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…..and……scene…..

September 8, 2012

Well, I think it’s come to an end. The Splat Pack has reached its zenith and is fading fast. We’re all still in the same places. We’re all still friends. We still see each other and talk to each other. Liz and I will still be close. Hopefully nothing will change that. But something’s different. I felt it yesterday and we’ve all kind of admitted it.

I knew it would happen one day. I saw it coming. I wrote in Carpe Diem, Bitches, that I could sense that I was living a high point that wouldn’t last. At least I could see it enough to appreciate it. I knew it during that weekend that I wrote about in The Screenplay. I felt it on that Sunday evening. Like the carriage was about to turn back into a pumpkin. The horses back into mice. And I forgot to leave a glass slipper behind. I knew it when I reached out and held Sam’s hand for a few seconds and he moved it away. It had been a wonderful weekend. At the time I hoped it was just one of many to come but it turns out it was a just a flash in the pan, a chapter, a gift.

I started this blog back in March after leaving my husband. I was in the process of divorcing and living in a room in someone else’s house. Lafayette is Rejecting Me was my first blog. I use these stories for exorcism, a way to get my feelings out, to process what is happening to me. I’ve switched back and forth from first and third person, from present to past tense but clearly I am Marie and if you’ve read these blogs you know the context of Marie, Liz and Sam. I’m going to go direct and first person this time, talking to you.

Liz and I are at a crossroads and I had a breakthrough with Sam that has left me filled with revelations about myself and where I need to go from here. If you’ve read the last few blogs you know that I am nursing a pretty bad crush and you know about the purple room. I haven’t seen Sam since then. I’ve been purposely avoiding him because I know that seeing him right now is going to hurt, no matter how it plays out. The truth is, I really enjoyed how we were together that Friday night, that weekend and I want that to continue. So, if I saw him and he went back to treating me exactly the way he did before that weekend, I would be hurt. If I saw him and he flirted with me with no intention behind it, I would be hurt. If he intentionally didn’t flirt with me so as to avoid any misunderstanding about his feelings toward me, I would be hurt. If he assumed that we could pick up where we left off with meaningless affection and sex, I would be hurt. There’s no good outcome here. Even if he saw me, spent time with me and then suddenly decided that he did have feelings for me after all, I would still be hurt because he didn’t do anything about it for over a month.

Sam had been bugging Liz and I to plan another New Orleans trip, a NOLA Splat Pack outing. We’ve been putting it off because of travel plans and other responsibilities. The other night she, Joe and I were all at Pamplona’s and I suggested we lock down a date for New Orleans. It was time for me to face him, I thought. Time to rip off the band-aid. I thought I needed to get it out of the way so I could move on. So, in Splat Pack form all three of us texted Sam at once, playing a little joke on him. I wrote, “I want to come see you on the weekend of the 14th but don’t tell Pickle and Lapin,” (nicknames). Joe wrote, “I want to come see you….but don’t tell Kitten and Pickle,” and of course Liz wrote, “I want …….but don’t tell Lapin and Kitten.” None of us heard anything back for several minutes so we all called him at once. He answered Liz’s call while I coached Joe into leaving the same message as me. “C’mon Baby,” we said to his voicemail.

Then I started to panic a little. I talked to Liz for a long time the next day and admitted that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see him. I wasn’t over him. I was feeling rejected and a sense of loss. I’m getting sick of losing things. I lost my mom. I lost my husband. I lost the life we had built together. Now, I was losing this…this group….and I was losing him, though I know he was never mine…….even if it sure did feel like he was for that one glorious weekend. I cried on the phone with her and told her I changed my mind, that all I was going to do is cry if we went to his house in New Orleans. She agreed.

That night, last night as I write this…..I messaged him that the 14th wasn’t going to work for me. We talked about a couple of other things. I told him I was having a bad day and that I felt like something had changed. I asked him if he could FYCM while I walked in the park. He said sure. I hadn’t planned on it but I spontaneously decided to tell him everything. Much as I had before with my ex-husband, I knew I had nothing to lose. At this point I couldn’t bear the thought of being in his presence so what harm would come from laying it all on the line. So when he called me later that night I eased into the conversation, talking about how the Splat Pack was sort of fading. He agreed and then I told him how I felt. I told him everything I’ve revealed here in these blogs under the cover of anonymity and fake names. I told him things I haven’t written here. We talked for almost three hours. And I came away from the conversation being reminded of what I already know and feeling a bit of a paradigm shift. I’m leaving one phase and hopefully entering another one.

Here’s what I learned:

  • He’s just not into me.

Sam’s response to my confession was different from, what-in-hindsight seems like the bullshit-response that my ex-husband had at our little face-to-face meeting. Sam was direct and honest and told me the truth. We talked a lot about his flirting and how that comes across to others and how it felt to me. I told him that I had tried to intellectualize and rationalize my way around the feelings I had for him but that it just wasn’t working yet. I admitted that I had avoided seeing him when he was in town and that I couldn’t see him now. We talked about dating, about men and women. His insight into how he behaves when he’s really interested in someone just reaffirmed the message to me, “Duh, Marie…he didn’t do that with you. He didn’t call you and invite you to New Orleans……just you.” Which leads me to other revelations:

  • FYDM: Fuck You, Date Me or in Liz’s words, “We need to stop playing with boys and date men.”

Why have I accepted these lowered standards? Texting. Meeting for drinks. Going over to apartments. It’s time for me to go back to what I knew when I was 19. That I’m worth being asked out. I’m worth being taken to fucking dinner. None of this texting back and forth after 10pm, asking “What time do you have to work in the morning.” I went home with Syrian Doctor on the first date. I went to Tennis Bashir’s apartment on the second date, though coffee and drinks are hardly dates. He didn’t even take me out for a meal. I wrote in Crying in Hawaii that a miracle had occurred, that he had texted me back from India. I thought that he would be the perfect distraction from Sam. Last Thursday he texted, “I’ll talk to you this weekend, probably.” It’s a week later. I haven’t heard from him since. What is that? Why do I think that’s okay? Both Liz and Sam have counseled me that there’s no good excuse for that. Why do I think there is? Which leads me to the next one:

  • I need to not need these attentions and distractions.

Why do I feel like I need to have someone in the wings? It was fun at first, I admit. The giddiness. Seeing a text and getting excited. Watching the facebook messages. The flirting. The kissing. It was what I needed at the time. I needed to know that I was still beautiful and appealing. Okay. I get it. Even a 28 year old will find me attractive. Now, it’s time for more. My ex-husband, during our divorce process said to me several times that he hoped I would find someone else. At some point that started to piss me off. I wish I would have told him, “I don’t need someone else. I don’t need a man to be happy or fulfilled. Unlike you, who latched on to the first orange tranny that came along, I don’t need a man to get through this. I’m strong enough on my own.” The truth is I haven’t behaved like that’s true. I’m not sure I believed it until now. It’s time.

  • Sorry Steinem and Friedan but virtue is still a message.

This may be 2012. The sexual revolution was decades ago. But virtue is still a message to men that we value ourselves. We might want to have sex right away but despite what “strides” we’ve made in gender roles, the truth is if you go there right away you’re sending a message. If you’re okay with that, fine. But if you’re like me and you can’t have sex without emotions and attachment, rational or not then you have to wait. You have to make them wait. You have to send the right message. If what I want is a relationship, if what I want is for someone who is physically attracted to me to also want to get know me as a person, I can’t have sex with them on the second date. So far, I haven’t made that mistake. I didn’t sleep with Syrian Doctor or Tennis Bashir but I certainly didn’t put my foot down and say, I’m not ready to go to your apartment. I don’t like the reality of this any more than anyone else, but the truth is our biological evolution doesn’t follow our social evolution. We are still beings functioning every day on evolutionary instinct.

  • I shouldn’t regret.

As I talked to Sam last night he sounded like he was feeling regret for what happened between us. He felt bad that I was struggling. I told him I didn’t want him to regret what happened. It was all necessary. It was part of the puzzle. I needed to get that first, post-divorce sex experience out of the way. Better with him than a stranger. Better with someone who cares about me on some level, a friend that I have gotten to know even better since.  I wanted him to see what he was to me that weekend, the way I did, as something wonderful. Again, a gift. I can get through this without regretting my actions.

  • It’s time.

It’s time to stop farting around. It’s time to get serious about work, about the project I have before me, the one that could make or break me. It’s time to make time to really study for the GRE, take it and work towards graduate school. It’s time to manage my money and plan for my future. I’ve lost weight. I’m walking everyday but it’s time to do more and tone up, strengthen. It’s time to finish the painting, get the to do list done. It’s time to broaden the social circle. It’s time for me.

Don’t get me wrong. You’ll still see me at Pamplona’s and the Blue Moon. Well, you probably won’t but I’ll be there. Liz and I will still dance and drink and be silly. I’ll still talk to Sam every day, I hope. And eventually maybe we’ll pick up our weekend soirées again. Joe is still in town and he and Liz are still friends. This paradigm shift is not extreme. I’ll probably still get crushes and find it hard not to want to have some interesting cutie in my life. But I think we’ve reached a point where the transition is done. The lessons are learned and now it’s time to apply them.

Carpe Diem, Dick in a Box, Fuck You Call Me, Fuck You Date Me….yeah time to apply.

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From → Rantings

2 Comments
  1. ditchthemarriage permalink

    You need to put that Dick in the box, lock it up and throw away the key! That being said, this post makes me so sad, I have followed all of the Sam stories and I know how hard this has been for you, the long talks, the flirting, the purple room… Hes still sort of playing those games, because he needs you, but not in the way you want him to. Dont give up this blog! Splat Pack must go on. JIAR (Just in a rut) 🙂

    • nicolebellpeppers permalink

      Thanks for your feedback. DIB! I think I’ll be able to get back to friends. The more we interact, the easier it is. I told “Liz,” “thank god he didn’t feel the same way, cause I would miserable.” So yeah, DIB and Liz and I are still Splat Packing without the boys. : )

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