The Chatty Attorney

We met at an Irish pub across town. I arrived a few minutes early and began looking over the extensive beer list. The bartender asked me what I would like, and when I said I love Smithwicks, but wanted to try something different, she began explaining all sorts of crazy beer combinations. She talked about mixing Guinness with a cider and a shot of some liquor. She then told me about mixing Smithwicks and who knows what.

When Mr. Chatty arrived, he came up next to me, slapped his hands on the bar and said, "you've already started drinking?!"

"Oh, hi. No, I haven't started drinking, she was just telling me about all sorts of fancy mixed beer..."
"Can we get a table?" he asked as he cut me off and waved his hand at a nearby server.
"Do you want a table?" he asked me.
"Ummm... sure."

I knew immediately that this wasn't going to go very well. He didn't make eye contact, he had already cut me off, and he barked at a server.

He decided we would sit outside by the fire pit. Yes, technically he asked if that would be okay, but I knew it wasn't a genuine question; he had already made up his mind. It was warm enough, but I began to question my decision to leave my jacket in the car.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, stared off into the distance and began going through his life story. Before he got too far he rattled off a few facts he remembered about me from my online profile. I didn't find this charming. Instead, it was a bit bizarre. Here we are, sitting next to each other, and you would like to quote my profile? Shouldn't we be having a real conversation now?

He went on about living in southern California, moving back to Wisconsin, taking the bar in Iowa, surfing, and the condo he owned in town. I listened and did my best to remain engaged while Mr. Chatty rarely paused to take a breath. I used a lot of typical "reallys?" and "oh, wows!" He didn't give me much opportunity to say anything more.

When there was a pause, and the man in the purple shirt stopped talking for long enough to take a sip of his embarrassingly girly beverage, I didn't know how to react. We weren't having a conversation. I didn't know what to say. I did, however, have a laundry list of things that he had done with his life and things he hated about Madison!

After he put his fancy drink down (all the while keeping his pinky up), he said "so, what else do you want to know? I'm an open book! Ask me anything you want!"

I chuckled before deciding there was no reason to sugar coat things. "Hmmm. Well, I didn't prepare a list of questions to ask you on this date, so you will have to give me a moment to process the ridiculous amount of information you just shared with me."

"Okay. So, let me tell you more."

He then proceeded to rattle off a thousand and one more facts while I became chillier and chillier and thought about all of the things on my to-do list. When I got home I needed to respond to a few emails. I needed to set up meetings with a few different groups of people regarding upcoming projects. I needed to continue working on one of my documents for the version upgrade. I should probably change my sheets. I have enough whites to do a load of laundry when I get home, right?

He paused again.

"Ask me anything. Really, I am an open book."
"Wow, you really keep putting me on the spot here. Again, I didn't prepare a list of questions for this date."
"Okay, well then I have one for you."
"Shoot."
"When was your last relationship?"

Whoa! That is the first thing you ask me? Here you have done nothing but talk about yourself and the first thing you ask me on our first date is about my last boyfriend? I think there are a few articles about this being a no-no.

"My ex-boyfriend and I broke up about two months ago."
"How long were you together?"
"Less than a year."
"So am I a rebound?" he asked in a very accusatory tone.

What?! Dude, I have news for you, you are no rebound. You are nothing but crazy!

"No, you are not a rebound."
"When I was living in LA I just loved it. The people there are so amazing. Everyone is so outgoing and active. The one good thing about Madison is my condo. I bought it for $107,000. I decided just to write a check for it. It seemed silly to pay a mortgage. Why did I need that money sitting in the bank?"

And off he went again on his me, me, me, me, me spree.

He called me out for "nursing my beer," but by that time I had pretty much tuned him out. What time do I have to be at work tomorrow? Will I have enough time to take Wilbur for a long walk in the morning? I should go grocery shopping tomorrow because this weekend is going to be really busy.

Towards the end of my beer he told me he had never had such a great and in-depth conversation with someone. I wanted to laugh out loud.

He definitely went in for a kiss and got the cheek at the end of the night. He asked about my weekend plans, and I gave very vague excuses for being busy.

The next day I received a text:

"Hi, Meaghan. I would agree that there probably isn't a love connection between us, but I think that we could be really great friends. You seem very cool and I think we could both use some awesome friends in the area."

Well, excuse me, but if you had let me say anything during the course of this evening you would have learned a lot about my awesome friends! And who said I need a friend that does nothing but talk about himself, avoid eye contact, talk about the amount in his checking account, or ... well, you get it.

Needless to say, he didn't receive a response.

Fake it till you make it

As long as I keep going through the motions and pretending everything is okay, then eventually it will be, right?

Work is insanely busy. I am trying to start dating again. I am responsible for finding 25 volunteers per night for nine nights over the next three weeks to work in a haunted house. I don't spend enough time with my dog. I haven't been working out. I am helping to build a haunted house this week. I don't sleep through the night. I am supposed to go away for the weekend.

Life is a little crazy right now.

Keeping myself busy sounded like a great idea back in August. And suddenly, I don't have enough time to think. Without even trying to bury myself in work and volunteering, it just happened. Now, here I am, without enough hours in a day, without enough experience to be completing the projects I have been assigned at work, and without enough guts to walk through the haunted house I helped to build!

People continue to ask me how I am. We both know that they are asking about post-breakup, totally stressed Meaghan, but don't say it. They look at me with a tilted head and sad eyes that say "breakups are hard and you are definitely still struggling." Every time I am asked, I respond with "I'm fine. Work is busy, but I'll get through it. I'm dating again!" Instead of discussing how I am really doing, I have found that it is much easier to use my recent suitors as comic relief. All of a sudden the pressure to discuss the ex, work, and my emotions is gone. Instead,  I can make people laugh while describing the man who significantly lied about his height, the man who refused to make eye contact, or my favorite story so far, the man who never stopped talking about himself.  

Dating has been interesting, to say the least. I have been out on three first dates, without the hint of a second date in sight. With every date I learn more about myself, what I want in a man, and the art of conversation. I have two dates scheduled for this week and I am looking forward to both of them. I go into every date with an incredibly hopeful demeanor and open mind. So far I have only come away from each with a blog post, but I'm confident that will change. 

I will continue to put myself out there and go on dates. I will continue to field the hundreds of emails and calls about volunteers and donations for the haunted house and make it through the month of October. I will carry a flashlight as I go through the haunted house. I will work lots of hours and I will do the best that I can. I will tell my boss when I need help before I become buried. I will keep telling people that I am fine and then share dating stories. I will keep faking it and eventually I'll make it. Sooner rather than later would be ideal, but either way I'll make it, and that is all that matters. 

The Single Life is Different

Friday night I went for a long walk and watched a movie. Saturday I ran errands alone. Sunday I wasted too much time before being invited out with friends. 

I have been trying to blog. I have been trying so hard to write. I currently have eleven blog drafts that I have started in the past two weeks and can't seem to finish. I think it's because of the boy. When I start writing and get deep into my thoughts, he is always there. So many of my drafts have nothing to do with him, but I can't stop. This is the one blog that I have been able to finish, so I'm sorry that it isn't all rainbows and butterflies, but I wanted to write something. 

I'm doing fine. You could probably say that I'm doing well, but I constantly second-guess myself and the progress I have made. 

Life in Madison has been different. When I first moved to this town I was forced to be independent. I went out, made friends and joined clubs. I played the online dating game and I met a great guy. That great guy became a wonderful boyfriend, and I became comfortable with my built-in best friend. And now I am back to where I was one year ago, attempting to navigate this town alone. It's fun and it's terrifying. I became so accustomed to being in a relationship that I somehow forgot how much time I have when I'm alone. Since we broke up about a month ago I have watched an entire season of Orange is the New Black. I have walked a lot. I go to bed earlier. I bike to and from work a lot. And the two times I have run into him at work I have felt physically ill. This is why I didn't want to date a co-worker. 

Tonight is another Friday night. I plan to bike home from work and make food for a football party this weekend. Tomorrow I will be going back to yoga with a friend and then cleaning my apartment before Chip comes to visit. Sunday I am thinking brunch and a long bike ride with Chip. In the evening we can explore more of Madison together. 

I'll continue to take it day by day. It is bound to get better. 

Thirty Minutes

Thirty minutes was all it took for everything I called normal to drastically shift and be flipped upside down. Thirty minutes was all it took for a ten month relationship to end and for every piece of my now ex-boyfriend to be removed from my apartment. His contacts case is gone, my apartment keys have been removed from his key ring (and his from mine), and his bike is no longer next to mine in the garage sharing a bike lock. That was it. It's over. And my heart hurts.

I know in the long run it is the right thing to do, but that doesn't stop my heart from aching or my fingers from automatically calling him when I leave work. 

As I drove out of the garage at work a few days after the thirty-minute incident I pressed the green call button on my steering wheel. 

"Call. Say 'by number' or 'by name'" said the voice coming out of the dashboard.

"Name"

"Who would you like to call?"

"Mr. Good Grammar."

"Call Mr. Good Grammar? Say 'yes' to proceed. Otherwise say 'back' or 'cancel.'"

"Yes."

"Calling Mr. Good Grammar."
 

Ring. Ring...
 

"No! Stop! Ah!"

I frantically hit the red button on the steering wheel hoping with all of my hardest hopes that his phone hadn't yet started ringing. 

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask how his day was. I wanted to tell him about my ridiculous trainee in class. I wanted to tell him about what a pill Wilbur had been that morning before work. I wanted to ask him to come over and take a walk downtown with me. I wanted a hug. But I knew I couldn't. I ended the relationship and I had to suffer the consequences of my choices. 

My eyes started to well up with tears, so I pressed the green button again. I tried calling my mother, a co-worker, a friend from Thailand, a friend in California, and a friend back in New York. No one answered. I didn't leave messages. 

By the time I arrived home my head hurt. My head hurt from trying not to cry. My head hurt from trying not to think about the guy that I had spent the better part of my life in Madison loving. 

 

I am now able to count the time since the breakup in weeks, so hopefully I will soon stop counting the minutes. 

When my friend Jeff asked if the breakup was bad I hesitated before saying, "well, no..." It wasn't bad, but I definitely felt far from good, or even okay. I was grateful when Dan chimed in with, "good or bad, it's still a breakup." 

Thank you, Dan.

I didn't need the justification for my roller coaster-like emotions, but it was nice to feel a little less crazy.

I came into my office on a Monday morning to find the few items I had left at his place in a bag under my desk. He had warned me it would be there, but that wasn't enough preparation for the ache my heart felt. That was it. My stuff was with me and his stuff was with him. The end.

I have my good days and my bad days. Heck, I still have my good minutes and my bad minutes, but I will be just fine. I know that much crazier and more significant things have happened in shorter periods of time, but for me, and for my right now, those thirty minutes rocked my world.