Mary B and the City

100 Proof.

Intuition is a beautiful thing. That is, when you listen to it.

While in an on-again off-again tumultuous relationship for years and years, instincts would pop up in the form of fire alarms vibrating through my pores. But whenever I would address the situation – ultimately I’d default to believing that my partner was telling the truth. Because, well, that’s what you do. You have faith. You believe. You choose to accept someone’s word is good. Particularly when they find a way to turn it back on you, making you feel guilty for even questioning their credibility, entertaining rumors, and accusing them of not being honest.

One haunting time in the history books I will never forget was over Thanksgiving, while we were at a family dinner gathering together, a compelling conviction manifested in me like poison — “my pictures are down in his bedroom.” I happen to know that his ex-girlfriend had been in town that weekend and “something” told me that she was secretly over without my knowledge… well one way I’d know for sure is if the framed photos of me were missing. When you lie to numerous girls all at the same time and lead them each to believe that only they have your heart, clearly having sentiments displayed that say otherwise hanging on your wall is a no-no. After dinner we dropped off his roommate and while pulling up the driveway, I said I had to use the restroom, when really I just wanted an opportunity to go inside and see if my gut was right. And it was. They were gone.

But like that experience and countless others — excuses, reasons and explanations superseded. There was *always* an out.

And although I would inevitably move forward, relying on an intangible truth, deep down I had hesitation. Deep down I wondered if they really were all lies and I was being played for a fool. My compassion and wanting to believe the best in him clouded my inner judgement.

That is called your intuition. It is a perspective — a sense of knowing something not evident or deducible. Not to mention that mine happens to have an extraordinarily loud volume level, borderline obnoxious. It also has an incredibly high redemption record..sometimes to the point of downright creepy, or just plain psychic. However when you love someone beyond reason and that person mentally manipulates you, it is easy for their amplitude levels of white noise to drown out your own voice of reason. 

Calculated lies are sneaky little suckers. Sorta like vodka — it has no taste, smell, or color. Yet such a simple, pure substance can knock you on your ass.

The man who came back to me less than 3 months ago projectile vomiting empty promises, false hopes and ready for marriage proposals, managed to single-handedly sabotage our “relationship.” I put that word in quotes only because I’m fairly certain, technically speaking, that when you are considered a couple, you’re only sharing your life [and bed] with that *one* person.

Mr. Big is not the person I had hoped he could be. Much less just an honorable, decent human being. Back in December when he came back to me asking for a final chance through grandiose gestures, I had said that although our “relationship” closely mimicked the Sex & the City series storyline…I am sensible enough to realize that our lives are not scripted, nor a fairytale. I can now say that not only is our ending a far cry from walking down the aisle and living happily ever after, it is a corny made-for-TV Lifetime movie. Correction, it is worse. How do you cheat on someone, affair-level style, when they’ve JUST claimed you as ‘the one’? How does one relax enough to fall asleep, sleep without experiencing nightmares, and/or wake up and be able to look in the mirror and not burst into flames? Excuse me sir, I couldn’t help but notice your pants are on fire. Liar. Liar.

How does one…wait, sorry. I’m being logical here. When you are such a good liar that you even believe yourself, have no conscious, or sense of integrity, it is probably easy to function in society while not choking on your own deception.

I do not live with regrets. I believe all of our experiences are intended for lessons, and would not take back my last and final round with the person who I loved unconditionally, passionately and selflessly.

I will walk away from this experience having learned that my 6th sense is a God given tool that I need to use and not abuse.

Ex feet under.

My life continually manifests through themes. Well this last week has distinctly been focused on former flings.

First up is the Quarterback. During my 30-day dating binge in November, QB was the only one who I had any kind of quasi history with, so was consequently the only guy I shared full disclosure regarding my Mr. Big reunion. He handled my early retirement incredibly well and wished me good luck to boot. Since then we’ve kept in touch by way of texting and turns out he really, really wanted the borrowed orange Banana Republic tee back in his possession. Some people in my circle speculated he just wanted a reason to see me; I however wasn’t convinced that was the case. So I finally arranged for us to meet up on neutral territory last Thursday – the gym. Although our electronic demeanor was friendly and upbeat, the same tone didn’t quite translate in-person.

Through our prior sporadic messaging I had mentioned my 10K training* (I use that term* very loosely), knowing he’d appreciate it considering I’ve always been an anti-runner and he is an avid pavement pounder. So we chatted at the end of our individual workouts for maybe 90 seconds about my pathetic knees and amateur-level endurance, I handed him the returned apparel in a Target bag, and we said good-bye, sans hug. That aspect is what left me feeling luke warm about the experience, but considering we were both covered in sweat, any embrace probably would have been sticky…literally & metaphorically.

While retelling this same story to a good girl friend of mine the other day (who had met him on two occasions), she explained that right after my sudden and indefinite breakup from dating, QB searched for, found & contacted her through Facebook, asking if she could “somehow do something – I really like her.” That news threw me off. Not only that it was unexpected he’d reached out to my comrade for back-up reinforcement, but sweet he thought she could somehow impact my decision to date him. Well she obviously never attempted to do anything, let alone even tell me he did that, knowing I was focused on attempting to fix things with Mr. Big.

Next in the valiant recasting line-up has been the Artist. We never actually met in person (I had canceled our date due to unforeseen circumstances aka being swept away in a surprise limo excursion), but had i-chatted over Gmail. Ever since I told him I was getting off the singles market, he has texted a few times. The last “check in” I candidly explained that I’ve officially reunited with a former long-term relationship. Well the other day while signed in to check my email, he must have seen my screen name & started typing away. I’ve now set my account to invisible.

Then I got a friend request complemented by an email through Facebook from another guy (never even nicknamed him, that’s how insignificant he was at the time). “I don’t know why but something compelled me to search for you on here. Since I found you, figured I’d reach out and see how you’re doing.” Ugh, this is a classic example of the love/hate relationship I have with the World Wide Web. I wrote back a very brief response, purposefully not asking him any questions in hopes of not starting a running dialogue. But of course, he did anyway, “Well to tell you what I’ve been up to…”

An incredibly creepy guy from The Match also contacted me through my personal, private page – I never responded to his (multiple) winks or email requests on the actual dating site, so why does he think it’d somehow work on a social networking site? First a poke, then a friend request. Negative, Creepy McCreeperson.

Finally, Hokie and I have had a limited handful of communication over the last 6 months, most recently thru an evite to a fundraising event he is hosting. We ended on friendly terms over the summer so I have absolutely no issue with supporting a cause important to him in a public forum. Then just yesterday I noticed he mentioned my company’s #1 competitor in his Facebook status with regards to his dog. I commented and suggested using our products instead. Next thing I know, a text message is coming through asking what I’m up to. In the middle of a business day, I respond “at work” to which a quick reply reads, “Oh MaryB…I heart you.”

• Lesson #1: If you participate in and/or open up communication with a former fling – they may very well take that as an opportunity to reengage. Even if you’re innocently being friendly and talking on equal playing fields, its best to just zip the lip. You think the past is buried six feet under, when in fact, exs notoriously try to come back from the dead.
• Lesson #2: Even though you’ve disabled an online dating profile and canceled membership from Match.com months ago, don’t think you’re in the clear. They will find you.
• Lesson #3: You will begin to resent Facebook.
• Lesson #4: Despite that you’ve told ex manfriends you’re solely dating another ex manfriend, they don’t necessarily take that as truth. Or maybe they just don’t care. Be aware of their “next at bat” stance in case “at bat man” doesn’t hit a homerun.
• Lesson #5: Even with your best effort, you’ll still likely manage to handle run-ins with past potential partners over par.

The original subject matter and intended climax of this blog post was going to be based around the age-old dispute, “Can you be friends with an ex?” But apparently… I’ve just answered my own question.

Change.

When I agreed to meet with Mr. Ex, in retrospect, there were no expectations. Other than a hot meal. Although I did make some assumptions.

• He’d be wearing jeans, converse sneakers, and a button down shirt.
• A 50% chance he’d be late picking me up.
• A 75% chance something with work would impact our evening and push back the 7pm kickoff time.
• We’d eat dinner at either my favorite Greek spot or a local Cuban cigar bar we’ve frequented many times.
• I’d filter through empty promises.

If I had bet my unemployment checks on this hypothesis coming true, my piggy bank would be busted.

Thirty minutes beforehand, he confirmed that the scoop up time was still OK with me. Normally I’d meet him outside and hop in the car, but he said he’d come inside. “Hmmm…interesting, he is being very formal.” When I opened the front door in my jeans and sleeveless pink top, he stood there with a smile in a full suit. This really threw me for a loop because we had a running inside joke that he was always under dressed and I was always over. He handed me two dozen red roses. I love flowers. Thankyouverymuch. After putting them in water we headed downstairs and I was the first out the door.

I looked to my right and see another guy in a suit, standing outside a black stretch limo. Eloquently, I gasped “Oh shit.” I scooted inside to red rose petals on the seat, Dave Matthews is playing, and notice a long black rectangular box with an unfamiliar logo on the floor.

Within seconds I went into panic mode. Code Red: What is he doing??

Quick assessment — Ok. Point taken. Clearly he is trying to make an impression and romance me to no end. While pouring champagne and sipping on my very first taste of Dom, I observe he is wearing a silver ring…the one I gave him years ago that was engraved on the inside but rarely made an appearance because he doesn’t wear hand hardware. I also sniffed a familiar scent — my all time favorite cologne that makes me melt, Le Male. As the songs continued, I realized that every single one played a role in our history. I commented on the personalized music and he said the CD was for me. Now although I was quite taken back by the grand gestures and thoughtful attention to detail, I also recognized that the “things” wouldn’t negate our rocky history.

He explains that we’ll ride around the city until our reservations @ 7:45, at Morton’s Steakhouse. I’ve been there twice before, both times with him. The last was New Years Eve a year ago and we had gotten into a verbal scuffle. Which actually is very unlike us, but it was the beginning of what would be our relationship’s demise and times were tough. Mr. Ex went into a speech about the evening’s theme to the tune of Obama: Change.

“I arranged the limo, wore a suit, came to your door, not to try and be flashy, but as a metaphor. I’m different now. I wanted you to see this change.” He was visibly nervous and even had sweat droplets on the top of his nose. He continued giving me insight into the agenda, picking Morton’s to try and replace the sour taste in my mouth from our prior experience. And the reason he reached out to my sister was to get my parent’s number — to ask for forgiveness, explain his laundry list of poor decisions in the past, and ask for their blessing…if I gave him the thumbs up to do so. After cruising around the city skyline and enjoying two glasses of bubbly, we arrived at dinner.

Without rehashing our dialogue verbatim, in short, he talked about what the last year has been like without me. How he sees through a different lense now. That his Peter Pan costume is hung up for good. That today, he literally can’t conceptualize what his fear of commitment was. That he was a fool. That he was honored to have me sitting next to him. That he wants to get married, to me. That I’m the One.

There was so much talking, our filets got cold. We discussed our past relationship, trust, forgiveness, family, friends, 5 year goals, 10 year goals, children, religion, dating, lessons, dreams, and our ridiculous connection that even a fire hose won’t put out.

We hopped back in the limo and that is when things took a turn. He grabbed a manila folder and had “some things he wanted to share with me.” It began with a printed out email from 2005. I had written it to him, while going through a difficult time and was thanking him for support and encouragement. He read it out loud along with the attachment I had included with Life Laws from the Dalai Lama. Every single point directly reflected back to our dynamic. Then he read a poem he had written for me years ago. Then recited a full page of specific commitments he’d make, in order of priority. Then read two more pages of memories.

Finally, he ended by pulling out two plane tickets from his suit jacket, looked me in the eyes and asked if I’d go with him to New York City this weekend…”where it all began.” About seven years ago we jetted there in December, had the time of our lives, and got snowed in for days.

I should have worn waterproof mascara.

Next we headed to a popular outdoor holiday display on steroids. Richmond has a conference and hotel center that is covered with a kagillion lights on large and small Christmas trees as well as dozens of decorated deer. We strolled through the visual dessert and he kept snapping pictures of me, then yelled to a couple across the walkway, “I love this girl!” They cheered. I laughed.

We stopped in a few bars around town and continued our conversation. Although I’m skeptical. Although I’m scared. Although I’m consumed with doubts. I can honestly say that in the 3,000+ days I’ve known him, I’ve never ever seen the extraordinary level of sincerity in his eyes, demeanor, and voice.

I have a dialogue date set with God over the next few days to discuss my next move. In the meantime I’ve pressed pause on the dating challenge until I sort things out. When I reached out to tell the Quarterback about my change in the dating playbook, he said [without even knowing that I actually do refer to him as this] “I get it. He’s your Mr. Big.”

Back from the dead.

So I’ve been knee deep in husband shopping, minding my own business, dating as if I’m on payroll. Then wake up from a very, very late night at a dear friend’s wedding reception over the weekend…when Mr. Ex pops up on my Palm’s 2”x2” screen. He asked to please talk at my convenience, in person. Within minutes, my only sister by blood tells me Mr. Ex has reached out to her too, hoping to talk. Suddenly I feel like the stereotypical guy who hears the “T” word and freezes.

I’m immediately taken back to a season six scene in Sex & The City where Carrie is moving on with her love life and Mr. Big tries to come back. She has a compelling and passionate monologue right before she’s moving to Paris with her new Love-ah Aleksandr, and candidly tells him, “You do this every time! *Every* time! What? Do you have some sort of radar? Carrie might be happy - it’s time to sweep in and shit all over it? Oh, it’s never different! It’s six years of *never* being different! This is it! I am done! Don’t call me ever again! Forget you know my number! In fact, forget you know my name! And you can drive up this street all you want - because I don’t live here any more.”

It has been exactly one year since I joined the single ladies club. Him and I had been dating on and off for 70% of the last decade, and the past dozen months have been our longest stretch of separation. In order to embrace the new chapter of my life sans Mr. Ex (formerly ‘Mr. Big’ before the breakup), I decided to treat the relationship’s ending as a death. It was the only way I could conceive of moving forward and not emotionally live in limbo until our next inevitable reunion. Literally I envisioned our courtship as a body that had been on life support at the very end, the plug was pulled, and there was no bringing it back. “We” died and it was time to mourn and move on.

I’ve changed, grown, healed, and had a metamorphosis of my own in 2009.  I’m certain that he too along the way has also undergone a transformation.

Someone asked me recently if Carrie and Mr. Big had not gotten married, do I think she would have ever gotten over him. My answer was no. Yes she would have found someone else (an Aiden) who made her happy, but there would always be a piece of her heart that belonged to him.

Although it is a bit silly, and equally eerie, how much my relationship has meticulously mirrored this HBO-scripted show [he is even mentioned in my blog’s bio for goodness sake] I can’t deny that after seeing the movie & the couple finally moving forward to marriage on their own terms, that I too thought maybe our reality would continue to mimic the plot. But I have never been one to dream in a clouded Disney cartoon fantasy frame of mind. In fact, I often see the world through black and white vision. Yet, I’m also someone who is a colorful, hopeless romantic and appreciates another quote of CB, “It wasn’t logic, it was love.”

Without naming names, and if they weren’t subject to a jail sentence, there are friends of mine who would scalp the guy with their own bare hands for his stunts. Not to mention a family who exhausted their patience and respect of our roller coaster ride, and would have to dig deep inside for forgiveness. So to even consider bringing something back from the dead that is buried 6 feet under is beyond my understanding.

And at the same time I also can’t begin to articulate, comprehend or explain the magnetic fields, a fundamental law of attraction that exists between us. I’ve never in all my life felt someone’s soul, their actual presence, touch mine. Without a shadow of doubt I believe our purpose in each others walk on earth is much larger and purposeful than what my simple mind can fathom.

In the past, I was a moth. I was a character in my own life. Now I sport a butterfly outfit and wear the director’s hat. But he is still my flame.

I’m meeting Mr. Ex tonight with no agenda, no preconceived notions, no motive. My heart and I are going with a clean slate onto the next scene.