Texting is dangerous

Remember Ross, the Greek God, Matthew McConaughey and Jeff Bridge’s baby, the sexy-ass brilliant pot-savant friend? The guy I’d known for years before every inch of my sexual being, which hadn’t been laid in forever, had succumbed and found its way into bed with? Still struggling to recall him? Go back to my Friday, February 12, 2010 post, “I’m Not Getting Laid Because I am Boring,” then check back.

Why bring up Ross? More than a couple of reasons. The first reason is that I must admit that I am realizing I might be an angry little bitch. As I went back to figure out which post Ross was in, so I could see what I wrote, I was a little taken back with the way I’d introduced Ross, a man who has one of the most beautiful hearts I’ve ever known. A man who I said I had nothing left to learn from, but, now, years later, I continue to think of with great affection and cherish how much we both learned from our time together.

In that long ago post, I talked so much about how lost Ross must have been in order to want to cheat on his girlfriend to be with me, but if I’m honest, I never admitted that I was lost enough then to need Ross to want to be with me. Fuck. Even if I wasn’t lost and probably way more damaged then Ross at the time, there’s just something about Ross. So much of what we shared together had so much more to do with where we were both trying to grow as individuals and very little to do with where either of us had fallen short up to that point. Plus, Ross made me laugh the kind of spontaneous laughter which makes soda pop come out of your nose. Very few men have done that.

Ross made me feel beautiful. Not because he chose to be with me while he was with someone else, but because every time I was with Ross I could see the best parts of me through his eyes. Over a year ago, I’d called Ross. It was tough to make the call, because, based on the sexual chemistry we’d always shared and the deepened friendship which had grown from our time together, I knew I’d be playing with fire and asking Ross to play with fire, too, but a dear friend of mine had a child in trouble and I knew Ross had some specific medical contacts which could help my friend’s child’s issue. (Again, I’m being vague on my friend’s child’s issue to keep specific people’s personal details out.)

When Ross called me back, he gave me the information I needed for my friend. Then, we quickly and easily fell into our laughter and caught up on each other’s lives. By the end of the call, Ross and I were in agreement. We’d acknowledged our mutual interest in hoping the best for each other in life and vowed from time to time we’d check in with each other to reinforce the friendship we’d built.

Anyway, the last reason I bring up Ross is to also admit how shitty my memory is. For starters, I can’t remember if I’ve blogged about Ross since the February 12, 2010 post. And, aside from the request from him for a contact for my friend’s child, I also can’t remember the last time I contacted Ross. But, apparently, it was not so long ago. On my way to getting a hold of one of my other friend’s whose name also starts with an “R” I must have been going through my numbers in my cell phone, I probably saw his name, I probably wondered how he was, I probably wondered if he was single now (not in a relationship with the last other girlfriend he was with since last we talked), and, with equal parts hope-you’re-doing-well and what’s-your-status, I must have sent him a text, left him a voice mail, or something, hoping me and my old friend and lover could lean on each other again like we did once before, but I don’t remember.

 But, he did. Because now, however many weeks or months later, he’s responded. Today, I got this text from him: "How are you? Hope all is well. Sorry bout the non reply, but I’m living with my girlfriend and you are a very dangerous person for me to be around, with lots of fond memories. I am sure you are as gorgeous and brilliant as ever. Love Ross."

I wanted to text Ross back, and say, “Ross, I’m an idiot. I honestly can’t remember contacting you. I’ve been so stressed and stupid lately, that I really I don’t know if I texted you or left you a message, or what, and I don’t remember when, so it’s a surprise to hear from you. So, thanks for getting back to me, but since I didn’t remember I contacted you, I wasn’t worried about the non reply. By the way, I could not agree more that we’re both dangerous for each other. Whether you know it or not, you are far more dangerous to me than I am to you. When I was with you, you made me forget me. You made me forget the hard in life because of how we laughed. I’ve always feared that seeing you again would have the same affect on me. You see, I’ve not been happy in life where work is concerned, so in the last two-ish years, I’ve gone from being so stressed by work that I couldn’t eat and lost 20 pounds to being only slightly less stressed and gaining back that 20 pounds plus 12 more.

Yes, Ross, my dear, sexy friend, it is true. While I’d love more than anything to go figure out again if we’re going to do it before or after we go out to some concert, or great dinner, and then settle on doing it before and after, I’m not fit for naked yoga in anyone’s living room right now. Worse truth be told, those smiling eyes you used to know now have the stress of the last two years bagging and blue-circling under them which tell the story of how the last two years have aged me more than the last decade and those years have been even less kind to my body. And, while I have had my dear family and just as dear friends to lean on, I’ve not found it in me to ask a lover or the likes to be another shoulder to lean on. Which means I’m not dating. I keep wanting to. I keep meaning to. But I keep not dating.

So, hearing from you, from what seems like out of the blue, even if it is obviously out of my own miserable memory failing me, I’m at more risk than you. But, that’s an awful lot to reply in a text.

Thus, I settled on sending the following reply: “Glad to hear you are in committed relationship. So, no worries on non reply. Don’t worry. I’m not dangerous any more. Still brilliant as ever (LOL) but stress, life, and time are fucking with the gorgeous part. Ha ha. Best to you, always! Take care. Stay true to your commitments.” Of course, he’ll know that I meant my gorgeous insides are melting as opposed to me being arrogant about my looks, but he’ll appreciate the humor. And, I know that’s a dangerous message to have sent him, but I’m not afraid to admit that getting a text from Ross today, on a day where my heart was beating out of my chest from work stress, was… Well, it was a reminder of how much Ross and I meant to each other for the time we were together.

We’d crossed paths for so many lessons and I’d be an ass not to acknowledge the affect one of my fellow travelers has had on me. I will always be just as fond of Ross as he is of me. Oh, and I'd be an extra asshole not to admit that I am an asshole and I'd love to send another text to Ross, saying, "BTW, hearing from you made my day," just to keep the connection open, because the asshole in me wants to play with fire, but everything in me that supports girl power, and not being the bitch who tempts a man, can't send that text. So, I won't. But, I wouldn't be human if I didn't admit I want to.