Shakespearean

O blessed, blessed night! 
I am afeard. 
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
-- "Romeo & Juliet" Act II, Scene 2

I was not falling asleep quickly last night and then, remembering a half-unwatched Shakespeare in Love idling on iTunes from last week, kept myself even more from falling asleep (because I can watch this movie unendingly for its cleverness and passion even after growing tired), and where I picked it up was the rolling sequence of Will writing the balcony (Act II, Scene 2) scene from Romeo & Juliet as the players are both performing it and he is living it through gauzy exchanges with his half-dressed muse Viola, and I did not of course equate this tragedy and romance with the 3 days and 2 nights just spent with MSF (and the chocolate he brought with him on the Friday-night red-eye), because the 3 days and 2 nights were rife with easeful enjoyment and Kobe sliders from Lucky's and homemade banana bread with sharp cheddar and unexpected moments of realization that after 2 months of not being face-to-face, 3 days and 2 nights of face-to-face are only slightly bittersweet and moreso only luxurious and gratifying and filling, despite the necessary end and the distance so briskly reestablished as the Monday-night sun set along with the plane taking him home, real life crashing its way back in just as quickly.

Anniversary of sorts

Man From San Francisco and I were up late on the phone last night.   Late-late.  It wasn't supposed to be late.  But when I worked until 8:30 and then stopped by the gym and rode the bus and made and ate a carbo-load feast and put out the recycling and emptied the cat litter, he dozed off while waiting, only waking when I pinged him an hour later on my real way-to-bed and at his request, I called him because we hadn't heard each other's voices since before his pneumonia interlude. Our IM conversation the night before lasted that late, too. This seems to be the habit: we start with the worthy intentions of a Quick Hi or Just 10 Minutes Because I'm Exhausted and We Both Know Better, but it soon becomes 2:56 a.m. Regularly flummoxed at how the time passes and how wordy, rewarding and frustating it can be to try to verbally express what is physically and emotionally craved. Perturbed by the time zones. This morning we circled back on IM from our desks at work, going over things said and heard, when I told him, "It also occurred to me: today is the 3-month anniversary of the night we first hung out," and he said, "Hrm.... I think it's actually tomorrow," and I checked my phone to find his first text and indeed stood corrected, pleased he remembered, noticing that unlike how quickly time goes when we're together, it conversely seems it has been much longer than that since we met.

Patience Judgment Family Friends Health

It could have been one of those days.  Hell, it still could be.  I was fine waking up on time, from good dreams. Then when getting dressed I discovered that last night, while cutting through the Prudential Center, I (must have) opened my backpack to pull out an apple and dropped 1 of 2 lace-up pumps (Aldo, $100, bought new in Sept) somewhere in the food court. While calculating the odds of someone saving and turning in a shoe in a mobbed urban shopping mall I caught sight of the expensive steroids (as result of expensive vet visit) for Tusker's cold, sitting on the counter, undistributed still because, well, he seems to have gotten over the cold on his own. Grumbling, got on bike 15 minutes later than planned to discover a cool, breezy rain beginning in time for my commute, which was great, because I enjoy being both late for work and soaking wet while there. Arrival at the office heralded by the unexpected departure of long-time half-million dollar client.  Followed shortly thereafter by e-mail from Mom detailing prolonged intestinal distress, layered with news that Grandma, who had fallen last week, had not been herself since. Trying trying trying not to be down, in an office blanketed on all sides by black skies and fog, missing the physical and peripheral presence of MSF who himself took sick with headache and fever on Monday and yesterday turned phone off, and I cannot make soup or bring water or scratch his head or help in any constructive way. Starting to think everything I own is breaking down and everything is expensive and everyone is far away. 

So I'm kinda down. But there was a moment in that melancholy when I remembered I am a girl with Patience. Judgment. Family. Friends. And Health. Even if they aren't with me every minute. I still hate this cold fall bluster and I still miss MSF and I still worry about Mom and Grandma and still don't want to call up the Pru Lost & Found and even more don't want to spend another $100 on necessary work shoes that I already spent $100 on.. 

But.  Patience Judgment Family Friends Health. My new mantra in time of need.

(Just writing that felt good.)

Happy hour ....

.... bi-coastal style.

Which is to say, via cell phone.

9:31 pm (EST)

K: Stormy night calls for dark and stormy. (and ginger chocolate...:-)

6:40 pm (PST)

MSF:  ::smile:: I had just poured (and photo'd) a finger of Maker's-Rocks for myself while I figure out dinner when your TXT came in.

State of the union

The cats are exhausted. I'm exhausted. The Mazda 626 is exhausted.  MSF is somewhere over Colorado on an Airbus 320 and, I'd guess, also exhausted. I haven't been posting on the blog much this week because it's not as fun to write about being a single woman when, for at least 8 days and 10 hours, I didn't feel like a single woman. Even though I still am. But I'm a satisfied single woman. Who had good company. Who is grateful for that good company and believes that gratefulness might have legs, because it made me realize what good company is and how I shouldn't settle for less. Who doesn't harbor illusions or an upcoming plan regarding cross-country dating or sentimentality about having had good company, other than realizing that it is indeed possible to live in the moment (or 727,000 moments, more exactly), that having a lover's hand on my thigh while I'm driving is one of the best things ever and that, even though they need it, the bedsheets aren't getting changed until (at least) tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Weekend forecast

Oh.

The
weather looks crappy.

The
(purported) 20-mile run
(in crappy weather)
daunting.

(Scroll down to see....)

And
I've a floor to scrub before I sleep.

But
I've got bag of fall vegetables.

And
a pound of fresh coffee beans.

And
clean sheets.

And
a guest from the west coast
arriving tomorrow,
same time as the sun
(we won't see anyway).

Bring it on.

Visitor (maybe)

So as improbable as it may seem to both you and me, Piano Man is scheduled to visit Boston this weekend -- arriving tomorrow afternoon not to stay with me, but ostensibly to spend time with me -- although since his work (suddenly) got crazy this week we haven't been able to confirm the schedule or activities or, really, talk much at all, and I'm on edge for the inevitable last-minute "Oops, It Won't Work After All" notification but am also happy to anticipate a dinner companion, at least for one meal before we decide how well we do or don't get along. 

I'm wondering how we will.

Sox in the morning

It was into the wee hours this morning when I arrived home after rehearsal. Ravenous and wound-up, I grabbed microwave popcorn and settled crosslegged on my bed with a bottle of Smithwicks to check e-mail. No sooner had I checked in than so did my cross-country friend:

1:18 AM
C-2: Dude, you watching the Sox game???
Karin: ....ah, no....just got home from rehearsal. It's pouring here.
C-2: We just tied the game -- after going into the bottom of the 9th down 3 to 1.Top of the 10th now

A much-rain-delayed seven-hour game loss to the Angels. Together, 1000 miles apart, C-2 and I watched it. He via live stream on MLB.com;  me, via the same site's slower pitch-by-pitch version. When I explained I wasn't going to pay $99 for a subscription to the live feed, he replied:

1:26 AM
C-2:  go to foleys, silly
K:  Ugh. I should. I just biked home from Central Square wearing a skirt. In the rain.
C-2:  hot
K:  YOU should go to Foley's.
C-2:  perhaps i will
me: Good. You can pick me up. I don't feel like moving my car...
C-2: ok.  wait there
K: With bated breath, of course.

Eventually we shut down the flirtation and began to play-by-play. Some sample exchanges:

1:35 AM
C-2:  bottom of 10th
K: Indeed. Who's coming up?
C-2:  well, sadly NOT gonzales cause we took him out for a pinch runner in the 8th

1:39 AM
K: Youk!
C-2:  :)

1:43 AM
C-2: nice! lowrie double
runners on 2nd and 3rd
K: Full count....
Followed by a strike-out.
C-2: f***.
brb, gonna go smoke

2:02 AM  - Bottom of the 11th
C-2:  They're playing again in 11.5 hours
K:  Ellsbury homer.  I'm calling it.
Ellsbury strikes out.

2:05 AM
C-2:  maybe in the 13th or 14th
K:  Oh well. At least by then their pitching staff will be depleted, too, so the chances are better.
C-2:   hey, maybe the game will go right up to the next one! they just won't stop!
K:  What is the record for most consecutive innings?
C-2:  a LOT.  Dice K is warming up
K:  ? Really ?  You mean, for his start later today?
C-2:  yeah. haah. no

2:11 AM
K:  Torii's my man from MN....Used to go watch him.
C-2:  The fans are taunting him.  (Well, the 100 fans left)
K:  Oy, and he's going to get walked...
C-2:  he did.  grr
K:  This guy should be a cinch.
C-2:  sweet.  he was.
K:  You see everything about 5 seconds faster than it registers for me....
C-2:   :)

2:21 AM  - Bottom of the 12th
C-2:  oh f***  f*** f*** f*** f***   your guy was thrown out at the plate
K:  F*** is right.  Trying to get home from first?
C-2:  wow wow wow error.   runners at first and third.  F***  grounded out.  and we go to the 13th
K:  I need another beer.
C-2:  me too.  but i have none.

In the end we could have used the second beers. The Angels loaded the bases, put in 2 runs in the top of the 13th and that was all she wrote, at 2:45.

I share this exchange after being struck, again, how even in distance and with his girlfriend, C-2 and I just get along better than most. I have a show opening tomorrow night and staying up an extra 2 hours to chat a game in real time is not necessary. But it was fun without effort....something that's rare.

Of course I would have preferred to be at Foley's, watching it with him and I wasn't. But I'll take the comfort as a sign our friendship has legs, despite the distance.

Too deep

It was after 12:15 and 2 beers that I spoke with Piano Man last night, at his request, our first conversation since Holy Thursday.  We went through the litany of our respective weekends and the day just ended, after which I branched into a tale about a former love interest.  (One of those times that, when I'm buzzed on high-test stout, it seems essential to spare no detail.)  Piano Man, to his credit, murmured assents, commented, urged me to continue.  After which I felt sheepish for launching into Karin's Greatest Story Ever mode.  And thusly declared, "OK!  Your turn!  Tell me a story of a love lost!"  To which he hemmed and hawed (even clearing his throat) and suggested he did not feel like sharing at present and pointedly returned to subjects we have already worn well -- purchase of a keyboard,  rehearsal schedule for the show, his addiction to his local wine bar, and if I've recovered from my cold.  AKA, we headed back to the surface.  Fair enough -- I had brandished my past lover without him asking, but as a way to share an experience that has made me me.  I thought.  Which I figured if he likes me as he says he likes me, he would want to know.  I similarily want to know more about him.  Is this not how it works?  The deflation was so acute it pinged in my stomach.  His sudden discomfort, equally so.  Perhaps he and I are at that point where avoiding the depths is stagnating. 

Day 26 of 30:  3.0 miles

Day 27 of 30:  4.8 miles

April Total:  58.21

2011 Total:  212.2

Quandry (I think)

Last night I started a load of laundry, did a short run, put a chicken breast on to saute with some onions and mushrooms, and called Piano Man at 11:22 for a phone date. We hung up at 2:38.  I had to get up for church this morning. He did not. He texted early this afternoon:

"Feel bad I kept you up so late.  Enjoyed talking though."

Whether it was the chardonnay I drank with my (very wee-hours) dinner, I also enjoyed talking. I recall being chatty. Piano Man, a good sport, indulged me as I talked about my hometown (Cando!) in North Dakota, my first job out of college in SW Minnesota (Pipestone!), my most recent Christmas Eve making sage risotto and breathing in incense for several hours at Church of the Advent. He in turn Googled to find reviews of the chardonnay (Bogle Vineyards) I was polishing off, which I indulged, amused by his seeming endless curiosity.

It was nearing 2 and we had transitioned into bedroom chat, at which point he said,

"I'm imagining right now how much more I'd enjoy this if you were here with me."

I thought that too, yes. Who wouldn't rather be kissing someone rather than talking over the phone about kissing? But I also thought, I can't say, really, that I know how much more I'd enjoy this. I've never watched his facial expression in response to a comment. Listened as he tried to sing and play "Ihr Bild" (Schubert). Had a chance to find out if affectations endearing on the phone are creepy in person. Or not. Kissed him.

I have no time to travel to New York in the next month to find it out, either, unless Piano Man figures out how to come here for a day. So we can meet in person.

And I can't figure out in the meantime, assuming our conversation continues, how much energy I should invest in him and not invest in other possibilities. Maybe I'm just not used to a man willing to talk to me about piano technique and wine varietals.  Who thinks about me on days after we talk and tells me so. Who called on Friday evening to say he was driving through Prospect Park, thinking of me, and just wanting to talk.

Maybe I'm just afraid to admit that we are indeed simpatico. Maybe I'm thinking that maybe if I just keep talking to him and have patience the answer will become obvious. Maybe he's a serial killer. Thrice-divorced and harboring moldy food in his cupboards. Talking to women in California, Montana and Vermont, too.

All questions I should ask. Although I don't want to assume this is serious. Or want to get emotionally tied up in something with no possibility. Or miss out if it is one. Or date someone who is 48. I don't think I have the stomach to start something that is long-distance from the get-go.

Yet I wonder if I should learn to have one, and try.

Or wonder if I'm being lame, idealistic, impatient or naive, or all of the above.

Day 16 of 30:  1.90 miles

Day 17 of 30: 5.51 miles

April Total: 36.99  

2011 Total: 190.93

Productive chat

Friday, end of the work day, I began an IM chat with a kid from Wisconsin.

(Well, a 27-y-old kid, I guess. In his profile photo he shows spiky black hair and is winking at the camera. He works for the Center for Disease Control as an consultant and on this day was working from a lake cabin patio in Madison. And that's what I know.)

What started as innocuous job chat soon evolved into discussing our respective OKC experiences and if I'd had "any luck on scoring a date." How we're both attracted to self-deprecating types who are .... kind of like ourselves. And how we both find good, witty writers attractive.

I then got him to fess up about questionable male behavior on the OKC. I asked him why some are compelled to send me photos of their penises.

Madison: ....in the throes of their hormones, they are under the impression that you will see it. you will then start frothing at the mouth and have an uncontrollable urge to join theim in their quest .... they make the mistake that you are as easily visually triggered as they are .... because to them, if you sent a picture of your t*** or a** their pants will drop. They just ... dont ... understand you ... :-(

Then it began to get interesting.

I noted I have some suggestive references in my profile, and how the Young Scientist once told me I should pull them off if I want to be treated seriously and less as object. Madison concurred.

M: Yes.
M: He and I know men.
M: We are men. Men know all. ROOAAOOOARARR.
M: (thumps chest. eats raw meat. humps something.)
Karin: See. The well-spoken man with seductive powers who does those things is still interesting to me. I need to better figure out how to articulate that, I think.
M: Yea. I've learned that too.
M: Women love a man with an inner savage beast who can **** like a stallion and deconstruct it afterwards.
K: Exactly! (Although) men probably hate the deconstruction part.
M: I like it. ha ha.
K: Ah, so they exist!
M: As long as it is AFTER....
K: Not as build-up?
K: (reconstruct?)
M: There you go. Construct the scene. Then deconstruct.
M: But there has to be a lengthy intermission.
K: That's what I love about chat.
M: yea. I'm definitely turned on by words

And then we chatted for another 45 minutes. Discussing the benefits of literacy as seduction tool. Distracting me while I took some phone calls. Turning each other on with words.

It got relatively intense.

(And a lady tells no more.)

It was ridiculously freeing to have such a discussion with someone with whom you connect but will never meet. The pressure of making an impression evaporates and the id comes out to play. Minds and suggestion combining to create the tension.

As we signed off, I asked him if he regularly had such intense chats .... since it was rare for me.

M: This was a highly charged situation, not a common event.
K: It's not an ego thing, I promise. I was just curious.
M: You can exercise your ego. I don't mind.
K: We have similar tastes, then.
M: ....and your ability to be intellectually sexy...
M: ....professionally sexy. that helps a lot. We're similar. It works.
M: good dynamic. :-)

Ah, I love that good dynamic. It isn't until you have it with someone that you realize how elusive it usually is. Of course, when that person is in Madison, Wisconsin ...

Incidentally, it reminded me so much of the randy subjects I used to explore, to my immense entertainment, with Young Scientist that I immediately wrote YS to apprise him of what happened.

K: We starting off innoculously chatting and we had a very good rhythm going with it and next thing you know we're talking dirty. Very interesting. It was good for no other reason that it absolutely relaxed the hell out of me.

So to summarize. This Friday chat:

1) Relaxed the hell out of me. (Score one point.)

2) Found a man 10 years my junior who thought to call me "intellectually and professionally sexy." (Score 2 more. I should update my profile to quote that .... )

And,

3) I made a connection. Even a connection with no discernible future, to a girl's ego, I'd call priceless.

Pot sitters

On my way to bed a short time ago, I remembered hadn't yet done my physical therapy stretches. This takes about 20 minutes and I'm tired. But I need the plantar fasciitis to go away. (Hey, I know. We all need it go away, so I might stop writing about my feet.)

Hmmm. I'm online trolling about, to occupy my brain during these ankle contortions and rolling of golf ball with heel. Midnight is a productive hour to be on Match.com....it's busy! After all, you wouldn't be on match if you had a significant other to either be awake or asleep with. Lots of viewings. And historically, many of the more creative messages (anyone remember MRothko35?) have popped up about this hour.

So who has reappeared, but the Guy from Hartford. Fairly smitten in his prose, but who hasn't gotten back since my last e-mail to him....on June 13. His silence thus far had persuaded me to give him--and the idea of anything long distance--the heave-ho.

And, Mr. 22 from North Carolina hovers on the perimeter. You must recall from mid-June....

Mr. 22: "You're a very sexy women (sic)...."

Now I must confess to some intrigue at his boldness. And the part of his profile that said "I am an energetic, socially active and liberal university student." Scruffy beard, talent for photography, obsession with BMWs. All eventually endearing enough; I wrote back a few days later, for the hell of it, to wit:

K: "What's with the venture out of age range, young man?"

Inviting him to interpret me as a) creepy, b) sassy, c) or the cynical 35-year-old he hoped I wasn't. Maybe he hasn't yet recovered from me actually replying. I wouldn't know, because he hasn't come back with anything more. Yet he checks me out....for the second time in the last three days.

These men have messages in their inboxes that they do not answer. But they keep looking from afar. They are 20 years apart in age but act like identical teenagers scouting at the homecoming dance.

It is not my turn to write.

When are they going to either use the pot or get off it?

More promising, perhaps....

Ah, Friday.

Last day in the office before a long stretch in Minnesota visiting the family. Skin still grimy from yesterday's Google search on foot fetishes. Two-day fog and chill outside doesn't want to lift.

But more promising, as you know, is that tonight is Date #2: Stand-Up Comedian (S-UC) and me, a bunch of beer, Red Sky in Faneuil Hall, and a Friday in desperate need of happy hour in a town that technically forbids them.

True, the temperature is predicted to skyrocket (90s?) in time for the road race and beer-drinking fest I'm undertaking tomorrow at 10 a.m. with a group of friends. S-UC is aware of this event, but if his profile photos are accurate he does have BMI advantage.....so the challenge will be to resist the temptation to go drink-for-drink.

Looking forward to tonight with triple the anticipation of Date #1. Probably because S-UC and I have spoken on the phone and I can tell you this man has no issues with gregariousness. If nothing else sparks, we will at least verbally entertain each other for a couple hours.

Another upbeat bit of news: conversation with some spark has begun with a someone I'll simply call Long-Distance Man. Which is because he lives 100 miles out of Boston. Last week he twice gave me the dreaded match.com wink (so lame to not at least put two words together); the combination of Hartford, CT and the method didn't impress. However, he then returned via e-mail to ask me if I really was from North Dakota. And said some other nice things. That combination, plus the persistance, precipitated my reply.

Three days later and he's still saying nice things in a relatively interesting way. I'm trying to keep up.

And not worry, yet, about Hartford.