lapses of judgement

I drunk dialed HB last night after getting home from an evening at the local microbrew with some friends. He didn't pick up. So I texted Special Friend. He didn't respond.

Feeling lonely and shitty, I drank some water and went to bed. My thinking was that once I'm asleep, time will pass much more quickly, and I won't feel like a freak standing guard by my phone waiting for someone to respond all while agonizing whether or not I acted too impulsively by dialing and texting. And am I completely desperate that I reached out to two different men?

I closed my eyes to fall asleep, secretly hoping that a return call would wake me up. Next thing I knew, it was morning. There were no new texts nor missed calls. Ugh, it was 10am on a Saturday morning and I already feel like an idiot.

And I still had a whole afternoon of seeing Broadway to look forward to.

why are you so cute?

Whenever I felt giddy and loved and affectionate, I'd ask Broadway, "Why are you so cute?" He always got all shy and embarrassed. He'd retreat a little, lower his head and mutter a barely intelligible "I don't know," which only made him that much cuter.

HB on the other hand would spin some outrageous tale. "Well, let me tell you. On the day that I was born, there was this cuteness wizard outside of the hospital. He decided to bestow extreme cuteness on one baby born that day..."

Or perhaps it would be about how when he was 5-years-old, his mom took him to the carnival where he stepped in the trails of a shooting star and caught the attention of the cuteness wizard. And so on and so forth. It'd be a long-winded story he's making up on the spot every single time.

The first time that it happened, I thought it was funny and cute. But when it happened every time, I started rolling my eyes. Here we go again, I'd think. I already know that I will want the next 5 minutes of my life back.

Broadway and I have been emailing back and forth a lot lately, usually multiple times a day and across multiple email subject threads. We send each other funny pictures, funny articles, funny life reports. The emails are light-hearted, short, devoid of conjugations of the verb "to be" (our usual communication style), go off-topic quickly and usually devolve into something altogether silly. For example, one of yesterday's exchanges went like this:

Me: "somebody built an igloo in the courtyard outside my building. i climbed in it and played. it roomy & fun."

Broadway: "oh that cool. maybe i go by there on way home later."

"may be more fun in daylight, so maybe on your way in tomorrow. probably just dark & scary & cold when there no lights."

"haha, yeah maybe tomorrow better. i probably not going home until late tonight anyways. so much to do. gaaaaaa"

"gaaaa good luck. i've been setting up a lot of stuff last couple of days, so there just lots of waiting. wait wait wait"

"dig dig dig"

"what you digging for?"

"digging out from under this pile o' stuff i gotta do. dig dig dig"

Today, I asked him about going by his house sometime tonight or tomorrow. A group of us want to go skiing, and my car racks are still stored at his house, my old place. I still have a key to the front door, but I feel weird just showing up unannounced and letting myself in - it makes me feel like an intruder. I asked Broadway when he thought he or his roommates might be home for me to come by.

His response: "I don't know about others. I'll be home working most of this evening and tomorrow. if you coming to get your roof rack, then you choose when you coming. if you coming to see me, then you still choose when you coming. you choose."

We haven't seen each other since I moved out in May. These emails are a new development as of the last month or so. Are we ready to see each other? I don't know.

I replied that it would be good to see him, but I don't want to make him see me if he doesn't want to. But now I'm all nervous thinking that I might see him sometime really soon. I need my roof racks before Sunday morning.

He hasn't responded yet.

where do I start?

In which I somehow manage to cheat on HB again, even though we aren't even together.

When I get drunk, I call HB. You might call it drunk dialing, but I'm still in denial. For the second time ever in my drinking life, I blacked out last weekend. I was in LA (Santa Monica to be exact), rendezvous-ing with an eclectic group of people for a weekend of beach ultimate. We got so excited to be in the southern California sun that we went to happy hour at 4pm Friday afternoon and didn't stop until who knows when.

I woke up in a bathtub, fully-clothed, around 10pm when the girl sharing my room came back to use our bathroom and almost called an ambulance when she discovered me.

Passed-out. In a bathtub.

I wasn't actually unconscious--I really had just been sleeping--but she didn't know that. And I didn't know how or why or when I got into the bathtub.

The next morning, I discovered that I had several texts from an unknown number asking if I was still awake (hmm... I have some vague memories of giving out my number to a beautiful black man at the bar). I also had a voicemail from HB, timestamped 9pm the night before, telling me that he hoped I was able to get some water and that I'd be able to play frisbee the next day.

How'd he know I was drunk and needed water?

My outgoing call history showed a 30-minute conversation with HB around 8pm the night before. Huh. Having no recollection of this at all, I sat down in the sand and called HB to ask for details. Naturally.

He said during the course of this 30-minute conversation, I wouldn't stop telling him how much I loved him. I also kept repeating how drunk I was, but not nearly as many times as "I love you so much."

Oh god.

The extreme happiness in HB's voice betrayed his interpretation: my drunken self revealed my true feelings for him which I obviously hide and escape from when I am sober, logical, and collected.

Oh god.

The truth is that I get overly affectionate when I drink and have a tendency to overstate my emotions. It doesn't help that I often do it with extra flourish and oomph just to make extra certain that my audience is fully aware of how serious I am (and how much they "mean to me"). But in the end, it's all alcohol talking. I don't admit it much because who likes being told the morning after that they're not actually loved as much as the sun and the moon and the stars? I just giggle, chalk it up to my cheesy drunken state, and let it go. The boyfriends always love the ego boost.

Except HB is not my boyfriend. Oh god.

Let's start back at December 29.

I was home at my parents' house in South Carolina for the holidays with two more days to go before returning to Boston to celebrate NYE. HB called me out of the blue to declare that he wants to come to Boston for New Year's Eve, especially because he knows I'll be celebrating with Special Friend and company at a fancy cocktail-dress party.

"No, that's not a good idea," I said. "It will make things very awkward with Special Friend. Besides, you're only doing this because you're jealous of him."

"I just don't like seeing other people take New Year's kisses that are rightfully mine."

"What? That's so immature. Besides, there's nothing special going on between me and Special Friend."

I lied. Let's rewind back two more weeks to mid December. I was still in Boston, rushing like mad to get all my lab work done before leaving town for 1.5 weeks to see mom & dad. Things with Special Friend were going down omg-we-might-actually-start-seeing-each-other-dating-relationship-scary paths, and we'd picked out a night for a proper dinner date. It was the night before I was to leave Boston though, and we ultimately had to cancel because neither one of us actually had time. He smilingly asked for a raincheck in January, and yes, he was very much looking forward to this fancy New Year's Eve party. He wrapped his arms around me and leaned in for a kiss. I melted.

Fast forward again to December 29th. HB angrily asked, "So you don't want me to come because you're afraid I'll cramp your style with Special Friend? I'm offering to buy a last minute plane ticket to come see you, and you're turning me down for a playboy whom you don't care about?"

"No, you wouldn't be cramping my style. You're twisting my words." But I had no further arguments because that's exactly what I was trying to say without explicitly saying it.

I felt evil and manipulative and like a cheater again, even though HB and I weren't even together anymore. I managed to calm him down by convincing him that Special Friend really wasn't someone special. HB asked me to clarify the nature of my and SF's relationship. I told him that we make out sometimes, that I've slept over a few times, but that's it.

Now-calm HB very understandingly tells me that he understands where I'm coming from, why I am afraid of commitment, and that it's fine to go explore with other guys around me. That's all okay with him. And for New Year's Eve, he just wants to come to see me. And yes, to fuck me, but that's secondary to seeing me and just spending time together again and seeing if we still have that spark because it's been a while since we talked. He had no expectations for after NYE though he would want to talk about it while he's in Boston and just see where things go.

I couldn't say no to such an understanding boy who wanted to see (fuck) me so much, so HB bought his Chicago-to-Boston plane ticket

I broke the news to SF over text (I know, I'm even more evil than you ever imagined).

SF knew that I would be back in Boston on Dec 30th. Around 11:30pm on the 30th, he texted me. "I'm so stoked to finally see you again. Want me to pick up some burritos and come over to chill?" Last couple of times we got drunk together before the holidays, we bought 7-11 frozen burritos on the way home and then giggled over nothing while they cooked in the microwave.

This time, I'd just gotten home from picking up HB at the airport. I felt like I just ran over someone's dog.

"Aww," I replied after some time, "that's so sweet. But I just got home from the airport. Picked up a visiting friend whose flight was seriously delayed. Am exhausted, think we're headed for bed."

"Sure, no worries. See you tomorrow night?"

"Definitely." And then I broke the news. Kinda. "Stoked to see you too, but things are a bit complicated."

"Oh? I'm home all day tomorrow. Wanna come over, and you can elaborate?"

He's not making this easy. He doesn't see any of this coming. All he wants to do is to see me and hang out with me.

"Um, well, actually, so my friend who is visiting is a male friend."

"A male friend? Or a male friend? Either way is fine with me - I just want to make sure I don't misunderstand your text."

"A male friend."

"Okay, that's cool. Haha, I have male friends too. Are you still partying tomorrow night?"

How could he still manage to crack a joke after this? What is actually going on in his head?

"Yeah, we'll both be at the party."

"Awesome. Looking forward to it."

I wanted to crawl into a hole.

The NYE party had so many elephants in the room. A very drunken Special Friend nodded in HB's direction indicating recognition (they met briefly when HB visited me from Beijing last summer). The two of them shared a cigarette out on the balcony while I pretended not to fret inside. Outwardly, everyone appeared okay, cordial, and cool. Inside, not a single one of us was okay.

From midnight onward, Special Friend spent his entire time dancing and making out with the only other Asian girl at the party. He just met her that night. He told me in December that he's never kissed an Asian girl before me.

HB caught me spying on Special Friend and the Slut and asked if I was bothered.

"Of course I'm bothered," I shot back.

This sent HB huffing and puffing out to the balcony, where he huffed and puffed two more cigarette even though he told me he'd mostly quit and would only have one or two a week in social situations. I sat on the couch staring out onto the dance floor of seemingly happy drunk people wondering what kind of a fucked up situation I got myself into.

Aside from the party awkwardness, HB and I actually had a great weekend together. So much so that I began to question myself again on my resolve to not date him. The problem isn't when we are together. We always have a great time together. It's when we go back to long-distance that everything fades for me.

We talked about us. HB, as usual, was clear on what he wanted: me. I, as usual, was wishy washy about commitment. This time, I spelled out our pattern and pointed out that I don't want to commit only to change my mind about wanting to be with him a week after he leaves.

HB finally proposed that we should delay the commitment decision for three weeks. That way, I can think about everything without him next to me feeding me this high of spending time together. The three weeks apart would ensure that I am making an informed decision untainted by his presence beside me all weekend. Yeah, okay, that sounds good.

But not before a final question from him. "Are you going to make out with Special Friend during these next three weeks?"

"No," I said, "it wouldn't really feel right." I meant it. It wouldn't feel right.

HB left the Monday following New Year's. That following weekend, Special Friend and I went clubbing together with our huge group of mutual friends. Completely hammered at the end of the night, SF asked me to go home with him. Shocked and drunk, I managed to stammer something about "I can't believe you still want me to go home with you after New Year's Eve." SF's exact reply is now hazy, but I think he said that he didn't care as long as HB and I aren't actually together. The one thing I do remember him clearly saying is "we can't ignore the fact that when we're out partying together, neither one of us flirts with anyone else besides each other."

So I gave in to my present-hedonist self and went home with Special Friend. I woke up the next morning in his bed with a throbbing hangover, the dread of having to call HB, and the resignation that I am a giant heart-breaking mess.

HB swore on the phone that he was finally completely done with me. I'd broken his heart. I'd shown no interest in trying even though he's been trying ever since we met a year ago in Beijing. He had no idea why he'd wasted so much energy and love on me. I'm a chronic cheater, and he questions if he'll ever trust in me again.

I sighed because I had nothing to say. I agreed wholeheartedly with him. I'm in a bad place right now, and it was time to finally admit it and own up to my actions. And with that, I thought I had closed the HB chapter of my life...

...Until HB changed his mind and decided to give me a 2-week test. If I could go two weeks without hooking up with Special Friend or anyone else, then he would reconsider. If not, then he's gone from my life.

I sighed, out of exhaustion. "Okay, whatever you want to do. I'm exhausted."

That takes us up to my boarding a 7am flight to LA 4 days later... 13 hours before I blacked out and woke up in a bathtub.

To be continued (and I never did write about the Alum or the Tall One)...

The men/boys

I might have a job (if I ever graduate). They told me yesterday that they'd like to give me an offer, but with end of the year administrative craziness, the company board won't be able to approve a job offer until January. After the approval, HR will draw up an official offer for me.

Token Male Friend asked me if I felt more focused after this turning point. We've both been suffering from general lack of motivation and often seek each other out for mid-afternoon coffee breaks that turn into dinner into ice cream into any other excuse we can conjure up to avoid doing work. I told him that focus remains to be seen, but yes, perhaps I will be more motivated now to write my thesis.

"You're also addicted to boys," he said. Where'd that come from? I thought we were talking about jobs and finishing grad school?

But it's true. I am addicted to boys.

Special Friend and I had a drunken heart-to-heart after that night at the Cantab. After abruptly leaving our friends, we went back to my place. In between passionate make-out sessions in bed, we laid out a lot of our inner issues. The problem is that Special Friend can't bear his heart unless he is drunk, which usually means that I am also drunk, which then means that I don't remember much of the conversation the following morning.

The things I do remember:

1. He suffers greatly from general anxiety. He presents a suave exterior, but fights daily internal battles fretting, worrying, overanalyzing, and reading too much into things.
2. One of his greatest anxieties is sexual performance. Despite our multiple nights of sleepovers, we've only had sex once, about a week before this Cantab night. He had a really hard time (or rather a soft time). He apologized profusely, repeatedly reassuring me that it's not because I don't turn him on. I remember that he followed it all up quietly with, "This never happens with girls I don't care about."
3. He's intimidated by my self-assured nature, but that's one of the main things that he finds attractive about me. Other qualities include: pretty, smart, athletic, but mostly confident and self-assured.
4. He feels his friends are being unfair when they call him a "heartbreaker," but I don't remember why.
5. He asked me what kind of men I like, and I said "manly man."

In the morning, hoping to continue the soul-bearing while sober, the first thing I said was "So you WERE uncomfortable all those times we hooked up." He didn't take the bait and instead turned the tables.

"I feel like you've gotten me all figured out, but I hardly know anything about you."

"What would you like to know?" I asked.

"What's something you like about yourself?"

After some thought, I came up with, "I can talk to anybody. I don't mind idle chit chat at parties and can usually engage most people in some form of fun conversation."

"What's something you wish you could change about yourself?"

Some more thought, "I wish I could be more empathetic. I often think people should just 'suck it up', and I wish I could see beyond that and be less judgmental."

"How do you feel about me being 25?"

"It bothered me at first, but honestly, I don't think about it anymore. How do you feel about me being 28?"

"I always think older women are sexier, and 28 is the sexiest age."

I laughed. "You're never serious when you're sober."

"I am being serious! I'm tired of breaking young girls' hearts."

He smiled. I rolled my eyes.

"Do you want to go to Wendy's?"

I smiled, leaned over, and gave him a kiss.

Other men to come: the Tall One, the Alum.

Dunning-Kruger

As you all know, HB moved back to Chicago about a month ago (has it really only been a month?). He quickly got a new US phone on the Verizon network and sent me a text within minutes of activating it.

"This message is free since we both have verizon :)"

I replied with a question: "Are texts free between verizon phones too?"

He replied, "Yes! Free texts!"

He'd just gotten his phone and calling plan information from the Verizon store, so who am I to argue? I did bring it up in a later conversation over the phone, adding that I knew in-network calling to be free but was unsure about text. He assured me again that texts were in fact also free between Verizon phones. Wow, sweet!

So HB and I texted each other like maniacs through the month of December in our very complicated undefined non-relationship. I felt a tinge of guilt because Special Friend and I text a lot too, maybe even more than HB and I. But no matter. SF is also on Verizon! Free texts to the world!

Today, Verizon sent me an automated text warning that I am nearing my usage limit. Logging into my account, I see that I have actually already exceeded my SMS limit for the month. Curious, I downloaded the detailed usage data into excel to see who my best texting friends are:

#1: Special Friend

#2: HB

#3: Jabba

#4: Frisbee Buddy

What?? Special Friend and HB top the list? I thought Verizon-to-Verizon texts were free? Why are their texts counting toward my usage limit?

Right around this time, Token Male Friend IMed me on his daily boredom-relieving mission. I started to tell him the story and only got as far as "I thought texts were free between Verizon phones" before he interrupted me to ask, "Who told you that?"

I answered, "HB."

I felt like an idiot as soon as I said it. Token Male Friend's response said it all: he laughed in all caps over IM.

His point? HB is highly un-tech-savvy. I should have known from the start that HB's information regarding anything technology-related would be suspect. TMF called me a silly girl.

Then I got mad. I got inexplicably mad at HB, but I couldn't verbalize why I was so mad. Was it because of the confident and flippant way HB assured me his information was correct? Or because of my own lapse in judgment for believing him? Or because this made me realize that if HB and I were together, I wouldn't ever really be able to count on him?

Finally, I was able to delineate to TMF my reasons for wanting to throw things:

1) HB's general confusion about the world. He is just not on top of things, and he doesn't know how things work.

2) His confidence regarding how much he knows about the world around him, despite actually being quite confused.

3) His utter ignorance that he is confused. His utter ignorance that he and does not, in fact, fully understand a situation.

Case in point: Verizon text messages. Such a small, seemingly trivial thing, yet so representative of his general approach to life: a naive arrogance.

I can't even complain that his confidence is false. It's real confidence because he truly believes that he knows the answers. He's not overtly arrogant - he doesn't flaunt his intelligence or knowledge. But he fundamentally does not realize that HIS KNOWLEDGE IS WRONG or even may be lacking.

And that frustrates me to the point that I want to throw things. I am finally able to pinpoint the precise reason I never could lean on him even when we were together. I distrust his analytical and problem-solving process. I question every assertion that he makes.

I think this pretty much settles whether or not HB and I could ever get back together in a serious way. I would want to throw things everyday in our life together.

I would still jump the man at a heartbeat, though.

Friday night

We planned a lunch date, albeit a late 2pm lunch date. Things came up work-wise for him though, so he asked to reschedule to a 5pm lunch date. I had plans already for the early evening, so we further postponed to a 9pm lunch date at our favorite neighborhood Wendy's.

He texted me around 8pm to say he'd gone drinking with his buddies, and would I like to join him for beers instead of Wendy's.

Annoyed, I said no, and settled in with my roommates for a movie night at home.

30 minutes into the movie, an unknown number called me. It was a friend's boyfriend. He was out and had met up with Special Friend and his crew. "We're headed to the Cantab, and Special Friend would really like for you to come," the boyfriend said.

He couldn't call me himself after flaking out on me twice already today? What kind of passive aggressive behavior is this?

"His phone died, so he's really asking me to beg you to come."

Ah, so he's drunk, and coming out of his protective aloof protective shell and enlisting the help of a mutual friend to convince me to come out.

I gave in like the silly girl that I am, bundled up, and walked the 5 blocks to Cantab. They were all waiting in line. The downstairs show got too popular, the bar filled to capacity, and the bouncers weren't letting anyone else in. I walked outside onto the sidewalk to take a call, and SF walked out after me. Interesting ...

He then motioned for me to follow him down the street. Even more interesting ... Are we leaving everyone else?

He led me around the block to the back of the club, where a couple of people were smoking cigarettes out a back door. Smiling and making idle chit chat as we walked by them, he led me swaggering through the back door that the smokers were holding open with their feet. We walked right into the downstairs show. Didn't fight through bouncers and didn't even pay the cover.

He asked me if I wanted a drink. I know money's tight for him, so I never let him pay for anything (not that he's ever truly offered), but after everything he put me through that day, he better at least buy me a beer. So yes, I do want a drink, thank you very much.

The rest of our group joined us shortly thereafter (the bouncer loosened up, we guessed). Everyone was at least a few drinks in by then (SF & friends pre-gamed, and I had a few beers at home during the movie), so it didn't take long before everything became a giddy blur.

Someone spotted a group of guys right in front of us and wondered if they were gay. I insisted that they were not, only to have my judgment repeatedly questioned by everyone else.

"Fine," I said, "I'll just go and ask them if they're gay." One guy's eyes popped open, questioning my sincerity, daring me to actually do it, calling me on out on my bravado.

Whatever. I'm tipsy and have nothing to lose. I left my safe friend circle and walked up to the tallest and cutest one of the questionably-gay group.

"Hey, I have a question for you."

"Oh really?" he asked, putting his arms around me and pulling me in really close to his body. Seriously? You don't even know me ... maybe you are gay or drunk or both.

"You are sooo incredibly pretty," he continued in an European accent while staring down at me with his gorgeous blue eyes. Oh my, you are not gay, and so very beautiful. I could feel Special Friend's laser-like gaze on the back of my neck. See if I care. He put me through this same thing 2 weeks ago.

I pulled away from Blue Eyes and reported back to my group, "No, I'm pretty sure that they are not gay. And that one there is foreign."

Special Friend very adamantly piped up, "Of course they are gay. Just look at them. Especially that tall one. He is definitely gay." Ah, jealous much?

Blue Eyes and I continued flirting with each other as the band got louder. He really was very drunk, super touchy-feely, always coming by to drape an arm around my shoulder whenever I was within reach. I glanced at Special Friend a few times. Was he seeing this? Yes, yes he was seeing this and pretending to be engrossed in conversation. Who has a conversation when it's 200 decibels at a band show? No, he wasn't really having a conversation. It's just a ruse to cover up his secretive side-glances in my direction, and Blue Eyes' arm around my shoulder.

We eventually decided to leave the bar, and our group of 8 all walked to the Korean's apartment. After some blurry conversation, I announced in a drunken tired stupor that it was time for me to go home. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

So I gathered up my coat, hat, gloves, bag and said my goodbyes. That's when I noticed that Special Friend had also put on his coat. There was no other leaving momentum from anyone else in the group - just me and my irrational need to go home, and Special Friend and his decision to come with me...

The man I almost married

Broadway and I have been casually emailing back and forth for the past month, sending each other links to interesting articles and pictures of cute animals.

Today, there was a huge Comcastic blackout of the internet in/around Boston, and he helped me to circumvent it and then to fix my router following it. After everything was working again, I sent a self-deprecating email about how the internet is too complicated for me. He replied with a harsh denouncement of his misspent youth messing around with computers, followed by:

"That's how cool I was as a kid. The man you almost married. Near miss."

Tears gushed out on the spot when I read that, and I cried for Broadway all over again. I cried that I couldn't be the one to make him happy. I cried for how solemnly he leads his life. I cried for how much weight he always has on his shoulders, mostly self-imposed and unnecessary. I cried for not knowing when he'll find his actual special someone who will be with him for the rest of his life. I cried for me not being able to make the sacrifice and just be happy with him. I cried for how much I still care and love him, and I cried for how much that love and care isn't the kind that makes me want to commit my whole life to him.

In the same way, I cry for HB too, but I kinda have to try a little to get the tears going. In the end, I know that HB will be okay. He'll do just fine for himself. He's got that right balance of slight cynicism with naive arrogance to get himself through, or at least to convince himself he's doing the best that he possibly can, and what he can ain't all that bad. He goes through life with no weight on his shoulders.

He loves me, but he'll do just fine without me.