The Scarlett Letters - Men

Have You Seen me Lately?

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 12:58:45 -0500

So instead of passwording or shutting down, I thought the most reasonable course of action would be to simply “ask” the Canadian to not read my blog for awhile – easy, right? I didn’t invite him to read the blog in the first place so I thought he’d just respect my request and I could write with a tad less inhibition.

The conversation didn't quite go over as smoothly as planned. BIG Mistake. Huge!

He was personally hurt and (in his words) “monumentally insulted” that I didn’t mind saying whatever it is I say (which lately amounts to nothing more than bemoaning a relationship long since over) to strangers and the blog reading community et. al. but he wasn’t allowed to read it. I, of course, take a much different view that its nothing personal but that I can’t very well write about HIM and expect it to be anything even resembling honest if I know he’ll read it.

At any rate, I hurt his feelings and I apologized – a lot of good it did me.

Blah blah blah, long story short(er) – he’s not reading. At least for now.

So am I now going to come up with some huge, personal, revitalization that could only be achieved within the playground of relative anonymity? Obviously not, but one could hope!

Frankly, I think he’s being a bit sensitive but I didn’t intend to hurt his feelings.

Questions I Don't Want Answered

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 09:54:00 -0500

I’ve been having dreams.

Mostly about Fuckhead.

In my dreams we talk. I’ve been asking him a lot of questions but I always wake up before I can ask him the one question to which I want to know the answer to: Do you miss me?

Last night was the worst of all. In my dream, he was married to the she beast and they had just had a baby. I cried (in my dream) and I cried and I screamed and I screamed. It wasn’t a fun night. That’s absolutely the last time I allow myself to fall asleep without some kind of artificial somnial enhancement to block such dreams from my head – Ambien being my personal drug of choice.

I assure you, this isn't some deep seated unconcsious desire for some kind of cinema-esque reunification. I don’t want him back. I don’t. I promise. I don’t want a pot smoking, un-motivated, emotionally dependent man still attempting to relive his frat boy glory days.

But I do miss being happy and completely in love – that kind of love that you read about, that you hear about, the kind of stuff that inspires tales such as “The Notebook” – emotions that you never thought possible until experiencing them; that love the brings along with it the possibility of all things and the strength to handle anything life throws into your collective paths.

I had that and it's dissapation has left quite a large hole.

Frankly, it's probably best that I don’t sleep long enough to hear the answer to that one question.

P.S. I'm thinking about starting to password again - what do you think? I just hate that the more noteable ex's in my life have access to these pages and I find myself holding back more often than I'd like to admit. So what's your opinion? Passoword or start a new blog all together?

Rent-a-Family

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 08:00:00 -0500

Army’s parents are in town. And yes – I will be meeting them this weekend.

I’m very conflicted about this whole “let’s play happy family” scenario that will consume my Friday and Saturday evening.

Personally I don’t see the point. I don’t see the point of me meeting them if he’s leaving in two weeks. Why even attempt this family integration when the relationship is rocketing towards a cliff? Why did I even agree to this potentially and inevitably tortuous affair?

I suppose it’s because I’m trying to be the caring, giving, NICE person that I know I have hidden SOMEWHERE deep down inside and sigh…that’s what you do. When your friend’s parents come into town, you meet them, you have dinner, you entertain and try to keep your language and the stories of their child doing jell-o shots on top of a bar last weekend – under wraps.

Frankly, herein lies the problem: no surprise, it has to do with Fuckhead.

Fuckhead’s family LOVE-D S me. They L-O-V-E yours truly, and rightfully so. They astutely pointed out that moi was the absolute best thing that ever happened to their Neanderthal of a son and integrated me into their lives like built in hardware on a MAC.

And cynically speaking, I don’t want this to be one more thing in this on paper “perfect” relationship that isn’t as shiny, or bright, or sparkly or “special” or whatever as before. I don’t need another family. I don’t want another family. And I still HATE the idea that a she-beast who’s never ventured beyond the confines of the greater Albuquerque metropolitan area has no doubt been integrated into the family that I miss and that I loved. As bitter and resentful and unattractive as that sounds.

And don’t tell me that I’m not “giving them or him a chance” – because frankly today, I just don’t care.

Not to worry dear readers. I will smile. I will charm. And be the dutiful girlfriend. I just don't feel like being reminded all weekend of what I Don't have.

Somehow I'm predicting a lot of alcohol in my immediate future.

Florida Sunshine

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 08:41:00 -0500

Army is leaving. He’s not going off to war, not to some distant dessert covered country but to Tampa. Where people go to die. Prehistoric man had Tar Pits to dispose of their elderly. We have Florida.

I’ve known it was coming. Since our first date I knew. What I didn’t know was that he’d still be around seven months later or that I would want him to stay. So, I’ll ask you again. What do you do when your relationship is ending? When you have a date when you know it will be over?.

How do you function when the dark cloud looming off in the distance for so long, has found its way directly overhead, attempting to block the sun at every turn and threatening to storm before you’ve remembered to open your umbrella?

To be honest, over the course of this relationship, my feelings towards this man have fluctuated more than a schizophrenic politician on a teeter-totter:

“He’s perfect – but I’m not over Fuckhead”

“He’s wonderful – but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a military wife”

“He takes care of me – but he’s leaving and I’m going to have to learn to live without him”

“He’s PERFECT – but is he perfect for me!?”

Because I’ve known that he’s leaving, it hasn’t exactly inspired me to open the emotional floodgates and give this relationship a real chance. Perhaps this is one time the Canadian got it right.

Nine months before he left for law school, he started to withdraw. He bucked all my attempts to continue a relationship even in the face of inevitable separation. Still retaining some semblance of romantic optimism at the tender age of 24, I was very much of the “no day but today” school of thought. The “let’s be happy today and not worry about tomorrow” mantra. He didn’t want me to get any closer and risk making it any harder.

So who was right? I still cried. But maybe not as much as I would have? I still loved him, but maybe not as much as I could have? Did we wasted precious time together or did we soften the blow?

While logically I know that it’s self defeating to keep worrying about the evitable and to let it spoil the time you have left; part of me hopes that whatever walls and barricades I’ve managed to build, will still be standing after the next two weeks.

Frankly, with the cloud of separation growing at an exponential pace over all my attempts to keep my blue skies blue – its hard not to feel frustrated. And angry. Even if it WAS/IS good that we met and event if he WAS good for me and what I needed circa a broken-hearted January….I’m just tired. I’m tired of the leaving and the goodbyes and the tears and building back up: a little stronger and a little thicker.

Then again, maybe its classic Scarlett – only wanting something that I can’t have. Either way, I’m sick of the walls and the floods and the storms and the survival and the reconstruction.

Isn’t there anything that lasts forever?

Just Go.

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 08:15:00 -0500

I admit it – I cried.

I cried when I gave her the box. The box I’ve been hiding under my bed for the past seven months. The box with your fraternity t-shirts. Your college sweatshirt. Your books. Your clothes. Your shoes. Our pictures. Your gifts. Your cards with all your broken promises written inside. Everything that reminded me of you. Everything you left behind.

It was my last hold out. My last reason to say “remember me?” “remember what we had?” “Look at the pictures! – Remember how happy we were!? How we had everything? How we could do anything?”

And I let go.

I gave her the box. I don’t CARE what you do with it. I don’t want to know. - I told her. Don’t tell me – and take it now before I change my mind – before I decide to keep holding on. Take it. And go.

I loved you....and go.

Laugh Lines RX

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 08:45:00 -0500

A Wednesday morning chuckle for you. Puh-lease do yourself a favor and read this post, by one of my favorite and most fabulous bloggers: The NYC Ponderings Chick.

The post is entitled: Freshman Year, Steak and the Model the Ruined My Life.

I promise you, I was one belly laugh away from Diet Coke w/ Lime come out of my nose (charming, I know).

Enjoy!

A Case of the Mean Reds*

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 09:52:00 -0500

A wise (and I might add, beautiful) woman once told me “you have to put out positive things into the universe in order to receive positive things in return.”

Unfortunately, I haven’t quite been able to implement this piece of advice, which I know to be good and right and the very recipe for healthy and normal self (just add a pinch of Martha Stewart sunshine and stir). I've tried! And I smile, and the anti-depressants kick in and life is good for an hour or two.

But, I do still cry. I can’t help it. There is usually music involved, something about love, or loss or….trees(?). It really doesn’t take much. But I HAVE erased all traces of DHT, Corrine Bailey Rae and Gabriel Mann from my iPod. That’s got to give me a FEW sunshine points, no?

I’m sure you’ve all had images dancing in your head of your darling Scarlett staying in night after night with no one but Ben, Jerry, Van Gough (bottle half empty) and the cast of the OC (still alive and well on my TiVo) to comfort her. And while, on the surface, this ensemble could be construed as a rather…lively… way to spend an evening, it's not QUITE an accurate description of my daily routine.

Fortunatley, the universe has its own rosey colored plans for me, dispite a lack of deposits its 'positivity' accounts weighed against a hefty portfolio of doom and gloom. For starters, I’ve gotten some wonderful, quality friend time in recently! Barbie time, XO & G time has been wonderful if slightly emotional and intoxicating. I’m hoping our encounters in the near future will take an upturn turn ala the sunny spring weather!

Job is great – I’m busy, which I love. Kicking ass and taking names – what I do best (professionally anyway)! And since the federal government has deemed me fit to handle super secret stuff, I'll be starting my new position in June after a much needed vacation. So that's DEFNITELY something to look forward to.

And then there’s Army – who is nothing short of perfect. He’s gotten the friend thumbs up, the very decerning cat vote, and even my father thinks he's brillant. Our relationship is insanely open and honest, and sickenly healthy. Weekends on the Eastern Shore, hiking, movies, grilling, drinking, dancing and all around general fabulousness.

And sometimes it feels right. And sometimes I’m happy and I laugh. And sometimes, I forget, and I let myself start to care, but then I stop. I stop because I’m scared. I stop because he’s leaving. I stop because I’m not quite whole.

Maybe he won’t turn out to be the Sandy to my Kirsten, but right now, he's definitely the Zack to my Summer**.

But here's a question: how do you fully enjoy the Newport colored sunset when you know it will eventually disappear? And puh-lease don't tell me 'live for today', because that philosophy only REALLY works in Jonathan Larson musicals.

Frankly,

** If you know what this means, you've got cool points for the rest of the day!

*If you get this reference (and no - I'm not referring to the case of South African Zin delivered to my apartment yesterday afternoon), give yourself cool points for the rest of the month! You're set!

Letting Go

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 09:52:00 -0500

(Written on Saturday.....I may take it down again)

How do you let go? How do you finally say goodbye without saying a word? How do you just mentally release when your thoughts and anger are the only you can cling to at night, even when there’s someone else sleeping right beside you?

How do you drop your memories, your feelings, everything you know in your heart to be true? How do you just walk away? How do you stop your tears from falling even on the most beautiful spring morning you’ve ever seen?

How do you stop wondering if it will ever REALLY be OK? If you’ll ever be THAT happy again?

Why, after knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you deserved better, do you still want what you know is so wrong? And why, when you’ve changed your life for the better, given it renewed momentum , a green light for progress – you want nothing more than to put it in reverse?

And can someone just please tell me – when will it end??

Pensive vs. Positive

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 09:20:58 -0500

I have a few posts brewing in my overcluttered, hyper-analyzing brain at the moment, some more thoughtful, some more angsty than others. However, as I berated you with angst last week, I’ll pick a topic from the more positive end of the spectrum to give you a brief rest.

As many of you know, the strains of work, life and love have been wearing on me over the past month. Moving on while desperately trying to leave the past behind, dwelling in possibility and trying to cope with the reality that I do not, in fact, have complete control over the world around me. Ultimately I cannot even control my own heart. I cannot tell it to stop loving someone bad, start loving someone infinitely better, or even to let go and trust someone one more time.

I never did get together again with the Canadian. Although we did talk and the thing he said that resonated with me the most was – ‘I love you. I want to give you a real relationship. A proper one.’ Those words have stuck with me over the past few days.

My affection for this man has ebbed and flowed over the past five years, hoping and praying that he’d ‘change’, that he’d give me what I want – namely, a ‘proper’ relationship. And in all fairness, he has changed, as well all do from the age of 25 to 30. While openness and communication issues still arise – the mere fact that he invited me to meet some of his friends last week, while it may not seem all that significant, is a big deal. I know he loves me. What form that love takes or whether we’ll be able to hammer out our issues and eventually get our romantic ducks in a row in anybody’s guess.

Frankly,

Alcoholic Roadkill OR How the Stripper Got Left Behind

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 11:42:36 -0500

Last night, I met Barbie #3 out at a Dupont pub for our weekly Wednesday night outing.

It was a lovely evening, with our lovely bartender that we know and love, who knows and loves us and pours us beer. Thus further cultivating the love with alcohol. It is always something I look forward to. Not only was it lovely, (wow, i used 'lovely' a LOT just then) as always, to catch up with one of my beloved Barbies, but some interesting people/freak watching is always entertaining. As we drank and talked, and tried our best not to be annoyed when people reached between us to grab drinks without so much as an ‘excuse me’ (we were sitting at the bar). DC happy hour tends to bring out a particularly heinous breed of man – the ‘notice my expensive suit’-‘I’m too sexy for my tie’-‘please hand me my scotch’-‘oh and by the way, I’m waaaay better than ANYONE in this room’ kind of guy. Shudder.

Last night, I encountered such a creature. (I swear, DC bars are like an episode of Wild Kingdom) It is my contention that these specimens thrive most especially in the annals of law firm and government hallways – tucked away for days and nights, eroding any capacity they once had for normal, considerate human interaction. Not only did this man REPEATEDLY reach in front of me, over me and behind me, but then he tried to sign his credit card slip on the 2 inches of bar to my right, leaning against me, bumping into me (again, without so much as an acknowledgement that I was there!). Is THIS what awaits me upon my reintroduction to the DC dating scene after Army’s departure? You reach in front of someone, you BUMP into someone, hell, you fucking TOUCH someone sans express invitation – you say ‘EXCUSE ME’, or some other generic apology. RIGHT? AM I RIGHT? Sigh.

So while I was made to be a virtual a human speed bump at the bar, I noticed a much cuter, beer drinker, red shirt, sitting opposite me. I can hear the judgment now dear readers: “But Scarlett – what about Army? Why are you noticing other men when you have a boyfriend!?” To which I respond:

“Granted, I’m slightly attached…not dead. And just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu”.

I digress. So while cute, red shirt man was sitting alone, presumably waiting for friends (?) I watched the following scene unfold:

Girl walks up to the bar, leans over, orders a drink. She’s cute but not in a ‘just out of the sorority house – not a brain cell to be found in my bleach blonde, size 2 head’ kind of way. She looked mid twenties, cute, Lisa Loeb-esque glasses, and had obviously just come from work. She received her requested drink and started chatting with red shirt guy (big smile, very flirty). She eventually removes her glasses, and put them in her purse, removes the clip from her hair and shakes it out. A very crafted ‘good girl with glasses by day/bad girl by night’ transformation. I applaud this strategy, figure she’s on her way and I turn my attention back to Barbie and working to avoid more bad-mannered alcoholic drive-bys.

After we had spent much time laughing, analyzing, and reaching the same conclusion we usually arrive at – that the majority of men are idiots, I did a visual check up on red shirt guy and secretary/stripper girl.

To my dismay, the sparks were no longer a-flyin. He had turned and was engrossed in an alternating conversation between two girls of the afore mentioned ‘fresh off the sorority, bleach-blonde farm sans a healthy brain cell between them’ variety and a group of men. Secretary/stripper girl was left sitting alone, pouting into her beer.

Sigh. Love comes and goes so quickly in Dupont. Better luck next time, sweetie.

Frankly,

It Started Like This

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 08:00:00 -0500

I had a bizarre little weekend….and it started like this.

There is no more accurate a method of self-reflection than that of reliving your formative years through the eyes of someone who knew you long ago, and if they happen to also be your ex, so much the better.

And no, I am not referring to Fuckhead – for once. An ex was in town this weekend…well, maybe ‘ex’ is too strong a term. Allow me to elaborate. JD was my first ‘crush’, back when I was introverted and could barely justify wearing a training bra and his head had yet to grow into his ears. He was my first kiss, my first….well – as the years went by, spending time with him became more of an educational experience than a romantic experience. Ironically, as time has worn on, I believe I’m the one who eventually received an instructional diploma in sex ed where he has yet to graduate.

And so it was in high school, and winter breaks in college throughout the years our tradition has continued. Nearly every Christmas/New Years we would see each other, have dinner and then make out on my parent’s couch like it was 1996 – not particularly because he had become so much better looking in his old age, or that I was irristably drawn to him. It was because this is what we did – this is what we’ve always done, this is what I was obgligated to do.

And this Friday, he was in town. Having dodged our annual encounter back in December for a lack of emotional social acceptability, I was actually looking forward to seeing him. I was a bit nervous – as I had never even seen this boy outside of our hometown. How does one make reservations if I don’t know if he likes wine, beer, Italian, Mexican….so I chose a truly unique spot, for the ambience – Bistro du Coin. Perfect choice.

I won’t bore you with the details of our evening of catching up and reminicing other than to say that the man has certainly learned how to charm a lady over the years. Oh – and I WILL mention the most AMAZING bottle of wine I’ve ever had in my life.

The end of the evening came, he walked me home, he came up to my apartment. He kissed me goodnight. It was a good kiss. However, I informed him that he would not be going any farther. I told him I couldn’t. And that I wouldn't. Thankfully, he bowed out gracefully. He was gracious enough to accept my decision without complaint, sans typical horny boy pouting. I thanked him for a wonderful evening, and he left.

In the nearly eighteen years that I have known this man, I have NEVER said no to him. He was my first ‘un-getable man’. He was the boy I pined after, obsessed over in diaries, and when he finally noticed me, finally paid attention to me…well, I didn’t want him to STOP liking me (pathetic, I know)….so I never said ‘no’….until Friday night. I abandoned my feelings of obligation. I broke the cycle. I didn't do what I didn't want to do. And I went to bed alone. And it felt good. And I kept something that is slowly becoming an increasingly valuable possession….myself.

Frankly, I don’t know if that makes any sense…but I still thought I’d share.

Rebounding Along

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 08:32:00 -0500

So apparently it took the nausea a little longer to abate than origionally predicted. I’ve truly been mentally vomiting since Tuesday afternoon.

So, I did what any sane, rational girl would do…drank a bottle of wine with Army Guy, bitched about my ex and then proceeded to have mind blowing sex. Charming, no?

You know what they say: The fastest way to get over one man….get under another. Truer words - never spoken.

You may think it strange that I would bring up the ex to the current boy toy – not at all. Oddly enough, Army got his heart sliced, diced and handed to him on a silver platter right around the time I was having mine pureed and served up as road kill. Therefore, the bitching of the ex’s really isn’t all that uncommon – though it has become significantly more infrequent as the weeks roll on. Healthy? Most likely not – and I don’t know what it actually implies about our current relationship other than the fact that its nice to be able to relate to someone, perhaps it’s a flashing neon ‘rebound’ sign that I’ve chosen to ignore? At any rate, there it is.

He’s not like normal rebounds I’ve experienced throughout my roughly dozen years in the dating world. Example: After severing ties with my college boyfriend I immediately started seeing a rock star wanna be who wrote punk rock songs about my eyes and lived in his mother’s basement. After the football player, it was an IT guy who told me he loved me after three dates - and frankly, I’ve tried to block out the memory of the rest of the month or so that we dated. Scary stuff.

Rebounds are SUPPOSED to be inappropriate. They’re supposed to remind us that most of the time, our own companionship is preferable to that of being with someone for whom we do not care a great deal.

That’s why this one is a tad trickier, if it is, in fact, a rebound. Who knows, it may be something more. It’s in no way inappropriate. It’s in no way unhealthy. Army is everything a girl could want – handsome, together, sweet, thoughtful, doting, sexy as hell and a great cook! However, he’s being deployed in August – so at least I know approximately when this relationship will hit its expiration date.

Frankly,

Paralysis

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 08:45:53 -0500

I AM posting today, I apologize for my absence as the following things have happened…..

1) Easter, obviously, the holiday weekend brought marvelous friends into town, so that kept me occupied along with celebrating the holiday itself;

2) I've seen pictures of the Russian’s (who will henceforth be known as Fuckhead) new girl. I’m rather tempted to post them here. ~~She looks like a man~~. I WOULD tell you that she looks like a man, but I’ve decided to be the bigger person and not mention her rather... masculine features. I’ve felt like throwing up since I saw it. If someone could PUH-LEASE enlighten me as to the reason why, after nearly two months of not speaking, one glimpse of the girl that he’s currently fucking throws me into a state of complete emotional paralysis? Even though I have a ‘perfect’ and I do mean perfect, man in my life and I keep coming up with reasons why Fuckhead is a totally inappropriate choice for a long term relationship!? UGH!; and

3) I’m currently in professional limbo – long story short: I was planning on starting a new job, however, the security clearance may or may not come through in time as I’ve been replaced by my current job and the prospect of unemployment is rather frightening.

I will post again later today – once the nausea subsides.

Seven

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 10:31:22 -0500

As you may or may not be aware, the seven deadly sins as laid out by Pope Gregory the Great in the 6^th century and later immortalized by Dante Alighieri in his epic poem, the Divine Comedy (some would argue this list of vices was not made truly immortal until they were brought to question by Morgan Freeman, Kevin Spacey and Brad Pitt in the 1995 thriller: Seven) – have been recently changed by the Vatican. Yes, after almost 15 centuries, the classic vices are no longer cardinal sins that would earn you a one way ticket to Hades via a Prada purse.

For (roughly) the past 1,500 years, the sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride were thought to be the worst of all. (It should be noted here that each of these vices were so named in accordance to the seven holy virtues they contradict: chastity, abstinence, temperance, diligence, patience, kindness and humility). But no longer will this doctrine rule in the age of globalization, oh no dear friends. Hell has apparently changed its application sheet to include the following: genetic modification, polluting the environment, abortion, causing social injustice, causing poverty, obscene wealth and taking drugs.

“Forgive me father, for I have not recycled!?” What’s next? “Hail, Al Gore full of Grace?” And while they’re at it, why don’t they just update Holy Communion by switching from wine to vodka – because, personally, I just don’t get the same buzz from the sacraments that I used to.

While to most of us are too hung over to attend mass every Sunday I thought I’d innumerate the cardinal vices of our own religion: the church of dating. And they are as follows:

Deceit. Thou shalt not lie. If I wanted to be lied to, I’d call up any number of my ex boyfriends. Bottom line, lying is shitty. If you’re not man enough to tell me what’s going on, then I’m more of a woman than you can handle, obviously.
Infidelity. Thou shalt not cheat. You entered into this relationship, you knew what you were doing. You went into it with your eyes wide ~~shut~~ open. Deal with the consequences and either break up with your sig. other, or keep it in your pants.
Emotional Promiscuity. Thou shalt not use 4 letter words beginning with the letter L and ending with OVE unless you mean it!
Penuriousness. Thou shalt pick up the check. If you ask a girl out to dinner – don’t you DARE expect her to pay or even split the bill. If you can’t afford dinner, you should have asked her out for coffee.
Suppression. Do NOT bottle up your anger for days and weeks on end saying repeatedly that everything is ‘fine’ and then blow up at your significant other for not passing the sugar and remind them of everything little thing they’ve done over the past two weeks to piss you off catching them COMPLETELY, and unfairly off guard. This may sound rational to most women, but it’s truly ridiculous. There is a statute of limitations on anger, if you don't tell your SO within 24 hours about something that’s bothered you, you loose your right to bitch. Furthermore, unless you’re getting hot and heavy with Miss Cleo – you’re most likely NOT dating a mind reader. So don’t act surprised, hurt and upset when your honey bunny doesn’t do exactly what you wanted them to do when you didn’t TELL them to do it in the first place. An absence of communication in general will send a relationship straight into hell. So thou shalt NOT refrain from calling the day after a date, thou shall express all grievances in a timely manner, thou shalt NOT rely on txting and instant messaging as a sole form of at a distance communication and thou shalt SHARE thy feelings in a constructive, rational manner.
Neediness. Relationships are about two WHOLE people coming together to make something new. Do NOT expect your significant other to fill whatever void you’re currently lacking in your life. Thou shalt NOT go into a relationship expecting to ‘change’ the other party. It’s not going to happen. Make sure you’re first able to be comfortable in your own skin and love yourself before you can even hope to have something healthy and lasting.
Sacrilege. (Women, this one’s for you). Thou shalt remember football season and keep it holy.

I don’t pretend that at one time or another I haven’t been guilty of one or ALL of these sins, but they are certainly actions we should strive to avoid when possible. And when IMpossible, we pray to the gods of therapy, prozac and Dr. Phil to forgive us our trespasses so that we may again strive to enter a state of relationship Eden. Because, as well all know, dating is its own unique brand of hell.

Frankly,

In the Army Now

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 09:55:00 -0600

Before ya'll think I've REALLY gone off the deep end after this break up and gone all Private Benjamin on your ass, calm down. I got rid of all my camo when the trend went out in 1998 - but that doenst mean that I can't appreciate a man in uniform.

So – there’s stuff going on – a lot going on. And I’ve avoided talking about it until now. I didn’t mention it back in January probably because of all the breakup madness and I didn’t want to say anything that might have jeopardized any chance of reconciliation. Pathetic, I know.

Ok, so I’m dating someone. I haven’t wanted to admit it. Not that there’s anything clandestine or embarrassing but because I was afraid of being labled an emotional skitsophrenic. Posts all over the emotional map – ‘I miss the Russian’, ‘I have a date Friday night’, etc. I was also afraid of loosing my license to rant about the ex if there was a new man on the horizon.

So we shall call him ‘the Army Guy’. We met over New Years and, needless to say, it took me by surprise. He asked me out for drinks at the Brickskeller (my suggestion, as he was new in town) – and, I’m not gonna lie, it was the first night I hadn’t checked my phone obsessively or thought about the Russian all night long. And it was nice. We had a lovely conversation, no goodnight kiss – and he said he’d ‘call me’. Well, we all know what that means. And so I was fully prepared to never hear from him again, which I wasn’t TERRIBLY broken up about since, after all, bawling my eyes out before bed was still a nightly ritual.

Well surprise, surprise – he did call. And not the standard ‘macho man’ requisite three days – he called me the next day to let me know what a nice time he had. He then txted on Tuesday to suggest we go out that Friday night. So the man took me out for drinks, then to dinner at the Charte House – a beautiful restaurant in Old Town overlooking the Potomac, bottle of wine, dessert, coffee – the whole bit. Then it hit me – ‘this guy is no shit, old-fashioned courting me’. I won’t give you the whole run down of the past two months in one post – but lets just say the pattern continued.

The man knows what he’s doin’. Phone call after every date to let me know what a good time he’s had, he cooks for me, wines AND dines me, and did I mention amazingly hot!? Day after Valentine’s Day (I had plans on the 14^th if you recall) he picked me up from work, and there were two dozen roses waiting for me on the seat of his car, followed by an amazing dinner he had apparently been preparing for days. What can I say? Man’s got skills. He's Mr. Martha - the man DVR's cooking shows and HGTV. But he wears a uniform and can shoot a gun and is obsessed with his grill....its kind of hot.

It’s nothing SERIOUS, I’m not in love and I’m not about to change my status on Facebook, unlike certain ~~Russians~~ assholes who feel the need to announce they’re ‘in a relationship’ to their entire social networking community after 48 hours of knowing someone.

But I do LIKE him. I’ll fill you in more later, but I wanted to bring you up to speed before July comes and I’m ranting, raving and crying over a man ya’ll have never heard of. Then you'd REALLY think I’d lost my mind!

Frankly,