Catching Up

So, hello blogdience. I'm back - did, um, you know I was gone? Probably not - but, hey, here's today's entry.

As you know, my friend Mike moved away. So, now that Mike is gone, I'm not really looking to date. At the same time, I'm not necessarily NOT looking to date, either.

A few weeks ago, an old aquaintance and I ran into each other at an outdoor concert. I caught up on his life, he caught up on mine ...

We've met three times since then - tonight being the third time. Here's how I'm feeling on it.

Torn. On the one hand, I don't feel a drastic, dreadful NEED to see him or hang out with him. However, when I am with him, I feel very comfortable, very serene ... and in relationship to my past relationships: BO-Ring. Although our excursions have been anything but.

Our first excursion was to the Gay Pride parade, at which we ended up on the float that his company had in the parade. Our next excursion was the next week, when he stopped by my work just as I was finishing up for the day to tell me he was just laid off - could I go walk with him for a while so he can process that?

Both excursions were kind of like walking into a minefield for me. Big emotion, big expectation, I guess. He asked me out for tonight, and I was kind of like ... eh. Ok.

Tonight we went to a concert at a neighborhood festival. And tonight was really nice. We sat on the grass and listened to the music and just talked. Conversation flowed easily, we laughed, we chilled. It was a really ... nice night.

But, it's been bothering me: Why does he want to hang out with me? He's had to have noticed that I am about, oh, I don't know, fifty pounds heavier than the last time he saw me. In fact, it could even be sevently pounds more - I got down to 180 when I knew him before, and if I'm at 243 now ... In my experience, that's got to gross a guy out. I mean, there's no way he could want anything to do with me. I'm horrendous. I'm an embarrassment. So why the phone calls? Why the invites out?

I want to do like Oprah in her Chicago interview and say, "I'm overweight you know." But I'm stopping myself from bringing up anything about weight. I'm trying to just be and allow.

So, we're sitting in the back of the crowd, on a little bit of a hill, and he lays down. I'm sitting up, and we're talking. Then, I decide, OK. Let's just let this happen. I lay down too. We continue talking, and then: he gently takes and holds my hand.

I am absolutely shocked. The only thing I keep thinking is that the people walking by must be thinking: uch. What is that guy (he's quite tall and thin) doing with that fucking hulk of a woman?

That was it. That was my thought. Not "oh, this is nice." or "oh how sweet." I wanted to pull my hand out of his to spare him the embarrassment of having touched me in public.

But I didn't. I just stayed with the hand holding.

But it bothered me immensely. I mean, really - his even being seen in public with me goes against EVERY THING I KNOW OF HOW MEN RELATE TO WOMEN. No joke. Everything I know is that a man will marry a thin woman, and a thin woman only. And if that woman goes and gets fat during the marriage ... well, you can't divorce a woman for getting fat. But you can divorce yourself from any public assocation with her; ie, dancing, hugging, or generally claiming her as your own to anyone who doesn't know any better. You just kind of meet her at the car at the end of the night, drive home in silence, and fuck her at three in the morning, when it's the darkest of the dark of night, thus the least amount of visibility.

God what depressing thoughts. Ich. I don't even want to read about these horrible thoughts.

So, back with Tom on the grass holding my hand. After staring up at the sky for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, I had to ask. I mean, he's holding my hand, a guy doesn't hold a girl's hand who he just wants as a card playing partner.

I turn to him, and I say, "So, why do you want to hang out with me?"

He looks at me, a little stunned, kind of laughs, and says, "You look at me so sternly as you say that: 'WHY do you want to be with me?'"

I laugh a little, and say, "Well. ... Why?"

He looks at me and says, "Well, because I like hanging out with you. You're pretty. And you're easy to be around."

I scoff a little, I'm skeptical, and quite honestly, a lot of people find me easy to be around. Rather, I should say, I don't consider that to be much of a magical experience. I say, "Well, a lot of people find me easy to be around. That's not necessarily anything special you and I have exclusively together."

He accepts my comment, and says, "I'm into the hang time right now. The sex, the physical part of it, if the hang time is good, the sex will be good too. I just want to be able to have somebody that I like being with. And I like being with you."

I look back up at the sky, taking that in. I register how nice it feels to simply be holding hands. His hand is warm, the feeling is nice. I am still uncomfortable with what other people must think, but he seems so fine with it that I decide maybe I shouldn't care. He doesn't care. And maybe ... maybe nobody else cares either.

I don't say anything. He says, "Do you not like holding my hand?"

I say, no it's nice.

He says, teasingly, but he's fishing for my response; "Is it too much, too fast, too weird, too gross ... "

I laugh and say no. I turn back and say, "I'm trying to just be with it and not overanalyze it."

He looks at me with complete sincerity and says, "I think that's just right."

And then we lay there, just looking up at the night sky, holding hands.

That's it for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.