First Comes Love…pt 2

It’s been a minute guys. So sorry, but I’m back!

So, where did we leave off? Right, the curb kiss. They we were standing by his black, Honda Civic, in a total haze, wondering how the hell we were going to put a moratorium on this evening. I gave him a quick side hug, and semi-jogged to my car in fishnets and heels. I was known to be fairly conservative on my top half but slightly more adventurous on the bottom. On the way home I thought about just how ridiculous I was being. “The Guy” is 15 years older than me. What the heck could he possibly want with me? I’d later find out. We parted ways for the evening and on my 25 minute drive home, I could not get the thought of that kiss out of my head. So I whipped out my trustee Samsung Blackjack (It was 2007, people!!) and penned him the cutest text I could muster, “I seriously can only think about the next time you’ll kiss me so softly and sweetly.” It was perfect! Short, to-the-point and conveyed the message that I was all about more. I waited…and waited. And then I waited some more. And as any 23 year old would do, I began to panic. Is he mad? Is he freaking out? Will he speak to me tomorrow at work? OMG!!! I fucked up! Somehow I found it so easy to shoulder whatever blame I had manufactured in my head. And just like that, the return text came. “We probably shouldn’t have done that.” Ok. To use the word devastated would be putting it far too lightly. I had developed a hard core crush on someone who was 1. Emotionally unavailable, 2. New in town and new on the job and trying to navigate his way through the newness, and 3. Potentially uninterested in ole’ kissy face over here.

To use the word “devastated” was putting it far too lightly!”

I went to work the next day, shut my door and attempted to leave my feelings on the other side. But there he was; still smiling, still flirting at the microwave and still being the numb nuts I had a crush on. We navigated our way through the awkwardness with quiet hello’s and shortened glances in the hallways. But truth be told, I was exhausted. I wanted him and I wanted him to want me. I didn’t know how that would happen though.

“We had been actively drifting part for so long, why was it so painful now?”

Then came the 4th of July, 2007. I’ll make this short. My then boyfriend who I refused to let go of, came to my apartment, dropped a bag of my things, and told me it was over. And just like that he was back to his reclusive ways. I was markedly devastated, but I couldn’t really pin point why. We had been actively drifting apart for so long, why was it so painful now? Was it the pain of being twice rejected? 10 years later, I still don’t know. But what I do know is that I had to go back to work and act like I was fine. I wasn’t fine and That Guy noticed. I was randomly fighting back tears daily. I worked most of the days away with my door shut. Finally he came and asked if I was ok. Not, what happened, but are you ok? I told him I’d be fine and he invited me to dinner. I was fine. We started hanging out on a regular basis. Dinners, movies,  (we saw Hornton Hears a Who and fell asleep, but I digress), overnights at his place. Just lots of fun. I was having fun. I hadn’t had it in years. Then, one day he walked into my office, put a grocery store bag full of my random things left at his place in the chair in front of my desk, and said, “I can’t do this” and walked out.

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First Comes Love…pt 1

 

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We met at the software company where I worked in the DC metropolitan area. I was 22. I would later find out the he was 37. Lucky for him (and me) he didn’t look a day over 29. I happened to be standing in the reception area chatting with the receptionist when he breezed past, hurriedly. “Who is THAT?” I said to her. “Oh that’s the new guy, he just started today” was her answer. I turned and looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I’m going to marry him.” And that was that. If only the story could end there. Days went by before I was able to have any semblance of a real conversation with him outside of the obligatory, office-to-office, “Hi my name is…”

“The Guy” struck me as interesting, dark; despite his sometimes blue sometimes green eyes and blonde hair. I was intrigued, but I was also in a relationship, albeit a shitty one. Days went by without so much as a, “would you like to hang out?” or “So how are you liking your new digs?” Finally I decided that I would need to speed up this process a bit, so I added him to the inter-office chat system and asked him how work was going for him. Every once in a while I would swing past his office to chat or wave hello. I may have officially become a bona fide stalker, but  I mean, it was only right, as he was seated right across from the kitchen. It’d be rude to not say hello! So, I said hello, often!

He’d come by my office and poke his head in and I would giggle at all the things he said, funny or not. I’d walk past his office and immediately disappear if I heard his boss’s voice or mine coming around the corner. I have to admit, it turned into a fun, little game. There were  random, split second glances waiting in the line by the microwave and brushes of hands as both of us clamored to press the number “3” in the elevator on the way up to the our office suite. I liked it. But I never crossed any lines.

Spring rolled around and so did the semi-obligatory office happy hours, which I always invited my boyfriend to but he never seemed to want to attend and, in my book, that was fine. On one happy hour, “The Guy” turns and says to me, “How come your boyfriend never comes to these things? If I had a woman as beautiful as you, I would never say no!” I melted. Right then and there, I completely melted. I swear from that moment forward the flirting exponentially escalated. And I loved every minute of it!

So, in the interest of time, let’s fast forward to when “The Boyfriend” dumped me. Yup, you read that right. Mr. Perfect who never showed up to dinners, happy hours, movies or anything with me was actually the one who canned me. I later found out that he was clinically diagnosed as a recluse. I just happened to think that the DC winter weather kept him holed up in his moms basement, but turns out, he actually WAS a recluse who’d rather be alone. So, I left him alone and cried on “The Guy’s” shoulder whenever I needed an ear. I had opened some kind of door and I think he liked it.

When “The Boyfriend” dumped me, I refused to believe it. How could he? I had a great job, lived in a great city, I was far from perfect but I was sure I was the best a recluse could do. I had my shit together and he didn’t! But I guess the bigger question is – why didn’t I think I deserved more? That continues to be an answered question. So, he dumped me, I said, “No way –we’re still together my friend”,   and I proceeded to say yes to a dinner invite from “The Guy”. You know? Dinner just  as just friends. Suffice it to say,  my guilt and I had dinner with “The Guy” 3 nights later, and there, on the curb by his car, in front of the dark, romantic  little restaurant where we chose to disclose our former abuse, shitty family lives, past fucked up relationships and a mountain of other insanity, we kissed.

And that was it…I was sold. I really was going to marry this man…eventually.

There was so, so, so fucking much more, but for me, that was it.

To be continued…

What the heck am I doing?!

Yup, you read that right. I’m just a divorced girl, with a whole lot of questions. More questions than answers. There certainly is more to me, but that’s a good place to start for now.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Violet V. Hughes and I am divorced. I am also a mom, a friend, a great employee, a daughter and an artist. That’s me in a nutshell.

Recently I have found that being 33 and divorced is just one, big, giant question. Did I make the right decision? Will my child hate me? What does society think of my decision? Why do I care about what society thinks? They’re all just as fucked up as I am, I presume. Some of my friends have inquired about why I would even bother with a blog. I answer that question with a question. Have you ever just felt like you needed to get some things off of your chest? Well, here I am.

I won’t go into the gory details of what landed me in the oh-so-familiar land of American divorce court, but I will say we both played a roll in our demise.

So, I guess I will just use this space to talk…about everything…and nothing!

Disclaimer: This blog will not read like the harrowing tale of a woman picking up the pieces. I happen to believe that’s bullshit. However, you may be able to find some inspirational tidbits through out, so stay tuned! It’s mostly just my story – the good, bad, imperfect, shitty, fun, ENTERTAINING, and ugly!

Xo,

Violet

absstract black woman