Bawk Bawk Bakawk

I chickened out.

Knowing that my sister might meet "Jack" at my birthday party on Saturday, I had planned on preempting her potential secret-leaking by telling my parents about him when I went over to their house on my birthday.  But then "Jack" had to work the night of the party and wasn't going to make it or meet her, and as I sat at the table--just me, my mom, and my dad around the cake--I couldn't think of a smooth transition to sharing the news.

I see that you put an extra candle on the cake to grow on.  ...Speaking of seeing, I've been seeing someone for the last six weeks or so.  Would you like to hear about him?

So, in the absence of good timing, I just didn't tell them, and they're still in the dark.  I did tell my youngest sister about him tonight, though.

Me: So, I was shopping today for a present for this guy I've been dating--
Her: You're dating someone???  Where was the text?  Where was the phone call?
Me: You're hearing about him right now.  What did you want me to do, text you after the first date?
Her: Yes.

She didn't ask for the scoop on him (apparently that's not important), just to see a picture.

Her: He has weird bangs, but otherwise he's cute.
Me: He doesn't have bangs.
Her: Huh.  Maybe it's the lighting.


I decided today that I should buy him a present for him for Christmas.  I wasn't going to, but then he got me something thoughtful for my birthday, and now I'm terrified he'll get me a present for Christmas, and I'll be empty-handed.  A friend of mine, who is like my little brother, was hanging out at my house this afternoon, and we ended up driving out to Elmwood to wander the stores there, looking for just the right thing.

Friend: Why don't you get him a shirt?
Me: A shirt?
Friend: Sure, guys are simple.  He'll like anything you get him just because you got it for him.  I bet if you bought him a button-down shirt, he'd wear it the next time you saw him.
Me: But I don't know what size he is.
Friend: Is he bigger or smaller than me?
Me: I don't know, bigger?
Friend: He's probably a large, then.
Me: I don't know if he'd like a shirt.
Friend: I'm telling you, he'll like anything you get him.
Me: But what kind of shirt?
Friend: You're not listening.

Eventually, after combing the aisles of World Market (where I managed to knock over half a display of magnetic containers) and KMart (where I tried not to touch anything), I finally came to a decision: Jenga and a contour pillow.  Neither of them were in the stores, so I had to order both online later.  The pillow is to help with neck pain he's told me about, but the Jenga game has a story.

The first people that "Jack" ever met from my group of friends were guys from volleyball.  We were all hanging out at Shamrock and playing ping-pong, as we are sometimes apt to do, and after a while, we decided to play large Jenga.  This is sort of a talent of my friend Chris and I; the last time we played at Shamrock, we got the tower high enough that I had to get on my tiptoes to place the removed blocks on top.  So, in an attempt to include "Jack" in the fanfare, he joined in the game.  Chris went first.  He chose a center block from the fifth level of the Jenga tower and easily placed it on top.  "Jack" went second.  He chose a right block from the fifth level of the Jenga tower and it was like slow motion.  Everyone was watching as the tower began to fall, but no one said anything to stop him, dumbfounded that he would take an obviously off-limits block and on the second move of the game.  The tower fell.  We all stared.  And then a half-second later, the other men broke into raucous laughter.  "That is the shortest game of Jenga I have ever played," said one.  "I can't believe you just did that," said another.  Meanwhile, I'm shooting daggers at all of them with my eyes as I help "Jack" pick up the blocks from the floor and reset the tower.  When he went to go get his drink from the other side of the room a minute later, I punched Chris.  "Stop being an asshole," I insisted.  "But it's so funny," he countered.

Needless to say, they did not let him live it down for the remainder of the night, and that singular moment is the only thing that they ever talk about when I bring him up.  It's probably one of the only things that they honestly remember, besides his baby face and his lack of ping pong skill.  In other words, they're not convinced about him.  I think a lot of that has to do with insecurity on his part.  When we talked about the Jenga incident later on, he said that he was trying to be cool and (obviously) wasn't paying enough attention.  And my male friends can smell the blood in the water.  Normally, they'd make fun of me (I can take it; I know they love me), but instead, they've shifted their sights to him.

I'm trying not to let their current dismissal of him affect my view of this budding relationship.  And I'm trying not to let his insecurities get in the way, either.  While his desire to impress me and do the right thing is often cute, it's also mired in potential disingenuousness.  Is this what he wants?  Or what he thinks that I want?

Me: So, you remember when you brought up the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing last week?  I feel like you wanted to talk about it, but I sort of shut down the conversation.
Him: It's okay.
Me: Did you bring it up because you want to use those terms?
Him: Well, I just thought it was an appropriate time to bring it up, you know, with you being a teacher and responsible and [mumble mumble mumble].
Me: Teacher?  Responsible?  What does that have to do with anything?
[pause]
Him: I just mean that I've never dated a girl like you, so I thought it might be appropriate to bring it up sooner than normal.
Me: Okay...
Him: Plus, I thought I might be going to your party, and I didn't know if you wanted to introduce me that way to your friends.
Me: It's not a big deal; I would've just said, "This is 'Jack.'"  People would've figured it out.
Him: True.  [pause]  What do you think?
Me: Well, I don't feel like using the word "girlfriend" or "boyfriend" would change what we have here.  But I wouldn't be offended to be your girlfriend, either.
Him: We can do that.

We can do that.  He told me about an ex-girlfriend that made him meet her family on Christmas within a month of dating, and so I didn't want to force the conversation and be that girl, but I also have no idea what "we can do that" means.  It doesn't build a whole lot of confidence, that's for sure.  When I had this conversation with my college boyfriend, his response was "You're making me the happiest man alive."  Of course, College Boyfriend also admitted a year later that he thought I rushed things and that I made it harder for him to convince his ex-girlfriend that he hadn't cheated on her (he broke up with her three days before our first date).  So, I guess if I had to choose, I'd rather "Jack's" genuine uncertainty over College Boyfriend's false enthusiasm.  But I'm not a big fan of either.

Him: I don't really know how this goes.
Me: Well, I don't have a ton of relationship experience, either.
Him: Shit. How are we going to know what to do?
Me: We'll figure it out.

Despite our uncertain status and the anxiety that this particular conversation has left me with, I had an amazing weekend.  There is something perfect about a birthday and all of its surrounding celebrations.  I truly do not understand people who ignore or forget their birthdays.  I literally start counting down the days in June.  It's my half birthday!  Only six more months!

Thursday morning, the whole school sang me Happy Birthday.  My students asked me how old I was all day long.  Parents stopped by to give their well wishes at dismissal.  That evening, my mom made my favorite food (crawfish etouffee) and cake (angel food), and I sat at the table with her and dad for hours, just talking.  I got dressed up afterwards and met up with some girlfriends for drinks and "Jack" joined later.  We ended up taking over Delachaise's stereo system around midnight and proceeded to have a dance party with the other four people still in the bar.  TSwift, Beyonce, you name it.  We stayed out way too late, and by the time my head hit the pillow, I realized there were only two and a half hours until my alarm would go off for work.

Probably a terrible decision, but what a perfect way to enter the last year of my twenties.

The weekend went much the same way.  I worked feverishly Friday to get as much done as possible at work before leaving at 2:30 to take a nap, shower, and head to a Christmas party at a coworker's house.  I stayed until 9pm, went to see "Jack" despite being over-tired, and went to sleep too late.  The next morning, I played terribly at volleyball (I blame it on the cold and sleep deprivation), and that afternoon, I cleaned my house top to bottom in anticipation of my s'more-themed birthday party, which was a complete success.  There was food, drinks, and fire.  And friends, of course.  What more could a girl want?  By 12:45am, most people had left, but I stayed up another two hours talking with a friend before finally getting into bed.

It's Sunday night, and at this point in the weekend, I'm exhausted.  Normally exhaustion on Sunday night would be a terrifying thing--an omen of a tough Monday and a therefore long week--but thanks to a little thing called winter break, I've got time to recuperate.  I can sleep late, watch movies, read books, write posts for this blog.  I was hoping to spend some time working on my house and hanging out with "Jack," but the holiday season is kind of a minefield in both respects.  The workers are taking most of the week off and I can't start anything until they're finished, which means I'm on hold for DIY projects like painting and soundproofing.  Christmas and New Years, meanwhile, are weighty holidays.  Family- and friend-oriented.  He and I won't be meeting family this early on, so most of this week is out of the question, but New Years seems unlikely, too.  He'll probably be working that night, but even if he's not, there's the question of whose friends we go with.   This is one of the few times when I wish I was still single so that my feelings were the only important feelings.

Time off from seeing each other isn't a great thing for me.  It means extra time to over-think the relationship.  To wonder if the grass is greener elsewhere.  To fall back into my commitment phobia.  Luckily, I've got an appointment with my therapist tomorrow, and she can remind me how much I like "Jack" and why I need to stick it out.

Either that, or I'd better start looking into holiday specials for cats at the SPCA and old lady sweaters at Goodwill.

Practice makes perfect.