play the hand you're dealt

I love to fly, but I hate being on the plane. I was fine until I rode on a prop plane to Key West from the Gulf Coast. It had twelve seats on it. Twelve. I was hung over, which is normal because my vacations generally start the moment I leave work. (Sometimes weekends are like that as well.) It was the most miserable flight of my life. All I could do was look through the window at the water below and realize I had absolutely no control over my surroundings. Powerlessness is not an emotion I wear well.

Now I self-medicate before stepping foot on a plane, arriving at the airport with ample time to get a few wines in my system before take-off. I might have been known to chase them with a Lortab or two. Everyone appreciates the induced coma, most especially me.

So, when I arrived home from The Mile High City I was a tad foggy. I am a notorious over packer, and had also done too much shopping. My suitcases were stuffed, and I was not looking forward to carrying the bags myself. (One reason it’s nice to travel with a man.) There were three. One for each day I was there, essentially. The first two bags come out promptly – one to go. The carousel took forever to come around, and as I waited at the opposite end, I heard the snickers follow its movement. The last of the luggage turns the corner and comes into sight. And there they were, SLOWLY, AGONIZINGLY, making their way past me. Pink panties. Pink thong panties. MY pink thong panties. Then another pair of blue thong panties. Then a shoe. The left shoe of my favorite pair of brown, wedge 4” heel sandals. The pair that I wear with almost every casual mini, match up great with jeans, and make my legs look fucking awesome.

Did I wear those panties? How many people are still watching? I sink to my heels, feign disinterest, and chuckle under my breath, hopefully conveying to those standing near me my sympathy for the poor girl who lost her panties. Do I know anyone here? Are there any cute men around? Are they period panties? How can I inconspicuously retrieve my shoe? Panties are quite replaceable. Those shoes were not. Following my personal effects comes my duffel bag, the side zipper gaping open. I cannot retrieve it either, without drawing attention to myself. I can wait for it to go to the lost luggage place and claim it there. This would reduce my humiliation to one or two airport employees who will never lay eyes on me again. I could pay to have it mailed to me. But then someone else will have to remove my possibly worn panties from the conveyor belt. Not acceptable. More importantly, there was a chance the shoe wouldn’t make it back into the bag without my attention. Wait a minute. I will never see these people again. Buck up, little bronco. I wait for the bag, and its innards, to reach the very end of the belt, rise, and march over, swiping up panties in my left hand without breaking stride, pulling the other two bags awkwardly behind me on my right. After stuffing the shoe and undergarments into the open pocket, I raise my head high and stalk out, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. I was actually quite proud of myself when I reached the car because I had forced myself to wear a slight smile, laughing at the foolishness of everyone else. Everyone has panties, what’s so humorous about these?

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized the second shoe wasn’t in the bag either.

deep sixed

I know things have been moving very fast. I took the plunge and told the other gentlemen that I was seeing someone exclusively, and that the dynamic of our relationship, or lack thereof, would have to change. (I like to be honest. And I didn't want a scene if we ran into anyone. Proactive, not reactive - that's me.) This is a big deal for me. The Agent has met the friends, my parents are aware of his existence, and Kid is enthralled with him. It's been almost 3 weeks. We had a conversation last night re Kid, and parenting. It went well. It's amazing how well he fits the mold of what I am looking for. We talk for hours. Did I mention he's trilingual? Hot.

The other gentlemen didn't take it as well as I would have liked. He told me he was happy for me, but seemed bitter, and couldn't resist throwing it in my face that I said I didn't want a relationship. I'm not sure if he was expecting an explanation, or an apology, or what. I offered neither. I am aggravated that he had the audacity to attempt a guilt trip. We had some fun times, but that was it. I never led him to belive anything more was going on - to the point of absolute bluntness. I think he was being deliberately obtuse. I am tempted to terminate the friendship entirely, but feel that would be a tad juvenile. Hopefully he'll faze himself out. Although he has shown no talent towards self-preservation thus far. No self-repecting man would behave as he has. Man up, for Chirst's sake!

water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink

The resort town I live in has a gourmet deli/grocery that opens at o'dawn thirty. It is THE place to stock up on groceries for your week in paradise, and the only grocery within walking or biking distance. Upon arrival in this lovely beach town of million dollar homes, folks make this their first stop to buy wine, cheese, and olives to be set out at "happy hour," which begins promptly on their balconies at four o'clock, even though they've been secretly sipping wine or whiskey all day. This exchange was observed by a girlfriend at 6am:

Man approaches checkout with small basket of items. Basket contains only:
1. box of super size tampons
2. 3 pack of condoms, lubricated and ribbed
3. giant bottle of Astroglide lube

Payment occurs in silence, after which he inquires, panicked, "Can you tell me where the nearest liquor store is?"

Get your vacation on, buddy.

the way to a man's heart is thru his stomach

And by stomach, I mean blow jobs.

This has to be an all time record for me. I went from a man who took five years to finally make me understand that he didn't want a lifetime committment/real relationship to a man who offers a key to the house on our two week anniversary. And I shouldn't even be calling it an anniversary, that's inane. He hasn't even met my people yet. After.Two.Weeks. I should consider this one of those red flags, I know, (and probably will, in retrospect) but I must admit, it is so nice to be with a man who isn't afraid to say what he wants. And wants the same things as I. Mostly. I told my girls, "Don't ever let me go to Vegas with him, because I will come back married." It would not take much persuasion I'm afraid, which is nuts because I never had an allfired desire or need to get married before I met him. I was quite content living my life, being single, dating around....It has been something I wanted, but in the not too distant future.

Is this what They mean when They say that a man isn't ready to committ until he meets the girl he's ready to committ to? Only I'm the guy?