Chapter 7.
Many of you know of my past failed relationship, an engagement to be married that ended rather roughly for me. There is plenty to read regarding that, and for those who are interested, or may have missed a part, I offer up a link to Chapter 6, which contains links to the previous 5 chapters:
http://forums.pelicanparts.com/off-topic-discussions/583361-chapter-6-final-chapter-schumis-wonderful-relationship.html
What I haven't talked about, at all, is what I have done since then. And being the aspiring writer I am, along with the wonderment that is this community and the relative safety net I have between the various women discussed here, I felt the urge to write about it. I'll pick up where I left off. These are always long stories, but I know I have my fans out there who will pull up a chair and a beer and enjoy this.
As you may know, I moved to Hermosa Beach, Los Angeles over a year and a half ago. After the failure of my engagement to the woman I felt was the love of my life, I was left in a pretty bad place. I seemingly should have been the happiest 20-something on the planet, having a condo on the beach, a nice red Porsche convertible in the garage, and living in what is possibly the best singles-beach-town in the world. But I didn't do so well for a while. I had a hard time getting over my past relationship, struggling to understand how I had made such a grave error in judging our situation. We had parted ways with the hope that, maybe one day, it would actually work back out. But I soon realized that would never be the case. After spending several weeks encased in my work, mostly drunk, I needed to get back to what I was supposed to be doing. Living.
I soon rebounded by telling myself how good things actually were, and reminding myself of what I was good at in life; I was a spectacular pick-up artist. It had been a while since the skills were used, but as they say, it is like riding a bicycle. Except the bicycle is multiple women. And riding is screwing. You get it.
Hermosa Beach, California is truly an open invitation to people like me. I starting partying with some old friends again, spending 4-5 nights a week out at the local bars and clubs. I had a nice thing going- a few girls on retainer, if you will. One or two seemed like they would suit me for a while. But alas, I wasn't sure if I was going to want to continue the seemingly endless one-nighters. I had failed at the long-haul relationship and I wanted another shot to prove that it wasn't me, it was her. Seriously, going all the way back I couldn't remember a break-up that wasn't my fault. It was always my fault, and I wanted to see if I had it in me to *not* be such an ass, and to actually hold a relationship. A real one this time, not the magic-fantasy-land that was my last.
It is at this point in the story we hit the decision point. I had recently been introduced to a new colleague at work; a 30-some French woman that we will call Annette. I had ignored Annette for several months as she simultaneous did not interest me physically and did not interact with me professionally. So there she sat, about 2 desks away, for months. I had been very excited to hear we had this younger, French girl coming to the office. But I remember meeting her on her first day and immediately thinking "meh." While a nice girl, Annette didn't even register on my usual scale of seven-to-ten hotties. I know this sounds shallow, but this is me we're talking about here, people.
Annette would later begin to join in playing Volleyball with a group of friends down on the beach in Hermosa, and this was when I first starting actually talking to this woman. Within a few days, I realized I may be missing out on someone who is genuinely a great person. But then...
I was always a regular at a bar down the street from my condo. It was a small dive bar with the cheapest Bud Light in town and never had more than 5 people in it. I liked the small-town atmosphere and the bartender girls were always chatty. I had been frequenting the bar for over a year, usually every Wednesday night after work. One day, after missing a Wednesday night after working too late, I decided to hit the place up on a Thursday. That thursday would be the night I first met Vicki. Vicki was a 23 year old Russian girl, fresh off the boat. This was her first job in America. She lived inland, tended bar at the beach, and had no real friends. The moment I saw her I nearly lost my mind. Absolutely gorgeous. We got to talking and hit it off. The next thursday I marched down to that bar with her still in mind from the previous week, and I was on a mission. I wanted to get her number. And I did. In fact, I didn't ask. She simply, halfway through the night's conversation, picked up my phone off the bar and said (in her bond-villan-thick russian accent) "I want you to have my number." That simple.
Two weeks later, I had a girlfriend. Her name was... Annette. After playing some volleyball one Saturday and hitting up a dance club, Annette and I really hit it off. We took a walk on the beach at midnight, and after sitting and talking under the stars for a few hours I seriously felt I had met someone really special. Not to mention the sex later was mindblowingly good. I hadn't talked with Vicki that week and I had really intended on taking her out... but now this whole deal with my coworker was looming over my head, and it felt like a good thing to take on, so I did.
That was six months ago. As we speak, Annette is in the process of moving into my condo. Every moment I've had with her is absolutely positive. We share incredibly similar interests, without too much overlap to become boring to each other. We both enjoy cooking, albeit wildly different foods. We are both engineers, and she is actually knowledgeable enough (just enough) to understand what I'm talking about when I talk about vehicle dynamics in racing cars- and she actually listens. Unlike anyone else I've ever met. It has been six wonderful months. Enough to consider that this woman may be the *real* one. She has similar feelings, and she has actually told me this time (unlike the last one).
But.
There's always a but. The story would suck without a big 'But....' in right smack dab in the middle. In the last six months I have continued my weekly dive-bar trip. I actually spend most of my week at Annette’s apartment (I have a fiend living with me in my Condo, who is moving out shortly). Yet I manage to make it back to the beach cities around Thursday nights and have my beer with my buddies at the bar. And Vicki. We had grown to be fairly good friends, and that is all. I always end the night with a hug from her and a 'see ya later'. We've discussed doing dinner or catching a band at a club on several occasions but we haven't done a lot outside thursday night beers. Over Halloween I decided to do something a bit brash, that I had been dreading but knew I had to; I took Annette to the bar on the night that Vicki was working. Anette, wearing a uncomfortably-skimpy-for-her outfit made it rather clear to Vicki over the course of the night that we were together, I believe. Whatever. So be it. This last week, I walk in to the bar. Vicki asks how things have been, etc, like always. Then she asks, in her ridiculous accent, "So, how is your girl?" Oops. She didn't look happy. I said she was great and things were good. She asked how long we were together. I replied with the best answer I could think of: "I met her a few weeks before I met you." Vicki looked... while she tried to hide it for sure... slightly heartbroken. I, idiotically, tried to move the focus off of my girlfriend. I asked "So, do you have a boyfriend yet... any prospects?" She blankly replied, "No. Not at all." I sat confused. Then she added the carbide-tipped spike that response was waiting for: "I was sort of.... waiting, for someone. For a while." She shot back at me, through those supermodel green eyes, a look I won't easily forget.
Thus brings me to this week. Annette is packing her things, about to move in with me. It's the real deal and I'm not really regretting it- she will be a much better roommate than my current, who is a lazy pig. It is a win for both of us- my condo is a block off the beach and her share of the rent is far less than she pays for her single.
Annette is 5 1/2 years older than I. While she isn't seemingly in a rush to do anything, her age does play a role in this. I'm scared. Scared out of my goddamn mind. I, for once, am afraid of falling into something too long term. I always second guess myself, and this time my second guess is in the form on a Russian girl who is my age, with the looks of a model and a wonderful personality that is eating a hole into my subconscious.
Regardless, Annette is moving into my condo, and we're starting a chapter of our lives together that will inevitably be considerably important to both of us. However this goes down, it sure as well will be exciting in the end.
-- End of chapter 7.
I'm not above hearing advice from this forum, however the main purpose of this post was simply because I felt I needed to excercise my writing and I knew it would be entertaining to some.