The Lost Plum…

I was re reading a some blog posts for another project I’m working on when I stumbled over this one and it got me thinking, it got me over thinking and thinking even more but I degrees.

It got me thinking about the truth.

What is the truth when it comes to a relationship.

Is truth really what someone speaks or does it become what we know? Now that in a nutshell has been my ‘food for thought’ for the last few days.

If in the span of a relationship you hear over and over again how much you mean to someone; how someone would do anything for you; how much someone loves, cherishes and wants to spend the rest of their life with you; how someone has never ever been with anyone as amazing as you…..is it truth because it is spoken or does it become truth once you believe it?

Are people who lie really at fault or are we at fault when we process a lie and choose to believe it?

Cause as of lately I lean towards it being the recipient of such ‘truths’ fault. I’ve always been intrigued by lying as an art form I’ve spoken on this before, and it’s mainly because I’m such a terrible liar. (I guess I just wish I were better at it) I speak what I mean, I probably reveal too much and never reveal anything I’m a 100% sure on.

Should you waste time hating someone for lying to you, or should you just focus on the fact that hating yourself for believing it makes more sense…….

When I’m lied to I often am at fault for believing it. I’m gullible most times to things I should never believe. I’d like to think as I have aged I’ve gotten better at this, and living in NYC has helped too.

So when I’m told something I believe that the other individual truly means what they are saying, and therefore how can you not believe what you are told.

How can anyone not believe the lies that get listed over an over again in a long-term relationship. (that is if they are lies, who really knows)

Because if you believe someone loves you, or cares for you, or gets you, or wants you, or even respects you, is it not mostly your fault when you come to the realization that they never did anything of the things listed above?

Much like a tree falling in the woods, can a lie really be a lie if no one is there to believe it…….?

So I’m out at lunch with a friend I haven’t seen in almost a year since she’s been out of the city for work. I telling my friend about my boy, my guy, dare I say it: my boyfriend.

And I’m telling his “story” the details, you know how girl-friends talk.

I’m not talking very loud, as I tend to be soft spoken, if you can imagine that!

We’re chatting away about “baby boy” and all of a sudden this girl from the table next to me leans over.

SIDEBAR: tables in NY tend to be very close together, and sometimes you feel like you are dinning with strangers.

“Are you talking about “baby boy”?”

“Yes” I say with my mouth, but my eyes were totally saying “nosey bitch”

She gives me this look and says with some terrible white girl attitude, “Good luck with that.”

My friend of course jumps in “what the fuck bitch…first off you’re the one in need of luck that we don’t…”

I of course can only giggle at the situation, as my friend is ripping this chick a new one.

She trails off as the girl and her friend sign their cheque and exit.

I could let this situation run for hours in my head, and I’d probably be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what that lanky bad nose, bad teeth chick was talking about, but more likely I just kind of laugh at the ridiculousness that is life, and more likely women…we are crazy sometimes!

Who does things like that?

I’ve always had a tendency to say what I’m thinking…. well without thinking.

I’ll mutter things under my breath, make comments or comebacks that might have always been quick on the draw but sometimes may have been inappropriate.

I’ve many times caught myself on a date saying, “I’m sorry we just meet and I’m already making fun of you” which by the way all were funny comments. (I can be hilarious at times)

When I got my big corporate job this had to change. Which some people found funny, as I had to be professional at an establishment many view as quite the opposite. I had got pretty good not saying things, but needed to started mastering the art of not making sounds. You know those sounds of disbelief that escape your mouth when someone would say something utterly stupid in a meeting.

SIDEBAR: I somewhat mastered this…somewhat.

The facial feature looks of disgust I’m still working on. I’m pretty terrible at making faces.

But when I’m comfortable. Truly at easy and enjoying myself I resort back to my old ways, and have a tendency to say things aloud without thinking. In fact many times I say things aloud that I think I am only thinking in my head.

FACT: this may or may not steam from the fact that I spend many hours working from home alone now, and say things to myself out loud.

Well sometimes accidently saying what I’m thinking gets me into trouble and sometimes it’s down right embarrassing:

Things were hot and heavy, and it’s going really good. I’m totally in the moment. We’re both in the moment…. the missionary moment. And the moment is good.

A thought pops in my head.

He stops.

I open my eyes.

He is staring at me with a puzzled but scared and mixed with a little concern look.

“Are you serious?” He says.

“What?”

“Do you?”

Awkward silence, for a minute as he’s looking down at me and I’m looking up.

With shock on my face, “Did I say that out loud!?”

“Did you think you didn’t!?”

“Oh my god! I thought it in my head!” I begin to laugh from mainly embracement.

He beings to laugh.

“I’m so embarrassed…..I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

I’m hiding my face in a pillow I’m so embarrassed but yet I’m shaking from uncontrollable laughter.

After what feels like 15 minutes of us both laughing a silence falls. He reaches over and hugs me, kisses my head and in his best Plum impression repeats what I had said.

“I think I have to fart?”

When I moved last year one of the reasons I went with my current apartment was the size of the bathroom. It’s large and bright and white and clean, and I love it.

When I was growing up I had a friend whose parents had completely separate bathrooms, one right beside the other, both were full baths. It wasn’t one of those this is the ladies big nice bathroom and the man gets something that used to be a hall closet. I never understood that.

But then I think about how I love my bathroom. My bathroom. I can’t help but think of how it could be ruined, and nothing ruins a girl’s bathroom space like a guy. Now girls can be gross and messy, believe me, girls can be down right gross, but there is something different that a guy brings to the game.

5 reasons I don’t want to share a bathroom with a boy!

1.The Toilet Paper!  They will buy it (most of the time it’s the cheap on sale kind), they will even unwrap it and place it someplace, but will almost never replace the roll. Their bathrooms can have multiple started rolls on the toilet but an empty roll in its holder for months. I want my nice plush toilet paper, and I’d like it on the roll holder please and thank-you.

2. My Products! They are my products, my fancy soap, and my $40 facial cleanser, and my bubble bath.  Boy’s will use whatever they can get their dirty little hands on, and if it smells good they will use it. We’re talking face soap all over the body, multiple reapplying of showergel to puff, and this shampoo oh no lets repeat but with this shampoo and then 2 cups of conditioner in their hair. They’ll even use those expensive age deifying makeup remover sheets that sit on the shelf near the toilet to wipe their bums, cause why not. Boys will indulge in my products, and the only good thing about this is shopping for new products.

3. Hair! Now girls shed, believe me they shed! I lose tons of hair in the shower, and when I blow-dry the sink gets full of hairs too. But long girly hair I can somewhat deal with. But those little long dark chest/arm/leg hairs that coat everything from my bathroom to even my bedding make me kind of cringe.  And it only gets worse if you have a guy shave in your sink…hairs for months, people! Little black face hairs that hide in every corner of the bathroom and haunt you for life.

4. Reading material! Some people happen to be the types that keep reading material in the bathroom (for some reason). If you are not one of these people (like me) some how they will appear in your bathroom. If you happen to be the type of person who keeps reading material in their bathroom I’m sure it gets disorganized and moved around. I don’t really read in the bathroom.

5.  Towels! They should be washed in a timely fashion. There are also bathroom hooks, hangers, and rods for a reason, nough said.

I get asked a lot about what was the worst date I ever went on. Or what are your dating horror stories. And like everyone, I’ve had my share of bad dates, and even my share of really bad dates.  I usually go with telling about this date, but then there was the blind date I’m about to tell you about. It was bad, but then again it was more just a date with a bad person.

A friend of mine was in the city filming a movie. She and I aren’t as close as we used to be, and don’t talk all that often, but we had done dinner one night, and talked about being single (she had just broke up with her boyfriend and I was as always single).

Two days later she called me. She had met this guy who worked in locations on her set. She thought he seemed nice, and he was single, and she was setting us up on a blind date.

Now I’ve never had the best luck on blind dates, they usually make me question my friendships…basically I would sit there looking at some guy wondering how what I thought was a good friend would think anything about this person was “right” for me.

But against my better judgment I agreed to meet this guy for a drink. He and I exchanged a few phone calls, and had our after work drinks planed with the option of seeing how it goes and maybe grabbing dinner. He actually said that which I thought was a huge turn off, but I let it go.

He picked this very posh cocktail lounge in Lower Manhattan, which frankly was alittle to stylish for my liking on a first date. He sent me a text saying he would be about 10 minutes late, I was surprising on time, so I texted back saying no worries I’d wait at the bar. I settled into the bar and ordered my very delicious but completely over priced drink.

Upon his arrival he seemed normal. Tall and in a business suit, dark featured, but nothing really to write home about, just seemingly normal. He smiled, I smiled, and we started into the usual blind date get to know you banter.

And then about 10 or 15 minutes into our seemingly ok date (there was nothing really there but the company was nice and the drinks were delicious) He says the following to me, “ I’m glad you sat at the bar and not at a table” “ Why is that” I asked him. And then he said the following as if it was second nature to him,

“ Cause at least at the bar we only have to deal with the one black bartender.”

I gave him a questionable look, in which he then proceeded to rant about how people of pretty much every race but ‘white’ were terrible serves in restaurant, and how he had no idea this place started hiring so many ‘black’ people since he had last been.

I sat there with what was most likely the blankest of blank stares on my face. My jaw may have actually hit the bar. I see from the corner of my eye, the two bartenders frozen where they were staring at us. I feel embarrassed to be with this guy, and sad for him at the same time.

Are these words really leaving his mouth? Is he really in the middle of this bar going on a rant about how he hates black people? And why am I not wearing my Obama T-shirt when I need it?

As he proceeded to continue on some racist banter about something I interrupted him in the only way I could think of at the moment.

“I think I should just let you know that my Dad is black”.

He looked at me as if a bus had just hit him.

“ But you’re white.”

“ I know. I look white, my brother looks black, that is how it works.”

Silence fell. It felt like every eye within a 4-foot vicinity of us had stopped what they were doing and watching the tale I was telling him unravel.

“So you could have a baby that looks black?” He asked me still looking at my ivory white skin in total shock.

“ Oh yeah of course, I could pop out babies black as night.”

This look of terror came over his face, as what I can only described as this fear that he could have gambled with having sex with me and never would have know what he was sticking his penis in unless I had said something.

“ I’m going to go use the ladies room, and when I’m get back I assume you aren’t going to be here” I said as I got up off my chair and walked to the restrooms.

When I returned he was no longer sitting at the bar, and I assume he used what little braincells he had to tell himself leaving was the best option for him.

I on the other hand was greeted by a round of applause from the bartenders and the two people sitting next to us when I returned to the bar area. He apparently had said the following to the one male (‘white’) bartender before leaving:  “she’s half black” with a confused look on his face.

I sat down and had another drink on the house, and the bartenders also picked up the tab that my date had so gentlemanly left me with, which included his $40 glass of whisky.

FACT: I might just be the whitest kid you know.

SIDEBAR: This was the last blind date I ever went on, or will ever go one for that matter.