Wonderland Burlesque's The 12 Days Before Xmas - Day Seven / Dragonette

Wonderland Burlesque's 

The 12 Days Before Xmas - Day Seven 

Dragonette

If there was any musical justice in the world, Dragonette would be as big as Blondie was in their day. This savvy trio hails from Canada and nearly broke through here in the states in 2010 with their single, Hello. But it stalled at #46 and... well, dammit, Martina Sorbara, Dan Kurtz and Joel Stoeffer simply deserve a lot more attention than they got.

But enough crying over spoilt milk.

Today's holiday offering? Another highlight from their awesome catalog... this little Xmas gem.

Hey, the holidays are a crappy time to be in the midst of a messy romantic break up, and this song captures every little angry nuance, if you happen to be the dump-ee rather than the dump-er (and no, those are not two of Santa's reindeer). 

Sadly, no vid exists for the song, so this lyric video will have to do. 

Merry Xmas (Says Your Text Message) - Dragonette

Breathe

I was at my Mom’s having coffee late yesterday afternoon.  This has become a part of my daily routine.  Doing so, I get to check on my Dad and help out as needed.  Sometimes my ex/business partner will join us.  He remains a part of my family and things between us are good.

As I was leaving, my ex stopped me to talk further.  It was a nice day out (almost 60 degrees), so we lingered.  He’s a great guy, who I still love very much.  Also, I feel horribly guilty about leaving him, though I did have my reasons.

He told me that my Mom had given him permission to have a boyfriend.  Okay, my eyes popped… but wait… it gets so much more… uncomfortable.

He then told me that everybody (two of my sisters, their husbands and my Mom) has been holding their collective breath, waiting for me to come to my ‘senses’ and put things back the way they were before.  My ex told her they could stop doing that.  He was pretty sure that I was not going to be returning to the fold.

He was right.  I’m not.

It is still taking me a bit of time to wrap my head around what I did to myself during the last seventeen years; all that I put my psyche through.  I can tell you this: it was not going to end well, no matter what they all think. 

You see, my ex suffers from a number of disorders (OCD, hypochondria, anxiety), and all that craziness went unrecognized by me for a number of years.  I thought it was all part of being in a relationship. 

But the constant drama, endless criticism, illogical fears, over-the-top worry, countless doctors and emergency room visits, and ceaseless nagging finally reached a zenith and I had to get out or… I’m not sure what would have come next. 

Another thing: he’s a talker – the best salesperson I have ever met.  And I… am not.  I like alone time.  I enjoy silence.  And it’s not simply that he is chatty, for he also fails to listen, not only to reason, but also to anything I have to say and that has exhausted me on a number of occasions.   In regards to the dogs and our business, it still does.

I spent the last few years of our time together sitting on the end of a couch like some weird gargoyle that would look up from his laptop long enough to hiss or take a swipe at him as he passed by.  That is, when I wasn’t out trolling for sex or hooking up with some random. 

Turns out, I didn’t like the person I had become at all.   

Near the end, I just kept holding my breath, praying to make it to the end of the month, the week, the day…

And so, one day, I took a deep breath, put on my big boy pants, and quietly abdicated the strange throne I had created.  I had to rescue myself. 

Here, in the aftermath, I am finally finding my feet.  Initially it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.  People kept surprising me, none more than my own mother.  It seems she had something in mind where I was concerned and leaving my ex – that upset her sense of order. Our relationship went through a very rough patch, with me storming out of her home a number of times.  But I kept coming back, because I have a commitment to honor where my parents are concerned and things have gotten a bit better. 

I also had to keep reminding myself that my Mom knew very little of what was actually going on between my ex and myself.  We always managed to pull it together for family gatherings.  My youngest sister knew most of what was going on, and every once and awhile some of the cracks would show, especially during the holidays, but we managed to look the loving couple.

Only, we weren’t. 

Yes, we had our moments.  It wasn’t all bad, but my ex refused to seek treatment for his anxiety disorders and that created a whole set of problems that it turns out I couldn’t fix or deal with in a healthy manner.    

I’m only just starting to realize how all that crazy helped shape my life during the last seventeen years. 

And it’s not all his fault.  I realize that many of the choices I made weren’t very smart at all.  But that was how I coped.

Some things were easy to dispense with.  All that casual sex – it seemed fun in the beginning, but after a time I came to see it for what it was; destructive, empty, and joyless.  In the process I scared the hell out of myself. 

I’m still not sleeping well. 

But a lot of the other things - the crazy coping methods, the illogical fears, the horrible self-talk  – I’ve started to recognize them for what they are and I’m slowly starting to lay them down. 

I’m starting to breathe again.

And everybody else? 

Well, they can stop holding their breath, too, because…

…I’m never going back.  

A Great Thing Badly

I’ve done a great thing badly.

I’d forgotten how all-consuming falling in love can be, like a fire ripping through a house, tearing at the walls, spurred on by an unquenchable thirst for oxygen, consuming all within its grasp.  My recent reliance on casual encounters has left me calloused.  I assumed there were no chinks in my armor, no access to my heart.  Haughty, I took pride in my ability to separate the physical from the emotional. 

And I was pretty damn successful at it… up until 12 days ago. 

Nine months ago, we met on one of those hook-up sites where people pretend to be there for something other than casual sex.  Oh, there are exceptions, and this man was one of them.  He was LTR oriented.  My idea of long term?  Over 20 minutes.  But he had something much more traditional in mind.

I contacted him on a whim, deciding that if he, like so many others, never responded - no big deal.  For me, it’s a numbers game.  You throw out as many lines in the water as possible in the hopes that someone bites. 

We clicked instantly.

He seemed a bit out of my league.  And something about his use of language when he responded indicated that he was intelligent.  His flirtations were witty and ripe with promise of the kind of sexual exploration that appeals to me a great deal; the man was a bit kinky.  And handsome.  To these eyes.

We exchanged emails and continued to feel one another out.  I let it lapse because I got the sense that he really was searching for ‘the one’ – that mythical creature that has eluded me for so many years, the one I had begun to believe simply didn’t exist. 

Summer came and I wanted to be outdoors.  I removed all my on-line hook-up site profiles so I could focus on enjoying the season. 

At the end of summer, out of the blue, he checked in with me via email.  He wanted to know how the BDSM camping thing went.  We wrote back and forth.  Enough time had elapsed that, while I remembered him (I saved all his emails in a folder), I had forgotten that big red flashing light; the one that said ‘Stay Away’.   However, logistics worked against us and nothing came of it.

Fast forward to a month ago.  I’m horny and trying to think of ways to hook- up without resorting to going back on the hook-up sites.  That’s where those folders in my Outlook account come in handy.  I hit up a few fuck buds from the recent past or those that have shown an interest.  This man is one of them.  He’s one of the few who return my email.

He wants to know what changed my mind. 

I really should have paid more attention to that question.  I assumed he meant about getting together again.  But, based on what has transpired, I think he also meant something else. 

So we meet, for coffee.  Another red flag; most people who hook up do not screen their tricks at some anonymous coffee shop.  We end up talking for three hours straight.  And he catches me totally off-guard, because, going in, I have this one-dimensional view of who this person is based on our shared sexual interests, and, unbeknownst to me, it turns out we have a ton of stuff in common.  In fact, he reminds me of me about twenty years ago.   Self-flattery, to be sure, but we truly do have a lot in common.

And then there are things we don’t have in common.  He’s damn hot.  Huge arms.  Broad shoulders.  Small waist.  He’s wearing a very flattering, tight baseball-style black and grey shirt and a pair of dark jeans that leave NOTHING to the imagination.  His buzzed head is super sexy.  I like his smile, his eyes, his cool glasses, his perfect ears.  I find him to be very, very attractive.  I assume he’s 28 years old (and out of my league). 

Ten minutes into the conversation, I start to assume that nothing of a sexual nature is going to happen, so I   relax and enjoy the conversation – which I don’t force – and my latte.  Three hours pass.  It feels like one.  We talk about art, theater, working out, fashion, hipsters, pets, past relationships, our families.  He reads.  He sings tenor.  We both love farms.  We cover so much.

Surprised by the time, I excuse myself, telling him I have to go feed my dogs and get to church.  We stand to go.  He rides his bike everywhere, which helps explain his fantastic legs in those skin tight jeans.  But, of course, it’s not just his legs that look incredible in those jeans.  OMG!  There ought to be a law.   I pay him a compliment and he makes some comment about enjoying my ass as I walk away.  This surprises me, because during the previous three hours sexual attraction was never discussed.    I leave puzzled and try to sort it out on my way to my car. 

What just happened?

And he’s masculine, but there’s nothing put on about it.  I mean, he talks about softer stuff, like fashion, and theater, and music, and his cats (he has two).  And I find myself wondering if I met him in, say, a work situation if I would assume he was straight.  Maybe I’m just being stupid.  And while I would question it, I would assume he was straight. 

Well… not in those jeans.

Almost immediately I start wishing I had met him twenty years ago; before I’d become so bitter and jaded.

There’s an email waiting when I get home.   It contains the word ‘giddy’.  No one I know uses that word, except me, and I know exactly what he means when he does.   He’s very complimentary and he’s definitely attracted to me.  He says it’s all he could do not to kiss me on the spot.

Something about the email nags at me, but we make plans to see each other the following Monday.  However, Sunday morning, at five a.m., I decide to spell things out for him.  After a nice soft intro I get right to the point.

“I wanted to clarify something before we continue.  I am not long term relationship material.  I don't know if you remember that, but it used to be part of my on-line profiles.  I'm more of a fuck bud or friends with benefits these days.  You mentioned that you don't do the one night stand thing.  Well, I don't either... I'm more of a 20 minute-stand-thing guy.  More on that later, if you care to hear.

To be honest, I'm simply too damaged.  We sort of started to touch on that, but, trust me, where I'm coming from, we hardly scratched the surface.  I can actually laugh about most of it now, but if anything, I serve as a cautionary tale and something most people can't deal with.   Happy to talk about that more.  I try to be pretty open about sharing stuff.  And, hell, I could talk to you about almost anything.

I'm also older than you.  So, I know myself pretty well. And, if you care to get to know me, I'm afraid you'll see exactly what I'm talking about, so... maybe you should consider me a bullet you dodged.” 

He writes back and tells me that we should just see where things go and that he won’t be pushing any sort of agenda. That’s enough to get me to lower my guard.

We go out three times.  We make out twice.  He’s an amazing kisser.  I live in awe of his body. 

And I fall hard.  

Really, really hard.  Harder than I ever thought possible. Like back when I was 18 years old.

We’re sharing music and movies and dreams and castles in the sky.

I’m perfect for him.  I can say that with absolute confidence.  And he’s perfect for me.

We make plans to see each other this coming weekend, both Saturday and Sunday.  But something’s not right.  My stomach is in knots all the time.  I hurt.  I start crying for no reason.  Old tapes start playing in the background. I find myself being sucked down into some weird abyss that I vaguely remember from my past. 

I go to bed early, thinking I must be really tired.  And I cry.  Sob.  It’s nuts.  I’m nuts.

So I get up and write an email.

I explain how wonderful I think he is in great detail.  How fucking amazing he is and how he simply blows me away.  Then I explain how damaged I am and how I wouldn’t wish me on anybody.  I don’t want to harm him in any way, but fear I may already have done just that. 

“I wish I had known.  I wish I had trusted the universe enough and waited for you.  But I didn't.  I've come to see that my life is something that I have created by forcing things into being rather than allowing them to evolve naturally.  I thought that is how you build a life.  And I have been wrong.  That is how you hurt people.”

And yes, I’m… I’m full of shit.  I’m a total a-hole.  I’m a jerk. An idiot. 

But that’s long been the case.

I don't know what I will do now.  Stop all this casual sex, I think.  It's taken someone like this wonderful man to make me realize just how selfish, destructive, and pointless all of that is. 

He was perfect for me.  I was perfect for him.  And I know we’ll never see each other again.

Yes, I’ve done a great thing badly.  

Last night I broke someone’s heart…

…mine.