The Homicide Detective (Part Two)

After about a year things got to a really bad place. He had been the only man who’d been able to really break me down and make me lose myself. I grew up watching my father be emotionally abusive to my mom and I swore I’d never end up in a relationship like that, and here I was living it. I would tell Matt this during every long emotional argument and he’d always apologize and say he didn’t want to do that to me. Another of his many lies because he always would do it again, and again. I became afraid of him, and not just because he slept over with his gun right next to the bed, which looking back was also pretty frightening. I was out to dinner with a friend one night and left her in the restaurant while I stepped outside for what I expected to be a quick conversation with Matt. It was snowing and freezing that night, but because I thought I was just stepping out for a minute I didn’t bring my coat. He picked a fight and was so manipulative and threatening that he managed to keep me on the phone for a half hour, even though I told him I was cold and my friend was waiting. He told me if I hung up with him then we were over. I should have taken that enticing offer, but instead I stayed out in the cold and came back to an angry friend who was confused by my new found inconsideration. After that I started avoiding going out with my friends. It was easier to just stay home then to even go out to dinner with friends, since I knew it would just end up in a fight.

The reality of the situation really began to really sink in while I was out visiting Gavin and Raven in California. We were at Disneyland, and I should have been having a great time, but instead I was on the phone with Matt most of the time, and snapping at my friends for making jokes in the background. They sat me down and had an intervention of sorts. Raven even cried and said she couldn’t stand to see me this way. Gavin told me I was one of the most optimistic and happy people he’d ever known, but that in the past year he didn’t see that person anymore. I was shocked that I was viewed this way. I hadn’t realized my friends could sense how flawed and defective the relationship was even as I’d tried to hide it from them all. I felt trapped and broken, and somehow dependent upon this screwed up relationship. Inside I was screaming to be freed from this torturous relationship but on the outside, I was hanging on to it, and him, with fervor. I was completely lost. It was almost as if I’d been brainwashed and, in a way, that’s exactly what he’d done with his manipulation. He took advantage of how trusting I was and how naive. He knew exactly how to use my weaknesses to his advantage.

I started becoming more certain that he was being completely dishonest with me as more time went by. The information he kept giving me didn’t add up. On one of our vacations after he’d taken a private shower and finished blow drying his fake hair behind closed doors, I went in to shower but realized I’d forgotten my face wash, so I left the water running and went out to get it. When I came out he was on the phone and acted kind of nervous and surprised as if he’d been caught. I went back and finished my shower and when I came out I asked who he'd been talking to. He said it was one of his construction guys, that there had been a problem, and he proceeded to tell me a story I was pretty certain he’d made up on the spot. He said he had to call him back to make sure everything was resolved. He then supposedly called his "worker” and while he was supposedly talking to him I knew in my gut that he hadn’t been speaking to one of his guys when I’d walked out of the bathroom earlier, and I also knew that he wasn’t really talking to anyone right now. I believed he was making a pretend phone call to solidify his story and I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I went over to him, smiled and sat on his lap, and tried to kiss his neck to get as close to the phone as possible so I could hear if there was a voice on the other end. He seemed uncomfortable and even moved the phone to the other ear furthest from me. I looked at the clock and made a mental note of the time.

Later, when we were on the beach, I said I needed to go back to the room and get more sun block. While in the room I grabbed his cell phone and looked at his outgoing calls. I’d made a note of the time he’d made the phone call I'd believed to be fake and, sure enough, no call was made at that time. Liar. I looked at the call he’d made right before that, the call I’d walked in on when I'd come out from the shower, and I wrote down the number. I used *67 to make my number private and I called it from my phone. It wasn’t one of his work men, it was a woman with a New York accent almost as thick as Matt’s. I hung up. His wife. Has to be. Bastard. I saw another number he’d called earlier that day. A different number, but when I called it, the same woman’s voice answered. I could have confronted him but I didn’t. I can’t really explain why. Part of me was afraid of him and part of me just still didn’t want to admit to myself what a fool I’d been. Another part of me still felt like I loved him and wanted to believe that even if he was lying, it didn’t mean he was still with her, that maybe he was calling about the kids, or so I hoped. Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of Matt…yet.

The beginning of the end came while we were on vacation in Aruba for my birthday. We were downstairs at the hotel casino playing blackjack. He was losing so badly that I was shaking my head and laughing. I couldn’t believe how bad our luck was going and I was trying to lighten the mood. We finally left the tables and were walking back to the room to freshen up before we headed to dinner. Matt was acting cold. I asked what was wrong and he started getting upset and telling me that it wasn’t funny we'd lost. I said I wasn’t laughing because it was funny, I just couldn’t believe our bad luck. I told him it wasn’t worth getting upset over, you can’t take gambling too seriously. He told me that was easy for me to say since it wasn’t my money being lost. By the time we got back to the room a full blown argument had ensued. I didn’t understand what he was so upset about, and I couldn’t believe he was yelling at me on my birthday. Then he looked at me in the midst of his shouting, with anger in his eyes, and reached out and grabbed my throat hard with his hand. I lost it then. I ran from him to the other end of the room and screamed at him to stay the hell away from me when he tried to come closer. He tried to calm me down and I wanted nothing to do with it. I ended up bawling, in a puddle on the floor, on my birthday, in the middle of Aruba. I slept there that night, on the floor. On the flight home we didn’t speak. I looked over at him at one point and I saw tears sliding down his face. I shouldn’t have, but I grabbed his hand and held it while he cried. I would love to say that was the end of Matt, but unfortunately I stayed with him a little longer........To Be Continued........

The Homicide Detective (Part Three)

The end finally came on a regular day with a regular fight. I was leaving to visit Gavin for a few days in California the next day and I ended up on the phone all night fighting with Matt, per the usual. I ended the conversation by breaking up with him. I should express that this wasn’t the first time I’d broken up with him, but every other time, I’d accept his apology the next day and we'd get back together. I was determined for this time to be different. I’d had enough. When I was with Gavin, Matt was continuously texting and calling me and leaving me messages. I made Gavin read the texts and listen to the voice mails. I couldn’t hear his manipulating voice without being affected and I knew it, so I had Gavin interpret his messages since I didn’t have the strength to just delete them. Hearing Gavin interpret what Matt said made me more aware of how ridiculous his messages were and how manipulative they were. He didn’t think I was serious about the break up and kept begging me to just contact him to let him know I was o.k. Gavin advised me to text him saying: I’m fine and I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore, take care. I managed to do it and my phone blew up after that. I finally turned it off to avoid seeing his calls. He didn’t think I’d actually break up with him and now he was in panic mode. Good. It was his turn for a change.

I stayed with Gavin for almost a week before returning to New York, avoiding Matt’s calls the entire visit and gaining some much needed perspective. When I got home I realized I couldn’t stay there, in New York. I had been contemplating moving home at some point and thought now would be the perfect opportunity. I knew I couldn’t stay there without getting back together with him. I knew he wouldn’t let up until he convinced me to take him back and I wasn’t going to stick around and let him have that opportunity. Within two weeks I'd found an apartment in Los Angeles, found a replacement tenant for my apartment in New York, and had myself transferred from the New York flight attendant base to the one in California. It was a shocking and sudden move, but it was the best decision I could have made. Matt still tried to contact me, but I didn’t respond, and he eventually gave up .

On a more recent note, he actually tried calling me about a year ago. Relentlessly. He left messages which I didn’t return. He tried to instant message me whenever I was online until I blocked him from doing that. He started to send me emails as well. During this, I decided it might be a good idea to clean the slate and change my phone number, so I did. But that didn’t stop the emails. I still have a couple of them which I’ll share, with my own personal commentary added in as well:

Hey Parker, I hope everything is going good for you, I tried calling you the other night, not even sure if you have the same number, phone wouldn't let me leave a message. (Probably for a reason,divine intervention) Its been a long time since we spoke, I left you a few messages (e-mails) (Instant messaging is not the same as a message or an email, but whatever) not sure if you received them. (Yes, I did, so stop sending them...one would have been enough) I was hoping to talk to you,(too bad, not going to happen..obviously) going for a serious surgery in the next couple of weeks (getting your hair plugs replaced?)and thought it would be nice to speak to you. It wasn't that long ago that we both cared about each other,(it was actually...it was long ago) and to me its important to hear your voice.(Well try my voice mail again then, I have a great outgoing message you can listen to) If I don't talk to you, (you won't) always be safe,(the farther away from you the safer I am) and know that your still always in my thoughts.(That knowledge is actually far more creepy then comforting, but thanks)

Hey Parker, I have been trying to contact you for a couple of weeks. (sigh...i know Matt..I know you have. You apparently don't get what being blown off means exactly) Your phone number no longer works, (and if I wanted you to have my new one, don't you think I would've given it to you?) so it doesn't look like i am going to get to speak to you,(Woohoo! Progress!! you got something right, finally!!) I am not even sure if this is your e-mail address anymore, but this is my only way i can try to contact you.(Or you could try another way...hear me out here, maybe not trying to contact me at all instead?....no?....not so much?......) A couple of weeks ago I sent you a text telling you I was sick and wanted to talk to you before my surgery, not sure if you received it. I am having surgery on 8/13/10, (I am so glad you made sure to tell me which year the surgery would be because if I hadn't gotten this email until next year I would've been sooo worried on 8/13/11) back around the time of my birthday I was diagnosed with cancer.(Aw, near your b-day of all times?! :'( Poor you. So getting a cancerous mole removed, they call that "surgery" now?) I know it may seem odd, (it does) even though you are no longer part of my life,(a fact that I understand, but you don't) I felt it would make me stronger knowing I spoke to you.(so in other words you're saying the strength you need to make it through the surgery lies in my hands?No pressure to call back though of course) Since the day I met you, you were an important part of my life, and I just want you to try to remember that. (I remember a lot of things...crying..manipulation..throat grabbing..hmm, important part of your life?Doesn't ring a bell)


In case you are wondering, he was just fine after his surgery (if he was even being truthful that a surgery existed) because I got more attempts at communication from him after that date, so I am not making fun of a man who died of cancer, just a man who had bad hair and a temper problem. It was a struggle to get myself back after what I went through with Matt but I came out a stronger person through it all, knowing more then ever what I want, what I deserve, and what I won't accept. A man who lies, lives secretly with his wife and 3 kids, who is too old, has no time, is manipulative, and has fake hair is unacceptable, so thank God I can finally cross those items off my list of desires.

The Homicide Detective (Part One)

Some women might find a man in uniform sexy. Perhaps a police officer is appealing as a potential mate for some women. I might have thought the same until I met Matt. He wasn’t exactly in a uniform, but he was on duty the night we met. We met at one of the local New York bars I frequented and he was wearing a suit. He had a gun strapped to his waist and a beer in his hand which I found to be an interesting combination. Apparently this was what detectives in New York did during their downtime.

We flirted and chatted a bit and by the end of the night we’d exchanged numbers and planned a dinner date for the following week. On our first date these are some of the things I learned about Matt. He was a 44 year old homicide detective and had been a cop for over 20 years, he was going through a bad divorce and temporarily living at his sister’s house, he had 3 children, he had his own construction company which was another completely full time job so he rarely ever had time for sleep, he had an attractive face but he had a horrible hairstyle. So I’d managed to pick yet another man who was far too old for me and who had more baggage then I see in a days work, but for some reason I looked past all of that and decided I really liked him. He seemed nice, charming, appeared to be a gentleman, and I figured if it got serious we could work on his awful hairstyle.

Over the next couple of months we dated and saw each other often and grew closer. It seemed like he really cared about me and I enjoyed spending time with him. My birthday came around and he bought me the first pair of diamond earrings I’d ever owned and treated me like a princess. My roommate told me if I didn’t hang on to this one I was crazy. I thought maybe she was right, maybe I should get serious with Matt. So we did, we became a couple. I was happy for a while, I believed we were in love and content. He spent the few hours in between jobs with me and frequently stayed over at my apartment. He got along with my roommates. We even went on island vacations together. Then slowly everything began to change.

The thing about detectives is they are extremely good at being manipulative, they do it for a living. I didn’t see it coming since he had portrayed himself to be such a kind, patient man. When he started to change into the devil I was blindsided. It started when his insecurities began to play with him, and he’d initiate arguments with me over ridiculous things. He would accuse me of being too friendly with a bartender, or he’d want to know why someone from work we ran into seemed to be flirting with me. All things which were untrue but I found myself constantly defending myself for sometimes a good hour or more. I would exhaust myself trying to make him understand how absurd his accusations were, and he would finally let it go and apologize. I’d be so thankful that the argument was over I was missing the fact that the arguments were unnecessary and wearing me down. It was a relationship of highs and lows. One day we’d have an amazing night together and laugh and talk, then the next day I’d be crying and yelling and defending myself. He started to show true colors but he had begun to break me down so I couldn’t see them clearly. He would point the finger at me so I wouldn’t have time to take a really good look at him and his situation.

I started to have nagging feelings about the facts he shared about his life. That feeling in the pit of our stomach that tells us something isn’t quite right , the one we’re never supposed to ignore, I was ignoring it. My gut instinct told me he was lying about possibly everything but I didn’t want to believe I could be that naive and I didn’t want to believe he could lie to me. As the months went on I would ask questions about his situation, about why he was living with his sister for example. He told me it was because she had a huge house with her husband and he had a whole wing to himself there. When I’d ask about why he kept his phone off at night so that I could never get in touch with him he said he just did that so he could charge it. When I asked why he wasn’t yet divorced since they’d supposedly been legally separated for a couple of years, he said it just takes a while for these things. When I asked why I couldn’t come to his sister’s house he said it was because she wasn’t on his side with his divorce so he didn’t know how she would react to me. Everyone around me believed he was lying. About everything. I didn’t want to believe it but deep down I felt the same way.

Then there was his hair. I had heard rumors around town that he had fake hair, that he wore a toupee. I tried to pretend I thought the rumors were silly and untrue but I secretly became obsessed with his hair. He never really let me grab his hair even in a passionate moment, he’d move my hand. We would take baths together, but never a shower and he never put his head under water. Even when we were on vacation, I’d swim out under the gorgeous crystal blue water, because that’s what people do while on an island, and I’d look back and see him standing there, water only up to his waist. I even shared my suspicions with my roommate and she and I would analyze pictures of him, pointing out the fact that the bottom of his hair looked questionably different in texture and color from the top half. I found myself staring closely at his hair while he was asleep. I could have easily found out if the rumors were true by just catching him off guard and pulling as hard as I could on the top of his hair, but part of me didn’t want to know if was fake, and the other part of me believed I loved him and didn’t want to embarrass him if the rumors were true...........To Be Continued........

The Chef

I’ve always been a fan of great food, especially expensive, high quality food I couldn’t often afford, so dating a chef had always been an appealing idea. I just wasn’t sure how to meet one. I mentioned this one day to my friend Mary who worked for a high end, fancy hotel. Mary is the type of person who is blunt, to the point, and gets things done with no fear or shame. When she told me she would find me a single chef, I believed her. Sure enough, she called me a week later and told me she’d spoken to not just any chef, but the head chef at the hotel, who happened to be single. I was thrilled. Until she said, “but there is just this one thing…..” uh-oh. There always has to be a “but.” She told me he was a little on the older side. I asked her if by older she meant a few years ahead of me or had he gone to high school with my grandfather. She said she wasn’t sure, but if she had to guess, he might be 50.…possibly older. I told her I was past the “date someone old enough to be my father” phase and 50-ish was too old. She talked to me more about it, trying to change my mind over the next couple of weeks. She’d apparently told him all about me and he was dying to set up a date. He’d already left a message for me, to which I hadn’t yet responded. I explained to Mary I didn’t see the point in starting something that clearly wouldn’t go anywhere. She said he looked young for his age, expressed to me again what an exceptional chef he was, and mentioned that some of the staff had run into him on the beach while he was surfing (hmm, a surfer, that doesn’t sound like a grandfather.) They’d told her he had a great body and that he seemed so youthful and fun. Well, maybe I could give it a shot, I wouldn’t want “dating a chef” to end up on my bucket list.

I decided one night while I was pretty tipsy (always when I make my best decisions), that I would call him and tell him I’d love to meet for dinner. He sounded thrilled to hear from me and said he’d love to meet up. So we scheduled a date.

We decided to meet at a sushi restaurant he recommended. I started to get excited, thinking maybe this fancy chef who surfs, has a hot body, looks young, makes a great living, and can whip up a lobster dinner for me might just be a great thing. Maybe I’d been too judgmental about the situation. Then I saw him. Maybe not. We said hello and sat down. I had seen only one picture of him from his hotel’s website. He did not look like that picture. He wasn’t terrible looking, but his face had so many more wrinkles then the deceiving picture had shown, his hair looked like a small child had cut it using a weed whacker, and his teeth were a little too big for his mouth. But I was determined not to judge at first glance. I told myself the wrinkles were from all of the surfing he does. Then when I asked him about his surfing, he looked confused and said he’d never been on a surfboard in his life. Apparently the surfer chef was one of his employees. I wondered if that chef was single, while I silently cursed Mary for all of the misinformation. I decided to make the best of the situation. As we chatted I found out he had been divorced not just once, but three times, and had a child from each marriage. Wow. So at least he didn’t have any baggage. More sake please.

After 3 shared bottles of sake, a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila, I was actually enjoying my night with the old, divorced, funny haired chef. He asked if I wanted to continue the night at a nearby bar which had a live band. I said sure, why not. We talked more, drank more, danced a little, then went back to his apartment since it was right near by. He said he was going to use the restroom and would be right back. I sat on the bed which is the last thing I remember before the sake and tequila infused buzz took over.

The next thing I know I’m waking up in a bed, confused as to where I am. I’m fully clothed at least, and I’m laying on someone’s arm. It’s hard to remember who at first through my hazy hangover. Damn you tequila. I looked around and started to remember. Chef looked at me and smiled, and I asked what had happened. He said he came back from the restroom and I was out cold on the bed, so he just let me sleep. He said he wasn’t used to anyone sleeping in his bed, but it had been nice, and told me to rest while he went to get us muffins and coffee. He was wearing outdated looking glasses, and I watched him put on a ridiculous looking visor and Hawaiian shirt (which were both things my dad wore growing up) and as I listened to the 50’s music playing on his radio, I realized this just wasn’t going to work out. After he came back with coffee and muffins I said I needed to get going. He kissed me goodbye and told me how excited he was to spend time with me and said he couldn’t wait to see me again. I didn’t want to burst his bubble so I just smiled and said goodbye.

Chef called the next day to ask when I’d be free so he could make me dinner, and while tempted to see what amazing dish he’d whip up, I said I was busy all week. I figured I’d just slowly blow him off and he’d eventually get the hint. He didn’t let me off that easy. He called again the next evening and lured me in with the promise of a fancy homemade meal full of things like filet mignon, mussels, and homemade dessert. I finally agreed to dinner that weekend. I thought, why not get at least one great meal out of it before I move on. He did seem like a nice, normal man after all. That is until the next evening when he called again, and he seemed pretty intoxicated. He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, he kept calling me baby and slurring , and was acting lovey-dovey and a bit too serious. I decided it would probably be best to cancel the “harmless” dinner date. While I tried to figure out how to get out of the date, he proceeded to not only call me often, but also email me as well. More often then not he seemed drunk and out of it. I realized this could quite possibly be the reason he’d been divorced 3 times. He may have been an amazing chef but, it seemed, a closet drunk as well.

After procrastinating until the morning of our date, I finally called to cancel. I told him I wasn’t feeling well and was so sorry I wouldn’t be able to make it. He seemed really disappointed and told me he understood and looked forward to rescheduling. He then called later to leave a long, drunken message telling me about the fancy dinner he’d had to eat alone, and mumbled some other things I couldn’t quite understand. After that I started avoiding his many calls, and he finally left a message one day saying, “Hey Parker. So if you don’t want to see me anymore, or if this isn’t working out for you, then just tell me. I mean, just call me and tell me. Let’s just be honest with each other here.” Be honest. O.k. You’re an old, thrice divorced drunk who has hair like a chia pet, teeth resembling a rabbit's, and you dress like my dad. You came on way to strong and you’re acting like we had a relationship even though it was only one date. One date, on which, I had to get liquored up in order to enjoy, and I can’t remember the end of the evening because I passed out on your bed. Oh, and since we’re being honest, I only agreed to go out with you, despite your age, because I’d been given false information and thought you were someone else who was supposed to be younger, hotter, and more fit. You should change the picture on your website because you don’t look like that anymore and most of the time I don’t understand what you’re saying because of all the slurring. That's what I wanted to say. What I actually said to him was that my life was very busy at the moment and if I had any free time in the future I’d let him know. He finally stopped calling after that, though Mary told me he’d ask about me from time to time. I heard recently that he is still single (shocker) and still seeking wife #4. I do still have an appetite for delicious food, but I decided it may be best to pay my compliments to the chef from afar.

The Inflight Boyfriend

It was on a flight from California to New York that I met Miguel. I had claimed him during boarding as my I.F.B. or “inflight boyfriend” (which is a term flight attendants use to describe the boys or men we find attractive and secretly hope to flirt with during the flight.) He was tall dark and handsome, and dressed in a suit, (which was a bonus since I’m a sucker for a man in a suit.)

After we’d taken off, I was disappointed to see that he was completely knocked out. He was so fast asleep that when I walked through the aisle, and accidentally kicked him in the leg so hard I was certain I must have broken a bone, he didn’t even budge. Then, when I walked through later, his long leg was once again in the aisle and I accidentally kicked it again even harder. Oops! I opened my mouth to begin apologizing profusely but he was still out cold.

An hour later, while walking through the aisle, I saw that my I.F.B. was finally awake. I asked him if his leg was sore, and when he looked confused I explained the encounter I’d with his leg while he’d been passed out. I told him I was shocked he hadn’t woken since I’d kicked him so hard…twice. He laughed and told me he wouldn’t hold it against me. I asked if I could bring him a cocktail as a peace offering for roughing him up, but he declined. He said he’d had quite a bit to drink at the wedding he’d just come from and needed to recover. I told him, in my most flirtatious tone, to let me know if he changed his mind.

A while later I was in the galley chatting with my coworker about my I.F.B, and telling her it was a shame I'd more than likely never see him again. While there were plenty of attractive men on our flights, most of them didn't usually ask us out. Just as I was complaining about this fact, my I.F.B walked up right behind me. My coworker stifled a giggle and made an excuse to leave us alone. He formally introduced himself, his name was Miguel, and then he proceeded to ask me out to dinner. I was thrilled. I said I’d love to and gave him my number.

A couple of days later Miguel called and we made dinner plans for the following evening. We met at the restaurant and I almost didn’t recognize him out of his suit. He still looked cute, but in his t-shirt and flat rimmed ball cap, he appeared to be about 10 years younger then I’d originally guessed he was. When I asked, he told me he was only 23, but said he truly felt age was just a number. I wasn't completely sold on his 'age is just a number' theory, but he was charming on our date, and a gentleman when he paid the bill. We ended up having a great evening and we even made plans for the weekend. His friend was having a party and I told him I’d bring my single girlfriend Taylor.

On the night of the party, Taylor and I got decked out in our party dresses and heels. I told her there should be some cute single guys there to mingle with so she was excited. That is until we got to the “party.” We walked in and my first realization was that we were ridiculously overdressed. Miguel’s original suit attire had been deceiving, because he apparently had a uniform of a t-shirt, ball cap, and sneakers. As did everyone else there, (and when I say everyone I’m referring to the 5 other people that attended.) Miguel greeted me with a kiss and I introduced him to Taylor, who was shooting me a look that said: I cannot believe you dragged me to this, you owe me big. (I’d known Taylor for years and we’d become very good at having full conversations without speaking a word.) I shot her a look back that said: I know, I’m so sorry, we won’t stay long I promise.

Miguel asked if we’d like a drink, and in unison Taylor and I too quickly said, “Yes please!” (One of the other things I loved about Taylor was our mutual appreciation of alcohol, especially when it was needed to assist in an undesirable situation such as this “party.”) Miguel had us follow him to the backyard where he pulled 2 cans of Bud light out of a cooler, which was located next to the beer pong table. Oh holy f*ck, I’m at a frat party. And really beer in a can?! Sigh. I refused to make eye contact with Taylor, who was now pinching my arm, since I knew exactly what her look was going to say. I was determined to try and make the best of the situation, so I finished my can of beer and dragged Taylor with me on a hunt for some real liquor, while Miguel was busy setting up for beer pong. We found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and proceeded to down enough to make us forget we were about to play beer pong in heels.

After the night of the "party," I decided Miguel was just too young for me and I was going to blow him off. He didn’t make it quite that easy. He could tell I wasn’t thrilled with his age, the party, etc., and insisted I let him take me to dinner again. He was very persistent so I finally agreed. I began to think I may have been wrong to judge, that perhaps despite his age and attire, he was a guy worth giving a chance to. Then I met him at the restaurant he suggested for our date, and walked into a “Taco Tuesday” themed night where the tacos were 3 for a dollar, and drunk people were already spilling their beers on me as I walked by. When I found Miguel he gave me a hug and introduced me to his friend from work, who was apparently joining us for dinner. Umm, first of all, tacos aren’t dinner and not only does inviting a friend from work make this no longer a date, but this friend was a female who had the most obvious crush on him. Really?! Why did I agree to this and why was the double shot of tequila I’d ordered not here yet?! After enduring as much as I could take of feeling like a third wheel on my own date, I told Miguel I had to get home. He looked slightly surprised and told me he’d call me later.

Miguel did try calling but I never called him back. I decided I’d prefer to carry on solo in my journey of finding a man who: A) doesn’t look like he rides a skateboard to work, B) agrees that 5 people playing beer pong is NOT a party, and C) who understands that a date is not an appropriate place to invite a female coworker who clearly wants to see you naked.

The Kiwi (Part 3)

As I landed on the ground I felt horrible pain in my leg, so I was pretty sure I was alive, but was convinced my leg must be broken. Ted came running over asking if I was o.k. I couldn’t respond with anything other than a moan. Ted’s dad wasn’t quite as sympathetic. I heard him say, “Give her a minute, just give her a minute, she’ll be fine.” When I finally opened my eyes, all I wanted to know was what happened to my leg. Despite the fact that several men were standing all around me, I stood up and said, “I’m sorry, but I need to see what happened to my leg,” as I proceeded to drop my pants. I was reminded then, by the breeze hitting my ass, that I had chosen to wear thong underwear that day. The men quickly turned their heads away, and I heard the farm hands snickering, but my focus was on my leg which did not appear broken. Thank God. There was a huge lump and bruise forming which, as the day went on, turned black as night and covered my entire thigh. Needless to say the horseback riding was done for the day. Ted’s dad drove us back towards the house, stopping along the way to herd in a few sheep. Not only did he seem unconcerned about my leg, but he had Kylie and I help guide a few sheep into their proper place. I wasn’t the biggest help with the huge limp I’d now adopted, but we were guests on the farm, so I didn’t want to be rude.

Over the next few days Kylie and I decided to go off on our own for 2 weeks without Ted. I figured I owed her some girl time. She’d been such a good sport about the new relationship I was devoting most of my attention to. We rented a car and mapped out the towns we would stop and stay in. The first destination we’d picked was a pretty far drive. We decided we’d save money on a hotel by driving straight through most of that night and sleeping in the car for a while when we got tired. When it got too dark on the roads (which didn’t have street lights) we decided to pull over, park, and try to sleep. With the car off it was absolutely freezing. We must have put on every piece of clothing in our suitcases, and about 5 pairs of socks each, but it barely helped. We concluded if we wanted to stay warm without leaving the car running all night, we’d have to cuddle. So that’s what we did, and through chattering teeth we swore to never again discuss this night. We also promised we’d book hotels for the rest of our trip.

When I woke up in the morning, I sat up to see where we’d parked, and saw children peeking in to look at us. Oh crap, where the hell were we? I saw the sign and quickly realized we were parked in front of an elementary school, not in the parking lot, but right on their front lawn. I woke Kylie up and started the car. We drove off just as the teachers were walking over to reprimand us.

Over the next 2 weeks, I called Ted often and we discussed how much we missed each other. When the 2 weeks were finally up, we joined Ted again, this time at his friend the Reverend’s house. Kylie warned me that if the Reverend turned out to be boring and preachy we were leaving again on our own. I agreed. The Reverend turned out to be a blast. Before we’d even put down luggage he was handing us stiff cocktails. By the end of the evening he had started a living room dance party and encouraged us to follow suit as he skinny dipped in the Jacuzzi. He was already an excellent host in my book.

The next day Ted had to go visit with his daughter. He kissed me goodbye and said he’d see me later that night. When Ted returned I instantly sensed the change. He was cold and distant. When I asked what was wrong, he said he’d had a conversation with his ex he didn’t feel like discussing, but that nothing was wrong. Liar. The next few days became torturous. The Ted that adored me never returned. He continued to pretend nothing was wrong, yet he wouldn’t make eye contact, or kiss me, or do any of the endearing things I’d grown accustomed to. I was completely heartbroken. Kylie tried talking to him and, though he wouldn’t tell her much either, she concluded it had something to do with his ex and his daughter. That maybe she'd heard about his new relationship and perhaps wanted him back, or made him feel guilty. Kylie also thought he seemed scared about his developing feelings since he knew we’d be leaving soon. I knew it would have been tough to maintain any type of relationship, being from opposite ends of the earth, but I was willing to do whatever it took since I believed I’d found what I was looking for with Ted. I didn’t want to show my hurt and disappointment, while he seemed to be managing just fine, so by day I pretended to be happy and at night would cry myself to sleep. Kylie knew how I truly felt and suggested it might be time to head home. I gladly agreed and we set up our flight.

Our last day in New Zealand was spent at an annual wine and food festival the Reverend insisted we go to. I decided I wasn’t going to let Ted ruin my last night in this beautiful country and made sure I drank enough wine to pretend I didn’t notice all the girls he was flirting with. Kylie and I had a blast with the Reverend, and even managed to encourage him to get a tattoo at one of the booths. He agreed and decided he’d get it on his ass, since he could hide it that way if he wanted to. He even let us pick it out. I suggested a dove holding an olive branch, since it was holy. I told him if Reverends in America were more like him I’d probably start going to church.

Towards the end of the festival, I sat by myself and watched the sun setting over the gorgeous green hills, and reflected back on the adventure I’d had here. I decided maybe it was for the best Ted had shut me out. While this country was stunning, I enjoyed living where there were more people than sheep, and I realized I deserved a man who would care enough to be there for me in a way Ted was obviously incapable of doing.

The next day we said our goodbyes. Ted pulled me aside and apologized for the way he’d acted, told me he'd been scared of the feelings that had developed since I lived so far away. He asked if he could keep in touch. I told him I would’ve appreciated this apology a lot more if it had been a week earlier, and that it was probably best at this point if we went our separate ways.

On the flight home Kylie asked how I felt about everything. I told her I felt great, and it was the truth. I would always remember this as one of the most amazing and memorable trips I’d ever taken, and Ted was a part of it all, so I’d always be thankful for that. I did, however, decide from then on that if any kiwis were going to be in my future next time I’d stick to the fruit.

The Kiwi (Part 2)

The next morning Ted picked us up bright and early and, when he saw our luggage, said he wondered if we’d left anything back home in America since it was obvious we’d brought nearly everything we owned in these suitcases. To avoid any further sarcastic commentary, we didn’t tell him we had 3 even larger suitcases we were temporarily leaving in Auckland at the place we’d been staying. He stuffed them into the back with his assortment of pots and off we went.

We drove south and the drive was stunning. I had never seen so much green. Or sheep. New Zealand had more sheep then you could possibly imagine, far more sheep then people. It was borderline disturbing. We stayed each night at a hotel on the way down to the farm, courtesy of Ben’s pot selling job. We all had a blast together, and Ted and I really started to connect. We became sort of an instant couple. When he began to feel really comfortable with us, he shared some important news. He had a 3 year old daughter from his ex-wife. And there it was: The baggage. I knew there had to be something wrong with my seemingly perfect-thus-far kiwi. (You’d think living on opposite sides of the world would have been enough for me not to let myself get attached, but apparently I was oblivious to red flags.) I decided I was o.k. with it since he seemed like a good father and we were so smitten with each other. I was having the time of my life. At one point Ted and I were discussing the topic of love and he told me I was someone he could definitely fall in love with. Uh-oh, now he’d done it. I was officially falling for my kiwi.

We finally made it to his father’s farm, which was different then any farm I’d ever seen in the states. When we first arrived, Ted took us for a ride out into the picturesque green rolling hills and stopped in the middle of one. He told us to be quiet and look to our left. We did and saw a pack of wild horses running right by us so close I could’ve reached out and touched them. It was stunning and I couldn’t help but gasp while Ted smiled at me and hugged me tightly. I was in heaven and already wondering how I could commute to my job in the states after I’d moved to New Zealand.

Later that day Ted’s dad was taking us horseback riding. When he asked us if we’d ever ridden a horse before Kylie quickly said no. Thinking it’d seem impressive to Ted, I unfortunately decided to be cocky and say that I’d done it many times before, and was a great rider. I had to mention that when riding I’d always liked to gallop ahead of everyone else because I loved riding fast. This was true but I’d only done this on trail horses, horses that were used to strange people riding them constantly, and it had also been years since I’d even sat on a horse. Me and my big mouth. I found out later that the horse they gave me to ride that day was known to be crazy and mean. The only reason they let me ride him was because: A) they thought I was a skilled rider and: B) they thought the horse was tired out from a long day and therefore wasn’t as dangerous as he normally would have been. They were wrong on all accounts.

Kylie got onto her horse, which was safely contained inside of a round fence, and was content just riding her horse in slow circles. Ted helped me up onto “crazy horse” and asked if I was o.k. I told him of course I was, that I just needed to get my bearings since it had been a while. Before that could happen crazy horse immediately sensed I had no clue as to what I was doing and panicked. He started to trot up the hill quickly. I began feeling a little nervous and tried to guide him back down. He wouldn’t listen to me, all he knew was that he wanted this foreigner off of his back. We were now at the top of the hill looking down at Ted, his dad, a couple of farm hands and Kylie trotting around in circles. Then it happened. Crazy horse started galloping down the hill towards them all as fast as he could with me on his back, my arms flailing wildly in the air, bouncing around trying desperately not to fall off, and screaming in a high pitched way that was more than embarrassing. We were getting closer and closer to the fence and crazy horse was not slowing down. Oh holy f*ck, he’s going to jump the fence. As we got to the fence I braced myself and closed my eyes, but at the last second he made a sharp right turn and stopped suddenly, sending me flying off of his back, onto the fence, and then onto the ground.....To Be Continued