My Apologies for Objectifying A Beautiful Man

I can see how shameless my crush watch on Mr. Hot (and so out of reach) was. This revision comes with perspective because time is generous that way.  Also, it seemed important to give this apology a special place. What started out as silly with That’s cute. became out of control with my Obsessive Observations.  It's faded into the delight of what my crush became to me, even though he offered nothing more than smiles and someone to daydream about that wasn't my ex. It was a series of firsts that I wrote about in Crushing and Laughter  and I was able to share my gratitude about some of them in Thank you. which was about many men in my life. It was nice to imagine someone else in writing Haunted and Your name. What is most shameful is my blatant objectification of a man who probably has strong feelings and I so obviously wasn't interested in them.  I wrote about his body, and in keeping what I saw when I looked in his eyes to myself, I completely made him a thing. What kind of human being does that? It might have been a partial attempt to keep certain things private and only mine, but in so doing, I've violated him in the way so many women are violated and objectified.  I used him for my lusty purposes and a part of my audience, with opinions I actually care about know I'm not all sugar and spice and hiding in a closet somewhere there might be leather and lace and we won't discuss restraint, because clearly I have very little.  I've taken off my mask unintentionally and while I was received in love, it wasn't planned and there was shock. Whether or not this is or one day will be publicly tied to me, I feel I owe him a sincere apology.  For nearly a year I was determined to be a wife, accepting all my husband dished out to me, and in a few sentences he changed my mind.  I met that with fear and reacted by objectifying him to avoid how deeply he affected me.  It was a cop out and I really am sorry that I was so afraid of the light he exposed into my darkness. This light grew into a confidence that helped me remove my wedding band and decide it was time to let go. People we both worked with have been given access to details about my lustful infatuation and I really feel bad if it's caused him any embarrassment.  It is a responsibility that falls solidly on my shoulders and my apologies to him are weighted with a debt of gratitude.

Your name, A Poem About a Daydream

 

Sweet nostalgia cascades in gentle beauty

Like raindrops through my clouded mind craving your clarity

You are washed anew in the glow of fading memories

Lips frame your name in tender restraint

My thoughts embrace you before release

Not eager to depart

I speak softly, surrendered to the bliss of holding you again

of breathing your name

Bittersweet release with a tender kiss from my lips

Haunted by Memories Invading My Dreams

I wake up thinking about his smile and the look on his face when he said goodbye. I think of all I should have done and know that what is meant to be will happen in a measure of time I can't control. But tonight I'm haunted by the memories of possibilities and the last words framed in a gray text box on my phone and it's enough to make me smile and send me to sleep wrapping sweet memories around me like a blanket. I'm haunted by the looks I loved to see and the feeling they are all he'll ever give me.

This Water Baby Is Raising Her Standards

I've always been drawn to water.  I spent one summer going to Manhattan Beach every single day.  The water was so clear, I was able to stand and see a piece of chert that was practically glowing at my feet.  I still have it.  I loved Bolsa Chica for the fire-pits, but it can only be fun if you bring really good water shoes. Those seashells and pebbles have carved into my tender feet for years.  Huntington Beach has fire pits and you can avoid the rocks and watch the surfers. I loved to watch the surfers. There should be surfer watching soon. There's a dog beach between the two where frolicking dogs will chase balls in the water and you can almost taste the love between them and their humans. It's like cherry pie before I had to cut wheat from my diet and I took flaky pie crust for granted. There are beautiful cliffs in Malibu and huge pockets that haven't had sand added to them, making the shoreline natural and beautiful. Dockweiler Beach has fire-pits and you can watch the airplanes fly overhead as they launch then bank over the ocean later at night. I love the ocean for how small it makes me feel.  I love being pushed and pulled by the waves, only to escape by diving into them and becoming part of the churning that would force its will otherwise. I love beaches with tide pools.  There's one in San Pedro but I don't think I can go there without remembering the boy that helped me pick out sea urchins and starfish with lots of laughter and splashing. He was so tender with my scraped hands and knees. We held hands and he walked with me around the Friendship Bell and packed a lunch so we could picnic on the grass. We hugged and laughed as we looked at the ocean.  I want to leave that memory untarnished. It was a good one. I've been meaning to check out Crystal Cove instead.  For years I said I wanted to go to Black's Beach just because it is a nude beach.  I haven't made it and I haven't made plans either. In the last 16 years, I've spent less time at the beach and more time in rivers, pools, Jacuzzi tubs and lakes.  Part of that was my husband likes rivers and lakes.  We spent so much time fishing in them.  I'm not a fan of the gear and I don't like much outside of reeling in a fish, so I don't see myself going fishing anytime soon.  A lot of the rocks around my pond were from trips to Upper Big Tujunga where he and the boys fished, and I carried bags of rocks back to the car. Pier fishing is what I did with my Dad and the few times I tried to go deep sea fishing, I got sick as soon as the boat stopped going forward.  I like boats, but staying still and rocking on the waves instead of being part of the waves always made me sick.  It took a summer to get used to the smaller waves on Big Bear Lake. My other reason for not liking big scary bodies of water is my kids.  My now 9 year old who was 8 months at the time suffered a near drowning.  Pulling him out of the tub when he was blue was traumatic for me.  I had nightmares for a while. To this day, I still panic whenever they want to go into water and I feel like I can't keep a hand on all three at the same time. I prefer to not go and let my Mom take them because she loves water as much as I do.

There's a pond in my front yard that I enjoy from my front porch. I dug into hard ground with the help of my father in law.  It has a waterfall and it's all pre-formed pond liners, but I love the sound, if not the look. I love the reflected light dancing on walls and ceilings from the moving water outside my window. There's a koi fish in it.  This koi has survived for years with rain water and water hose refills when the water gets low and not a drop of treatment to balance the pH or de-chlorinate, and a pump that goes out from time to time and not a drop of food in years.  He's outlived the tadpoles that spent about a year becoming bullfrogs and then disappeared over a winter to emerge and disappear again. My cat is a murderer and she's granted him clemency. She prefers lizards, birds, and rodents. He's as stubborn about giving up as I am.

Last night I was home around 7:00.  I had an interview with a temp agency and puttered around Hollywood long enough to be happy to head home. I had taken off my slacks, and blouse and I was already in bed calling it a night with Hulu and Facebook.  I finally listened to the lyrics to kid3's favorite song.  There was a petite brunette singing a cover rendition and I thought I'd finally hear the whole thing.  I don't listen to much radio and I saw that the original is his Dad's favorite artist.  He's a Belieber. It occurred to me that my little one has been singing the song in his Daddy's heart and it made me angry. For the record, I had many moments of choosing to like his Momma too, and it wasn't easy. I knew she didn't like me no matter how many times they tried to say otherwise.  I chose to accept her as part of him. To know me is to know I give people more chances than they deserve.  Something about that song got under my skin like an itch and I got dressed and went for a drive.  I took Broadway through Chinatown and onto Sunset to Pacific Coast Highway and turned left. I called a really great friend on the way.

I've known this friend since we were in diapers and my firstborn's middle name was chosen based on the name I called on for much of my life.  When we were young, he was called Peanut Butter and I was Jelly according to the older neighborhood kids and our siblings.  It was as much about our complexions as it was about our conjoined hips. We were always hanging out around the neighborhood in East Hollywood where I broke my leg and a week later he broke his arm.  He ended up in a hospital bed at Kaiser on Sunset and a while later I ended up in the same bed in pediatrics.  He was there through every single romance I've had, and the distance only came with my husband.  I was starting life with a husband and kids.  He still goes to bars and clubs and lives the life I used to live. He's one of those friends that I can pick up with at any time and it's like there was no time or distance between us.  In our friendship there is freedom and I was able to rage and curse out a man I had been trying to be respectful toward. I discuss my anger at times.  I'm still protecting him in not disclosing some of his actions to most people. My anger is part of me and I'm not afraid of it. You just won't usually hear me emasculating him.  It's a choice, and I try to choose it more often than not.  That doesn't mean I'm incapable. That means my impulse control is strong on most days.  Not last night.  It was the first time I've ever cursed him out (even if not to his face),  the entire time I've known him.

It was early enough that when I made a left on Temescal Canyon Road, I could still legally park there, but it was dark, so you won't get pictures.  There are street lights but the beach itself is cloaked in darkness. In the distance, the Ferris wheel that spins above the waters off Santa Monica Beach is visible and tells me where the freeway is. The light of the moon and the many stars I could see were enough to see and step confidently.  I felt comforted in the blanketed darkness clothing the sand and sea. It colored the horizon in shades of indigo night. The gate leading to the parking lot at Will Rogers State Beach had already been closed with yellow metal that clearly denies access and the parking lot only held one car, as it's companion left when I was stepping onto the sand. Lifeguard tower 8 was where I spent many nights through high school and until I met my husband.  I've sat there with guys that played guitar, and with a strong drink to fight the biting air and sea mist. I've been there in groups and alone.  I've raged at the heartbreaks that were raging through me because the ocean could absorb the sounds of my anguish. I celebrated moments of solitude where my introverted side could recharge.  I shared my spot with the boys that were like my brothers. I was still on the phone with the Peanut Butter to my Jelly while he was at work but otherwise, I was completely alone. He told me about the many girls he had taken there, and I was shocked that I never thought to do the things he did because my comfort was more important.  There's only one way up or down on that ramp and it's pretty exposed.  This was probably the first time I was there without a pocket knife or a stun gun, not that I ever needed to confront anyone. Besides, beach sex is overrated and it's always cold at night.

This was a frequent filming location for Bay Watch.  When I arrived, I could see signs for a crew that will be there or already was there. Location scouts love this place. On the left are volleyball courts with nets swaying in the wind.  To the right there's a jetty that marks the sand, stepping into the ocean and breaking the harshest waves with immovable fortitude. This tower is unique in that it's built on a concrete platform that holds a large drainpipe and carries you over the water.  I've only ever been there at night and farther from low-tide, but recognized my favorite place on an episode once. The waves break against the platform and flow all around the tower.  There's a fence around it, but only to keep people from jumping off of the platform because people aren't always smarter than they look.  The tower isn't restricted except the closed windows padlocked to keep people outside.

We talked as the crashing waves calmed me.  We talked as they energized me.  By the time I was driving home, my mood had significantly picked up and my anger was gone.  As we talked, we discussed each man child I claimed in my heart.  He pointed out what he saw and through that I could see my perspective shifting and sharpening.  He felt I could have done better than every single one of them.  In looks, in intelligence, in personality, in self esteem, I was the dominant one.  He said every relationship has an imbalance, and I was always on the upper hand but never saw or acknowledged it.  I fixated on their one good quality.  For one boy it was his hair.  For another it was his voice.  For another it was his face.  For another it was how much he wanted me. I could go on but the point was he could see I had a type.  I always thought it was fair skin and great hair, but not all of them fit that bill.  Most of them didn't. He said I like the ones that are a little geeky and not too smart.  He could see something about each one of them that was lacking in some way. I told him about my crush and he pointed out that I was sabotaging myself even though I claim to want to date smarter people. I could see myself having a conversation with him without having to explain what I've said.  He reminded me that they all kind of grew on me because they weren't immediate total packages.  I walked past the obvious winners and plucked my way through the second string, subconsciously identifying their insecurities and then letting them  shape their fears into who I was, effectively shifting the power dynamic.  The exception was the guy I was with through the end of high school.  He was an ex-gang member, but I pursued him with his New York accent, and six pack abs, and his hooked nose.  He wasn't eye candy, but he was sweet and generous. He was always bringing me flowers. He wasn't the total package and I have no interest in looking him up, but I do like who I was when I was with him for the most part.  He didn't have that innate ability to lead though.  I value that now when I couldn't understand it then.

With each breakup, I became more of the person my great friend grew up with. He sees me as someone that tells it like it is.  I see it as jaded cynicism. I'm someone that is positive and optimistic for the most part.  I believe in faking it until I feel it.  My perseverance and tenacity are hot in others and an asset to myself. He likes this person as she is. I like this person as I am.  I like the boys that are shy and a little insecure.  I like the ones that need my attention that are willing to make it a point to make the first move. I find it sweet and he pointed out that it's the mother in me that needs to bring that shyness out. It always backfires and  I build them up into pricks. Or I'll date someone with such strong attachment issues that they need to prove they can make a conquest of anyone without being able to move into a relationship because they lack emotional maturity. We talked about the fact that I haven't kissed anyone besides my husband since April of 2000.  He tells me it will be epic when I do.

I started thinking about some of the things my husband has said the past year and the song that our little one was singing made more sense.  I realized he had been speaking to me the lyrics of this song, and it made me think of the many conversations we had when I was teased about my vocabulary.  To this day, I will find myself changing the vernacular in my writing so it is easily digested, but I shouldn't have to do that when I talk.  And this song that made me want to emasculate and infantilize him also made me feel pity because I could hear his insecurities in the song. I could sing the same song to him, but I have a better grasp of my feelings than that and would rather focus on what will lift me up.

I went to bed and the rage in me had died and it was replaced with hope.  There was hope that I would find enough value in myself to intentionally try to approach that man that could be out of my league.  There's hope that I could find someone to have meaningful conversations with. I want a salt of the earth, man's man. I kissed a couple of girls in my youth and it did nothing for me but make me miss the bite of stubble. I love a clean shaved face and solid jaw line. I like to be the soft one next to lean muscle. I want someone with the self esteem and drive that pushed him away from drugs or gang life, and made him try harder so his success was in his accomplishments. I've only ever had two ex lovers that weren't into drugs or gang life. They were always looking for attention and couldn't understand the value of silent companionship. They couldn't commit to one person, even if it wasn't me. It's not about money or looks.  It never was.  I remember being in my twenties and flirting with the guy in the car next to me. It was a red convertible. We exchanged numbers and when he called I told him I couldn't date him because all I remembered was his car and I couldn't be that person.  He respected my honesty, and the part of me that couldn't do that is still alive and kicking. She calls me a whore when I can't see past the frosting on the cake and that makes me keep walking. My husband thought I only wanted him for his money, but I wanted him for the way he saw me. I just didn't notice when he stopped looking at me that way.   The one amazing thing my really great friend pointed out was that I gave my husband 16 years of faithfulness and he messed up by leaving a good wife. He left me and I waited beyond what was reasonable and I have done enough.  Telling a wife and mother she's done enough is one thing, but getting her to finally believe it is another.  We talked about an hour and a half and at the end of that time, I believed it.

We also talked about the times we were young and being silly.  We laughed about the many times I said I'd be an old lady with a cane, and chasing boys. We talked about walking into the Palace in Hollywood at the end of the night.  We were pretty drunk and one of the guys we were with walked right into the glass doors, opened them and went right in as if he didn't just greet the door with his nose.  The security guards didn't bother to stop us. It also closed within the 15 minutes we were there.  There was another night we had gone to a hotel in the valley to go dancing with my Dad.  They played Israeli music and songs in Arabic. Some of the older women taught me to move like a belly dancer.  It's where I heard my first Alabina song and this was before Shakira in the late 1990's. I used to go dancing with Dad on Saturday nights and this was the one time I brought friends.  We got a bit sauced and when my Dad went home, we decided to go to Rosarito because we had never been to Papas and Beer.  I took the backseat of my car and he drove us into Tijuana and further south into Rosarito.  We pointed at each "alto" sign and laughed because they looked a lot like stop signs.  It's never taken much to make me laugh. We got there at 4 in the morning and it was closed. Everything was closed at 4 in the morning.  We drove around a bit and watched the sunrise.  Instead of hanging out all day, we headed home and had a tire blow out on the freeway (my  first of more than I can remember). It was an epic adventure. I've still never been inside of Papas and Beer. We talked about the time we went hiking to the waterfall from Chantry Flats in the mountains above the Santa Anita racetrack with a bottle of Tequila Rose and the guys going for a swim in the freezing water.  There's something funny that happens when cold water gets past boxers and I can still hear the squeals in that memory. He reminded me of the fun I had as an adolescent when I wasn't handing my heart off. I needed that.

A Profusion of Gratitude to the Men in My Life

When you face a maelstrom in life, it’s easy to look for signs of safety and reach out in an attempt to find an anchor.  The winds die down.  The torrential rains are reduced to water dripping from branches and leaves. Trees have gathered what they could, and what remains will trickle down to enrich the soil at thirsty roots. Plants are so self serving. Birds chirp in triumph over the nests that weathered the storm and pigeons coo over their eggs that survived the onslaught in motherese sounds of comfort. The clouds lose their gray anger and lift into fluffier whites that couldn't possibly release another onslaught.  At least until they lower and darken, covering the land in shadow once more.  So begins a new flood on dry land not ready to take what the heavens choose to give. But in the eye of the storm it is calm enough to see the other side coming, and calm enough to brace for what you know you can still make it through because you've been there and will find yourself there again.

If I look hard enough, I can see the same in my emotional life.  I'm looking for an anchor and it's wrapped in the covering of a heartbroken past that keeps throwing old flames at me.  I understand it.  The pain of a broken heart is the same, no matter who does the breaking, it's my heart and I have to do the mending.  This would be the main reason I'm not yet dating.  I'm not a problem to fix and I'm not ready to publish another issue when this one has yet to be edited.  And yes, at times I say it just to convince myself.

It's funny how the universe decides to contribute.  My youngest has a sweatshirt with diamonds that reminds me of one special guy.  The very next week he tells me the he has a new after school teacher with the same first name as another man I loved.  I'll see the name of a studio that reminds me of a name I've been trying to forget or in the course of my last job, I'd see lots of names that reminded me of this feeling that I've been walking through.  I'd be in full focus of my task at hand, and suddenly get sucker punched by a name with significance and pain. Or worse, it'll remind me of a secret rendezvous that was so sweet the longing is worse. I love the random bumper stickers from home towns not my own that put me in the place I was driving to escape from. I hear so much about the benefits of gratitude, I thought it might be worth a few words in redirecting my thought patterns.

Thank you for opening doors for me.  Clearly I'm capable, but it was still nice and appreciated.

Thank you for noticing my hair cut.  It's not a huge deal that I cut it, but it's huge that you would notice.

Thank you for noticing that I like my coffee creamy and sweet and that my tea depends on my mood entirely.

Thank you for listening to my drama and not trying to fix it, nudging me and guiding me until my lightbulb flashes in understanding and not taking the credit we both know you deserved.

Thank you for dropping your defenses long enough to let me see how badly you wanted more and then putting them back up so it wasn't uncomfortable.

Thank you for picking up after a party and taking the trash out for me. Hosting in my youth makes me hate doing it now, so thanks for being okay with me coming to you instead and letting me help where I can.

Thank you for surprising me with a dress that was a little too tight. It told me you thought of me as smaller than I am, and I loved your sense of style.

Thank you for surprising me with jewelry.  I didn't always wear it, but I always loved it.

Thank you for offering to whisk me away to a place I've never been to make new memories to crowd out the old ones.

Thank you for listening to me sing without making it a performance, and joining in because you saw how happy I was and you wanted to be part of that.

Thank you for not being threatened by the thoughts I needed to bounce off of you.

Thank you for letting me run my fingers through your hair even if it looked messy afterward.  I have a thing for really large brains with lots of wrinkles of knowledge.  I'm only part zombie after a long night and it soothes me.  (I needed the laugh and something I could read aloud to the kid next to me doing homework.) Honestly, there's something soothing about soft hair and the trust given when touching it.

Thank you for wanting constant contact, whether holding hands or an open palm on my lower back or holding onto my hip so I'm that much closer to you.  It might make walking awkward, but I loved it.

Thank you for insisting I lay with my head on your lap while you watched t.v. and I dozed off with you stroking my hair.

Thank you for not laughing when I eat Cheetos with chopsticks so I can avoid cheesy fingers.

Thank you for respecting my answer when I say I'm not ready to date.  I appreciate that you understand I might change my mind and are willing to wait for what you want to hear.  When that hunger is awakened, I assure you, my impulse control will go for a walk, and you will know in the looks I steal because your body will understand the hunger in my gaze. And I'm sure you can understand that you may never be the one.

Thank you for buying gifts even when I say it's not necessary, and even if it's a chocolate bar because you understand that eating chocolate gives me food joy, and you want to see my joy and hear the silly and sometimes sexual sounds that come with it.

Thank you for understanding that my "no" means I'm withholding from myself too and not giving me a hard time about rubbing one out on your own.  I appreciate that one more than I can explain.

Thank you for the calf rub that didn't come with a price or expectation.

Thank you for running a bath, then insisting I step into it.

Thank you for the moments we had, and not making promises you never intended to keep.

Thank you for that random post it note in my textbook.  I saw it right when my high started falling and I wondered if the night before was real.  It was real and it is still an awesome memory.

Thank you for cooking for me and inviting me to give you a hand.  I loved bumping into you and our messy hands and washing them together.  To this day, I find something so luxurious about washing hands in warm water. Thank you for that.

Thank you for seeing me as I am, and not as you thought I should be.

Thank you for letting me be in the moment where everything so beautiful around me put a pause in your day long enough for me to get a fix that would last as long as I can remember it.

Thank you for sharing my first with me. What ever firsts they were and as slowly as they needed to happen.

Thank you for letting me trust you with the restaurant and letting me be picky about what was on my plate.

Thank you for making things a game, and rewarding me in your silly laughter.

Thank you for driving so I could watch you in my creeptackular way, leaving indelible memories long after our goodbyes. I'll never forget the sun hitting your hair and filtering the brown into spun gold.  I was so excited that my first gray hair looked like yours did that day.

Thank you for believing in me when I couldn't see past my immediate failures.

Thank you for taking care of me when I was drunk and giving me your self control when I couldn't find mine.

Thank you for the flowers and that each arrangement was unique and worth drying. Thank you for remembering I don't like baby's breath and that they were for monthly anniversaries, holidays, and just because and never as an apology.

Thank you for never buying forgiveness from me.

Thank you for your gentle leadership and being amazing to children.

Thank you for your protective nature, even if I don't need it.  I like it.

Thank you for being the man I needed you to be.

Obsessive Observations of My Latest Crush Because He Was Hot (and so fun to watch)

February 24, 2016 I have a secret crush with too much impossibility to do more than look, knowing nothing will ever come of it.  It's enough to look and daydream without the pain of jealousy or putting myself out there.  Just a "hello" keeps me going.  Every once in awhile he gives me a look like I'm a bowl of ice cream and it's his cheat day and those looks might be in my head, but I love them.  When I met him he told me I looked like I'm in my mid twenties.  That compliment keeps me going. I spent the night trying to convince myself that you don't date people when you  are married and I did so out loud.  He separated the same month I did.  The way he said he was dating, with his petulant slouch and that look of not being broken . . . It has made the prospect so much more appealing than it was.  The daydreams in my head, and looking around for him at the office keep me going.  I like the little drops of attention because as much as I love myself, I can also admit I'm starved and in a desert of longing and lust.

February 25, 2016

Mr. Hot (and fun to look at) hasn't been looking at me.  Somehow I am not crushed and I know there will be a moment alone in the hallway or elevator lobby or even the kitchen where my gaze won't be averted and his voice will lower and he'll greet me and of course I will again obsess like I'm twelve. The 12 year old me has been a theme for this day.  Maybe 14.  She actually understood what was hot about a butt.

February 26, 2016

I saw Mr. Hot (and busy and please toss me a bone) a few times today.  A couple of times he very specifically averted his gaze from me.  He regularly walks past my desk with his face focused only on his phone and the path he walks is so beaten he doesn't need to look up as the rest of the office parts around him and flows back in his wake.  He walked within inches of me and I could have been a ghost as he was on his way to greet one of our Regional Managers for her birthday.  I would have joined in but wheat in my belly feels like food poisoning and there was fried chicken, dredged then fried potato wedges, and red velvet cake.  At one point as he strolled back to his corner office there was a direct look at my face and a friendly hello as he strolled past my desk.  Someone ask for hot melted butter? That was me today.

As I watched him not watch me, I wondered if his ignoring me is intentional.  I wondered if he knows how he strokes my puppy belly that craves his attention and he knows playing hard to get makes me obsess that much more. Or maybe he carefully metes out the attention he gives to everyone because I can honestly say he really is a nice person to everyone that works with him.  I wondered if maybe he's not as confident as he looks.  Maybe it takes real effort to focus on what he's going to say and do as he heads to the group he's about to join.  I thought about his subdued laugh, and tried to imagine him in high school.  I imagine he wasn't one of the popular jocks.  There's a slight self consciousness in his laugh and he has a focus that wouldn't exactly get him invited to parties.  It's a different game in college, naturally, but I think part of him includes the kid that learned to navigate where he didn't just fit in.  And he's really smart.  Smart kids rarely have time or social skills for cliques.  In talking about his son, he had a gentleness . . . a sensitivity that was sweet and heart melting. I then had to derail those thoughts because the point of this crush is he's a non person and it's only a physical attraction. It's supposed to be safe in that it won't go anywhere. That's the beauty of a one sided infatuation.

Toward the end of the day I was multitasking.  I had two tasks on different screens and databases I was working in, and the girls I sit with were discussing camping in tents and RV's.  I was on top of it all and pretty proud of my flexing brain power when he walked into the kitchen.  The kitchen is right next to my desk.  I'd seen his back and profile all day.  I'd seen his head and shoulders above the walls of our cubicles, but glancing over while multitasking I was gifted with a  full frontal view and didn't at any point today imagine how he would look from that direction in a soft and worn t-shirt.  I love the lines of his chest in a dress shirt, but in that t-shirt I could see the contrast of the soft material against his solid muscles. I was surprised at how graphic my thoughts became in what I wanted to do in that moment. I once heard a coworker tell me that yoga pants were God's gift to men.  I finally understand that.  Every thought in my mind disappeared and I realized Crossfit is God's gift to me. At that point my mind went blank.  There was no thought outside of how much I wanted to touch him and after a minute or two of realizing I had lost all train of thought, I lost it.  I couldn't help it.  I erupted into a fit of giggles and decided to just enjoy the moment of becoming a ball of lust and hormones. It took a while for me to calm down and focus, but I got through the day and that moment when I glanced into the kitchen will get me through the weekend.

Copied from Comfort Zones, dated February 26, 2016

I had a moment where my super busy crush opened a door for me and remarked at how much taller I looked today.  He didn't follow it with a comment about it being too tall or say anything negative, but he did notice.  In my mind I might have thought that I was still at the perfect height to kiss him but in reality I just said it was the shoes. And there goes that puppy with the belly rubs again.  If you're picturing a puppy piddling all over the place, dial it back a bit.  Not that much, but close.   It's nice to know that I've grown enough to not fall into easy patterns of behavior because I know I deserve better and I have no need to lower my standards for that puppy dog feeling. Besides, I get normal doses from my crush. He just has no clue.  I hope.  I can be pretty transparent.

February 27, 2016

He had this confidence when talking to the many people that worked for him.  He would practically run around the office, always in a hurry to be on top of everything.  His face was often fixed to his phone or he was on a call, pacing the paths around the office that lead along my desk.  His amused laugh was my favorite. It was subdued and lit up his eyes.

February 29, 2016

I've gotten a few random body language compliments from the man of my sexy day dreams and I find myself looking forward to those interactions because the man giving those Scooby snacks is easy on the eyes.  He could actually be a serial killer but I wouldn't know it because I'm more concerned with his beautiful packaging.  I do love that packaging though.

March 2, 2016

Of course leaving this job means I'll miss spying on Mr. Hot (and busy being in charge).  He was out yesterday and when he came in this afternoon and I heard his voice, my mind was drawn to him and all hope of remembering what I was in the middle of was gone. There wasn't a hello and that's okay. I'm torn right now.  On one hand, every excuse I gave myself to never intentionally flirt with him is gone.  I'm not going to be working with him.  At the same time, I wonder if it was divine intervention that would remove me from a huge mistake that I really wanted to make.  I still want to make it. This was my very first crush since I met my husband in 2000 because I was a faithful wife.  This was a combination of butterflies in my stomach and the raging ideas of a horny teenaged boy.  I don't know his moods and much about his personality but I seem to have a fine tuned ear for his voice, and I love the way he looks in a suit. Or jeans.  Or a t-shirt worn into softness and nearly threadbare.  If anything, daydreaming about him has helped me let go of the man who quit on me almost a year ago.  Does that make him my rebound and I can skip all of that sordid messiness?

March 2, 2016, post script

For a while I kept fantasizing what I would say to Mr. Hot (and doesn't wear an undershirt and I love that) if we ever got stuck in the elevator.  Today we ended up in the same elevator after work for the first time.  My mind was in overdrive as I kept thinking of the naughty ride in my head, but we were a party of three that turned into too many in the end.  The ride was uneventful, except for the looks of unspoken thoughts exchanged. It felt like there was a lot to be said between us, but we couldn't speak with our audience. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I will hold on to that. It's mine and it is also pretty epic.

Revisiting an obsession . . .

March 4, 2016

My short lived fear of looking for validation in relationships was eased when I realized that even with Mr. He's Hot (and I'm bothered), I was still at least trying to be professional.  And even then, it was a physical longing that I only allowed in his direction and mainly in my head. I really tried to keep my thoughts pure because anything that wasn't would make me giggle because being a 12 year old can be fun.

Sometime after March 4, 2016

In the last week or so when he was a short walk from me, there was one day that he ran several meetings, back to back.  I walked past the conference room and I could see it was an important meeting.  It wasn't in something I saw in the people listening to him but in his posture.  I spent a few weeks watching him so closely that this was different. He had the same command of the room as usual.  He didn't have the look of boredom, or rapt attention like I've seen many times.  He has an expressive face and his passion for what he does is often on it. It was a look of weariness, and a look of determination.  I could tell from the random looks in my direction that he was doing the best he could to get through his day and it wasn't something he enjoyed.  (I enjoyed him being in a place I could easily justify walking past.)  I could see a look I've had on my face when I was so busy being something for everyone else that I forgot to eat or take care of my needs.  The look on his face told me tough decisions were made and whether or not they were all his decisions, he was taking responsibility for them, and the weight of it was on his shoulders in a way that he was trying to protect those he was talking to.

There was an unforgettable look on his face the last time I saw him.  It was a hesitancy and a shy smile.  It was a moment of seeing uncertainty which I had rarely seen on him. It was almost like the final goodbye I had been preparing for was sudden and unfortunate to him.  It was a moment where I tried to memorize his smile, and the way his left eye squints a bit. I tried to memorize his laugh lines and slight dimples. His was a jawline I wanted to touch many times and being a hugger, it was a sad moment to know that was my last chance and I didn't have the boldness to take it.  I had spent a few days trying to convince myself that leaving was the best thing for me, and the rest of the elevator ride, and sitting in my car before heading home, I was suddenly so unsure of that and dreaded never seeing him again but it was tempered by the thought that the last time I saw him was almost a private show. At the end of the day, he's so much greater in my head than any of our interactions could justify.

How My First Crush in 16 Years Is All About Me

It's so easy to blow off the idea of a crush or crushing on someone because crushes are what I identified with as a teenager.  After marriage and kids and work and keeping a home running and the art of adulting, it seems insignificant. It's something I can't imagine having time for.  Actually, I can.  I have.  It was fun. And yes, I lost time in my lack of concentration because his presence made my mind go blank far too often.  I have been in the middle of something and when work doesn't get done, I prove I don't have time for it. Crushing something takes a whole and perfect object and adds pressure to the point that something fundamental is released and changed and the modification can not be undone.  If you crush a grape - a very specific grape for wine making and not table grapes - you release it's juices and let it ferment.  The decaying of the grape, with special enzymes and time are what make a wine.  It's a process that has to be completed or it's unusable. Let it go for too long and alter the conditions required and the wine becomes vinegar which has a unique purpose, but I wouldn't ever advise sipping it. I tried it for a little while and even if it's diluted apple cider vinegar, it's just not worth it. It's the same with a friendship that crushes it's existence into something more.  How do you go back? I don't know that you can.

I think the process of living is in itself a form of a crush.  We go through experiences mired in trials that transform us and going back is impossible sometimes.

I've had lots of crushes in my life.  My first three or four long term relationships were guys that grew on me until I was obsessed and determined to make their kisses mine.  I tend to be a nice person that takes more than she deserves and gives more than she probably should.  Call it my lack of boundaries, or an inability to decide I deserve more than they are capable of giving me. It always started with physical attraction and then I got lost in what their favorite everything is, without really paying attention to me and loving myself first and best. My infatuation crushed who I was and wanted to be.

I didn't have a crush on my husband.  At first I was insulted that he didn't call me when I gave him my number.  On our first date, I was surprised that we had a conversation and he wasn't trying to see how far I'd let him go.  At some point the rightness of him settled around me. With him, I just knew. There were no butterflies, just a new feeling that we were aligned with destiny. I wanted to be with him all of the time and the love blossomed and filled my entire being.  Fifteen years is a long time to be wrong, so I want to believe we stayed together long enough to create and gain what we were meant to. I was content in our lives but the understanding of my joy lately tells me I was there too long and he saved us from existing and released me into living.  I'm not surviving.  I'm thriving.  He taught me to speak up for myself and helped me stop my boozing and smoking and promiscuous ways. He healed my brokenness and rewrote my Daddy issues.  I can always thank him for making me better, but I also believe we stopped making each other grow, and started piling burdens on each other instead of nurturing each other in love, grace, patience and understanding.  Without that laundry list, it was just laundry and undefined comfort in expected routines.

I love my current crush for it's frivolity.  I love the excitement and butterflies.  I love picking out then changing outfits a few times each morning instead of rolling out of bed and throwing on whatever isn't stained too badly.  I like the way my ear picks up on his voice and I have a silly smile on my face whenever he looks my way.  Today, very loudly throughout the office, he mentioned that I'm always smiling.  A friend in the know giggled and laughed with me and if my skin wasn't such a warm chocolate, you may have seen me blush but I felt the heat flush through my chest up to the roots of my hair.

The crushing in my infatuation was the slow walk over the last vestiges of commitment toward my husband.  In the liminal spaces of longing looks, I've given myself permission to look for another man's face and I've started longing to hear someone else's voice and it is not about betrayal or pain, but a birthing of pleasures in a new life and with a new freedom.  He isn't just a person I find extremely attractive.  He is my first crush in over 16 years. He symbolizes the first steps of determination from a future I didn't want and was terrified of.  I took that step after denying that possibility for so long and I find it's a meadow filled with California poppies and a blanket and I can lay as long as I want to, looking at the wispy clouds and feeling the warmth of the sun as it kisses my sorrows into oblivion and hope is restored for a future I can finally see myself in. The clouds part and gather to give shade in tandem with warm winds and it's amazing.

There was a crushing and I know I can never go back.  It's not about my crush. It's not about starting or finishing something with him. It's not even about my husband. My crush is about me and I don't want to uncrush this grape.  It can't be restored. The process has been started and the enzymes were added.  Given enough time, this wine will be full bodied and fruity and pair well with dessert.  Second helping please.  With brie and fig preserves please. Okay, and maybe a naked crossfit body, please.