Improving my grade

As I was getting home from work on Friday night, I received a phone call from a friend of mine to tell me that he was in the hospital. While he was reluctant to give details of his hospitalization over the phone, the message was loud and clear: a week prior to that he had attempted to take his own life. I'm not going to talk about his reasons and his method; those are his own and it's not my place to share that with the world. He is alive, he is still with us, and he's hurting like hell, but he is still here.

This situation has made me aware of what a really bad friend I am. I had absolutely no idea that he was going through the things that he was going through. When Edgar and I visited him in the hospital on Saturday, he told us about a myriad of things that have been compounding over the last year that brought him to his breaking point, and in the back of my head there was this little voice going I had no idea. I once had a friend that jokingly told me "You get an F in calling people back." I can't even remember what friend it was (BECAUSE I'M THAT BAD AT BEING A FRIEND), and while it was meant as a joke, it was totally right. I'm notoriously bad at answering my phone. Usually because it's buried at the bottom of my purse, and if I'm not in the same room with said purse, I'm not going to hear the phone ring. Or sometimes I'll hear the phone ring but I'll be all "Hmmph, I'm comfortable right now, I'm not getting up. If it's important they'll leave a message." And later I'll listen to the message, but if it isn't life or death, the likelihood of me returning that call is very slim. Not that I don't care, but I'm lazy. I'd much rather be reading a book or curled up on the couch with my husband watching TV than talking on the phone. My parents, once Edgar and I had moved in together, often started calling his cell phone whenever they wanted to talk to me because they knew that Edgar would answer.

Because it's easy. It's easier to not make the effort than it is to work on a friendship. I always hear people say that "Relationships are hard work"; I'll admit to finding this expression ridiculous in the past. My relationship with Edgar has always felt effortless. We don't work on our marriage. Or at least if we are working on it, it doesn't feel like work. Yes, we've had to work through hard times together, but it was always the circumstance, not the relationship, that needed the work. But I'm beginning to see that this expression, at least in my life, doesn't apply to the relationship in my marriage--it applies to my relationships with my friends.

I have very few friends. I have one friend from when I lived in Indiana that I still keep in touch with, and even that is very sporadic. Not because we don't like each other anymore, not because we've had a falling out, just because I GET AN F AT CALLING PEOPLE BACK. I only really have one friend in California, and seeing as his life was so bad that he wanted to end it and I didn't even know about it, I guess you could say that I SUCK AS A FRIEND. Whenever Edgar and I have people over, it's his friends that we're seeing. Edgar doesn't suck as a friend.

I think that making friends as an adult is hard. Once you're out of school and you're in a professional environment and you're out of the world where it's ok to stay out until 2 every night drinking, you don't really get to meet a lot of new people that are of the friendship material. Not without putting out the effort. And even with the effort it's still hard. Where do you make these friends, the friends that you can invite over for dinner, or go shopping with, or catch a movie with on a Saturday afternoon?

So here is my goal: to be a better friend. To be a better daugther, a better sister. To call people back. To answer the phone. To put forth the effort.

And I'm getting my first chance. Our friend will be staying with Edgar and I once he is released from the hospital while he starts to put his life back together. It's obviously not a permanent situation, since we live in a one bedroom apartment (even though it's spacious with the loft) and will very soon be trying to have a baby. He'll probably be racing to get out of there after a few weeks; three adults, 1 bathroom, 2 cats, 1 litterbox. Fiyero will likely not be pleased with having to share his domain with another cat. I talk too loud. The parking is bad. But now is the time to start being that friend that I should have been all along. It's time to stop caring from afar and to actually do something besides listen to a voicemail. It's time to help.

I win

WARNING: This post is going to be about how awesome my husband is, so if you don't want to read it, or you're already sick of reading about how awesome he is, stop now. See? I'm friendly. I care. I watch out for you.

We had a work-sponsored happy hour yesterday at an El Torito Grill near the office. There are only two men that work in my office, and one of them was hesitant to RSVP last week because he didn't want to be so outnumbered by the girls. Spouses/significant others were welcome, so I told him I would bring my husband to help even up the score. Both of the guys in my office ended up not being able to go at the last minute, so Edgar, my wonderful, understanding, caring husband Edgar, had to be the only male at an all-girl happy hour. Poor guy.

I felt so bad for him, but he was so great. That man could make friends with anyone. I got nothing but good reports today from my co-workers, telling me how nice my husband was and how funny he was and how they were so happy I brought him.

My husband totally kicks the ass of any other husband.

You never know

I met Edgar on October 3rd, 2006, having arrived in California merely days earlier on September 30th. It was the day before my first day of work in my new office, having relocated over two thousand miles from home. I had my roommate, Jason, as well as an uncle, aunt, and two cousins 70 miles away. That was all.

I remember the first time I saw him. Jason and I had stopped by the office so that he could show me how to get there and we could find our desks and meet our bosses. Jason was to be Edgar's supervisor, and their desks were located very close to one another. He was standing up, talking across the low cubicle wall to the person at the desk that faced his. He was wearing a button down shirt with the cuffs rolled up. His hair was longer than it is now. We didn't speak, but a smile was exchanged and I remember thinking "Hmmm, he's definitely the cutest guy in this office." I would find out later that his thoughts at that time were "Hmmm, nice ass."

The next two months were spent in a holding pattern. As employees of a call center we were chained to our phones, only released from those shackles for brief reprieves in order to pee and socialize for a few minutes with others. On my breaks I usually found my way over to Jason's desk, happily sparing a smile to Edgar whenever our eyes would meet. Our normal encounters happened on the phone; he was a part of the 'escalation team,' so whenever some bitchy ass caller wouldn't listen to me and wanted to speak with a supervisor, I called the escalation queue. And always got him. The universe was already trying to tell me something. THANK YOU, UNIVERSE. Every time he would answer he'd be all "Jeez, you again?"

He enjoyed those calls as much as I did.

During that time there was a subdued amount of flirting going on. He would sometimes stop on his way out in the afternoon to talk to another employee whose cubicle was next to mine, and that's when I spotted the Steelers lunchbox. Ouch. Being born and raised in Indiana, I am an Indianapolis Colts fan, and at the time was still smarting from the playoff loss in the divisional round to the Steelers the previous season. The Steelers had gone on to win the Super Bowl, and were currently floundering through their Super Bowl hangover while the Colts were tearing through the season that would end in their own Super Bowl ring. It allowed for some good natured ribbing and would ultimately lead us into our first date.

At the end of November, Edgar scored a promotion to be a supervisor in another department, a move that also landed him in a different office. On his last day, his friends in the office had a going-away party for him at a Dave & Buster's near the office. Jason was going, and since we carpooled together, I was going too. While discussing the impending plans for the evening, another employee involved in the conversation informed me that Edgar was engaged and cheating on his fiancee with another girl in the office. Considering my history with men, I was not phased by this (shockingly untrue) revelation.

I pleasantly found out while we were out that evening that he was not, in fact, engaged; he had recently come off of a three year relationship that ended badly. Score one for Amanda. The 'other woman' story hadn't been resolved yet, but hey, no ring, no problems. Edgar and I clicked from the beginning. He was visibly impressed that I was drinking dark beer in the biggest size draft that was offered, and pleasantly surprised when we started talking football that I could hold my own and knew what I was talking about. He, being a non-smoker, even went outside with me while I smoked a cigarette, what with me still being in my smoker phase. The next time he went to work, he even got some "Hmm, so, you and the new girl?" questions. We were clearly hooked. I drove home from the party that night with a smile on my face, normal smitten-girl scenarios playing out in my head about first dates, first kisses, marriage and babies. YES, GUYS, WE ALL DO THIS.

I didn't hear from him after that, but I never expected to; we were no longer in the same office, and we hadn't exchanged phone numbers. I thought my little fantasies would exist only in my head. Except it didn't stay that way. Thank God it didn't stay that way.

A couple of weeks after that party, I got to work one day to find an email in my inbox from him, saying that he just wanted to thank me for coming to the party and to tell me how much fun he had talking to me. Thus began a frenzied exchange of emails over the next several weeks, starting out innocuous enough but always having that flirting subtext. He bet me a dollar that the Colts would lose to the Dolphins the next Sunday; I took that bet, and upon winning came to work the next day to find a dollar under my keyboard--he had stopped at my office on his way to work to leave my prize for me.

He invited me to come out with him and another co-worker one evening to watch the BCS Championship game. I have no interest in college football whatsoever, but went in order to spend the evening with him, hurriedly reading up on the teams that were playing during my free time at work so that I could sound like I actually knew something about it. The other co-worker magically had to bail out at the last second; I still to this day cannot get Edgar to admit if he had a hand in that or if it was actually for real. We had beer and pizza at the Alcatraz at the Block of Orange, and after a tight hug upon leaving, we both went home alone. Obviously not the most ideal end to the evening, but I was proud of myself; I had turned over a new leaf in life that mainly consisted of not putting out until he bought me dinner.

The Colts went to the playoffs that year and the day before the wild card game, I got an email from Edgar asking me to text him during the game to let him know what was happening during the game; he and his brother were taking his mom to Disneyland that day for her birthday. Phone numbers were exchanged; a rapid flurry of texting happened during the football game, and thereafter the art of texting became an open form of communication in the increasing game of flirtation. The Colts were playing the Ravens in the playoff game the following week. He bet me the Colts would lose, I bet they would win, and he tasked me with setting the stakes. I took a deep breathe and I plunged. Happy Hour. Winner picks, loser pays.

I won.

We look back now and have officially chosen that Happy Hour as our first date. We met after work on that Wednesday night. January 17th, 2007. I knew by the time that we left the restaurant that I had just spent an evening with the man I wanted to marry. Neither of us wanted the date to end, so we walked to Starbucks and got some coffee. I made the move there of setting a second date: I invited him to come to my house that Sunday to watch the Colts versus the Patriots in the AFC Championship game. He walked me back to my car. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. I kissed his cheek back.

Then he kissed me.

THREE WHOLE TIMES.

I was in love.

He came over that Sunday to watch the game. The Colts won. So did I.

A long one, courtesy of Dave Letterman

The media and late night TV have been all up in arms lately because of the confession Dave Letterman gave last week that he had an affair with a coworker. While no one seems to be really concerned about the fact that HE CHEATED ON HIS WIFE, the only thing anyone seems to be talking about in any ‘lifestyle’ column this week is whether or not it’s okay to have relationships with coworkers. I married one of my coworkers, so I’m obviously a proponent of the whole “It’s good to have sex with the people that you work with” argument. It worked for me, not the other way around.

Relationships (romantic relationships) with anyone can also tear you apart though, so I get where the whole Should You Or Shouldn’t You weighing of the scales is coming from, especially when it leads to heartbreak and hurt feelings and drinking alone. When I started thinking about this post it was originally just going to say “make sure he’s The One before you take your clothes off” but this whole situation is bringing back memories of a workplace romance that I had several years ago that I’ve never really sat down and talked to anyone about, besides my husband. Even then the sharing of details is sketchy, though, because he’s a firm believer in the “I’m going to pretend I’m the only person that has ever seen you naked” coping mechanism when it comes to exes.

Not long after I started working for an insurance company in 2005, I met This Man. I couldn’t even tell you now why exactly I was attracted to him, just for the fact that he was your average cute guy and we had the same sense of humor. He also smoked (menthols, ew!) and since I was going through my smoker phase at the time I often found myself huddled outside our office building in the cold Indiana winter with him while burning down my half a pack a day habit. He had a girlfriend (AMANDA, HERE WAS YOUR FIRST CLUE). And an ex-wife. And an ex-fiance. And three children that were all born by the time he was of legal age to drink (AMANDA, HERE WERE YOUR SECOND, THIRD, FOURTH, FIFITH, AND SIXTH CLUES). One evening, a group happy hour came up, and while This Man couldn’t come along immediately he said he would meet us later. By the time later came around, my friend Jason and I were the only ones left and we decided to hit up a gay bar a few blocks away. Jason is gay, I’m not, but I liked going to clubs where other boys would admire my boobs in the “Aw, look at you!” kind of way and not the “I’m going to inappropriately touch you and never speak to you again” kind of way. This Man called me up not long after we got there and agreed to meet us there. He stayed attached to my hip for the half hour or so that he was there, and somewhere along the way in my increasingly drunk state we started kissing and soon left together. He spent the night.

A couple of weeks later, with another night together thrown in, he had broken up with his girlfriend. We never talked about being together in the sense of him saying “I’m going to break up with my girlfriend for you.” It was actually quite the opposite once they had broken up. He and I were “hanging out,” but we weren’t dating. He was very clear about the fact that he didn’t want to be in another relationship just yet (AMANDA, HERE WAS YOUR SEVENTH CLUE). Save a few select friends, no one else knew about us. And I let it unfold this way. I was falling for him, and I was excusing his behavior that same way a lot of women do, brushing it aside and saying that it was fine, that I didn’t want a relationship either, that no-strings-attached was exactly what I wanted. We even had an agreement that if either of us was interested in someone else that we would tell the other person first before pursuing anything; an agreement that I had no intention of keeping because it never even entered my mind to look for someone else.

This together but not together relationship continued for five months. I was happy, yes, but I knew that I was being short-changed and that I was worth more. I kept letting it happen though, because I was so desperate to not be alone. I liked waking up with somebody, I liked having Friday and Saturday night plans, I liked having someone with which to exchange a constant stream of text messages. Did it matter that I was completely hidden from everybody in his life, save his roommate (AMANDA, HERE WAS YOUR EIGHTH CLUE)? Yes, it did, but I kept pushing those nagging feelings to the back because I. Just. Wanted. Somebody. To. Love. Me. In retrospect it sounds sad and it sounds desperate, but I know that there are so many women out there who go through this exact same thing.

He broke things off with me in April or May of 2006 (AMANDA, HERE WAS YOUR NINTH CLUE). It was for no reason that I hadn’t heard before, just that he reiterated he wasn’t ready for a relationship and feared that I was getting too emotionally involved. You think? It’s not like I’m a bunny-boiler or anything. I never showed any signs of the relationship at work, I never called his mother, I never bought him socks, I never showed up unannounced, I never checked the history on his phone; I’m not like that. I also never showed any ounce of self respect by allowing him to get away with that one-sided relationship, but that’s a whole ‘nuther Oprah, right? Except for the fact that him breaking up with me never really stuck. He made the very chivalrous decision to break up with me the night before I left on a week-long trip to Denver to visit some friends of mine, and then proceeded to call me pretty much twice a day every day the entire time I was gone. Mixed signals, much? He was gone on a trip to New York when I got back, and during one of those daily phone calls to me he asked me to pick him up from the airport when he returned. I of course agreed to it, because that’s what friends do (and he had made such a big effing deal about the fact that “We’re still friends, right?” when he had broken up with me). So things never really even cooled off between us, because as soon as he was back things started right where they had left off (AMANDA, HERE WAS YOUR TENTH CLUE). Except I was walking on eggshells more than ever, wondering what was wrong with me that This Man didn’t really want to commit to me.

Things stayed par for the course until one night in June of that year when I went to a concert with my brother and he went out drinking with some other work buddies, including some new hires. None of those people knew about our secret covert relationship, and one of them, while giving me a recap of the evening the following Monday, told me how This Man and one of the new girls were sucking each other’s faces off all night long and left together. And it finally clicked. The oh-my-god-what-are-you-doing-to-yourself realization finally hit my like I had been slapped in the face. During the time I was being told that story I finally got it. That I was worth more than that and this, this, is what I was settling for?

Despite the realization, it was hard to let it all go. Hard to reconcile the fact that I wanted him and did not want him because of what he did to me all at the same time. Hard to see him with her every day at work and know that “I don’t want a relationship right now” was the equivalent of “I don’t want a relationship with you,” since, jeez, did his relationship status on MySpace sure get updated quickly. Hard to wonder if she knew how much she had thrown my life into a tailspin by making out with This Man in front of someone who would immediately report it back to me because he thought it was hilarious, not because he thought I would want to know.

During all this time there was a great upheaval in the company due to a buyout and impending layoffs. He ended up moving to South Carolina. I ended up moving to California. After the inevitable confrontation that came with the knowledge of his betrayal of my trust and his subsequent “We can still be friends, right?” refrain (what is it with guys and wanting to be friends? WE DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIENDS AFTER YOU KICK US TO THE CURB), I don’t think that we even said goodbye on his last day. He emailed me a couple of times after I moved to California, but I soon stopped responding, and he quit trying. Why keep the charade? He wasn’t my friend. I unintentionally found out shortly after I started working at our company’s office in California that he had done something on a business trip out there during the time that we were together that was a complete and utter slap in my face and I had no interest in ever hearing from him again after that. I won’t talk about it here what it was, because it’s in that boundary of things I won’t talk about on my blog, but it was highly insulting and degrading and reinforced the fact to me that he wasn’t ever my friend.

I can look back on all of this now, being so far removed from it, and just laugh it off and think “Silly little girl, what were you doing?” It doesn’t change the fact that he hurt me or the fact that I let it happen. I’d venture an absolutely correct guess that it was more my fault than it was his. He gave me plenty of signs of what I was in for, both intentionally and unintentionally, but I was blinded by the whole “Oh, I really like this guy and he seems like he likes me” mindset. I allowed myself to fall for him, I allowed myself to ignore the warnings. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.

I did garner some good things from this relationship, though. It wasn’t a total loss, regardless of how I was treated, how I let myself be treated, and how I felt like crap for a long time afterwards. The little that I know about HTML editing I learned from him. I learned how when you play those touch-screen games at the bar that the photo one where you have to find the differences between the pictures is a lot easier if you choose the dirty pictures (AMANDA, THAT PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE BEEN ANOTHER CLUE, TOO). But I also learned how much I’m willing to love someone without them giving anything back. I learned my value in a relationship. I know what I can bring to the table and I know when to say enough is enough.

In a way I think that I even need to be thankful for the experience that was my short-lived relationship with That Man, because when Edgar and I first started dating the difference was glaring. After going through what I went though with That Man, and a few bad dates with other guys after that, I all of a sudden had a man in front of me who was perfect. He was kind. He was respectful. He was funny. He gave me no reason not to trust him. I could let my guard down in front of him. I could even cry in front of him, when up to that point in my life the only men that I would allow myself to cry in front of that weren’t gay were my dad and my brother. Because other guys, the That Man type of guy, think that sort of show of emotion is the equivalent of going Cuck-Coo for Cocoa Puffs. Every date I went on with Edgar, every kiss that we shared, every time he held my hand, I fell deeper and deeper and deeper, and I didn’t mind. And I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t concerned with “Oh my gosh, does he like me? Is he seeing anybody else?” My concerns where more of the “How does my breath smell?” and “I wonder where we’re going Friday night?” not “I wonder if we’re going out on Friday night?” That horrible experience that I had gone through (and I’ll be clear and say it’s not like my relationship with This Man was the only bad relationship I was ever in; my epiphany did not come from the sum total of his experience alone), while not dictating my relationship with Edgar, reinforced everything that I already knew in my heart: that what I had with him was special, that it was unique, that it was not something to toy with, that I was the luckiest woman in the world and I continue to be her every day because I get to come home to him. I think any woman that has been in a bad relationship and has then gone on to find love after that would agree that those bad experiences, which totally sucked at the time, make you even more grateful for what you now have.

All of this is to say that work relationships are a mixed bag. Relationship with That Man aside, Edgar was a coworker and our workplace romance (I hate that expression) turned into honest-to-goodness true love and a happy marriage. So do I think that people should avoid dating coworkers? Definitely not. But I’m wiser now than before, and I do think that it needs to be thought through before there’s any touching (and that’s with clothes, too, not just without). If I had closed myself off to the possibility of being with a coworker after my relationship with That Man I never would have been with Edgar. Imagining my life without him is a nightmare, and I can't be thankful enough that I found him.

I haven’t spoken or communicated with That Man in years. When I was speaking with Jason during our party last weekend, he mentioned to me that he had emailed That Man about a month or so ago because he was considering taking a transfer with the company to South Carolina and wanted to know what it was like there. I think, coupled with the Dave Letterman media brouhaha of the week, that’s what maybe prompted this post from me, which has been kind of stewing in my head during random moments of boredom this week, like when I’m driving in the car by myself or staring off into space as I sometimes tend to do. I so rarely even think about him, and when I do it’s in that random way that your mind takes forever to get to, the “I wonder what ever happened to that girl I used to practice gymnastics with at recess?” kind of way. Or “Hmmm, that cute guy from my Criminal Theory class in college, did he ever graduate?” Or “Ok, that dude from the family reunion in sixth grade, what was his name? How was I related to him? Why is my family so freakin’ big? I wonder if I have any cookies at home?” That kind of way. I don’t wish him any ill will. Not to sound all hippie, but I’m not willing to put that out there in the universe. I don’t have time in my life to remember to hate somebody or hold a grudge (Except Heidi and Spencer. I will ALWAYS remember to hate them). I’ve no use for it and it doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t change my future. I hope that he’s happy, and I mean that in the most sincere way possible.

Because I am.