he is continuing to post ads on Craigslist; joking with M, I bet that he was. So as we chatted I typed the words "playful" and "fit" (2 of his favorites) into the personals search engine. And sure enough, one titled "Sweetness" (another favorite) appeared from October 5. Using his writing style, language, overt exclamation points, neighborhood. Looking for playful, fit, ladies to keep warm with.

On the terms of our arrangement, this is certainly within his rights. Maybe I'm just jealous that he's driving for other dates and I haven't felt like it. Maybe I've lost patience with the arrangement. Or certainly expected that as casual as our arrangement was, he'd periodically check in before checking out entirely. M theorizes that he isn't cutting things off because he's trying to keep all options open. Well I'm hardly thrilled to simply be someone's open option....or maybe I was and maybe, again, I'm just done.

One of my favorite song lines ever comes courtesy of Semisonic, in "Closing Time": Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. Whenever something new starts I never want to think that it will end with me ultimately dissatisfied....yet in many cases, that is the case. There must be an end to be a new beginning.

Which is why I'm done.

Working on the sexy and sassy.

A few moments before midnight. The laptop and I are patio-hanging in the damp chill, waiting for showers to start up again......as it is, the drip-drop off the eaves is already as steady as a snare drum cadence.

We've been waiting the last hour because I can't seem to get my writing mojo on tonight. Combined with a lack of dating mojo and some economic toilet-dwelling....oh yah. Yesterday I promised you smart and sexy when I reappeared and, damn, I'm trying to work on it.

But must confess. I haven't shaved my legs in two weeks. Neither smart nor sexy.

(Yuck. While true.... I promise I'll keep my body hair discussions to a minimum once I actually get out on a real date again.)

So now I'm wondering if I can loop the CFO into my Friends who are Boys posse. Last week I noted that, when on our most recent outing, he offered to look at my Match.com profile and give his input on what turns him on and what just doesn't work. I downed the last of my beer and said, "sure!"

We haven't talked much since. But last night he reappeared in my inbox. In addition to being busy (ramping up with the school year it seems) he mentioned being "stressed about personal finances." Not comforting to hear from the money guru. But I'll score him points: he ended the message with a cheer for my Minnesota Twins and a promise that he was off to find my profile.

I heard back from him tonight again and he indeed did his homework. Firstly, that I wrote well and playfully. (A favorite word of his....) Then...that I should think about rotating my picture selection weekly. And then:

"I have to say there are a lot of very nice looking women between 34 & 36 so the competition appears to be stiff. The North Dakota, Lutheran, Christian thing doesn't exactly capture the sexy, sassy, fun side of you that I think you want to project. Not sure how you do this, but a rewrite would be a good start .. do you ever look at other profiles? You might find some helpful hints there.

"Maybe rewrite the last paragraph to be about your perfect first date instead of talking about successful past dates.

"And maybe the tag line .. "you could be the next contestant" try something different there."

Well, must say I feel schooled. Like the professor grading an essay, who starts with, "Your overall concept is great!" before red-xing all but the topic sentence.

I am a North Dakotan Lutheran Church woman. I know there are other Lutherans in Boston who might find North Dakota women interesting on geography alone.

Although. think of how the CFO knows me and how, he purports, to enjoy me: as a girl he met from a Craigslist posting who is willing to make out with him in public. (Yes. True. This is me.) Our conversations since then have touched sports, politics, music, economics, family, and (yes) church with true earnestness..but it did. All. Start. With. Talking about sex.

So I could poll for an opinion on his opinion and get riled up about him dissing my background but, truthfully, I'm thinking this was good to hear. Sometimes women do really want to know what men have to say about what they want and this is one of those times. The CFO likes to be with me (remember? Five dates?) and he has now said what it would take to get his attention if he had had to track me down in another way. He's cool with hearing about my church and why I go there, now that he knows me.

But before that, he wanted to talk about sex.

Thinking about things this way, at least for a few days, could be a shot in my limp, cold non-dating arm.

Hey. Maybe he and I could make a date out of the rewrite? Stranger things....