rabbit hole: an absurd and improbable world inhabited by many strange characters
I started this blog with this post in mind: to expose myself to the point that my past actions no longer have power over me. It has taken me almost 2 months to build up to this.
The day I received the letter from my agent rejecting my manuscript, I took action. I needed to get drunk and fuck – there’s nothing like a little, or a lot, of alcohol and sex to make a person forget his or her troubles. So I called Dexter, D,up. It was a Thursday, and it was a week after I attempted to set him up with my best friend which I subsequently sabotaged.
Whenever I’ve decided to have sex, I’ve had sex. And I like sex a lot. But because of this, I am meticulous and methodical in choosing my partners (I will never sleep with a guy who verbally states he is great in bed. Like class, if you have to say you have it, you automatically do not). Bad sex is not better than no sex. Bad sex is bad sex, and I’ve discovered certain indicators of how a man will perform in bed. As an athlete and one who is friends with several talented athletes, I understand the refusal to play beneath a certain level of skill. It’s simply not fun and it actually brings down one’s own game and enjoyment of the sport.
“Meet me at the Grill at 9.”
“I have a softball game in the city. I won’t be able to make it until 1030.”
“I’ll be gone by then. You really don’t want to miss me.”
“I should be able to get there before 10.”
Dexter showed up around 945. I was annoyed that I had to wait but I was determined. For all our months of flirting, for every moment we had shared intimate details about each other, all I cared about was having sex. I was already drunk by the time he arrived. And I was sitting on a stool when he walked up. We made smalltalk for a few minutes until I revealed a pivotal piece of information.
“I’m not wearing any underwear.”
I was wearing a skirt. I wasn’t messing around; I had my agenda. He dipped his head down so he could get a glance. For a minute he was dead silent. For a moment I thought I had completely turned him off with my bawdiness. Silly me. He asked if I wanted another drink. I said yes, so we went to the bar and while we were waiting, he asked if he could kiss me. I said okay. Ten minutes later, we had finished our drinks. He asked if I wanted to leave.
“Yes. But we need to go to your place.”
Why? Because my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had broken up with a week earlier, was still living in my apartment.
The details of the night aren’t important. What is important is the next morning, he called me a cab and escorted me into it, slipping the driver a $20 and telling me he’d call me a few hours from the airport, which he did. I remember this part clearly, because this is what a man who knows how to take care of a woman and knows how to take charge does. The day before, his divorce had been finalized and he was flying back west to pack up his house and move everything into storage.
That weekend my ex made a last ditch effort to get me back. He had booked a hotel room in the city and made dinner reservations and was so emphatic about the whole thing, calling it “our goodbye” that I agreed. But I had already moved on and I was just going through the motions of even caring.
When Dexter returned on Monday, “we” began. We had our first date, which lasted for hours and for the life of me, I cannot remember what we talked about but we talked for hours. We spent every evening of the week together. A week later, I told him I thought I wanted to marry him – the girl who got panic attacks at bridal showers and looked forward to weddings solely for the open bar. He said he felt the same. He gave me the keys to his apartment.
Everything moved very quickly and we both dove head first into the relationship. Looking back, my relationship with Dexter was a formula for disaster. I hated my job at the time, I was dealing with the setback of rejection from my book, and I hadn’t mourned the loss of my previous relationship with S, who was one of my best friends for 5 years. It probably didn’t help that Dexter was coming out of a very difficult period time in his life, but I cannot make any assumptions on his behalf.
To be continued…
PostScript 
September 2, 2007 at 8:29 am
Do most girls have similar life experiences?
I don’t mean to sound callous, but it seems like most people live really shitty personal lives.
Maybe, I’m too young at 21 to have a good idea. However, I’m fairly certain, I won’t mess up THAT bad.
I’m not just picking on you Tracy, but most of the female written blogs in general. They’re all suffer & overcome style blogs.
Oh this just led me to a post!
September 2, 2007 at 2:27 pm
NP – you bring up an interesting point about female blogs, which I think is a reflection of the difference between men and women. Women blame themselves more than men. I’d love for my ex or any of the past men in my life to post about their actions (and maybe they are and if you come across some, let me know!) Most male bloggers refrain from exposing their vulnerabilities. Even the male bloggers that appeal to a woman’s ethos and sympathy seem to reveal very little about life experiences in which they were truly hurt OR acted in a socially/morally repulsive manner and then accepted responsibility or better, condemned their actions.
Regardless, what you’re reading here is a myopic view of my life, hence the “shitty” vantage point. But that is my intent.
PS – I’ve finally learned to avoid self-proclaimed certainties:) Life can throw some raging curve balls.
September 4, 2007 at 7:50 pm
There is no better curve baller hurler than life,that’s for damn sure. It usually comes right when you are SURE it’s a fastball coming, too.
Having said that, I’m more than a little curious to see where this goes. There’s a big jump from “God I need to get laid” to “I want to marry you”. I did this, and I’m curious as to how it happened to someone else.
September 5, 2007 at 6:16 am
I also think for the most part “most” women are far more unreliable then “most” men.
I use the worst unreliable here, but I don’t think that accurately conveys what I mean.
Very few men are malicious. Most men don’t intend on hurting the women they are dating/sleep with.
Seriously, when I try to think of “bad” guy. Not in the sense of jerk, but genuinely bad, I can come up with one example. When I try to think of bad girls, I have so many I don’t know where to start.
Women consciously make choices with malice. The intention of causing harm. This sometimes manifests itself as backstabbing gossip and other catty behavior.
There is only one woman I trust. That’s my mother. There’s another, I sort of trust, but I’m still getting to know her. I suspect this trust will be destroyed, once I really learn more about her.
September 5, 2007 at 6:32 am
gotta shoot that argument down, np. conscious malice is not worse than unconscious malice.
the most deceitful (and many times destructive) people in the world are the ones who actually believe in their crimes, which is why polygraph tests aren’t reliable verifiers of truth.