Pretext: A Lovestory

I was out of a ridiculous two-year relationship, which had been non-exclusive and then long-distance.  Consenting to something of this nature had more to do with my still holding beliefs that someone who was into you, and didn’t want to lose you, would do anything for you.  It turned out that she was masterful at hiding truths about herself that I uncovered a year ago, so I just saw some plans out (those that had been paid for and set) and then broke up with her late summer.  Here is what I said to her when she moved 6-states away and then confused the hell out of me by calling with frequency:

“I told her that I wouldn’t be visiting her because I cannot do the triangle anymore.  She asked me what I was talking about.  If she does not want to have a relationship with the other woman, but yet spent several days and God knows nights with her prior to leaving, then I won’t be a “bookend” anymore.” (me, 2010)

So, I tried it for a year with the exclusive thing (Which I know that she only consented to, because she had to in order to keep seeing me.) and ultimately, she and I don’t have enough in common and have wildly different values.  I yielded a love of water from her and the importance of letting go of times when you are pissed to the degree that you can’t see straight.  She would tell me that I was the quintessential “leave the handle sticking out,” in terms of conflict.  Now, I know that if you can’t solve something in about 72-hours, you have to let that shit go.  Those are the only two things I learned, so I guess it was a lesson each year.  I love water, and need to let things go when they continue to trigger me, because others’ actions should not have that much power over me.  I know where I am, what I’ve learned and where I plan to go.

So, I felt really solid.  Happy and ready to move forward.  I knew completely that my partner would grow out of connections that my friends have made.  I just didn’t expect to meet her within a month.  That was like my psychologist has said, “And then God says, ‘Ha’.”  I went to church, talked with some people who wanted me to go to a picnic and then declined because I was getting DRAGGED to a BBQ with a old colleague of mine.  She is one of those women who always want to connect others, and I had not met any friends of interest through her, but I thought since I hadn’t seen in her in some time, I would just go.  This afternoon was no exception, and the woman who was hosting it always seems so fragmented, anxious, and uncomfortable.  No idea why she’d host a BBQ.  Very odd.   Equally bizarre was having nothing but a veggie tray and quinoa salad for an hour-and-a-half, so I asked her to please give me the raw burgers and chicken.  Then I grilled.  Lighter fluid was choking me and ubiquitous, so I literally cried through cooking wherein my colleague kept coming in and out of the sliding doors begging me to come in.

It went like this:

“Get in here!  This girl is awesome!”

“These people are STARVING, and I can’t.”

“She is family and the funnier than hell.”

“Good.  We’ll all talk after this meat and shit is done.”

Time would pass and she’d come back, literally engulfing the room where people sat in clouds of gray toxic smoke:

“Will you come in?  Maybe I can cook?”

“Will you become slightly patient?”

“I don’t know what her relationship status is, but she rocks.”

Lord.  Accepting “No” for an answer is a frequent lesson that is taught to primary grade school kids and apparently some 36-year-olds don’t get it.  So, I came inside the room.  She shouts, “Tell us your NM story.”  I said, “Oh, yes, indeed I shall paint myself in the most unfavorable light when I was closeted and in a horrible spot with you.  That is the best thing to relay to a group of TOTAL strangers.  Yes, I’ll do that.”  Raucous laughter broke out.  I need to share what NM means to me, so I’m going to add an aside here:

“Friday night…  What a different experience.  When we were just entering the enchanted circle, outside of Taos, I nearly hit a truckload of deer.  She asked me what they were, and I said something stupid like, “Maybe antelope?”  I think that those are in Wyoming, but the weird striped markings and very gnarled horns caused me to remark, “Them’s fandangled New Mexican deer!”  So glad not to actually hit any of them.  Dusk is weird anyway…  Kind of a creepy time in any setting, but we were getting tired and very anxious to meet our accommodations.

Not going to happen–as I’m sure that my former colleague remembers when we were in Chimayo five years ago and we nearly killed some pilgrims roadside while running out of gas and driving around lots of roads that dead-ended.  That’s Chimayo, I’m afraid, because after about 45-minutes, she and I still couldn’t find the microscopic sign for La Casa Escondida.  Why we stopped in the quintessential misnomer, “The Red Chile Tavern,” will forever be a mystery, but it did seem to be an uncommonly “open,” estbablishment.  (Reader please note that I only mean that it had patrons in it still and that I’m glad that at 10:30 something still was lighted.)  Perhaps the only establishment still having business outside of Espanola, which is pretty far away.

The proprietor said, “Well, hello there ladies,” which I followed up with quickly, “Listen, we are really lost and need some help.”  Whereupon a gentleman with fewer teeth–which is a difficult feat–said, “You’re lost? I live just down the street, is that where you’re going?”  She said, “No, thanks.”  Anyway, this other dude says, “Follow me.  I know where your B & B is.”  So, I did.  Up switchbacks and eating dust until he finally stopped and put on his hazards.  He hopped out quickly, and then her initial question was answered, he had brought his beer from the tavern.

He motioned down a bizzarre rocked road to our right and said, “Just go down this road and you’ll find the office. You may have to walk a while.”  As a former friend would say, a big “Oh, hell no,” resonated in my throat, but I was mainly wanting to get into our room, so I went down the little hill behind some pick-ups only to come upon the Texas Chainsaw Masacre shack!  Not wanting to wind up on a meathook or worse, I told her, don’t worry, I’ll run him over with my car, as I began backing up pretty fast.  He hopped away a bit and motioned for us to roll down our window.  Pulse in my ears and adrenaline rushing, I let it down a couple of inches and he says, “It’s down there.  Just get out of your car and knock.”  I’m like, “jumping over the pickups?  Yeah, right!”  So I say, “We’ll head up the hill.  I doubt that the office is there, so we’ll go up the road a bit to where those lights are on.”

We wound up scaring the shit, initially anyway, out of this older cooky lady, who kindly let us use her land or lan (not sure) to call La Casa Escondida.  While I was getting truly surreal directions: The telephone substation?  Not CR 101, but 100, which does not bare left, which is what the manager thought I had done whilst with my gentleman director led the way, our benefactor would alternately cackle and say stuff like, “Doesn’t this just beat all.”  Well, no shit.  We thanked the kind cookster, who followed us out admonishing us with pleasantries.  That is until she noticed where I had parked in my reeling adrenaline-filled state.  Oops!  She then said, “You’re on my septic tank, so get the hell off it!”

We somehow routed our way back down the hill–first try too–and at the bottom (believe it or not) the manager met us–hazards blasting and led us to our casita.  I don’t think that port with resident kitties ever was so good.  Honestly, these accommodations are incredible and we were very glad to be there unscathed.  If you ever go to Chimayo, remember that there are no street lights.” (me, 2008)

I stayed here with my best friend from work in 2008 and we had a great time.  My former colleague and I trekked around the area in 2004 and she wanted me to share an awkward moment with a room full of strangers, but I include this old entry here, because I want to underscore the importance of this area of the SW.  I love it.  Feel at home and have a mystical approach to being there and smelling the trees and seeing what unfolds.  It is my heart.  But, I was not going to share hotel room awkwardness with those who do not know me, so these paragraphs are what I’m willing to share.

I did go in and meet the woman.  She is totally not my type.  I have a specific type too.  She was funny though–in fact she is very funny–so I gave her a side hug while laughing.  She was obviously bothered by my effusive gesture, so being the in-your-face-type and very affectionate, I proceeded to be all over her all afternoon.  In fact, I was a big flirt when I found out that she was in a long-term partnership, and therefore,  she was harmless given that she was unavailable and not my type.  I can be a complete ass, and I don’t apologize for my nature.  Of course at the end of the afternoon, I went over to her, pretended to get ready to envelope her and then said, “It was very nice to meet you,” and extended my hand, which she gladly and probably gratefully took.  Ha.

Apparently, I made an impression on her in addition to being an ass.  She was calling her best friend incessantly the following day and also texting her.  Her best friend could not return her call and said she’d be lucky to be able to do it until after 5.  She then dialed her over and over wherein she finally did get ahold of her and said, “You better call me back, because I just met your life partner.”  More to come.

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