Yes, I have great dates, some really over the top ones, and I suppose I will eventually write their stories here too, but the disastrous ones are much funnier. If one chooses not to take life too seriously, one can find laughter in most everything ... especially in the search for Mr. or Mrs. Right\Wrong\Maybe.
While working as a Network technician for a start up Telecom Company, Eric hired this older woman (older than me) as a temporary employee. I think he figured if he had great success with me, why not another woman techie…? (I’d love to see Eric post a comment right here).
Anyways, a popular R & B band from the bay area was going to be performing at a local hotel club in town and this temp techie asks me to go hear them with her. I had been spending time with Tony and not getting out as much as I should when Brian was with his dad, so I 'guilted' myself into saying yes.
She arrives at my place two hours early because she is excited to be going out. She looks like one of those women who stand outside the shopping mall at 6 am the day after Thanksgiving, excited that Christmas shopping has begun and she can finaaly buy everyone that Yule log. I was thinking about canceling, so it was probably a good thing that she showed up too early.
I throw on some jeans and my leather jacket and we end up at the bar before the cover charge is even collected at the door. This is just way too early for me ... however ... it did give us the opportunity to pick the best seats in the place. We did - an eye-level spot next to the entrance to the dance floor, facing the band on high backed bar stools, which put us at standing level. There are booths below us that back up to our counter, so we can lean over and chat with the people below. There is an anniversary party group sitting there and they decide to buy us our first round of drinks. So far so good ...
Eventually the band begins to play and groups of couples, singles and the like begin to slowly fill the seats within the club and a group of “standers’ (people who stand and never sit) mingle behind us. The dance floor fills with happy dancers as the band meshes to the flow of the night and the hot sounds of the R & B sound blend with the soft roar of chat. Some of the men of the anniversary group have brought us out on the dance floor, this I can brag about: I can most definitely dance!!
I notice towards the end there is this dark haired (yes it is a theme with me) guy watching me from the “standing” group. I take my chair and he positions his back to me. I can feel the intensity of him through to my bones and I know where this is going - well before we have ourselves in trouble with eachother. He turns around and uses my favorite line as if he knows, "Hi. My name is Mark, and you are...?...". "Catherine" I smile. "You have red hair. God I love red hair, and you are a great dancer." he smiles back. GULP. We proceed to dance every single dance the rest of the night.
Now I could go into a lot of details about how fast this mini-relationship moved, but it would take too long. Needless to say, he is fresh out of a divorce (not good) and too quick to re-connect with someone (again not good). But do I listen to reason??? Hell no. He is a hockey medic who plays hockey and wears one of those berets like he is from another country. He is damn fine, a lot of fun and probably trouble - the worst combination for me. He is also “In The Meantime”, which is a place that someone is at when he or she is just coming out of a crushing personal blow. “In the Meantime” people are never good relationship bets for the long term.
As fast as he is moving and as much as my inner voice is screaming at me to rein him in and slow him down – I don’t. Redheads often live on the thrill of crash and burn. “In The Meantime” people can bolt when they move into the “I love…” to quickly and then often wake up with the “Oh my God what have I done - I am so messed up” relationship hangover. I know – I have been one myself.
But who needs logic when you have a beret wearing, hockey shirt over a six pack, dark haired guy hanging all over you?
Fast forward to Thanksgiving weekend, which hasn’t always been my best time. I usually try and keep a low profile. Mark is in Sacramento spending time with his daughter and on Thursday night, stuffed and tired, my girlfriend Keeley calls and invites me to go to her Lake Tahoe condo for the rest of the Weekend. Oh hell yeh. I will go home and pack right now.
Never pack at 1 in the morning.
I get up the next day at 6 am, bags packed and ready to go. I decide to set the alarm on my car and suddenly I can’t find my keys. Thus begins the great saga of the search for my keys. Three hours later a pristinely clean house, no keys and no Keeley – my neighbors are starting to help we search the yard. Anxiety is setting in, as I can’t leave without my house keys or car keys. I call my x husband to see if he has any of my spare keys. Even though I have my issues with him, he does always come to help me if I am freaking out and he is not the cause of it. He shows up in minutes and joins in the search, having me retrace all my steps from the night before.
Keeley calls, she and her husband have been in a huge fight and has taken off – we can’t go to Tahoe – I am relieved since I don’t want to go without my keys. My neighbors are now combing the bushes and the lawn for my keys. I am stressing and go into my kitchen, where all my cupboard doors are open from Thanksgiving morning where I painted the trim. (They were all drying). Suddenly, I think to look through my garbage can and bend forward without looking – or thinking (apparently). BOOM! I plant my forehead into the corner of a cupboard…and it sticks. “God %$#@*&^! **#$” I swear with the yell of twelve, pulling my head back as blood begins to run into my right eye.
My x husband is first to my side “God Dam*it Catherine – I do not wantto spend 6 hours in the emergency room today!” He drags me into my bathroom and sits me on the stool. Brian is close behind and reaches under the sink for the first aid kit, handing it to my x. “Let me look at this” he says as he begins to clean the wound as I flinch away from him. All his years in rugby, my x is pretty good at treating flesh wounds. He makes a butterfly bandage and places it over the wound, pulling all the torn sides of skin together. My head is now throbbing like a large kettledrum. My x walks me to the recliner and tells me to “Just sit!” He calls a locksmith and arranges for him to come out on Saturday and takes Brian, places an ice pack on my head (with strict orders to stay put) and leaves.
Later, Mark calls from Sacramento and is having a hard time dealing with his x. I tell him what happened and, being that he is a medic, he is concerned about me not having stitches “Babe, I’ll come back Saturday night instead of Sunday and check on your wound” he says, “I am hating it here and want to see you, plus my daughter has the stomach flu and has been in bed this whole time – that is when she isn’t throwing up” he continues.
Mental note to self: When man refers to me as ‘Babe’ – something bad is about to happen (even though I love the term).
He insists upon changing his schedule to come back early and silly me, the girl with the throbbing doorknob sized red swollen forehead wants to see him. I go to bed Friday night, only to have my forehead grow to the size of a baseball. Saturday night, Mark calls me three times on his way back, excited to be seeing me. His final call comes, as he is blocks from my place “Babe, I am so in love with you” (Uh what???). Oh oh.
He comes into my place wearing a hockey shirt, the beret and carrying a Doctors black bag. He is my best wet dream. Even better, he kisses me and begins to play doctor. He removes the bandage and admits that my x did a great job with the butterfly; the scar shouldn’t be too bad. He re-bandages the wound and puts a special ice pack on my head. With me fixed up, webegin to really kiss. But with every race of my heart and hormonal raging it sends throbbing (and I mean throbbing) beats to my head. Oh the pain!!!
I say nothing about the bulging pain in my forehead cause this guy sooooo turns me on and pretty soon we are rolling around my living room floor. My head is throbbing so hard I can’t hear us breathe, just as I am about to yell out in pain and say “I can’t do this”, he jumps up, says “Oh my God!", and runs to my bathroom and throws up. Was it my right breast? Hellooooo....
I pull myself together and go to the door where he sounds like he is throwing the skin up from the bottom of his feet. I wait for a reprieve, “Mark, are you ok, what can I do?” I say, hoping he says ‘nothing’ because I need to lay my head down. “Nothing Babe, I think I have my daughter’s flu”. He then proceeds to throw up for what seems like a half hour more, crawls out of the bathroom, collapses on my bed and passes out.
So much for romance…
I make him comfortable, as he now has a high fever. I am definitely not sleeping next to him. He begins to moan and rolls over. We are suddenly like an old married couple. I take a pillow and go to the couch to spend the night. My head is killing me and I have a bad feeling about all this.
At 8:00am on Sunday Mark drags himself out into the living room. I can tell he feels like crap, but can also tell we have crossed some sort of ‘moved too fast that we look like an old married couple’ threshold. He is embarrassed and uncomfortable. I don't know what to say. Oh oh ... I see this is a guy who always likes to appear to have everything under control. Last night, he was not in control...why do I always date control freaks?
He leaves and I strip my bed. The “Babe I love you” is ringing in my head. ‘We are in deep shi* Catherine’ I tell myself. Mark and I continue a few more dates, but it is different now. He is not thekind of guy that can laugh off a hilarious bad experience. He can’t relax with it. He can't get over tha he threw up in front of me. We are doomed, and eventually have ‘the talk’. Too fast...too soon ... too much... too scared... too too too.
After spending 500 dollars to re-key my car and my house, I find my lost keys in my bathrobe pocket a week later.
Do I really have to date?
Until next time-
C
