(F**k a) Silver Lining (Part Two)

My first clue that all was not as wonderful in my relationship as I thought it was came around Christmas time. For any of you who are newcomers, I have a very large family of step siblings, and every year at Christmas it can be quite the task to see everyone. And that’s when I’m single. When I’ve been in a relationship over the holidays, it has always been tricky to find a balance. And for Christmas 2017, this was even more so going to be the case. My dad and step mom and all my siblings and nieces and nephews had planned to go to a city one province over, about 4 hours away, to go to a hotel and do some skiing, and getting some shopping in over Christmas.

I really wanted to be with my love and his kids for Christmas. They felt like my family by that point too, but the trouble was that the kids had to return to their mom before we would be getting back from our trip. So, after a lot of figuring plans out with my mom’s side of the family, I ended up spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with him and the kids, before heading out of town. I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect. I spent weeks searching for the perfect gifts for his kids, and I even spent a good month knitting him a Doctor Who scarf. (Of course he likes Doctor Who…he’s British) I printed off pictures of him and his kids and framed them, since he kept saying he needed to do that, and never did, and I picked up some of his favourite British cookies to add in as well.

We had a nice supper together, and then I noticed something. He had home baked cookies on his counter top. He wasn’t a baker by any stretch, and they definitely weren’t store bought. I asked him where they were from. He told me that they were from a friend of his, who also has kids, she brought them by. She. She brought them by. The she part hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. But, he didn’t make a deal of it, and it was Christmas, and I thought to myself, “You’re over reacting. He loves you. He is not that kind of guy. He would never cheat on you.” So I ignored my gut, and pressed on, trying to enjoy the rest of the evening as much as I could. But I could feel a slight distance that I hadn’t noticed before.

In the morning, I wanted to wake up next to him, with him wishing me Merry Christmas as soon as we both woke up. I wanted to feel his warmth beside me, and to have him tell me that he loves me. Instead, I woke up as he was getting out of bed, where he went to the living room and I could hear him make a bowl of cereal for himself. I got up, got dressed, and went out to see him, but the warmth wasn’t there. It wasn’t the loving, warm, Christmas morning I was hoping for. And soon it was all about his kids (as it should be) and his parents whom were watching the gift opening over Skype from England. I felt involved, but as an outsider. But I knew that day wasn’t about me, so yet again I thought to myself, “You’re overreacting. He loves you. Today was about the kids. Let them have their day.” And yet again I pressed on.

I pressed on through my time away where his texts were few and far between. I pressed on on New Years Eve when I felt like I had coerced him to go to my dad’s for supper, and then felt stupid when I texted him after he and the kids left my dad’s to see if I could go back to his place for a bit, because he hadn’t invited me over, but his 3 year old daughter did instead. I could feel that something had changed. But every time I acknowledged that something was up, I kept telling myself that I was overreacting. Again. And again. And again.

In the new year we stopped seeing each other all the time, his excuses being that he was busy with work. He got this new promotion in December, so I was ok with not seeing him as much. Because his job was important. Of course his job was important. So little by little distance grew between us. We stopped having sex, we rarely spent the night together, and our evenings were usually cut down to 2 hour chunks before he would leave my place, or I would figure it was time to go home if I wasn’t staying over. I knew the distance wasn’t good, but I just kept convincing myself that we were just going through a rough patch, that things would settle down.

In mid January we hit a point where I thought it was the end, and then another where I thought we would be ok. It was around this point that he decided to go out of town for a night away with “an old buddy” he claimed to have, even though he and I hadn’t spent a full night together in months. That day, I snapped. Our first really big fight, and because I never saw him anymore, it happened over texting. That should have been it. I should have just ended it then. But, of course, I downplayed it, told myself I was being over dramatic, and too overbearing. He loves you, I kept telling myself.

Once in awhile he would do something that would reinforce the idea that he loved me. After that night away, he and I planned a full day together. A full day without work, without the kids, just him and I. And you know what happened that day? My niece was born that day. My beautiful baby niece who I was so excited to meet decided to come a week early, and now I had to choose whether to spend the day travelling to meet her, or to wait a day or two and spend the day with Henry instead. So I chose to meet her, and he came with me. It was the best of both worlds, although I felt guilty that I was changing our plans that day. I felt guilty and a little frustrated that that day of all days would be the day that baby was born. How ludicrous is that?

And the denial and the excuses, and the telling myself I was crazy went on for weeks. Then, 3 days after our mundane Valentine’s Day, everything fell apart.

It was a Monday night (it was a holiday Monday, Family Day if you can handle the irony there) and we had just come back from dropping his kids off with their mom (she lives 2 hours away, so we met at the halfway point for drop offs) On the way back to town, we decided to go somewhere for supper. We went, and it was fine, but he was busy on his phone through a lot of (claiming to be reading stuff about his soccer team) and I was just kinda trying to ignore it as much as I could. After we were done eating, we went back to his place. It was still early, so I followed him up to his door. When we got his his door, there was a heart shaped Valentines streamer on the doorknob to his front door. Weird, I thought, and he looked kind of puzzled by it, but he said that it must belong to the neighbour kid (he lived in a basement suite and the lady upstairs had a kid) and again, I thought nothing of it.

We went inside and sat on the couch for a few minutes watching tv. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was putting his jacket on. He had this weird look on his face. I asked him what was going on, and he told me that he had gotten a text or a call (I don’t remember which he said) from his ex wife and that something had happened with his son. He wasn’t sure what, but he had to leave right away. I hurriedly put my jacket on, and left with him, him not saying so much as a goodbye, and me telling him to let me know what was going on. I got into my car, and watched as he pulled out of the driveway, and drove down the street and out of sight. I sat in my car for a minute feeling like this really was weird. I was also concerned for his son. What could have happened?

I put my own car into drive, and started to head home. I only lived 5 minutes or so from his place, but about half way home my gut was screaming at me that all of this felt weird. That he had been acting strange for weeks now, and that this didn’t feel right. Something didn’t feel right here. So instead of going home, i finally, FINALLY listened to my gut, and I drove around, back towards his house. But this time, I went down the opposite end of the street that I usually came down. And sure enough the first thing I saw when his house came into view was his vehicle parked back in his motherfucking driveway. The second thing I saw was him, across the street from his house, standing next to a car parked in front of the neighbours, with another woman. I drove past them, and parked a couple houses down just in time to see the two of them walk into his house with his arm around her waist, through my rear view mirror…

To be continued my blueberries. This is one of the hardest stories I’ve ever tried to tell, so I need to do it in smaller doses. I’ll be back with the finale soon.

Olivia

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International Woman of Mystery and Intrigue

That’s what I want my new title to be. Not Olivia, not double O-livia like I had named myself a few months back, not my actual name, but International Woman of Mystery and Intrigue. Or IWMI, because I so do love my acronyms.

I like this title better because I keep a fair chunk of who I am to myself. I’ve talked about this before.  However, I had forgotten about that previous entry, and finished this entire thing before I realized that I was plagiarizing myself. What a maroon. But today I’m going to spill the beans on at least one secret that I haven’t mentioned here yet.

I am a writer. I know, it’s shocking. I write all this shit by myself. I know that most of you probably thought that it was actually a row of monkeys at typewriters typing this shit out week after week, but I assure you, I’m a real girl, who puts this stuff together myself.

I wish I could tell you that a lot of this blog is fiction, but I assure you, it is not. It’s so much easier to sit and write about the latest event in my dating life, than it is to make shit up. Maybe that’s because reality is often far more entertaining than anything someone could dream up in their imagination. I believe that this is the reason why reality TV shows are still so popular after well over a decade being on the old boob tube. Human beings are far more ridiculous than any fictional character any writer could come up with.

The ease that this blog has is why I spend far more time writing here than I have working on my novel.  I wasn’t just kidding about the straight-to-bargain-bin book I was writing.  I am actually, legitimately about 9 chapters into the 15 or 16 chapter book that I have been attempting to write for the better part of 5 years.  I could blame part of the fact that it’s taken me so long to get that far on the fact that I get bad writer’s block, but in reality, that’s such a cop-out.  I know exactly what I want the story to be, I know exactly how I want it to end, and how I want the characters to get there, but the procrastinator in me just will not finish the damn thing.  And this past year, this blog has offered me just enough material that I can satisfy my need to write, AND provide an easy excuse not to be working on my book.  I’ve done the math (because I have a lot of free time whilst not being productive in any way, shape or form) and if each of my blog entries run about 2-3 pages long on my word processor, and so far I’ve written 49 full blog entries (55 or more if you count the ones I’ve written and then scrapped because they were garbage) that works out to be somewhere between 110 and 165 pages of writing.  In my book, this translates to 5 chapters or so.  I could be done by now!

But, I’m not.  I keep plugging away on my other secret life as a writer, the secret life of a promiscuous lady who dates guys and writes about it.  Don’t get me wrong, this blog is one of my favorite parts of the week, and at least I have something to show for all those bad dates, and douchebags I’ve met over the years.  It’s nice to know that if nothing else, these things are good for something.  But it’s hard just for me to claim to be an actual writer.  I feel like such a pompous ass when I mention to people that I’m a writer.  I feel like they will immediately picture me in a pair of hipster spectacles, sipping on a chai latte at Starbucks in front of my Macbook Pro, writing something that tries to compare the clouds to a man’s love or some ridiculous shit like that.  Instead of what it really is; me with my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, half my make-up already worn off, sitting in the basement of the daycare I work at while I’m on my break, typing on the ACER laptop I bought off Ayla’s boyfriend for 100 bucks, writing about how after hooking up with a new guy, things fell spectacularly to pieces, and hoping none of my co-workers see what I am typing.

*Sidenote: This is as good a place as any to interject and update you on the goings on with Jason from work.  SURPRISE, it went nowhere.  Work last week was good, everything was back to normal, minus a few coy, knowing smiles that made my knees weak.  Then, on Thursday, I woke up feeling like I had swallowed razor blades, and after a horrendous 3 hour wait at the doctor’s office, I discovered that I had strep throat.  Now, because I am a nice person, I texted Jason after I left the doctor’s office, and this is exactly what I texted:  “So, if you have or end up having strep throat, I apologize in advance.”  I mean, that was considerate of me.  I could have just as easily said, “Hey fucker, you gave me strep throat and now I want to kill you.”  But I didn’t.  Did he message back?  Nope.  Ok, whatever then, no big deal.  I’d be seeing him for our co-worker’s wedding this past Saturday, so I could talk to him then.  I could have, in theory, had he gone.  He claimed he was sick with the stomach flu.

Again, being that I am who I am, I was at the wedding and around 9pm or so, shot him another simple text just saying how he was missing a fun party.  Nothing.  Not a word.  Well fine, screw you too.  I could have been more upset by the fact that he clearly was avoiding me now, but to be honest, I’m feeling a bit like I dodged a bullet.  You see, when I was at the wedding, my other co-workers were talking about Jason, and his past, and the circumstances that led to him and his last girlfriend’s breakup. I work with his ex too.  She had been working at our other location, so I hadn’t met her till last week.  So I never did have an opinion one way or another about their relationship or the circumstances surrounding their break-up.  After finally meeting her, and spending time with her, I am wondering why in the hell she ever dated him in the first place.  I love her already.  She’s a lovely girl, and is way too good for Jason.  But it’s nice to see that there is another girl out there who has fallen for his charms.  And even though the girls I work with are all gossip whores, and the information about Jason is all just hearsay, there is so validity to what they told me.  And for that reason, I think I just needed to get that (and him) out of my system.  I was curious, I’m not anymore, time to move on.

But not moving on to focus on my book writing.  Because that would just be crazytown banana pants.  It’s better for me to focus on keeping shit like hooking up with Jason to myself, and this blog under wraps, and all those other crazy shenanigans that I chose to keep private in order to remain mysterious.

If you want to find me, I will most certainly be writing my next entry from a table at my local Starbucks.  Still on my ACER though.  I am an Early Childhood Educator, I don’t make enough for a Macbook.

International Woman of Mystery and Intrigue

 

Just Call Me Double O-livia

Shut up, I thought that was damn clever.  Fuck you.

My dating life (and this blog) have become a little bit what I imagine being a spy would be. You have this normal life that friends and family know about and talk about freely all the time. Then, there is this seedy underbelly, full of secrets and strangers; a life you never speak of. I’m leading a double life. Unfortunately, unlike that of a spy, is very underwhelming and not nearly as exciting or interesting. Oh well.

I had this conversation with Lucy. The one about how when you are seeing someone and you are crazy for them, but for whatever reason (it’s someone your friends or family don’t approve of, you just started seeing them and don’t want to jump the gun, or maybe they are seeing someone else for example) you can’t shout it from the rooftops that you are in love or even just in like with that certain someone. It’s a horrible situation to be in. To be in a relationship without the benefit of bragging about it.

For me right now, it’s mostly just when I meet someone new that I kinda like, I rarely tell anybody about it. Sure, I write about all the mishaps and assholes in my dating adventures, but I don’t usually tell you about the ones I have higher hopes for until after shit hits the fan and things don’t work out. I’m worried about jinxing it. I also don’t want to be that girl who tells everybody she met her soul mate every time she meets a new guy. I know girls like that. They drive me fucking nuts. It’s going to take me awhile to even admit to myself when I find “the one” so I keep them all (even the good ones) to myself. Besides, the bad ones make for better stories anyways.

Lucy is also in a situation like this. Now, I won’t go into detail on that one because I am trying to get her to do a guest spot on here and tell her story. But she is into someone who she cannot claim due to circumstances beyond her control. It sucks seeing her so happy one minute and then the next being crushed because she doesn’t have that relationship with him that she wants. It’s a good story though. I hope she decides to tell you about it one day. (HINT, HINT BITCH.  GET TYPING. LOVE YOU!)  🙂

So, in these situations, people keep these secrets. Unless you are like me, and you blog about it. Mind you, I’m anonymous, so even when I blog about it, only the people I would tell these stories to in person read them anyways. But I am left wondering what happens when I find someone I love who actually loves me back? (Shut up, it could happen. Stop laughing.) Do I tell him about the blog and be completely honest about my past? Do I go public with this in the end and tell everybody about it, or do I just quietly close up shop, and move on to something else? And even more importantly, at what point in the relationship do I tell the man of my dreams about this thing? So many questions. No answers.

We all have secrets. This blog, and the dating I do to be able to write it are my biggest secrets. Some days I wish I could go on Facebook (because in this day and age, we all know that it is the best way to brag about/announce big shocking news) and just tell everybody about this blog and let the chips fall as they may. Then at least when I was done apologizing to my parents and siblings for giving out way too much information, and apologizing to the guys involved for breaking the unspoken rule of confidentiality of the bedroom in a big way, I could yell, “SEE GUYS? I DATE LOTS; I’M SINGLE BECAUSE NONE OF THOSE GUYS WERE THE ONES!! GET OFF MY FUCKING CASE!! I’M KINDA SLUTTY WHEN YOU KNOW MY STORIES; GUYS ARE ALWAYS UP IN MY GRILL. WOO. SEX!”

Instead, I quietly type away in secrecy. I strategically place my laptop while I’m on my breaks so my co-workers can’t see what I’m typing. I shield my phone when working on an entry there (like I am right now), and everything is password protected. I’m a good secret keeper. I always have been. Most of my secrets are small and inconsequential. Others are bigger. Right now this blog is one of my biggest.

Mind you, I keep a lot of shit secret here too. Like who I really am, where I live and what I look like. But I can see myself revealing my identity here sooner than later.

And who knows? I may not be doing this for much longer. Somedays it’s fucking exhausting keeping this part of my life secret. Other times, it’s great. Oh the life of a double agent.

So for now, I will keep all my secrets (and some of yours too), and live my life in mystery.  Ah, being a lady of mystery and intrigue. I like the sounds of that.

See you all next week….or will I…?  *shifty eyes*

Agent Double O-livia – Lady of Mystery and Intrigue (by the way, that will be the name of the movie about this blog, imma trademark that shit)