The sickly sweet smoke of a clove cigarette assaults my nostrils early this morning. I am none too pleased with the sun poking me in the eyes through the shades, angry for being excluded from my presence. There is a movie on, My Girl, with that kid from Home Alone. I've seen this movie a few times in the past and never really thought much of it; however, watching it now seems different. I find myself more engrossed in the film while my mind secretly wanders off to reflect on how things happen in your life that change your perspective. When a very close friend of mine hung himself I'd like to think that I handled myself better than the kid in the movie, but I doubt it.
With every blink of my eyes my little girl learns a new word, does something unexpected, and grows up just a little more. Last month my grandmother died and my daughter is essentially oblivious to this. In a few years she'll be able to fully grasp the concept of death; I don't know how I am going to deal with that. Mortality is an eventuality that everyone must understand at some point, either your own or that of others. M's grandmother is dying, J's aunt is in the hospital recovering from a triple bypass, two weeks ago my brother-in-law was on his death bed with cancer and renal and respiratory failure, a week ago my ex-wife was in the hospital with seizures and my step-father was in the ICU with a heart attack. None of these people have died, yet, but they have literally stared the reaper square in the eye. I have no idea where I'm going with this. Fuck me this movie is depressing, someone put in The Godfather.
Wednesday:
On Tuesday night I received a text message from M (my 'friend' from Jersey) wishing me a happy Halloween. The last time we spoke was about two months ago when she drove up to spend the weekend with me. I'll admit it, I freaked out a little after she left. I was getting attached to a woman that would compromise everything I have in my life if a relationship with her were to get serious. She's a great girl; no, let me rephrase that. M is, in all seriousness, the most awesome person I've ever met. I would equate her to the female version of me. That's why we would never work, because I know me and all the stupid shit I do. That and she lives almost four hours away.
At any rate, on Wednesday I send her a text message to call me if she was up. It was midnight. Oddly enough she was awake and we proceeded to talk and laugh for the next two hours. For those two hours it was if we had never missed a beat, like I hadn't been avoiding calling her for two months, like everything was cool and natural. I get too comfortable around her and instantly lose all of my inhibitions. I hold this weird feeling that is a mix of disgust and elation that in the two weekends we have spent together at each others' places, she has learned more of my deepest, darkest than anyone else alive. She garnered more of the intimate details of what makes me tick in less than one hundred hours than the woman I slept with every night for ten years. As far as I can tell all is forgiven. Thank Bob because I really would hate to lose touch with such an incredible lady. Best friend material all the way and the benefits are quite nice as well.
Thursday:
Hair newly shorn, fresh out of the shower, dressed well and looking rather dashing if I do say so myself. A spritz of Drakkar and a last superficial inspection in the mirror and I am out the door. Thursday marked the night of my second date with J. We were to meet at some swanky new restaurant, Glas, in Glastonbury. She seemed rather excited about the place and is apparently a big fan of the sister restaurant in Hartford. I am quickly coming to the realization that J has good taste.
I arrive at the restaurant about twenty minutes early and check in for my 8:00 P.M. reservation with the hostess. During my initial look around the joint I take immediate notice of the rather boisterous bar and a good number of tables occupied. A busy restaurant is always a good sign, even if the place is still new and/or novel for the time being. With plenty of time to kill I make my way over to the bar, order a Smithwick's draught, and observe the happenings of the bar and the horseshoe seating directly opposite the bar. Well-dressed 20-to-30-somethings mingle, drink-silly named 'martinis', and try to talk loud enough to be heard over the person next to them. Everything you need for a great night at the bar and on a Thursday evening no less. Either I just missed Happy Hour or ordering appetizers at the bar is the norm here because there are plenty of people nibbling away on various dishes and they all seem to be quite content with the quality.
In the center of the room a multi-hued, tentacled giant glass sculpture springs forth, lit from the inside like one of those novelty plasma spheres, but cooler. It easily catches the eye and is as far from inconspicuous as could be expected, yet remains unobtrusive. In the dining area the tables are far enough apart from each other to ensure enough privacy and comfort without making it feel empty. The lighting is comfortable on the eyes, not too dim, not searing my retinas. After letting my eyes wander the room for a bit I get bored and strike up a conversation with a lovely young lady at the bar. Convenient that it just so happened that her ugly friend had just gotten up to use the little girl's room, no? Sweet girl if not wearing a bit too much make up. We chatted for a bit whilst awaiting the return of her friend and I will have you know that I can now say I have it from dubious authority that the sushi at Glas is magnificent.
J shows up, again late, and again looking too cute to even bother looking at the clock. She comes over and I lean in to give her a hello kiss. Our lips briefly touch, almost awkwardly, and she rushingly returns a second kiss but only half on the mouth as if she meant to linger longer on the first and wanted to make up for it. A look of amused displeasure crosses her face as she jabs her thumb into my cheek, pulling downwards in an apparent attempt to remove the lipstick she had just gotten on me. "No, sweetie, you're supposed to get it on my collar".
The hostess sneaks up behind us during this exchange and whisks us away to our table. Acting the only way I know how in the presence of a lady, I take the liberty of pulling out J's chair for her. It would seem that such minor acts of chivalry have joined the 8-track, disco, and Quaaludes as being qualified for antiquation, at least in the eyes of our hostess. "Now there is something you don't see every day; you're quite the gentleman" she says in reference to the chair pulling with the strangest expression of mystified mirth. The first thing that crosses my mind is "Is this chick fucking serious? What kind of ass doesn't pull a chair for a lady, especially on a date?! Get your tongue out of my arsehole, Gary". Instead of actually saying that and coming off as a dick, I instead graciously accept the compliment with a smile, nod, and a quite "Thank you". Once the hostess left I inquired J concerning the rarity of proper manners and it appears that yes, I am, in fact, ignorant to the concept that not everyone does this. Bonus points for me then?
Good news about J, she"s the adventurous type and she isn't afraid to try new things. Ordering two appetizers from the menu, knowing that she's never tried either, was partially a test and partially me getting the most from my experience at this restaurant. Foie Gras and Beef Carpaccio are two of my favorites but I do recognize that both are somewhat acquired tastes. Completely unfazed after informing her that the former was duck's liver and the latter raw pieces of thinly sliced cow, she tried both without even so much as a flinch. If she ate fish (I don't recall if she just doesn't like it or is allergic to fish but she doesn't eat it) I would have been all gung ho about ordering the Tuna Tartar, raw egg and all; maybe next time. She didn't like the foie gras and didn't seem all that crazy about the beef but credit still goes to her for being a trooper and eating enough of each to form a valid opinion. It's not like we're talking roasted grubs or deep fried cockroaches here, but still, for the uninitiated, liver and raw meat can be a tad daunting. I, of course, was in my own little heaven munching away on well prepared delicacies. Score: J - 1, Me - 1
And so we began what would be a very good meal held in very good company. J's paella looked good but she only picked at it. She tells me that she is a "picker" but really she barely touched the thing. In the back of my head I'm starting to think that she isn't eating because I make her nervous or something. I on the other hand tore the hell out of my duck breast with confit hash. The wine list at Glas is actually quite nice; they should post it on their website because it would be a good selling point. We both took advantage by ordering something by the glass. My South African Merlot paired well with the duck, but it had a certain almost spicy characteristic I couldn't place that you wouldn't normally associate with a Merlot. It worked for this particular wine though. All in all, for the $160 total I spent that night I was pleased with my experience. The service was prompt and professional and the food, while not the best I've had, was prepared well and this place would definitely warrant a return visit.
At some point during dinner I realized that something rather unexpected had occurred. I was talking. Now, I tend to be a little reserved and relatively quite unless accompanied by close friends in private quarters, and then it is usually drunken shouting and irreverent cursing. I am often told that I am a good listener; it's what I do. I'll be perfectly content to sip on a pint and listen to someone talk about themselves all evening. For most people, their favorite topic of conversation is themselves and it makes my job easy. All I have to do is ask a couple of starter questions, nod, and smile every now and again and they walk away from it thinking I am a great guy that they love to talk to. But tonight this would not come to be.
This beguiling little minx had gotten me to start spouting off about Bob knows what. I honestly couldn't tell you what the hell I was saying to her. All I remember is being stuck in her gaze and the words just pouring from my mouth. I know it wasn't anything bad and nothing too horribly personal, but I can't pin down exactly what I was talking about. I do recall though, that she started questioning me about my ex-wife again and that sort of made me snap out of the trance she had put me in. I quickly, without even a hint of subtlety, changed the subject and made a point not to be caught up like that again. Tricky little one she be, I better keep my eye on her. Score: J - 2, Me - 1 (damnit!)
After dinner we decide to head to another bar down the road for a nightcap. Another kiss is cut short when we part ways to our respective cars. It's a much quieter atmosphere a little more conducive to chatting. We sit at the bar and sip our pints and continue the flirtatious conversing. Eventually the topic of smoking comes up and she gently teases me about picking up the habit again after quitting the week before. She mentions in passing that she used to smoke cloves every now and again back in the day when she was drinking but hated cigarettes. Slightly amused, I sneak my hand into my coat pocket, deftly produce my pack of Djarum Blacks as I have done so many times in the past, and hand them to her without a word. She opens the cover and smells them, gives an inaudible chuckle, and hands them back to me. Score: J - 2, Me - 2. HA-HA!
The night winds down and we get the last call for alcohol just as we are finishing up our beers. It's late and we are both ready to go so we head outside. It's fucking cold out and I can't say I had any interest in talking anywhere that would produce white clouds from my breath. We both had a laugh and a joke but I was ready to call it a night. Not expecting much considering how shy she has been so far this evening, I casually move in for a quick goodnight kiss. This time she had different plans and was much more receptive to my advances. She wrapped her arms around me as our lips locked, our bodies pressed up against one another. She tilts her head just a little more and when her lips part she softly traces my upper lip with her tongue, inviting me to come play ever so briefly. The kiss was short but smoldering and she pulls away with that crafty but aloof look in her eye. She smiles at me and looks away towards her feet a bit and says "Well, it's nice to finally get that out of the way". Hrmm, my suspicions about her being a bit timid but playing it off super cool are confirmed.
Note to self: Verbally outgoing but physically reserved, wine makes her drop her inhibitions and do what she really wants to do. Cool, she's normal.
Not to be outdone and certainly not passing up the opportunity to move this relationship forward a little bit, I throw on a cocky smile and toss back "I can do better than that". Much better the second time around seeing as I wasn't ambushed this time. Time stopped for a while standing in the middle of a parking lot on a frigid autumn night sharing a transient moment that would be a forever captured snapshot for at least the duration of our relations and possibly longer. I still struggle with the idea that when you become so caught up in something the rest of the world can just melt away and leave you there with only that which holds your attention. J's dangerous like that, because it keeps on happening to me while I am in her presence. If I stay on this path, who knows how far I'll fall? But hey, at least I won't feel it when I hit, right? When we were done making out, she looked at me and said something that I truley couldn't tell you. Not because I don't want to or because it was personal, but because I have no idea what the fuck she said. I was a little tipsy and still sort of off in my own little world, but she said it, I said I'd call her, and we both said goodnight. Since we both stepped up to the plate I'll award points to both. Score: J - 3, Me - 3. Close game . . .
On my way home I recieved a text message from J:
"In case my sarcasism was indecisible . . . I think u r a great kisser"
I'm not sure if she was just drunk (as evidenced by the horrible mutilation of 'sarcasm'), if she was just looking for an excuse to send me a text message indicating she wants another round of tonsil-hockey, or if it had something to do with what she said when I was leaving but the point is, well, the point is the point goes to me.
Final Score: J - 3, Me - 4
Fuck yeah, I win!
With every blink of my eyes my little girl learns a new word, does something unexpected, and grows up just a little more. Last month my grandmother died and my daughter is essentially oblivious to this. In a few years she'll be able to fully grasp the concept of death; I don't know how I am going to deal with that. Mortality is an eventuality that everyone must understand at some point, either your own or that of others. M's grandmother is dying, J's aunt is in the hospital recovering from a triple bypass, two weeks ago my brother-in-law was on his death bed with cancer and renal and respiratory failure, a week ago my ex-wife was in the hospital with seizures and my step-father was in the ICU with a heart attack. None of these people have died, yet, but they have literally stared the reaper square in the eye. I have no idea where I'm going with this. Fuck me this movie is depressing, someone put in The Godfather.
Wednesday:
On Tuesday night I received a text message from M (my 'friend' from Jersey) wishing me a happy Halloween. The last time we spoke was about two months ago when she drove up to spend the weekend with me. I'll admit it, I freaked out a little after she left. I was getting attached to a woman that would compromise everything I have in my life if a relationship with her were to get serious. She's a great girl; no, let me rephrase that. M is, in all seriousness, the most awesome person I've ever met. I would equate her to the female version of me. That's why we would never work, because I know me and all the stupid shit I do. That and she lives almost four hours away.
At any rate, on Wednesday I send her a text message to call me if she was up. It was midnight. Oddly enough she was awake and we proceeded to talk and laugh for the next two hours. For those two hours it was if we had never missed a beat, like I hadn't been avoiding calling her for two months, like everything was cool and natural. I get too comfortable around her and instantly lose all of my inhibitions. I hold this weird feeling that is a mix of disgust and elation that in the two weekends we have spent together at each others' places, she has learned more of my deepest, darkest than anyone else alive. She garnered more of the intimate details of what makes me tick in less than one hundred hours than the woman I slept with every night for ten years. As far as I can tell all is forgiven. Thank Bob because I really would hate to lose touch with such an incredible lady. Best friend material all the way and the benefits are quite nice as well.
Thursday:
Hair newly shorn, fresh out of the shower, dressed well and looking rather dashing if I do say so myself. A spritz of Drakkar and a last superficial inspection in the mirror and I am out the door. Thursday marked the night of my second date with J. We were to meet at some swanky new restaurant, Glas, in Glastonbury. She seemed rather excited about the place and is apparently a big fan of the sister restaurant in Hartford. I am quickly coming to the realization that J has good taste.
I arrive at the restaurant about twenty minutes early and check in for my 8:00 P.M. reservation with the hostess. During my initial look around the joint I take immediate notice of the rather boisterous bar and a good number of tables occupied. A busy restaurant is always a good sign, even if the place is still new and/or novel for the time being. With plenty of time to kill I make my way over to the bar, order a Smithwick's draught, and observe the happenings of the bar and the horseshoe seating directly opposite the bar. Well-dressed 20-to-30-somethings mingle, drink-silly named 'martinis', and try to talk loud enough to be heard over the person next to them. Everything you need for a great night at the bar and on a Thursday evening no less. Either I just missed Happy Hour or ordering appetizers at the bar is the norm here because there are plenty of people nibbling away on various dishes and they all seem to be quite content with the quality.
In the center of the room a multi-hued, tentacled giant glass sculpture springs forth, lit from the inside like one of those novelty plasma spheres, but cooler. It easily catches the eye and is as far from inconspicuous as could be expected, yet remains unobtrusive. In the dining area the tables are far enough apart from each other to ensure enough privacy and comfort without making it feel empty. The lighting is comfortable on the eyes, not too dim, not searing my retinas. After letting my eyes wander the room for a bit I get bored and strike up a conversation with a lovely young lady at the bar. Convenient that it just so happened that her ugly friend had just gotten up to use the little girl's room, no? Sweet girl if not wearing a bit too much make up. We chatted for a bit whilst awaiting the return of her friend and I will have you know that I can now say I have it from dubious authority that the sushi at Glas is magnificent.
J shows up, again late, and again looking too cute to even bother looking at the clock. She comes over and I lean in to give her a hello kiss. Our lips briefly touch, almost awkwardly, and she rushingly returns a second kiss but only half on the mouth as if she meant to linger longer on the first and wanted to make up for it. A look of amused displeasure crosses her face as she jabs her thumb into my cheek, pulling downwards in an apparent attempt to remove the lipstick she had just gotten on me. "No, sweetie, you're supposed to get it on my collar".
The hostess sneaks up behind us during this exchange and whisks us away to our table. Acting the only way I know how in the presence of a lady, I take the liberty of pulling out J's chair for her. It would seem that such minor acts of chivalry have joined the 8-track, disco, and Quaaludes as being qualified for antiquation, at least in the eyes of our hostess. "Now there is something you don't see every day; you're quite the gentleman" she says in reference to the chair pulling with the strangest expression of mystified mirth. The first thing that crosses my mind is "Is this chick fucking serious? What kind of ass doesn't pull a chair for a lady, especially on a date?! Get your tongue out of my arsehole, Gary". Instead of actually saying that and coming off as a dick, I instead graciously accept the compliment with a smile, nod, and a quite "Thank you". Once the hostess left I inquired J concerning the rarity of proper manners and it appears that yes, I am, in fact, ignorant to the concept that not everyone does this. Bonus points for me then?
Good news about J, she"s the adventurous type and she isn't afraid to try new things. Ordering two appetizers from the menu, knowing that she's never tried either, was partially a test and partially me getting the most from my experience at this restaurant. Foie Gras and Beef Carpaccio are two of my favorites but I do recognize that both are somewhat acquired tastes. Completely unfazed after informing her that the former was duck's liver and the latter raw pieces of thinly sliced cow, she tried both without even so much as a flinch. If she ate fish (I don't recall if she just doesn't like it or is allergic to fish but she doesn't eat it) I would have been all gung ho about ordering the Tuna Tartar, raw egg and all; maybe next time. She didn't like the foie gras and didn't seem all that crazy about the beef but credit still goes to her for being a trooper and eating enough of each to form a valid opinion. It's not like we're talking roasted grubs or deep fried cockroaches here, but still, for the uninitiated, liver and raw meat can be a tad daunting. I, of course, was in my own little heaven munching away on well prepared delicacies. Score: J - 1, Me - 1
And so we began what would be a very good meal held in very good company. J's paella looked good but she only picked at it. She tells me that she is a "picker" but really she barely touched the thing. In the back of my head I'm starting to think that she isn't eating because I make her nervous or something. I on the other hand tore the hell out of my duck breast with confit hash. The wine list at Glas is actually quite nice; they should post it on their website because it would be a good selling point. We both took advantage by ordering something by the glass. My South African Merlot paired well with the duck, but it had a certain almost spicy characteristic I couldn't place that you wouldn't normally associate with a Merlot. It worked for this particular wine though. All in all, for the $160 total I spent that night I was pleased with my experience. The service was prompt and professional and the food, while not the best I've had, was prepared well and this place would definitely warrant a return visit.
At some point during dinner I realized that something rather unexpected had occurred. I was talking. Now, I tend to be a little reserved and relatively quite unless accompanied by close friends in private quarters, and then it is usually drunken shouting and irreverent cursing. I am often told that I am a good listener; it's what I do. I'll be perfectly content to sip on a pint and listen to someone talk about themselves all evening. For most people, their favorite topic of conversation is themselves and it makes my job easy. All I have to do is ask a couple of starter questions, nod, and smile every now and again and they walk away from it thinking I am a great guy that they love to talk to. But tonight this would not come to be.
This beguiling little minx had gotten me to start spouting off about Bob knows what. I honestly couldn't tell you what the hell I was saying to her. All I remember is being stuck in her gaze and the words just pouring from my mouth. I know it wasn't anything bad and nothing too horribly personal, but I can't pin down exactly what I was talking about. I do recall though, that she started questioning me about my ex-wife again and that sort of made me snap out of the trance she had put me in. I quickly, without even a hint of subtlety, changed the subject and made a point not to be caught up like that again. Tricky little one she be, I better keep my eye on her. Score: J - 2, Me - 1 (damnit!)
After dinner we decide to head to another bar down the road for a nightcap. Another kiss is cut short when we part ways to our respective cars. It's a much quieter atmosphere a little more conducive to chatting. We sit at the bar and sip our pints and continue the flirtatious conversing. Eventually the topic of smoking comes up and she gently teases me about picking up the habit again after quitting the week before. She mentions in passing that she used to smoke cloves every now and again back in the day when she was drinking but hated cigarettes. Slightly amused, I sneak my hand into my coat pocket, deftly produce my pack of Djarum Blacks as I have done so many times in the past, and hand them to her without a word. She opens the cover and smells them, gives an inaudible chuckle, and hands them back to me. Score: J - 2, Me - 2. HA-HA!
The night winds down and we get the last call for alcohol just as we are finishing up our beers. It's late and we are both ready to go so we head outside. It's fucking cold out and I can't say I had any interest in talking anywhere that would produce white clouds from my breath. We both had a laugh and a joke but I was ready to call it a night. Not expecting much considering how shy she has been so far this evening, I casually move in for a quick goodnight kiss. This time she had different plans and was much more receptive to my advances. She wrapped her arms around me as our lips locked, our bodies pressed up against one another. She tilts her head just a little more and when her lips part she softly traces my upper lip with her tongue, inviting me to come play ever so briefly. The kiss was short but smoldering and she pulls away with that crafty but aloof look in her eye. She smiles at me and looks away towards her feet a bit and says "Well, it's nice to finally get that out of the way". Hrmm, my suspicions about her being a bit timid but playing it off super cool are confirmed.
Note to self: Verbally outgoing but physically reserved, wine makes her drop her inhibitions and do what she really wants to do. Cool, she's normal.
Not to be outdone and certainly not passing up the opportunity to move this relationship forward a little bit, I throw on a cocky smile and toss back "I can do better than that". Much better the second time around seeing as I wasn't ambushed this time. Time stopped for a while standing in the middle of a parking lot on a frigid autumn night sharing a transient moment that would be a forever captured snapshot for at least the duration of our relations and possibly longer. I still struggle with the idea that when you become so caught up in something the rest of the world can just melt away and leave you there with only that which holds your attention. J's dangerous like that, because it keeps on happening to me while I am in her presence. If I stay on this path, who knows how far I'll fall? But hey, at least I won't feel it when I hit, right? When we were done making out, she looked at me and said something that I truley couldn't tell you. Not because I don't want to or because it was personal, but because I have no idea what the fuck she said. I was a little tipsy and still sort of off in my own little world, but she said it, I said I'd call her, and we both said goodnight. Since we both stepped up to the plate I'll award points to both. Score: J - 3, Me - 3. Close game . . .
On my way home I recieved a text message from J:
"In case my sarcasism was indecisible . . . I think u r a great kisser"
I'm not sure if she was just drunk (as evidenced by the horrible mutilation of 'sarcasm'), if she was just looking for an excuse to send me a text message indicating she wants another round of tonsil-hockey, or if it had something to do with what she said when I was leaving but the point is, well, the point is the point goes to me.
Final Score: J - 3, Me - 4
Fuck yeah, I win!
laceyk:
Welcome to SGCT!!!