Single, No Chaser.

No man is going to tell me what to do. August 20, 2009

I had a big blowout with a man in my life last week. 

It’s no a guy I’ve been dating or a guy that I’ve been secretly crushing over. 

It’s one of my guy friends. And a coworker, which makes things more awkward. 

Okay, I’ll admit, when I met him, I did have a crush. He was training at another Gold’s Gym in San Antonio and had come to the gym where I work to visit some of the other trainers. He’s tall, blonde, has a somewhat cocky attitude which is leveled out by his sense of humor. But that crush was over long ago when I got to know him and we became friends. 

Besides he had a girlfriend, and after the incident with the other trainer/coworker that went down when I first moved here, I decided to skip any workplace romance ideas that might have popped into my head.

So, my friend Chris and I, became pretty close. I saw him every day. I went to him with guy problems, asked him for advice. He would vent to me about his girlfriend. We’d joke around about just about anything. We were pretty cool. 

Then I asked him to train me. I know what the next question’s going to be, “Why do you need a trainer if you were a trainer?”

Laziness. And being burnt out and wanting to not be in the gym any longer than I have to after working there nine hours five days each week. 

I have the knowledge, I just needed that extra push. And besides, me and Chris have fun together and I do enjoy his company. It’d be fun, I thought.

So he began working me out two to three times a week, and I didn’t pay him full price for the services, but I did buy him two UFC tickets. It’s a lot more than some of our other friends paid him for training. He’s offered his services for free to about three other people. I didn’t want to take advantage, so we worked out the UFC tix payment method instead. 

So I already know the drill. Gotta stick to the diet plan, no alcohol for a few weeks. Cardio for 45 minutes five days a week. I did it last year, I can do it again.

Me - second from left. October 2008 at 19 percent body fat. After seven months of ZERO drinking - and plenty of going out on the weekends.

So after week one, and one weekend of partying in Austin with my good friend Khanchana, who drove down from Dallas for her boyfriend’s birthday, Chris weighed me in. I was three pounds heavier. Did I mention I was also starting my period? That had to contributed to at least two of those pounds. 

He was upset to say the least. He asked me to please not go to any bars, clubs, or any other place alcohol would be served for at least two weeks, so that I could show him I was sacrificing just as he was. 

I didn’t see the point to this. I know I’m perfectly capable of going out and not drinking. I did it for seven months last year when I was getting ready for the bodybuilding show. Carry around a glass of water all night, and people don’t offer to buy you drinks. When they do, tell them you don’t drink. Or lie and tell them you can’t because you’re taking medication. If they continue insisting, tell them you’ll take a water and that’s that. Pretend to accept the shot purchased for you with that last round and hand it off to your friend. There’s a zillion excuses and ways to not get suckered into drinking.

I can understand him asking me not to drink. I can understand him asking me to not go out during the week, so as to not loose sleep and sacrifice my energy during my workout. But I enjoy going out with my friends and dancing and listening to music if it’s on a Friday or Saturday night. 

So we argued about this, and him, being the close-minded guy he is, was not hearing any of it. 

My friend Chris is somewhat of a homebody. Which is fine. I don’t judge him for that. 

His idea of a fun night is playing Playstation online from the comfort of him home. Or going to Jui-Jitsu class to roll around on the mats every day for two hours. 

So I don’t think he should judge me on my choices in entertainment. 

My idea of fun is working out and going out with my girls on the weekend. He probably thinks I’m a heathen.

He said that he wanted me to have 2 complete weeks of self reflection, because I need to learn how to be self-sufficient and not depend on a man. Granted, he doesn’t know I give him choice details and information about my love life, because he is, after all a man. And he’s going to judge me no matter how cool we are with each other. I don’t fall head-over-heels for every guy I go on a date with. There were a few boys who were for entertainment purposes only…and I’m sure they weren’t sitting at home crying about it. 

I wanted to scream at him, “I asked for physical training, not a mental analysis!!!”

But knowing how stubborn he is, I finally figured the best solution was to give him even less information about my personal life. I can’t change the fact that he’s a boy and in his eyes, I’m a female, and probably a pretty horrible one, at that. I know, sometimes there’s that male – female divide. We will probably never see eye-to-eye on some issues, and we can’t help that. 

So we continued on the next week training, and I went out the next weekend with my girls. No beer – and I know the ins and outs of which alcoholic beverages have close to zero calories, carbs, sugars, etc. I had a few drinks. I deserved it. Even my father, a workaholic, who I speak to every day, will say the same thing to me each Friday. “What are you and your friends doing tonight? You should go out. You deserve it. Just be careful and call a cab if you’re too tipsy to drive.”

Thanks Dad. I think I do, too. And trust me, I will not risk getting a DUI. I have Yellowcab on speed dial just in case.

So Friday night, my girls and I venture out to a bar. And as luck would have it, I run into the guy who works the front desk at the gym. Another one of Chris’s clients, who I’m sure didn’t go through the “stay in for two weeks” probation period. 

Front Desk Boy ratted me out. Chris was livid. We had a lengthy text argument the following Monday. We haven’t talked much the past week. 

I know, Chris meant well. His father passed away a few years ago, and he hit rock bottom. He hit much harder than I did when my mom died. I think, in a way, he’s trying to prevent me from doing the same things he did. I told him that I already hit my rock bottom almost five years ago. I went through my own tough time, and it’s over. I’m not teetering on the edge of sobriety, threatening to jump off at any second. Don’t organize the intervention just yet. 

I think I’m doing okay for myself. I managed to graduate somehow after my mom died my junior year of college…off in Waco while my family was in South Texas. After that, I held a job as a newspaper reporter for three years, with one promotion in there. I did the bodybuilding show last year. I moved off to San Antonio, away from my family, on my own, and changed careers. And I’m doing good in the gym business now. I know I’m not uber successful or rich, but I’m working on it. 

It’s not that serious at this point in my life. 

And if this is about making better choices, I know I don’t always have the best taste in men. I’m not blind to his fact. But seriously, I asked him for workout advice, and had decided to leave the dating advice to my girlfriends. Who I talk to when we’re getting ready to go out dancing…so eff the probation period of solitude and meditating.

And my dating sense is much better than it was the past four years when I dated the leech, the crazy-scary almost abusive control freak, the cheater. Not perfect, but much better than it was. I haven’t met Mr. Right, but each one improves a bit. 

Another one of Chris’s arguments was, “Why take a recovering crack addict to a crack house?” Ummmm, last time I checked. I’ve never been a recovering alcoholic. I don’t even dream of taking a sip of a drink during the weekdays. I don’t get passed out, black out drunk when I go out on the weekends. We have a few drinks once or twice a weekend. That’s all it is. 

I appreciate that he tried to help me, but I really saw it more as a control issue. And yes, I know I shouldn’t have lied. But I’ve realized there are certain people who are not going to listen. I decided to let him think he was in control of the situation, which I realize is probably conniving. But I really didn’t see the big deal.

And maybe part of it was me not wanting a man, any man, to tell me what to do without explaining the full purpose to me. Without making sense. Without a good enough reason. 

I’ll sacrifice the cookies and ice-cream and the homemade Mexican food, but not going out dancing with the girls, even if it is only for two weeks. Besides, doesn’t dancing burn calories? : )

Ya I wore the truffles, and yes it was to make him feel short August 6, 2009

It’s official. I stayed in San Antonio instead of travelling abroad, exploring the world. Stuck here in Texas instead of going on vacation in London with my boy Maurice. 

Last weekend I went to watch my cousin’s band play a show in Austin…actually both groups that he’s in were playing that night, so me and my bestie took a little drive to see him. 

It was awkwardness cause that guy I had been dating in Austin, the drummer in his band, who decided he didn’t want a relationship either (what is it with that line?? I’m gonna start using it because apparently it’s very popular right now…) was there with his freakin’ ex girlfriend. The psycho one he had vented to me about so many times. 

I said hi, and it was beautiful because his parents rushed up to me, gave me a hug and asked me how I had been (they’re very supportive, always going to his shows). His friends all hugged me. They’re such fun people and I had missed them so much. 

Not to mention I wore my new little black dress with my new HIGH  heels. “Black Truffles” – even the name of the shoe style makes me smile. 

Truffle shoe www.stevemadden.com

Mr. Drummer Daniel is about a whole one to two inches taller than me, so when I wear my five inch stilletos, I pretty much make him look like Bilbo Baggins. 

When I walked in the venue, and he approached me to say hi and he hugged me, it made me feel so damn good that I was taller than him. Through the months we had dated and hung out, I admit, I invested in quite a few pairs of flats to sport when I’d go out with him. 

But not that night. NO way, I busted out my secret weapon. 

Sure my feet hurt that night, but I knew I looked damn good! And I knew he felt short, which was even better. 

Even his mom complimented my look  

So at the end of the day, he can have psycho girl. She can make his life hell all over again. That fine with me! To hell with him. I don’t have to worry about whether my every single one of my outfits will work with flats anymore.