A couple quick things first.
1) I’m still in touch with the Police. The Sarge, who I now love, said she is having trouble locating exactly who was driving that car. The car is coming up as one of theirs, but she said it could be her station or another station. I told her the car was parked outside 7-11 again, this time in a real spot, but with no officer nearby, and that it’s definitely a cop car. She has to do more checking around then she will get back with me today. Something interesting – he was in a light blue uniform, as opposed to the normal dark blue, which she said means he could be from another overlying district. Anyway, I’m in limbo. I don’t think I’m getting the runaround, I think this guy probably isn’t from her station and she can’t quickly figure out who it is.
2) I got an email from one Virgile Kent yesterday. He attached pictures from his camera from the infamous night at Eye Bar. I continue to be amazed at the things that happened that night of which I have no recollection. Those pictures contain proof that apparently someone, and I’m not naming names (Cough, me) may have shown some things on camera normally reserved for the occasional boyfriend and the inside of my bra. So, I told my boss about it. Convo mode.
Boss: This night is sounding more and more like someone slipped you the date rape drug.
Velvet: Why would someone do that?
Boss: Um…I think you know.
Velvet: Yeah, but whoever he was I would have probably had sex with him anyway, so why bother drugging me? Besides, my jeans are so tight that you would almost need me to be conscious to help get them off.
Laughter and head shaking from boss.
That was tongue in cheek people. Try not to take it seriously. Well, the tight jeans part is true. Every time I go to buy jeans and come out of the dressing room the girl says, “They are too big. Get a smaller size. They stretch out a lot.” And I reply, “Are you sure? Because I think they just pushed my hips so close together that I may not be able to deliver any children by the standard method.”
This morning on my walk with the loves of my life, some construction worker leaned out the window of his truck and did the catcall whistle at me. How cliche. But, living in the city, I haven’t had that happen to me in, well, a long ass time. I round the corner and attempt to cross the street and Thora just stops in the middle of the road. I turn around and say, “Thora, come on, you can’t stop there.” There is a guy passing us, going in the other direction, and he turns around and says to Thora, “If you don’t want to go with the pretty lady, then you can go where I’m going and I’ll go home with her.”
Hmmph. Had I temporarily lost my mojo and somehow got it back?
So it got me thinking – about all the kinds of men and experiences I’ve had with them. Then I came up with an analogy. It applies to women too but for my purposes we’re going to just use men as the example.
Meeting and learning about a man is like peeling an onion. There’s the outside layer, which is the barrier, and not very easy to get through. It’s dry and crusty and not very inviting. Sometimes you really have to try hard to penetrate it. Once you are inside, you have to peel the layers back. Sometimes there’s dirt between the layers and you have to decide, “Is this worth washing or should I just toss it out?” Sometimes the layers are deep and the onion gets juicier, the more you dig, the better it gets. Or, you can dig and find out that some of the layers are rotting – from the inside out. You can ultimately get to the core, and, well, there could be a giant game of twister going on in there, proving that you’ve wasted your time, or the core of the onion could end up being the sweetest part, and totally worth plowing through.
Is the guy who hung out the window of his truck to whistle at me an onion with a lot of layers? Probably not. What you see is what you get with that type, he wears his heart on his sleeve and tells people what he thinks when he’s thinking it.
I’ve not gotten past a layer or two in the last year of dating. And if I have, there’s a bunch of dirt in there. I’ve tried, and maybe I’m ready to try again. At least, during the rain storm, when the clouds cleared, I thought, “Hmm. It would be funny to have a bad date to write about.”
But it would be even better to have a good one.