A Journey of Self Discovery w Mr. Computer Programmer
If you’ve been following this blog, you know we share openly our own self discovery journey. This is no exception. In the following story, I pull from my early twenties memory banks about a one night stand that I was certain would lead me into a free fall about my own sense of worth and feelings of desperation. My goal has always been to fall in love. What I didn’t realize, was falling in love requires you to love yourself first.
“Sh*t, d*mn, uggggh where are my effing keys?!” I screamed aloud while fumbling in my purse and grabbing a black blazer from my bedroom closet. I had to meet my coworkers downtown at a very luxe sushi restaurant in half hour. Except, with traffic, it would take me at least an hour.
A word to those wondering, when I dress up and go downtown- it is not like I am showing off my assets. I wear ballet flats and on especially daring occasions- I’ve been known to rock a 1 inch heel. I can be easily spotted in a crowd of 20-something “eager to show off women” by wearing my dark blue skinny jeans from a no name designer that I picked out of a half off clearance rack at Ross, a modest neckline t-shirt, and a business blazer. All in all- you can’t tell if I am there to hit on you or ask you if we could do a business luncheon sometime.
But let’s be honest- I’ll probably hit on you either way…just to get your reaction.
I spot my keys on my counter, under a concoction of oral antibiotics used to treat one of my several recurring lung infections. I push the nebulizer aside along with vials of clear fluid, ciproflaxin, azithromyacin, synthroid, zenpep, and my personal favorite- needles from giving myself insulin after lunch. I love my coworkers but after 40 hours with them this week, Friday night isn’t necessary.
Ellie Goulding fills my car speakers as I cruise down the interstate for a solid 3 minutes prior to hitting stop and go traffic for the remaining time. Approximately an hour after I left my house, and frankly not paying attention to a damn thing as I leap out of my car, I apply sheer lip gloss and gracefully walk in to meet the crowd for sashimi. Amongst all the familiar faces, a particular new face stands out. It’s like I have a radar for single men. Mr. Suave is seated directly across from me- as he was roped into this event by my cubicle buddy.
A nonchalant “hello” escaped both our lips as we sized each other up. Hmmm. Date potential? Boyfriend potential? I order a saki and 2 rolls when he comments how impressed he is by my appetite. “You aren’t one of those twigs who just eats salad. I’m impressed.”
Dating disasters always teach us a bigger lesson
and for a moment, I wonder if I’m ready for this experience to unravel. I look at him. I trust the voice inside my head that urges me to flirt back.
“Baby, no need to be impressed yet.” Overly direct has always worked in my favor and I can tell he is very intrigued. Now, it is time to basically ignore him and his gorgeous accent from somewhere south of the border all night. I socialize with all the coworkers, tell jokes, order another roll, and once for good spirit- send him a wink from across the room where I am chatting up a fellow socialite.
Requesting my bill from the waiter, I find out- my $60 order was magically taken care of. And there’s Mr. Suave- locking eyes with me as I realize he really meant it when he was impressed by my appetite. Striding to him, I thank him and extend my right hand for a polite handshake. Let’s play coy now.
“So Mr. Suave, what is it that you do?” Just so happens he owns his own computer programming business and builds websites for small to midsize companies. Nerds are hot. He asks if I would like to join him for a glass of wine and come to think of it- I am thirsty…
A bottle of wine later he drives me back to his place in his crisp and white Mercedes SL 500. His place, is by far one of the most magnificent down town condominiums I have been in. 27 floors up, our city skyline peaks in his floor-to-ceiling glass walls, black leather couches are adorned with red pillows, and a red rug stretches like a red carpet from the kitchen to the sofa.
In the kitchen, I spot an espresso machine and if I had a sense of smell, I would be seduced by the scent of coffee grinds and leather floating intoxicatingly above me. I walk over to take in the depth of the sprawling city and think to myself that I owe the next few hours to every girl in every small town, who ever secretly fantasized about a Spanish Lover in a half million dollar condo lit by the city and the moon.
And let the games begin. Robin Thicke fills his surround sound with the sensual classic “Sex Therapy” and really- that’s all I remember about the first hour. Lifted and carried to the bedroom, set down gently on a bear skin rug, I am ready for what seems like round 15.
It wasn’t until about 2 am I realized, we never closed the blinds. Drifting off into a quick sleep, the sound of traffic cradling me I think to myself “girls all over the world- you just lived vicariously through me”. I wake about half hour later and gently nudge him.
Ugh..he wants to cuddle. Kill me. “I need to get home and let my puppy out,” I whisper.
I don’t have a puppy. I just want to go home. Therefore, lying seemed like a natural choice.
Cruising in the SL500, I start to dig for my keys. Nowhere. Not in my purse. Not in my pockets. As we pull up to my car, I look into the window to see them dangling in the ignition. And my doors happen to be locked. He reluctantly agrees to take me to my house to retrieve my spare.
Part of mastering self discovery is noticing when you are annoyed with yourself.
I realize as we pull into my driveway that my house key is also in the ignition of my car, so I need to break into my own house.
I crack open my living room window and sneak inside, dashing to the front door to let him now see my place. He walks in.
I follow his eyes as he skims the open floor plan looking for a puppy. I walk into the other room to grab the spare. His eyes glance at the kitchen to the right and stop cold.
Just as I am coming up with an excuse for the f*cking non existent dog, he noticed the medical supplies I was too busy to put away. Ciproflaxin is a medication commonly prescribed for STDs. I know I am clean, but he now probably thinks I gave him some disease.
He noticed what looks like a vaporizer and a slew of needles, some used and some dangling out of Sharps containers. No wonder I am skinny and eat a ton, I obviously do drugs.
I attempt to explain on the way back I have a condition that I take medication for and I just forgot to clean up because I was in a hurry. He nods that he understands.
And I never see him again.
Sis, here’s what I learned from dating the computer programmer:
- First of all, you have to find a way to disclose your condition to them in a way that makes you feel comfortable. Although I am not necessarily proud of how I use to hide my condition, I think it served a higher purpose in some rare situations. Not everyone needs to know what it is you’re going through behind the scenes.
Also, if you are going to be intimate with someone, it does make sense to reveal your condition. When I finally got around to explaining cystic fibrosis to my fiance, I said, “Hey, this may not be for you. This is what it is. This is what it’s like. Do you want dinner at 7?” And then whatever he decided, I had to accept.
- Paradoxically, allow yourself to be in the moment. You will never have life figured out. If anyone claims to know it all, run. You do you. Learn as much as you can about yourself (here’s a 31 day journal challenge for self discovery). And embrace the unknown.
What has dating taught you about yourself?
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