Exes....Part 2

I'm having a fling with a Frenchman. He's only in town for five more weeks. I'm only in town for five more weeks. He is handsome. Strong jawline, straight nose, high cheekbones, dimples... the works. This guy could be a model. He's also very bright, driven and all in all wonderful. He's close to perfect. We went out for coffee after grabbing lunch together and we walked into a coffeeshop. He put his arm around me and said "I'm treating you because you paid for tea last time." I told him he was too sweet and kissed his cheek. We stood in line, ordered at the counter and walked around the coffeeshop for a while before deciding to take our coffees outside. As we turned to walk through the door, I realized that sitting by the counter was my ex. The same one that ended it with me because he needed to be more focused on school, because he was still in love with his ex, because he got scared. The same one that ignored me last week at a different coffeeshop. I didn't recognize him because he cut his hair really short. It used to be a mass of curls. Anyway, I felt awful because we were right next to him. He probably thinks I was rubbing it in his face. Honestly, I wasn't! I didn't see him! By the time we left, the damage was done and I couldn't decide whether or not I should have gone back to say hi. So I didn't, and we left. It's eating me up and I just have to move on and realize that there is nothing I can do.

Exes

We all have that moment. We're on the street, we're in a coffee shop, we're here, we're there and we run into..... The Ex.

It can be great. "Oh hey! Long time no see! How is everything? You know, we could be friends now. I'm having a party at my house at this time. You should come! I'd love to catch up."

Or it can be AWKWARD. You sit in the coffeeshop, with your latte and your computer. He walks in, he walks to the counter, he gets his coffee, he turns around and walks out. You sit there, the whole time thinking "should I say hi? Nah... I'm on my computer. He can say hi... right?" Then he doesn't say hi. He walks right past you, right out the door. You sit there, stunned. "but... he didn't say hi.......... what the f*ck?" Then you wonder "Is he blind? How can he not see me sitting there? I was right in front of him. I had an excuse, I was typing, but he didn't."

That's when you text your friends and all they say back is "Ouch."

"This one's on me."

Times men have bought me drinks:

{In the U.S.} I went to a crepe party with a bunch of international students. It was my first time meeting any of them. We bonded over exchange and told each other stories about language mistakes; like the time I told my host mom that I really had to go pee when I thought I was saying that I wanted to spend time as a buddhist nun, or the time the armenian girl thought that focus was pronounced "Fuckus." Eventually the party was going to move to a bar. "I'm underage" I said. "So this is when I head home." "No, No, this bar doesn't card. Come with us!"

It didn't take much convincing.

I walked straight through the "No Minors Allowed" sign and sat down at their table. I was sitting with my roommate C and maybe four or five European men. As we sat, drinking some beer and chatting, a man came over, plopped a beer down in front of me said "This one's on me" and walked away so fast I didn't even see his face. We stared at the pale ale in front of me. A business card was hanging magically to the outside of the glass. The guys looked at me, at the beer and in the direction the man came from, and then back at me. The guy on my left said "I've been coming to this bar at least once a week this whole year and I've never seen that happen." The guy on my right said "I'm from France and I've never actually seen that happen anywhere" and my roommate looked at me, looked at them, laughed and said "Oh, men lose their minds around her. I wouldn't worry about it."

The guy on my left looked at me again. His brow furrowed and he said, "You're eighteen. This is the first time a guy has bought you a drink... right?"

I smiled." Well... no. It isn't."

"But, but where?"

"In Thailand" I paused "... and Israel."

{In Thailand} I went to a rock concert at a bar spur of the moment. I sat in the front row and I remember making eyes at the drummer (he was pretty cute, not so great of a musician). After the show ended, he showed up at the table with the rest of his band and bought us whiskey and soda. Turns out his brother owned the bar but it was still a nice gesture. He also bought me a rose from one of the girls on the street and his friend, the guitarist, was pissed because he was going to buy me a rose, but the drummer got there first.

{In Israel} I was in Tel Aviv with a bunch of American Jews on a Sunday night. We figured that the bars would be lame but it didn't matter because there were so many of us. We could bring a party anywhere we went. So we headed down the street from our hotel to a bar and invaded. The bar was packed with americans. I sat at one end with a couple of my israeli friends and down at the other end of a bar, a man was sitting having a cigarette. I smiled at him and ten minutes later, I turned around and he was right next to me. " What's your drink of choice?" He asked. "Arak and Grapefruit juice." I answered. It's an Israeli favorite and absolutely delicious. He was impressed that I knew it. "I'll buy you one."

His roommate was the bartender and they both had the same name. We joked and drank. I learned that he was in law school and he had served his military duty already. Everyone was dancing and singing Karaoke and so I said "Come dance with me! Come dance with me, please?"

He said "Not yet, not yet. Let me finish my drink first."

He finished his drink and I said "Now will you come dance with me?"

He flashed me a smile and said "....I will if you kiss me first."

I had had a more than a couple drinks and I thought to myself "One kiss? What's the harm. He's cute, and smart and I just want to dance."

I leaned in and kissed him. I looked at him, "Now will you dance?"

I stood up. Then he stood up. He only came up to my chest.

Apology

I want to apologize to all the men I've dated this past nine months. I realized today that I have dated fifteen men, kissed eleven, and kind of/sort of been a couple with four, all within the last eight months. I have ruined friendships that might have been and friendships that should have been. I have been broken hearted and broken twice my share of hearts. Of the thirteen men I have dated, I have ditched eight, considered relationships with two and had long distance flings with three. I am sorry for having dated and ditched.

As a woman, there are stereotypes that I do not fall under. Women are supposed to want commitment. Women are supposed to be considerate of others feelings. Women are supposed to wait for men to come to them.

Apparently, I am yet unable to commit. My relationships have yet to last longer than a month unless the men I am interested in live far away. It is easier when they live far away. They come into my life for a moment, a wonderful, perfect moment. Then they leave to do whatever it is they do and I continue living my life. Only this time, I have one more friend to keep tabs on. Then, we'll talk , text, e-mail about life and our interests and it makes it more interesting. I can't talk about mundane things with men across the continent. There are no "So... that hail was weird today, wasn't it?" conversations. The relationship doesn't limit my exploration of other "options" at home. It simply adds to my life. I feel enriched by them.

They're doing things over the summer like working at the New York Times, interning with the Peace Corps, working with the Department of Justice. These are driven, intellectual young men and I like having them in my life.

I also like kissing. I like kissing a LOT. Over the past year, I have kissed in the forest, at the beach, on benches, in bars, in beds, against walls, against doors, in kitchens, on floors, at night, during the day, in computer labs, on the street, in coffee shops and on rooftops. It's been great but it's been too many.

Chemistry is hard to find. Sometimes I force myself into thinking that I have it only to realize a month later that it was entirely in my head. I only date great guys. I'm serious. Every single one of them is sweet, intelligent, motivated, idealistic and kind. I feel bad that I've hurt them but really, what can I say? "You're great, really you are but I'm just don't have butterflies?"

Should I say instead "You're cute but you're too metrosexual?" or "I like you, I do but you didn't know who Pablo Neruda was and you couldn't tell me the name of any foreign presidents"? I try to make a point of being upfront and honest but I think I've been failing at that lately. I've been hoping that they'll just disappear into the background and I'll never have to see them again or that when I do, they'll be ready to be friends. But that isn't realistic. It isn't realistic to date and ditch without explanations. Instead, it is cruel. And so I am sorry.

I'm going back to Thailand this summer and I can't help but hope that I will meet a hot Israeli, fall madly in love and travel the world with him. I shouldn't feel this way, considering that I'm kind of, sort of dating someone. He's great. He is. And it is nice. really nice but..... there's a but. I can't put my figure on to what the but leads yet it still exists. I'm also leaving in seven weeks and I don't feel pangs at all when I think about leaving him behind. That's a problem. I should feel pangs. Right?

Apparently, I'm terrible at apologies. Basically, I should be more considerate and I want to apologize to each man individually. Not today, or this week but someday. Someday I'll apologize to the Indonesian, the Czech, the model, the weed dealer, the home schooled boy, the ROTC guy, the computer science major, the debate team champion, the law student, the bartender's roommate, the pre-med kid,the alaskan, the would-be fashion designer, the PhD student and the Master's student. To all of you, I am sorry that you fell for a maneating bitch that dates and ditches.

It's official...

I'm headed back to South East Asia this summer! I was wondering what I was going to do the whole time. All my friends will be in the middle of their college term and Home Sweet Home Nakhon Phanom won't be the same without my canadian partner in crime. Then it hit me. I can do all of the things I wanted to do when I was sixteen but didn't have quite enough freedom or time to do. For example, take the train from bangkok all the way down to Bali. I'm not joking. As a U.S. citizen, I don't need a visa to go to any of the countries in SE asia for shorter periods of time. I can take the train and get off along the way at different beaches, take a few ferries out to the islands and then return back on the train down to Bali and back!

Just imagine it. Monsoon season. Spicy noodle soup. Teal waters. White beaches. The full moon party on Ko Phang Ngan, venturing farther and farther south where the Wats (buddhist temples) give way to mosques, The Perhentian islands, Climbing Mount Kinabalu, Trekking through the Mangrove swamps and seeing the giant fireflies light up the rivers, dancing in Kuala Lumphur, and heading farther and farther south.

Borneo, Singapore and finally Indonesia! I'll try and meet up with an Indonesian I knew 4 years ago and then I'll head back up the way I came. Stopping at the andaman sea, making doing some rock climbing on the cliffs there, farther and farther north, back to bangkok.

The 2nd class train ticket from Bangkok to Bali is roughly $50. At least, that's what I've seen so far.

All I need now is a buddy to go with me. I was thinking about maybe meeting up with some Israelis. My summer should be incredible.

Connections and Impression

My mother always said that there comes a point in time when everyone looks familiar. I never believed her. New faces are new faces, right? At least, new to me. However, people also look like people. There are common qualities no matter where in the world you go. I met Asians that looked like Caucasians and Africans that looked like South Americans. Similar qualities and facial features exist regardless of skin color, eye shape, hair color. Everything that we use to describe can be irrelevant. Faces look like faces that remind me of times past.

I'm sitting in a computer lab across from an arab that simultaneously looks like an Israel, an American and an Asian that I know from completely different places. It makes me a little sad to think that I will meet people and instantly judge them on whomever they look like. It's not fair and it isn't ethical but I know that my first impressions of any new person will immediately place them alongside whomever they look like from my past.

There was a girl in Israel that looked exactly like my sister. I treated her like my older sister. We weren't very close but I didn't consciously make an effort to get to know her because I felt like I already did. She and I semi-planned a backpacking trip over the summer but since I'm going back to Thailand, it won't happen. Maybe next year?

Sheets

I iron when I'm stressed. I iron late at night in a tank top and underwear. I iron when I can't sleep. I tear all the sheets from my bed, grab fresh sheets out of the cupboard and flip down my ironing board from the back of my bedroom door.

Most women hate ironing. It's a vestige of male dominance and typically female housework. There's the possibility of getting burned and really, who minds a few wrinkles? I don't care though. I don't care if ironing is a throwback to June Cleaver and chauvinism.

When I iron, I'm thrown back to my year in Thailand. As I stand in my tank top and underwear, with my iron in hand, everything stops. It's warm and humid. The steam curls around my hand. There are palm trees outside the window of my mind. The air hangs heavy and I can hear cows in the streets, roosters outside my door and dogs howling. A pink gecko stares at me from the wall.

Suddenly,

I can breathe again.

I'm ironing the flat sheet now. I told myself that I would only iron the first foot and a half of fabric. It's the part that peeks over the blanket. The only part that matters, aesthetically. I was lying to myself. Smoothing out the wrinkles is addictive and I know that I'll end up ironing the entire sheet. Every inch will be smooth and soft. 400 thread count, egyptian cotton. I love my sheets. I used to dream about having sheets like these.

When I'm done ironing, I'll finish making my bed and then I'll gingerly climb between the sheets and try not to wrinkle them again