Creeping Out

Posted by Carlo — March 4, 2012

It is the dead of night. In the stillness of it all, when everything and every person in the world are frozen in time, I lie still on her bed, staring intently at the ceiling and reflecting on what transpired. This is not the time nor the place to contemplate this, I know, and I judiciously shelve the thought in some recess within my mind, knowing full well I’ll inevitably have to revisit it some time.

I surreptitiously rustle out of the bed and patter my way through the dimly lit room and on to the adjacent bathroom. I close the door, fumbling to find the light switch in the unfamiliar layout. I feel a creeping uneasiness festering within me. Guilt? Remorse? I really don’t know.

Having finally turned on the light, I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and the first thing that catches my eye is the glimmer of gray streaks that have adorned my temples as well as the patch above my widow’s peak. I turn my head from side to side to get a better look and they glisten tauntingly against the incandescent light, seemingly implying that I should have the wisdom to do the right thing. But their taunts are to no avail and I head back to the bed.

I give her a hearty squeeze. I turn away, get out of bed again and put on my clothes. As I walk out the door, I see, out of the corner of my eye, some movement on the bed, but I don’t look back. I just show myself out.

And now all my loves have come back to haunt me
my regrets and texts sent to taunt me
I never claimed to be more than a one-night stand

[…]

And it’s all alright
I guess it’s all alright
I got nothing left inside of my chest
but it’s all alright.

– All Alright by fun.

P.S. To all my friends who read this and think I’ve suddenly got game, I’m sorry to disappoint, but this is pure fiction.

P.P.S. I am extremely excited to see fun. in concert later this month at The Independent in San Francisco.

Independence Date

Posted by Carlo — July 4, 2011

When they first kissed and held hands,
she expected to be wholly entranced–
to feel some magic in her heart, perchance.

But, in that ephemeral instance,
by the dictates of fate or circumstance,
the only sparks on that night of Independence,
were in the peripheral distance.

This Too Shall Pass

Posted by Carlo — June 9, 2010

She is unassumingly intoxicating–the kind of girl that charms your heart into submission without effort nor intent. And that is precisely what she did with mine one fine evening.

We talked; we danced; we held hands. All innocent in retrospect, but that point was moot by the time I realized it. From the moment I dropped her off at her place in the wee hours of the morning, to the minute I woke up at around noon hours later, my alcohol-fueled brain already fired off premature and misguided synapses of affection to the neurons within my impressionable psyche.

The heroine in this tale is in her mid-twenties, spirited and sociable. I, on the other hand, am inopportunely at the tailend of my thirties, seasoned and solitary. While the May-to-December angle is a convenient, more palatable and face-saving rationalization to convince my fragile ego that nothing will come of this, I know the real deal breaker. The signs are crystal clear; she just does not harbor the same feelings for me as I do for her.

“to me, you’re strange and you’re beautiful,
you’d be so perfect with me but you just can’t see
you turn every head but you don’t see me …”

Despite this rueful realization, the nascent feeling remains resilient. I have not been able to snuff it out with a dousing of vodka cocktails for that only intensifies the flame. Neither am I able to bury it deep in my unconscious for it just manages to creep back up with more verve. Fighting it is a lost cause, so I concede. I know what I have to do, as I have done it before.

I wait it out.

“sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first,
sometimes, the first thing you want never comes, and I know, the waiting is all you can do … sometimes”

- strange and beautiful by aqualung

Sooner or later, time will reveal there’s an expiration date for this infatuation. Unreciprocated, it will eventually turn into a disposable emotion–one to be discarded for its silly uselessness. When that time comes I shall be free again. Free to fall for more romanticized follies. Then the cycle begins anew.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

The More Things Change …

Posted by Carlo — April 11, 2010

Is sending a friend request on Facebook the equivalent of asking for someone’s phone number? It certainly is as personal–even more so, in fact. It not only establishes a medium of communication between 2 people like the phone does, it also heralds the always open (browser) window to the other person’s online persona. This is assuming, of course, that the object of one’s affection has an FB profile and is active in the online social scene; but, in this voyeuristic and narcissistic day and age, who doesn’t and isn’t? Basically, in what would typically be unraveled by going on a date or two, a Pursuer can instead get the virtual low-down in a minute or two of viewing the Pursued’s profile. (Don’t even pretend you don’t do this, dear readers. We all googled the Pursued before Facebook came along, so don’t worry, you’re not a cyberstalking freak.)

I ponder this fact because, a few weeks ago, I was quite pleased with myself having finally asked a Pursued if I could add her on Facebook. (I asked before I did so to appear, er, gentlemanly. I’m an idiot, I know.) To my alcohol-muddied recollection, she replied with an inviting “yes.” However, it’s now been 3 weeks and I still see this beside her FB profile.

The feeling I get when I see this — and yes, I look at it everyday — is reminiscent of the dreaded wait for a callback after leaving a blundering voice mail, or the anticipation of hearing the iPhone make that SMS tone after dispatching a flirty but ill-conceived text message. Maybe I spooked her by friending too soon–as in, 1 day after asking. Is there already proper etiquette on how soon one can friend someone on Facebook? Or, do we just rehash the rule for the post-encounter phone call, i.e., do it 2 days after?

Be it via phone lines, cell towers or fiber optic cables, I know, at least, one thing remains the same: my results are consistent however way I do it. FML.

The Sweet Spot

Posted by Carlo — July 19, 2009

photo by madmonk

In this month’s GQ, Adam Sachs posits that the golden (prowling) age for the contemporary single male–when one can snag and/or shag an eclectic array of ladies, from their roaring twenties to their rocking fifties–comes in his mid- to late-thirties. He calls this period the Sweet Spot. And as yours truly is a man in this so-called period in my life, I buy the logic behind Mr. Sachs’s theory. Sadly, practicing that theory is beyond this author’s realm of capabilities at the moment.

Why, you may ask? Well, for one, I am guilty of sign #10 in another article I came upon this weekend, AskMen.com’s Top 10 Signs You’ve Been Single Too Long:

#10: You Assume You Repulse All Women – When a girl walks by and smiles, most guys take it as an ego-boosting compliment. However, being single for a prolonged period can start to wear on your confidence. Before you know it you start assuming these flirtatious glances are really smirks at your expense, probably aimed at your frumpy hair or bad outfit …

Sooo me. While “repulse“ may be a bit too harsh a word, the snippet above sums up the state of my confidence right now. I’m sure there’s some Freudian explanation for it, but I’m too distracted to ponder such profundity. (Shallowness is indeed another one of my disparaging character traits.)

So, for a glorious summer day such as today was, when the opposite sex delightfully wear their fetching sundresses to seduce non-repulsive men, what does a doomed man like me do? I certainly could not and did not even remotely charm the panties off of a wanton woman. I did, however, end up royally scrubbing the scum off of my freakin’ toilet. Something definitely stinks in my life, but at least it’s not my bathroom.