The calls, emails and good vibes sent out to the universe did nothing. Precisely nothing.
I hadn't heard from the job in the last two weeks, was giving up all hope, and figured I'd start anew with my other job leads and maybe even take the shitty job with the beverage distribution company. "Hey," I reasoned, "one of the industries that is always safe in an economic downturn is booze." And don't I know it? I haven't been hitting the bottle in this latest upset, but have been known to do so in the past.
Le sigh.
But then yesterday, a crappy day by all accounts, a day I wasn't even going to check email because of other more pressing issues, I happened to check my email and -- le shock! -- what to my wondering eyes should appear but an email from the job I'd been obsessing about for the past fortnight.
I figured it was just a blow-off email. The "hey, thanks for interviewing, but we found someone else, so kindly piss off," variety. I opened it.
I have a second interview scheduled tomorrow at 1:30 pm, mountain time. Good vibrations and thoughts and feelings (and praying if you do that sort of thing) around that time would be much appreciated.
I come today to my three (or so) readers with a very important query. First, a little background.
I interviewed for a job. A great job, one that I would love going to every day. It was a great, great, GREAT interview.
I know it was great because they said so, and hinted that I would be brought in for a second interview. Then sent me follow up questions, and complimented me on my answers.
Since then, total radio silence.
Now.
I'm not a desperate man. Not really. However, I am a bit worried that I've been bypassed by another candidate, and they haven't called or written because... well I don't know why.
If it were you, and you needed to get a job (soon), would you call the place that hadn't been in touch in two weeks to see what the status is?
I'm moving away from the relationship-y stuff and moving towards more of a job-seeker thing, which makes sense now that my relationship is fine (and moving forward) and my job seeking is in full force (since I was laid off last month). So I'll be posting my trials and tribulations here on SVW.
First, a little background. In one month, I've applied for over 20 openings. I've received one interview. It went well, and I strongly believe I'm the best candidate they have. However, that was more than a week and a half ago, and I haven't heard a word since then. So I'm freakin' out.
I have to call today to Western Bev, which may or may not have a job opening for me to discuss. Should be interesting. If nothing else it will allow me to sort of stretch my mind muscle and learn a little something about beverage distribution, something I know very little about.
And then at my phone. To see if she's called. Or texted.
The answer is still the same. No.
I'm losing track of time, losing my mind at the same time.
I know I get to see her tomorrow. I know this. And it brings me a lot of comfort.
But at the same time... having not seen her since last Tuesday night... and not having talked to her since late Saturday night -- a conversation that I barely remember, and actually thought I had dreamed when I awoke Sunday -- I'm literally aching to hear her voice... aching to hold her hand, to wrap my arms around her and hug her. Each night, I fall asleep wishing she was next to me, arms wrapped tightly around a spare pillow; it is the only way I can fall asleep.
I'm scared. Scared of what is keeping her from calling. Scared of what she'll reveal when she returns.
Please send any spare positive vibes and feelings my way. I need all I can get.
Seems like such a cliche, but the truth is this: She's been gone a full week (as of tonight), and it feels quite literally like an eternity. I've had my ups and my downs, but right now I'm just wishing for a phone call or a text... ANYTHING to let me know that she's willing to take a moment out of her day and her vacation to get in touch with the man who loves her more than life itself.
I haven't heard from her since Saturday night. I am nonplussed.
I'm a buoyed by the fact that she returns tomorrow night, that I'll likely hear from her sometime tomorrow (when she lands in Houston, I hope), and that I'll be the one waiting for her, with open arms and a grin on my face, when she steps off that escalator at Denver International.
And as my friend Lysa said today, "Just love her. Unconditionally."
Called me yesterday, international long distance be damned, during the day, and just chatted. Talked about how much she was missing me... talked about how much she wished I was there... talked about how things were going, hinted that the ex was being something of a douchebag... made me feel really, really great.
And then, late last night, called me again. She woke me up, but I could not have cared less about that; I was thrilled to hear her voice. Just repeated how much she loved me. She was drunk, and had been at the discotek, but "couldn't wait" to get back to the room and call me.
My friend Patrick is brilliant. More than that he's compassionate, and has a way with words that can easily calm me when I need it.
I'm bursting to hear from Maggie, who is currently in Mexico with a skeevy douchenozzle of an ex boyfriend for the wedding of his brother to her friend from college. And just as I'm going to explode, Patrick calms me down.
And I quote, "dude. Guru Patrick figures that at this point it is out of your control. just have a drink, shut her out and think/meditate inwardly until she's back in town."
Dammit, he's right. I'm going to pour myself another Vodka, smoke a cig, and start meditatin' like a motherfucker.
Who knew? Remember how I talked about having drinks with MC, the girl I met on New Years Eve that seemed really cool, but with whom I didn't see much (if any) future? And remember how I talked about how we were going to have drinks, and how it was going to be a disaster? And remember how I promised to get you tickets?
Admit one.
Holy shit, she's crazy. No, that's not strong enough. She's beyond crazy. She's overwhelmingly crazy. We met up at the Cherry Cricket, and I'm thinking, if all else fails, at least I'll get a damn good burger out of the deal. I apologize for disappearing (an SDW staple since I started being interested and then suddenly disinterested in women), we drink some, then eat some apps and go back to her place to watch a movie. I'm trying to keep it cool, not tip my hand, not give her any indication that I'm crazy about her, that I really want to date her... telling her all along that it's important that we take things slow, because I get freaked out easily, and just need to get comfortable at each stage of being with someone. She seemed cool, until we put the (shitty) movie on, and suddenly, she's climbing all the fuck over your boy. Just grabbin' and pullin' and strippin' and strippin' me... and 10 minutes later, she starts turning off lights, telling me it's time for bed.
Emergency.
I don't want to sleep with this girl, but I'm drinking and feeling pretty good and... you know, what's another notch in the old belt?
(Let me just pause right here: Ladies, I have mad, MAD respect for you. You women who respect yourself and do the right thing, keep your heads up and your legs closed, I respect and love you. This woman is not in your exclusive club. And MY thing is, I felt like I was being used too... that is a road that goes both ways. If she really wanted to schtuup me, even after the conversation we'd just had... I mean, isn't that on her? Or at least partially on her? At one point do I get to shed the "womanizer/mysogynist" label? Aren't women responsible for their own actions, too?)
We go upstairs to her bedroom. She's taking my clothes off like crazy, giving me all sorts of lines like "after 8:30, pants aren't allowed in the bedroom," and "take your shirt off, or it'll be all wrinkled." Lame stuff that, with the right delivery (read: mine) can actually get you somewhere.
Before I knew it, I'm down to my shorts and layin' on the bed, while she takes her clothes off. She's dancing to the music on her iTunes, but she has no rhythm, and it's decidedly... not... hot... at all... not even a little.
The rest of the night is just something of a blur. She's on top of me, she's dancing on top of me, she hops off of me to change the song or fuck around with her dogs, then she's back on top of me again. All in all, I felt really fucking uncomfortable.
I was not feeling it anymore.
I got up. Started putting on my clothes. And I bailed.
She was disappointed, but as the Conchords taught us, A Kiss is Not a Contract.
Just because you been explorin' my mouth doesn't mean you get to take an expedition further south.
I don't know what she did after I left, because I haven't called her or heard from her since that night. Based on the evening as a whole, I would guess that upon my exit she filled a bathtub with her own feces and rolled around with it.
Bitch is crazy.
Lesson learned: if a girl comes up to ME at a bar, and is suddenly and immediately interested, in ME, something is completely wrong with HER.
Other stuff: Maggie is still in the picture. She and I had a great weekend together in Denver, and she leaves Wednesday for a wedding in Mexico, where her friend from college is marrying the brother of an ex of hers. Yes, he'll be there. Fuck.
The 20 year old is still sniffing around. I had to lie to her about a family emergency to avoid hanging out with her this weekend. I need to end that. Immediately.
Rebecca (formerly Becky) is out of the picture completely. Almost had a meltdown Saturday night when heading to the Highlands in North Denver with Maggie, and we're turning into a parking lot, and... there's Rebecca (formerly Becky), walking right across where I'm trying to pull into this lot, and she looked into the car, and I swear to god she looked right at me... but didn't give anything away. I've tried to IM her once, and got no response. She's probably wicked pissed, and that's fine... it wouldn't work anyway. And I don't have time to be wasting evenings and money with women who are not going to be anything close to working out.
So if you're keeping track at home: Sam and MC - Off. Sam and Rebecca (formerly Becky) - Off. Sam and 20 year old - off. Sam and Maggie - On.
The fella over at Introducing Liston (I believe his name is, ah, er... Liston) found this gem. Check it out for a Wednesday chuckle. Introducing Liston
*Disclaimer: I'm drunk. Very drunk. It's 6:35 on a Tuesday evening and I'm hammered. Now, while this might lead you to wonder what got me here, let's not focus on that at the moment. The following stream of consciousness thought is brought to you by Vodka.*
first, why am I here? There has been one major shift in my life, and I wonder if it's affecting (effecting?) everything in my life. My band broke up. Truthfully? My band kicked me out. Band kicks out the lead singer. Does that really happen? Oh my, yes.
Losing the band, while it seems trivial to some, has affected (effected?) me greatly. I have no outlet. I have no distraction. From life. From everything. From job. From girlfriend. I have no way for me to really express myself, which I think is the biggest thing that I miss. You can see it, and it must be very transparent, every time I watch a movie or a show wherein someone is a creative person, writing music or lyrics or both... and I say, "Man, I wish I played piano/guitar/flute, and man, I wish I had a band." It's awful. I think that's where Maggie and I begin having our (numerous) problems. When she met me, I was the frontman (that's fancy-speak for a singer) for a mildly successful local band. Our second date was at one of our fucking shows, at the fucking Fox Theatre in fucking Boulder, for Fuck's sake! Was she impressed? OF COURSE she was fucking impressed. And now? Now, I have nothing to impress her with. And that's not self-deprication for the sake of self-deprication. This is fact: I am not the same person she met and fell in love with. I am responsible.
Now how awful is that?
Now, not only do I not have a band, but i haven't written a lyric in six fucking months. The last three songs I wrote were about Maggie, and now I feel so numb to the idea of writing that i can't do it. Not even on my blog, for the two people that actually read my blog. How awful is that?
THAT, my friends, THAT is awful.
So that's where I am.
Maggie Chronicles: we're not together. It pains me every waking moment, truthfully. This isn't a matter of being with "someone" as it has been with Lauren, and to a lesser extent, Jenny. This is a matter of being with HER, with MAGGIE, with the one that I'm fucking crazy about. I've been with others. I've seen others, kissed others. It's not the same. I don't know how to explain that. Here's the rundown:
Josie: The person I met when Maggie and I first started our "break." She's very nice, we have great conversations, she is attractive, smart, funny. Ultimately, we don't fit. Don't know why. A few kisses here and there. We did not have sex.
Rebecca (Becky): Went to high school with Becky (now Rebecca). Rebecca was my editor at the high school paper. Rebecca (then Becky) fired me from the paper and failed me for the class. We went out to drinks, got drunk, and ended up making out. I came over to her new house and played Cable Guy, setting up her television. We took part in some heavy petting. We did not have sex.
MC (name redacted because it is somewhat unique and will show up in a Google search if I include it here, and I'm looking to protect the innocent): Lovely girl, met her on new years. Maggie was in Texas, working for an old friend on his farm. Blah. Hit on me. Danced with me. Enjoyed my company. Gorgeous, funny, interesting, LOUD. Eats sushi. Has two dogs, one of whom snores (fucking pugs. Seriously. if you have to have your nasal passages snaked upon birth, you do not deserve to live. There, I said it.), but has large breasts and no interest in having children. So there's no long term potential. I will be seeing her for happy hour tomorrow. Should be a complete disaster; I'll get you tickets.
Kim: Young. Too young. WAY too young. What the fuck am I doing here? Am I just falling, grabbing on to any (large) breasts that I can grab on the way down? Am I desperate? She's fun to fool around with and fun to drink with (illegally -- sorry, everyone), but... fuck me, she's 20 years old! I'm going to be 30 before she's 21! Is this okay? At all? Probably not. Cancelled plans with her this evening because there's no fucking way that can happen. And also because the *real* love of my life called me and reminded me that there's a dinner in her boyfriend's honor tonight. Shoot me. In the balls.
So that's that. And there's still Maggie in the picture. So.
Fuck me.
And of course, I just watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," which made me think that A) perhaps Maggie tried forever to get me where she wanted me to be, and B) maybe Maggie is in fact the devil. Should be an interesting couple of months here.
Any insight you three readers could give me would be appreciated.
What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?
