Saturday, June 12, 2004
I spent my free evening (Good LORD, I just realized I had a FREE evening!) browsing and sipping caffeine in my local bookstore. Rusty had to work, kids were at Grandma's and Heaven and Hell only know what Shitfoot has on his agenda. I picked up a few light-hearted books about relationships and thumbed through them for a bit.
According to "The Boyfriend Test", Rusty passes with flying colors. But then his charm and general adherence to the "rules" are pretty much above reproach. Another Professional (professional what?? Who knows!!) advised me to immediately give up on any long-distance relationship. The general theme I got from the various authors was that men suck, no relationship can work for long, and if they do, it's because you're both too dysfunctional to get out. OK, maybe my own neurosis is creeping up into that interpretation, but still, I had to take note that the overwhelming majority of authors of books about relationships were women. And the few that were written by men were either by psychiatrists who took a completely clinical view of intimate relationships, or by men who were writing a tongue-in-cheek guide for women trying to learn to deal with men.
Why why WHY am I thinking about RELATIONSHIPS? Re-LAY-shun-ships. Why do I have such a need to analyze what's going on? WHY am I looking for signs of The Other Shoe about to drop?? I am obsessed with finding a reason to believe my feelings and intuition about Rusty are all wrong and I'm about to be emotionally slaughtered. It's really not healthy. Nor is it fair to Rusty, who is pretty damned stressed out at the moment with his own set of circumstances.
Shitfoot had been planning on taking the kids to grandma's for a couple days all week. First it was Monday, but then she had plans, so they moved it to Wednesday. Then he had to wait for a business call. Then he decided that if it were that late in the week, he might as well wait til Friday and use the weekend to go visit friends in another city. My suggestion that this might be an opportune time for Rusty to visit my house (and thereby save the hotel room expense) was met icily. He admitted that he was beginning to feel as though he was making more of an effort to spend time together and that I wasn't willing to "share the burden", so to speak, and that he ends up spending just as much as a hotel room on gas and other expenses when he visits me. It was hard not to be defensive--after all, things have been Very Rough around here, and I have All These Obligations. But it's easy to see his point of view, and agreed to make more time for him. After my shift at the restaurant, I came home and got cleaned up, put on some hose and a skirt, hopped in the car and headed north. We met in the bar behind the hotel I was staying in, which was, unfortunately, deserted. He was at the bar when I came in, and turned as I approached him. His reaction was... well, not subtle. I suppose a FEW people in the bar might not have noticed. All of our previous dates had been strictly casual, since the travel and expense prohibited much else. This time I'd made the exception, just to show him "a little effort". It was appreciated.
He admitted that he hadn't yet had dinner, and I insisted he eat some Real Food before we got on with any Shenanigans, so we headed out to find a restaurant that was still open. Once outside in the parking lot, he grabbed my hand and forcefully pulled me toward him. I couldn't help but giggle because it threw me off balance (it's been how many years since I had to walk in heels??) and I almost literally fell into his arms. The result was a sweet, but passionate kiss that just about set the pavement around us on fire. Then he swept me off my feet (no, people, I mean he ACTUALLY picked me up) and CARRIED me to his car. If I had any less pride, I would reveal my weight so that this feat would seem more impressive, but suffice it to say, this is not something that Shitfoot has ever done, outside of the traditional marital threshold performance (which, I'd like to note, resulted in him huffing and puffing and whining that he thought he'd hurt himself). At that point I was pretty sure I was going to get laid. And I was right. But not before we found an Applebee's open where we could get some nutritional assistance. It was clear this dressed-up look had captivated him, so I enjoyed teasing him while we dined. It didn't take much to tease him, honestly. I didn't even have to resort to such corny efforts as the flirty-hair-flip or absent-minded-lip-licking. It was last call and the waiter finally brought the bill, he paid quickly and I ambled coyly into the parking lot, where he devilishly suggested we might not need to wait to get to the hotel to begin consummating the evening's activities. I had to actually think about it before my better sense took over and we got in the car. The drive to the hotel was... well suffice it to say it's a good thing he has tinted windows.
As for the rest of the night's activities, I'll leave that for my next edition of Sassy's Letters To Penthouse. It did, however, leave me with far less sleep than I should have had, and now, Dear Reader, I am up Way Past My Bedtime. My big, soft, empty bed awaits me. Tune in tomorrow for Part II, detailing Day II of our date, and what resulted in me searching through corny self-help books about relationships. Don't miss the exciting Inner Dialogue of the many voices in my head as I experience mental angst-induced multiple personalities!!
According to "The Boyfriend Test", Rusty passes with flying colors. But then his charm and general adherence to the "rules" are pretty much above reproach. Another Professional (professional what?? Who knows!!) advised me to immediately give up on any long-distance relationship. The general theme I got from the various authors was that men suck, no relationship can work for long, and if they do, it's because you're both too dysfunctional to get out. OK, maybe my own neurosis is creeping up into that interpretation, but still, I had to take note that the overwhelming majority of authors of books about relationships were women. And the few that were written by men were either by psychiatrists who took a completely clinical view of intimate relationships, or by men who were writing a tongue-in-cheek guide for women trying to learn to deal with men.
Why why WHY am I thinking about RELATIONSHIPS? Re-LAY-shun-ships. Why do I have such a need to analyze what's going on? WHY am I looking for signs of The Other Shoe about to drop?? I am obsessed with finding a reason to believe my feelings and intuition about Rusty are all wrong and I'm about to be emotionally slaughtered. It's really not healthy. Nor is it fair to Rusty, who is pretty damned stressed out at the moment with his own set of circumstances.
Shitfoot had been planning on taking the kids to grandma's for a couple days all week. First it was Monday, but then she had plans, so they moved it to Wednesday. Then he had to wait for a business call. Then he decided that if it were that late in the week, he might as well wait til Friday and use the weekend to go visit friends in another city. My suggestion that this might be an opportune time for Rusty to visit my house (and thereby save the hotel room expense) was met icily. He admitted that he was beginning to feel as though he was making more of an effort to spend time together and that I wasn't willing to "share the burden", so to speak, and that he ends up spending just as much as a hotel room on gas and other expenses when he visits me. It was hard not to be defensive--after all, things have been Very Rough around here, and I have All These Obligations. But it's easy to see his point of view, and agreed to make more time for him. After my shift at the restaurant, I came home and got cleaned up, put on some hose and a skirt, hopped in the car and headed north. We met in the bar behind the hotel I was staying in, which was, unfortunately, deserted. He was at the bar when I came in, and turned as I approached him. His reaction was... well, not subtle. I suppose a FEW people in the bar might not have noticed. All of our previous dates had been strictly casual, since the travel and expense prohibited much else. This time I'd made the exception, just to show him "a little effort". It was appreciated.
He admitted that he hadn't yet had dinner, and I insisted he eat some Real Food before we got on with any Shenanigans, so we headed out to find a restaurant that was still open. Once outside in the parking lot, he grabbed my hand and forcefully pulled me toward him. I couldn't help but giggle because it threw me off balance (it's been how many years since I had to walk in heels??) and I almost literally fell into his arms. The result was a sweet, but passionate kiss that just about set the pavement around us on fire. Then he swept me off my feet (no, people, I mean he ACTUALLY picked me up) and CARRIED me to his car. If I had any less pride, I would reveal my weight so that this feat would seem more impressive, but suffice it to say, this is not something that Shitfoot has ever done, outside of the traditional marital threshold performance (which, I'd like to note, resulted in him huffing and puffing and whining that he thought he'd hurt himself). At that point I was pretty sure I was going to get laid. And I was right. But not before we found an Applebee's open where we could get some nutritional assistance. It was clear this dressed-up look had captivated him, so I enjoyed teasing him while we dined. It didn't take much to tease him, honestly. I didn't even have to resort to such corny efforts as the flirty-hair-flip or absent-minded-lip-licking. It was last call and the waiter finally brought the bill, he paid quickly and I ambled coyly into the parking lot, where he devilishly suggested we might not need to wait to get to the hotel to begin consummating the evening's activities. I had to actually think about it before my better sense took over and we got in the car. The drive to the hotel was... well suffice it to say it's a good thing he has tinted windows.
As for the rest of the night's activities, I'll leave that for my next edition of Sassy's Letters To Penthouse. It did, however, leave me with far less sleep than I should have had, and now, Dear Reader, I am up Way Past My Bedtime. My big, soft, empty bed awaits me. Tune in tomorrow for Part II, detailing Day II of our date, and what resulted in me searching through corny self-help books about relationships. Don't miss the exciting Inner Dialogue of the many voices in my head as I experience mental angst-induced multiple personalities!!
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