Dear Swing Enthusiast,
Apple Guy and I broke up last night. Please disregard my last entry. It was wishful thinking. In a word: denial. In fact, forget everything I ever said about Apple Guy. I was wrong.
The truth is he's just not that into me. I had a teacher who lived by that book, He's Just Not That Into You, which they're now making into a movie starring Scarlett Johansson, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Connelly, and Drew Barrymore- you know, women that everybody is into. Give me a break!
It all started on Sunday. After my last entry, I was beginning to suspect Apple Guy was, indeed, just not that into me; however, he seemed determined to prove me wrong. I went to a much-romanticized annual Easter bonnet promenading event with Peggy, wearing one of her amazing hat creations (she's an extraordinary milliner) on loan to me for the day. Much to my surprise, Apple Guy came with his parents to see me in my vintage glory. Ladies and gentlemen, he wanted to introduce me to his parents. The Apple Parents took pictures of Apple Guy and I promenading together. It was as if I was at my own engagement party, but I'd never even kissed the groom. It was weird.
I couldn't get the gesture of dragging his parents across town on a holiday to see me wearing a pretty hat out of my mind. On Monday, while I was daydreaming about Apple Guy, I got a very unexpected text message from The Chief.
The Chief: I dreamt about u in ur easter bonnet / in my dream it was all u were wearing / talk about a happy easter
Unbelievable. You can't just text that to a girl out of the blue! At least attempt to warm me up to such a comment first. Test the waters a little! (Although, I doubt there is anything he could have written that would have made me swoon.) This is, of course, all less than a week after I turned down his offer to whisk me away to Costa Rica to share his vacation and, I can only assume, his bed. The Chief still thinks he has a chance of laying me! The more I look at The Chief, the more I see a dirty old man who I've been blind to for entirely too long. He may smell really, really good and treat my like a princess, but nice words don't mean as much when they come with strings attached. I'd had just about enough!
Last night was pretty uneventful in terms of classroom drama. I had some balance issues when it came to the Charleston and felt generally out of practice, but I enjoyed many exhilarating dances despite my two left feet. Apple Guy, The Chief, a new bashful boy I'll call "Grizzly Adam" (yes, he has a beard), and a host of other leaders asked me to dance. I enjoyed myself immensely!
Apple Guy had to leave the practice session early, because the Apple Parents were still in town. Before he left, we attempted to have a conversation off on the side of practice. Much to Apple Guy's disappointment, I kept getting asked to dance. I had just enough time to ask after his parents and tell him about The Chief’s tawdry text. I danced long after he left and began my solo walk to the subway one exhausted step at a time. Just before I got on the subway, I received a text from Apple Guy. The evidence speaks for itself:
Apple Guy: i had a dream that the chief was wearing nothing but your easter bonnet. creeped me out.
Me: Eewww! You’re disgusting. I love it!
Apple Guy: thought you’d like that. seriously you looked so great on easter. nice to see you having fun.
Me: Hey, I didn’t tell you yet. I found a roommate and I have a move out date of June 1. Big step!
Apple Guy (sent before he read my last text): so, were you watching me to see if i was checking out laura tonight?
Me: What!? Who’s Laura?
Apple Guy: slim, attractive girl in our classes.
Me: The pretty Asian girl?
Apple Guy: yes. i felt like you were watching me very closely when we were talking after class.
Me: I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.
Apple Guy: sorry. it’s just me being paranoid. i didn’t mean to ruin our conversation about the chief’s naked easter romp. ignore me.
But, of course, I could not ignore him.
Me: I think we’re just meant to be friends, Apple Guy. I’m obviously not your type. You’re feeling guilty or weird about talking to other girls at swing. There’s no pressure. We’ll always have hot cocoa…
Apple Guy: i like hot cocoa. :-( i feel bad because I really like you and you are so good to me. but you are right when you say you are not my usual type.
I didn’t know what to say I was so confused and offended. But at least he was honest.
Me: I would never want someone to be half-heartedly into me. I’m adorable and special. And you’re sweet and I’m glad you’re my swing friend.
Apple Guy: you are so adorable and special. swing would be so boring without you! this is a hard conversations to have over text. i don’t know how you’re feeling right now.
How was I feeling? Really stupid and foolish sounds about right.
Me: I’m fine. Really. This is what I want too. I was just getting mixed messages and didn’t really know how I felt about it either way.
Which is actually true.
Apple Guy: yeah, I was all mixed up about it, too.
Obviously.
Apple Guy: can I still text you about my naked chief dreams?
Me: Well, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.
Apple Guy: and email you naked pictures of myself?
Me: Save that for the Asian women…
Apple Guy: gasp. but well said and well deserved.
And we left it at that. I felt like my phone was kicking me in the teeth with every new message notification buzz. I felt pathetic and needy and clownishly redundant. It wasn't that I was in love with Apple Guy. Far from it. But Apple Guy represented the possibility of someone decent, charming, and vaguely my age (!) who actually wanted to pursue me. He made me feel like my newfound break up was the start of something endearing and new, rather than the end of all happiness as I knew it.
I suddenly felt like maybe I would never, ever find someone who really saw and adored only me. Me.
I came home and gave into the ultimate comforting temptation. I softly, achingly kissed my ex girlfriend while she slept. At least she would wake up and kiss me back. But then I remembered part of the reason we were no longer officially "together" is because I did not feel "kissed back" by her with any consistency. I held her tightly to me and realized for the billionth time that I have never loved anyone as much as I do her and most of the time it felt like I never, ever would. I rested on the warmth of my unsatisfying lover’s body and suffocated on self-pity until sleep put me out of my misery, if only for a little while.
Sincerely,
Sara
3.27.2008
3.20.2008
Mixed Singles
Dear Swing Enthusiast,
I’m beginning to think I do not understand men at all.
Last week, as you may have noticed, I wasn't able to attend my regularly scheduled swing programming. Peggy reports that when the teacher called my name while taking the attendance, The Chief, Apple Guy, as well as Peggy, herself, all exclaimed I could not attend from three different corners of the room. I'm told it gave the illusion of my excessive popularity. It’s just the right mix of embarrassing and flattering behavior on the part of my main suitors to fatten my ego up a couple of dress sizes. Oh, how the mighty fall…
As you know, Apple Guy and I have been embroiled in a flirtation for some weeks now. After many nights of dancing, languid walks, and romantic winter conversations over hot chocolate at Le Starbucks, I have the distinct impression that Apple Guy is just waiting a few months for me to be officially through with the more-complicated-than-it-has-to-be "roommate" situation to make his move, which, for the record, I wouldn't have any other way... I think.
Apple Guy and I text all the time. From funny, nonsensical blurbs about our day to the occasional string of tawdry bedroom language, if we can think it, chances are we can abbreviate it for the purposes of flirty, effective text messaging teases. But, I’m pleased to announce, last Wednesday marked a radical shift in Apple Guy and my relationship.
He called me!
Yes, that’s right. Oral contact! Of course, I didn’t actually take the call, but rather stared at the phone in shock while, perhaps, squealing a little. Answering the phone didn’t matter. He left the sweetest message just to let me know he missed me at swing and was hoping I was doing well. Call me easy, but I was touched that he thought to call and still am. Apple Guy’s stock was rapidly rising!
Eventually, I called him back when I knew he’d be at work. And he answered anyway! We had a lovely conversation, which ended with him proposing a Saturday non-swing-affiliated hot chocolate date! My head was spinning we were moving so fast.
Fast forward to last Friday night on the eve of our impending cocoa tryst. I’m working one of my many starving artist survival jobs, which happens to be in Apple Guy’s neighborhood, when I get a text from the man himself:
happy friday, sara! i don’t know what to do with myself tonight. what r u doing? any plans?
I am, of course, amused by his thinly veiled proposition to spend a little of my Friday night with my Apple Guy would-be-beau. I decide to play this texting thread out while I figure out if I smell decent enough to paint the town red after working two jobs all day…
Me: I’m working in your ‘hood. What do you want to do tonight?
Apple Guy: just not sit at home alone and depressed.
Me: Oh no. Why depressed? :-/
Apple Guy: just my usual friday night nothing to do sadness. plus I got rejected by a girl the other day.
I’m not sure, but I imagine my head must have cocked to the side and my brow must have simultaneously furrowed after reading that last bit. What an unexpected remark! Perhaps Apple Guy was trying to be ironic. There was only one way to find out…
Me: Who? What did this girl do?
Apple Guy: just this girl at the office I liked for a while. i finally had the courage to ask her out. we did go out once. then yesterday she told me she doesn’t have time to date anyone. broke my heart.
You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. BROKE. HIS. HEART. Maybe he was just being honest. Maybe he was trying to let me know he wasn’t going to wait around forever for me to get myself completely disengaged. There is no doubt in my mind we’ve BOTH been into each other on a more-than-friends level up until this text messaging snafu, so why on Earth would he think I wanted to hear this? I mean, just because The Chief asked me to go away with him on an innuendo-drenched all expense paid vacation to Costa Rica at swing last night, doesn’t mean I advertise it to the world, especially to my other romantic entanglements. That’s what secret blogs are for, people! I was beginning to get the distinct impression that Apple Guy had suddenly decided to give me the brush off. But I thought, “Fine, Apple Guy, I’ll play into your twisted texting game.” I was going to kill him with kindness. The texts continued:
Me: Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Your girl is obviously on crazy pills. You’re 100% adorable.
Apple Guy: thanks, sara. u r pretty wonderful yourself.
What?! Yeah, don’t do my any favors, Apple Dick. Oh, and thanks for not calling me to have that hot chocolate on Saturday. What exactly is he playing at? What happened? Where did my sweet nerd man go? My disappointment knew no bounds.
Despite this setback, I had a blast at swing last night. The Chief offered me the world. (And, no, I did not accept.) The Commie kept his distance. Peggy and I started rumors in the corner like schoolgirls. I danced a few with some of the more advanced dancers, who recognized I was ready to follow their lead, broke a serious sweat, and forgot everything but the lindy for most of the evening.
Eventually, Apple Guy did approach me for a chat on the sidelines of the bustling practice session. He immediately apologized for standing me up for our hot chocolate date. He “forgot.” I hate to say it, but he was attentive, sensitive, and good humored during our chat. How confusing! We found ourselves looking out into the sea of dancers, specifically at Little Miss Perfect cutting an impressive rug. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I decided to let Apple Guy in on how it was I knew Little Miss Perfect and how sometimes seeing her brought back these negative feelings about our past experience together in the class from hell. She took swing so seriously, attacked it with all of her gusto, and, at the end of the day, was better than me just like she used to be in college. I confessed to him that I felt a little jealous whenever I saw her. Apple Guy, in turn, observed that Little Miss Perfect never looked like she was having any fun, while I radiated joy whenever I danced. He said he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
Yeah, I forgave him.
Yours,
Sara
I’m beginning to think I do not understand men at all.
Last week, as you may have noticed, I wasn't able to attend my regularly scheduled swing programming. Peggy reports that when the teacher called my name while taking the attendance, The Chief, Apple Guy, as well as Peggy, herself, all exclaimed I could not attend from three different corners of the room. I'm told it gave the illusion of my excessive popularity. It’s just the right mix of embarrassing and flattering behavior on the part of my main suitors to fatten my ego up a couple of dress sizes. Oh, how the mighty fall…
As you know, Apple Guy and I have been embroiled in a flirtation for some weeks now. After many nights of dancing, languid walks, and romantic winter conversations over hot chocolate at Le Starbucks, I have the distinct impression that Apple Guy is just waiting a few months for me to be officially through with the more-complicated-than-it-has-to-be "roommate" situation to make his move, which, for the record, I wouldn't have any other way... I think.
Apple Guy and I text all the time. From funny, nonsensical blurbs about our day to the occasional string of tawdry bedroom language, if we can think it, chances are we can abbreviate it for the purposes of flirty, effective text messaging teases. But, I’m pleased to announce, last Wednesday marked a radical shift in Apple Guy and my relationship.
He called me!
Yes, that’s right. Oral contact! Of course, I didn’t actually take the call, but rather stared at the phone in shock while, perhaps, squealing a little. Answering the phone didn’t matter. He left the sweetest message just to let me know he missed me at swing and was hoping I was doing well. Call me easy, but I was touched that he thought to call and still am. Apple Guy’s stock was rapidly rising!
Eventually, I called him back when I knew he’d be at work. And he answered anyway! We had a lovely conversation, which ended with him proposing a Saturday non-swing-affiliated hot chocolate date! My head was spinning we were moving so fast.
Fast forward to last Friday night on the eve of our impending cocoa tryst. I’m working one of my many starving artist survival jobs, which happens to be in Apple Guy’s neighborhood, when I get a text from the man himself:
happy friday, sara! i don’t know what to do with myself tonight. what r u doing? any plans?
I am, of course, amused by his thinly veiled proposition to spend a little of my Friday night with my Apple Guy would-be-beau. I decide to play this texting thread out while I figure out if I smell decent enough to paint the town red after working two jobs all day…
Me: I’m working in your ‘hood. What do you want to do tonight?
Apple Guy: just not sit at home alone and depressed.
Me: Oh no. Why depressed? :-/
Apple Guy: just my usual friday night nothing to do sadness. plus I got rejected by a girl the other day.
I’m not sure, but I imagine my head must have cocked to the side and my brow must have simultaneously furrowed after reading that last bit. What an unexpected remark! Perhaps Apple Guy was trying to be ironic. There was only one way to find out…
Me: Who? What did this girl do?
Apple Guy: just this girl at the office I liked for a while. i finally had the courage to ask her out. we did go out once. then yesterday she told me she doesn’t have time to date anyone. broke my heart.
You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. BROKE. HIS. HEART. Maybe he was just being honest. Maybe he was trying to let me know he wasn’t going to wait around forever for me to get myself completely disengaged. There is no doubt in my mind we’ve BOTH been into each other on a more-than-friends level up until this text messaging snafu, so why on Earth would he think I wanted to hear this? I mean, just because The Chief asked me to go away with him on an innuendo-drenched all expense paid vacation to Costa Rica at swing last night, doesn’t mean I advertise it to the world, especially to my other romantic entanglements. That’s what secret blogs are for, people! I was beginning to get the distinct impression that Apple Guy had suddenly decided to give me the brush off. But I thought, “Fine, Apple Guy, I’ll play into your twisted texting game.” I was going to kill him with kindness. The texts continued:
Me: Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Your girl is obviously on crazy pills. You’re 100% adorable.
Apple Guy: thanks, sara. u r pretty wonderful yourself.
What?! Yeah, don’t do my any favors, Apple Dick. Oh, and thanks for not calling me to have that hot chocolate on Saturday. What exactly is he playing at? What happened? Where did my sweet nerd man go? My disappointment knew no bounds.
Despite this setback, I had a blast at swing last night. The Chief offered me the world. (And, no, I did not accept.) The Commie kept his distance. Peggy and I started rumors in the corner like schoolgirls. I danced a few with some of the more advanced dancers, who recognized I was ready to follow their lead, broke a serious sweat, and forgot everything but the lindy for most of the evening.
Eventually, Apple Guy did approach me for a chat on the sidelines of the bustling practice session. He immediately apologized for standing me up for our hot chocolate date. He “forgot.” I hate to say it, but he was attentive, sensitive, and good humored during our chat. How confusing! We found ourselves looking out into the sea of dancers, specifically at Little Miss Perfect cutting an impressive rug. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I decided to let Apple Guy in on how it was I knew Little Miss Perfect and how sometimes seeing her brought back these negative feelings about our past experience together in the class from hell. She took swing so seriously, attacked it with all of her gusto, and, at the end of the day, was better than me just like she used to be in college. I confessed to him that I felt a little jealous whenever I saw her. Apple Guy, in turn, observed that Little Miss Perfect never looked like she was having any fun, while I radiated joy whenever I danced. He said he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
Yeah, I forgave him.
Yours,
Sara
3.06.2008
Little Miss Perfect
Dear Swing Enthusiast,
It really is a small world. After a particularly rigorous Charleston class, a fellow swing student ran up to me last night, because she recognized me from a past life. Actually, it was not really a past life, so much as… college. We had taken a particularly memorable art class together, during which I may or may not have threw a temper tantrum and stormed from the class while screaming at the professor, wading in a bucket of my own tears. As it slowly and dreadfully dawned on me who she was and why I must be so 100% memorable to her, I couldn’t help noticing how fantastic she looked. There she was- healthier, sexier, and more glowing than I remembered- bringing back memories of a deeply embarrassing, painful period of my early youth. I had no choice but to dub her “Little Miss Perfect.”
Of course, it turns out she’s officially enrolled in all of my swing classes. We went through the motions of exchanging numbers, offering artistic assistance (aka: showing off anything resembling status we’ve achieved in true high school reunion fashion), and pretending to be thrilled to see each other after all this time.
Of course, The Chief remains convinced I was shamelessly flirting with this girl for his benefit, as all lesbian cock-teases like to do, but, alas, that wasn’t the case…
Yet, in true Little Miss Perfect style, she did genuinely look thrilled to see me. After all, she initially ran up to me in what could definitely be described as a moment of enthusiastic discovery on her part. So, maybe the disingenuous social robotics were, in fact, completely one-sided, making me less and less perfect in the face of Little Miss Perfect’s magnanimous optimism and grace.
I wanted to set fire to her little, perfect, BLONDE head.
When I took a deep breath and acknowledged that the crazy, negative voices of jealousy were trying to take over, it suddenly occurred to me that The Chief might not be too far from the mark after all. Judging from our brief, casual history together and a few time-honored stereotypes completely devoid of fact (aka: GAYDAR), Little Miss Perfect could certainly be gay. Although I hesitate to say for sure if that was the case, just the thought of the now exponentially greater romantic possibilities and mishaps that might await me at swing left me dizzy. Genuine swingers meeting at swing- what a novel thought!
If nothing else, it was clear to me that Little Miss Perfect did not remember me as the immature basket case I thought she might. In fact, she seemed to remember me for what I was busting out of that classroom 5 years ago trying to be: a dignified human being. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought that professor was a dastardly prick! Maybe she actually saw how mistreated and powerless I felt back then. Maybe she was happy to have an opportunity to subtly let me know that she thought what I did took guts. Maybe her empathetic compassionate side outweighs her competitive judgmental side. Maybe she really is... perfect.
Or maybe she’s just another lonely, eager artist living in the city, happy to see a familiar face in a sea of swinging strangers. Someone not so different from me.
Time will only tell.
Sincerely,
Sara
It really is a small world. After a particularly rigorous Charleston class, a fellow swing student ran up to me last night, because she recognized me from a past life. Actually, it was not really a past life, so much as… college. We had taken a particularly memorable art class together, during which I may or may not have threw a temper tantrum and stormed from the class while screaming at the professor, wading in a bucket of my own tears. As it slowly and dreadfully dawned on me who she was and why I must be so 100% memorable to her, I couldn’t help noticing how fantastic she looked. There she was- healthier, sexier, and more glowing than I remembered- bringing back memories of a deeply embarrassing, painful period of my early youth. I had no choice but to dub her “Little Miss Perfect.”
Of course, it turns out she’s officially enrolled in all of my swing classes. We went through the motions of exchanging numbers, offering artistic assistance (aka: showing off anything resembling status we’ve achieved in true high school reunion fashion), and pretending to be thrilled to see each other after all this time.
Of course, The Chief remains convinced I was shamelessly flirting with this girl for his benefit, as all lesbian cock-teases like to do, but, alas, that wasn’t the case…
Yet, in true Little Miss Perfect style, she did genuinely look thrilled to see me. After all, she initially ran up to me in what could definitely be described as a moment of enthusiastic discovery on her part. So, maybe the disingenuous social robotics were, in fact, completely one-sided, making me less and less perfect in the face of Little Miss Perfect’s magnanimous optimism and grace.
I wanted to set fire to her little, perfect, BLONDE head.
When I took a deep breath and acknowledged that the crazy, negative voices of jealousy were trying to take over, it suddenly occurred to me that The Chief might not be too far from the mark after all. Judging from our brief, casual history together and a few time-honored stereotypes completely devoid of fact (aka: GAYDAR), Little Miss Perfect could certainly be gay. Although I hesitate to say for sure if that was the case, just the thought of the now exponentially greater romantic possibilities and mishaps that might await me at swing left me dizzy. Genuine swingers meeting at swing- what a novel thought!
If nothing else, it was clear to me that Little Miss Perfect did not remember me as the immature basket case I thought she might. In fact, she seemed to remember me for what I was busting out of that classroom 5 years ago trying to be: a dignified human being. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought that professor was a dastardly prick! Maybe she actually saw how mistreated and powerless I felt back then. Maybe she was happy to have an opportunity to subtly let me know that she thought what I did took guts. Maybe her empathetic compassionate side outweighs her competitive judgmental side. Maybe she really is... perfect.
Or maybe she’s just another lonely, eager artist living in the city, happy to see a familiar face in a sea of swinging strangers. Someone not so different from me.
Time will only tell.
Sincerely,
Sara
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