Friday, I hit some kind of limit in my patience with Owen and all the waiting. I hadn't talked to him since Sunday, and call me crazy, but what kind of boyfriend is it you only talk to every five days? I retained most of my ability to function, but I was not happy. And then he called. Everything was fine. He came over and I made some dinner. Not my greatest cooking moment, but that's what you get for last minute. He was such a sad character, since he got completely soaking wet walking to my house in the rain with no jacket or umbrella. Poor puppy.
He'd had a good week and a bad day and told me about it. He said he'd wanted to invite me over on Friday for dinner. What's up with the secret plans? I said, "You need to keep me in the loop more. We really need to do something different--I have to be able to call you and not feel like it's a crime." He agreed and said we would figure it out and he did want to see me more often. I said that mostly I needed some mid-week contact--that I wasn't asking to spend every waking moment together. Who wants that? It was a good night. Talking to him about what I wanted was much easier than I'd expected.
Saturday, I made pancakes. I woke much earlier than Owen and I made the batter (from scratch, of course!). He was surprised, "Pancakes are relationship food."
"Really? Why's that?"
"You can make eggs for anyone. Eggs are easy. They're for a one night stand." Owen said.
"Take more intention."
"Ok. If you say so." I laughed.
I can't actually remember the last time I made pancakes. I wouldn't be surprised if it were for a boyfriend.
After breakfast, Owen said, "I'm going to read your blog!" It made me nervous, but it was fine. He almost left a comment. Maybe he will eventually. I said readers would love that and he seemed surprised. But you would, wouldn't you?
We left the house around noon because I had to meet a guy for lunch. That is a story probably worthy of it's own post, but oh well. A couple of days ago, I got an email from a guy who is writing a play about teenage Jewish girls. A friend of his reads my blog and referred him to the post I wrote about my sixth grade date. He read it and liked it and wanted to talk to me to get some ideas about how to flesh out the characters in his play. I told my mom about it and she said, "Meet him in a public place." I told Owen about it and he said, "Make sure he doesn't steal your ideas."
Owen walked me to where I was meeting the guy and I introduced them. It felt slightly awkward, but I'm not sure why. Maybe that was in my head. I shared way too many stories about me and boys in junior high, my first days of college and a few experiences at Hebrew school. It was fun. Thanks for lunch, Mr. Playwright.
I went home after lunch and did some serious nothing. I was going to a party with Owen later and I was conserving my energy until then. I was tired.
The party was fun, but, sadly, Owen and I were the first people there. Hate that. The hosts were great, though, and someone has to be first. The other sad thing was that I had two drinks and was out. I've had more to drink and not been as affected. I did eat supper, so I can't explain it. But by midnight all I wanted to do was go home and lie down and sleep.
The whole party as a couple thing is tricky. I can understand dinner parties where you pretty much know everyone and chat and talk. But a party-party? The purpose of that is to meet someone. I can't even remember the last time I went to a "real" party with a boyfriend. It's been years and years. I like parties, I like talking to people. I like meeting guys. It's not that I wasn't looking forward to going to the party with Owen, I was, I just wasn't sure what to expect--from him, from me or from the party. It's not even the first party I've gone to with Owen, but the other time we'd just started dating and I was very unsure about where we stood. It's different now.
I did fine--we talked to other people, we talked to each other, we mingled separately and together. I always have a good time with Owen and this night was no different. The problem was when I started to fade. He was in the kitchen and I was in the living room and a wave of tiredness hit me--I could hardly keep my eyes open. I wanted to go home. I knew Owen was having a good time and I didn't want to drag him out, but I didn't see how I could leave without him. It just wasn't an option. I found him and said, "I'm ready to go."
"You want to go?"
"I'm sorry, I'm really tired."
"But...I. You really want to go?" He said.
"I do, but I know you want to stay."
"So, we can compromise. You tell me where your point is and I'll tell you where my point is and we'll find the point in between and compromise. What's your point?"
"My point is now." I said.
"Yes. When is your point?" I said.
"Usually...well, usually, when I've had a girlfriend, we compromise and do what she wants!"
"What I want? Don't put that on me. Tell me, what is your point?"
"I dunno. Maybe 30 to 45 minutes?"
"Ok. That's fine." I said.
"That's fine? Really?" He said.
"Ok, just hold me to it." He said.
"No. I'm not doing that. I'm not telling you what to do." I walked back to the living room.
A minute later, Owen found me and said, "Are you ok?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry."
"Are you sure?"
He went back to the kitchen. I sat in the living room, drinking club soda and trying to keep my eyes open. I moved to a more comfortable seat on the sofa, leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was sitting next to a fellow who asked if I was ok. I was ok but I was not happy. I thought, "It's the downside of having a boyfriend; you can't just leave the party when you want to." I really wanted to leave. I wouldn't have minded going home without Owen. I did not want to get in the way of his fun. I wanted to lie down and close my eyes. The fellow sitting next to me said, again, "Are you ok?" Sigh.
After about a half hour of that I, I was done. I could not sit there one minute longer. I got up and found Owen. "I have to go."
"Yes. I've had enough." I went upstairs and got my coat. When I came back down, Owen was saying goodnight to the hostess. She gave me a hug. We left the house and started walking to where we could find a cab. As we walked, I grumbled. "I'm fine. I'm not upset."
"I'm not! Wait. I am. It's not your fault."
"It's good--we compromised. What time is it?" I told him it was 1:15. "And when did we talk about leaving." I told him it had been 12:30. "So...it was 45 minutes...exactly! Perfect!"
I said, "You know I would have been fine if you stayed. I just had enough."
"I know! But I want you to be happy."
"You want me to be happy? Why? What do you care?"
He said, "I care! Of course I care. Look, about 89% of the time I'm not worried about you, but the rest of the time I want you to be happy."
"You mean you only care if I'm happy 11% of the time?"
I said, "That's good! You know, I had this boyfriend and all he cared about was making me happy. And if I wasn't happy? He'd get angry at me! He'd yell at me."
"He yelled at you if you weren't happy?"
"Yep. So don't worry about making me happy too much."
He said, "Ok, but I was fine leaving the party."
When we got back to my place, I continued to grump. I said, "I'm sure in a foul mood."
"You sure are! What's up with that?"
"I have no idea."
"You know, I can't help if I don't know what you want."
"Look, all I want is..."
"What? What do you want?"
"What I want is...to be able to call you when I feel like it, for you to tell me I'm pretty sometimes, and for you to stop saying crazy things."
"You want me to tell you you're pretty? But you are pretty, I don't need to tell you every day. I wouldn't go out with you if you weren't pretty. I'm shallow!"
"You're not shallow. And I didn't say every day--I just said 'sometimes.'"
"Fine. You're pretty. Are you happy now?"
We kept rambling on about relationship things as we got ready for bed and right before I feel asleep I said, "That was the best fight ever." I don't think Owen heard me.
I think I could get used to this.
Grateful for: not blowing things out of proportion.
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