• What is Cigars and Jewelry?
    • Name Guide
  • Meet Gigi
    • Contact
  • This Thing Called Love
  • Single in New York
  • The New Chapter

Cigars and Jewelry

~ Gigi, you're from another planet.

Cigars and Jewelry

Tag Archives: finding love

The Science Of Giving A Shit

13 Monday Oct 2014

Posted by Gigi Engle in This Thing Called Love

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

advice, alone, anxiety, articles, bad dates, basic bitches, being in love, boyfriends, break up stories, breaking up, dating, experiencing sex, finding love, future, growing up, love, New York City, permalink, relationships, sex, single, single in new york, the new chapter, viral, writing

I woke up Saturday morning and kept my eyes tightly shut, consumed with desperate prayers that when I finally let my eyelids crack that I would be faced with the familiarity of my own apartment.

I didn’t get so lucky. Since I didn’t remember getting to this apartment I instinctively knew that something awful has happened last night. That I had had too much to drink, in all likeliness had acted absurd and obnoxious and was now going to be forced to face a situation I wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

—

I’ve been seeing Blue for a while now. I probably should have acknowledged his presence in my life on this blog before today but I didn’t expect that this was going to end up being something and figured I could just hash it out later as things would come to an end sooner rather than later. And I guess part of me didn’t want to jinx it. What did I do to even deserve an actual nice guy?

I’m a sex writer and have a blog where I openly discuss my life and the events surrounding it. What man in their right mind would want to date a person who does what I do? Obviously, I wouldn’t want to be with a man who didn’t accept my work and acknowledge the value that it brings to the world without dismissing it as vicious smut., but I didn’t really think there were many men out there who were actually understanding and, honestly, appreciative of my work.

But Blue is different. He cares about my writing and seems to care about me as well. I plan to post some of his writing here as he’s currently grappling with the realities of dating me: an emotionally unavailable millennial female.

I’ve resisted him as much as possible. I didn’t have any interest in having a relationship and certainly nothing serious. I guess reason has won out.

—

When the going gets tough it’s easier to run away and not deal with the situation than it is to actually confront it. I’ll openly admit that I am great at running. I could have a PHD in Running The Fuck Away.

Waking up this morning I laid very still for several minutes deciding what I was going to do and how I was going to make my escape from Blue’s apartment to the salvation of my walk up on the Upper West Side.

How far am I from the train, again? Is it too early to get home so I’ll have to explain what happened to PW? Would Blue wake up if I tried to sneak out? Shit, my backpack with all of my stuff was in the living room. Could I be quiet enough to get dressed and peace out?

My panicked thoughts were abruptly halted by Blue’s voice. He sounded somewhat annoyed, clearly perplexed and obviously frustrated.

We’d gone to a comedy show the night before, prefaced by a happy hour with my best friend from Paris, GH, and a bottle of wine with the steak we had at dinner. I didn’t need any more to drink at the show but I did—because I’m an asshole and have issues with limits.

Blue related what happened. A cringe-worthy mixture of obnoxious screaming and tears. I was mortified. I couldn’t even look at him.

Up until now I had nothing to lose. What the fuck did I care about this dude? Who was he to even get me to feel this shameful about my actions? I hated how vulnerable and emotionally raw I felt. I wanted out and fast.

“I’m leaving.” I declared and started putting on my clothes in a hurry, desperate to hightail it to the train even though it was raining and I had a terrible headache. “Why?” he asked. I explained that I was uncomfortable, that I didn’t want to be there anymore—the usual speech I give for why I don’t face my mistakes and instead run away and pretend nothing ever happened.

He asked me to stay. I kept getting dressed. I wasn’t staying there. Hell no. I looked at him lying there. He was confused and upset and asking me to stay despite the fact that I had been a complete jackass the night before. I didn’t understand why he was even asking me to stay. I brushed it off, curtly, as his being polite.

When he asked again I stopped in my tracks and just stared for a long moment, deep inside my head. Why was I running away from this guy? It was easy to run away before. I never gave a shit about anything enough to make it better. I didn’t have time to pick up the pieces. I just had to leave them there, messy and broken and move on to the next chapter, storing away those unwanted memories in the back of my mind. To admit that I cared meant that I would have to take action and set off on a course to (hopefully) remedy the situation.

What I felt next made my cheeks warm and sweat collect on my brow. Holy hell. I cared. I actually gave a shit. I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to mend the cracks and make it better. I wanted to fix it. And I wanted Blue. I didn’t want to never see him again as I had been planning only a few minutes earlier, as I lay plotting my escape.

I put down my things, climbed back into bed and legitimately had a real conversation. I admitted I was wrong, that I was red hot with embarrassment and sorry I behaved like such a petulant child. And what was crazier was that I meant it all.

He forgave me, which made me like him even more because it showed an amount of character uncommon in most of the men I’ve dealt with in my (almost) 24 years on this earth and nearly 5 spent in New York City. I acted like a dick, he was angry, I apologized and we both cared enough to make it better.

I call that progress. Progress for my maturity and progress for my sometimes-unmanageable pride. To admit defeat was the first step. And admitting defeat didn’t mean that I was defeated. It meant that I was a human being and human beings are flawed.

Anyway, I guess I have a boyfriend now. This is territory I haven’t been in in a very long time and I’ll admit I’m terrified while still being excited.

I’m grateful my heart wanted something enough to master the science of giving a shit.

best friends, fall in love, say goodbye, come back soon (Part 3)

20 Friday Sep 2013

Posted by Gigi Engle in Essays, This Thing Called Love

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

being in love, best friends, dating stories, finding love, love, reflection, relationship stories, relationships, self discovery, sex, writing

PART 3
Sending our boy off to learn to be a warrior, and no love to show for it

The last few days of July melted (almost quite literally) into the blistering Chicago heat of August. At this point I was well aware of Green’s feelings towards me and to the extent they deepened. I was constantly trying convince myself that I felt the same and that it had to be some highly dark force controlling my feelings to remain flaccid, Something telling me that I felt this way for a reason. That all of this confusion would somehow make sense in the end. I felt like something was forcing me to remain on only appreciative of Green, never passionately in love with. As much as he denied it, protecting his own heart as best as he could, he still hoped that I would come around and realize what I’d been missing, and we would ride off into some (very manly) proverbial sunset into a future we’d face together.

I did realize what I’d been missing. I knew he deserved my love more than anyone in the world. He was so incredibly good to me, he was my best friend, and there were no secrets between us. He loved me for every irrational freak out, for every inappropriate joke, for every mistake and for every triumph.

As the summer came to a close, as summers always must, Green’s last day arrived. He’d been telling me for weeks that he had a special good-bye surprise for me that he had been planning something that I couldn’t know about. Since I knew he was well aware of how much I hate surprises (they make me have anxiety—I’m the kind of girl who wants to have a concrete list of birthday and Christmas presents beforehand) I was nervous as to what this “surprise” might be.

Around sunset he drove me down to our local beach, the one that looks over sleepy Lake Michigan, the breeze was coming off the water, bringing with it the icy chill that signifies the swiftly approaching fall.

As we climbed out of the old, rusty red truck and made our way to the sand I noticed lights at the end of the beach. Green had set up a special goodbye picnic. On the blanket were all of my favorite rolls from our special sushi spot, the one he had taken me to many times, gotten me drunk on Saki bombs and always picked up the bill. It had been the site of many “dates” that he thought a girl like me deserved to be taken on.

I was awestruck. It was beautiful and sweet and easily the kindest thing any best friend could have possibly done to say goodbye to a girl he loved who didn’t love him back. I couldn’t help wondering why I was even bothering with the loser I was dating who hadn’t even introduced me to his family after 8 months.

The picnic wasn’t all. He gave me a Build-a-Bear dressed in Marine blues—I could scarcely comprehend the most man’s-man guy I know walking into Build-A-Bear and saying he needed to make a bear for his girl. I imagine, Green being the kind of guy that he was, that he made an embarrassingly hilarious scene and I’m sorry I missed it. When I hugged the little bear to my chest it said from inside its furry heart, in Green’s voice, “I love you and miss you, G.” he said it was so that, whenever I got lonely back in New York, I could hold my bear, squeeze it, and know somebody really loved me.

I wish I could say I fell into his arms that night and told him everything he wanted to hear. I wish I could tell you that, in this moment, I knew I had found the kind of love that my heart ached for with all of its might. But I didn’t say any of those things.

We went back to my house and watched television, on the tattered couch in our family room, with my brothers and sisters. We all told him how much we would miss him and how he had become a member of our family. My father even told him that he was the type of son he wished he could have had and that even though he constantly worried about me when I out form under his watchful eye, he never worried when I was with Green. He said he knew that he loved me more than himself and that was the kind of guy he could trust his daughter with.

I didn’t tell Green I wanted him. I didn’t send my boy off to training for the Crucible leaving him knowing he had a good girl waiting for him. I just played with his buzzed hair and scratched his scalp as he laid it in my lap. I just gently kissed his cheeks and told him I wished he didn’t have to go away.

I felt numb, like I always had. Listless on this last and final night, holding a man who truly loved me with all of his heart in my arms. And sometimes, I would hold my bear close to me and squeeze so that I could hear, “I love and miss you, G” in the voice of the man who had always been my hero.

More to come

Recent Posts

  • My Almost Boyfriend
  • 5 Things Learned From My Ex’s Ex
  • The Science Of Giving A Shit
  • Gay Men Are A Girl’s Best Friend
  • The Best And Worst Moments Of Living With My Brother

Recent Comments

Phillip on The 6 Reasons Why I Deleted My…
M on To My Emotionally Unstable, Ce…
kellyrtillson on To My Emotionally Unstable, Ce…
Stella on To My Emotionally Unstable, Ce…
Dan on The 6 Reasons Why I Deleted My…

Archives

  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • May 2013
  • March 2013
  • December 2012
  • October 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • December 2011
  • June 2011
  • January 2011
  • December 2010
  • August 2010
  • May 2010

Categories

  • Articles
  • Essays
  • Press Releases
  • Short Stories
  • Single in New York
  • The New Chapter
  • This Thing Called Love

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy