Note: everyone is doing lovely, touching September 11th posts today. I'm not. I wrote something last year and I don't have more to say this year. I find it painful to hear the stories all over again, but who doesn't? Instead, I'll continue with the regularly scheduled light-weight, but important to me, posting.
Saturday night, Pele and I went to a big party. It was quite a scene. Even though we were early-ish, plenty of folks were there when we arrived. Pele said later that it was the Hill-staffer party she never went to when she was 25. I don't know if that's right or not because most of the people I talked to didn't work on the Hill, but I did overhear (and avoid) a few people talking about politics.
When we got there, we saw Owen. He is the fellow who approached me the night we met Frank--the one who made a beeline for me. He had a new haircut and was looking cute--I wasn't sure it was him when I first saw him.
The crowd was diverse mostly due to Frank's ability to meet and retain friends. Frank is a schmoozer but totally sincere and likeable. While he paid a lot more attention to me than I expected, I was under no illusion about his romantic interest. There wasn't any--on either side. He did hug me several times and said to a bystander, "She gives good hugs!" How could I not be flattered?
Pele and I did our best to mingle, moving from one part of the house to another. After an hour or so I found myself alone in the kitchen and I spotted three good-looking guys. They particularly caught my eye because they were obviously over 30, unlike almost everyone else there. One of them got me a drink and another, Mark, engaged me in conversation. Pele came by and I waved her off (am I rude or what?). Mark and I chatted happily for 20 or 30 minutes when I saw that he was wearing a wedding ring.
I said, "You're married?"
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
I thought, "I can't believe it. What is it with me and married guys?" But I didn't say that. Instead, I kept talking to him, though I felt compelled to give him a hard time for flirting with me. He denied that he'd flirted.
Things get a bit hazy after that (I'd had 2.5 drinks). I talked with Pele. I talked with Mark and his friends. And I talked with Owen.
In fact, I did quite a lot of talking with Owen. I would turn around and there he would be. It occurred to me that he was interested…still interested. And that he wasn't married. So what if he was young? I turned my attention to him. The rest of the evening was either me finding him or him finding me. Or us standing next to each other and not saying much.
And yet, by 2am, I was in the front yard and I was kissing Owen. He had to go into the house for a minute, and when he came back he said, "You know, I ran into that married guy you were talking to before…he said, 'That Jamy chick really digs you.'"
"I said, 'I figured that out when she kissed me.'"
"That's hilarious! What was he thinking?"
"I think he was trying to help me out."
We talked a little about the first night we met. He joked that he'd separated me from the herd. I laughed. He said, "I saw you and thought, 'there's someone who will talk to me.'"
"And I did. But then you kind of faded away."
"I knew Frank had your number."
"So, you could have gotten my number from Frank."
"But you didn't give me your number."
"You didn't ask. Frank asked. And he called me! But it was about sailing."
Owen said, "I know it was about sailing." I had to laugh.
We kept talking and I realized that I really liked him. He now has my number.
I have to tell you, over the last couple of weeks, I've been up to some crazy antics (not for blog consumption). I can't even begin to explain my own behavior. It was like I had to get something out of my system. I had to push hard enough at my own boundaries to break out of my funk. So I could look at things differently, perhaps? Whatever it was, I do believe it allowed me to be open to Owen. For that, I am grateful.
Grateful for: possibilities.
Drop me a line.