The hard part about having a blog about my adventures and misadventures that is essentially my diary is that I am entirely honest in it.

And sometimes I do very awful things.

And then I have to confess to all of you.

I am intensely commitment phobic, even while committing to someone.  I hate having to admit “I am in a relationship with this man who I love who I know loves me” when there is so much uncertainty and he is as commitment phobic as I.  And also, we’re both going through fixing our own lives and all the shit that makes otherwise awesome people like us over-think relationships and fuck them up badly.

Which we have already done in this relationship.

So, BV is and is not my guy.

I know for certain: (1) we have pledged to be sexually monogamous, (2) he is intensely and ridiculously jealous, (3) we love each other deeply, and (4) we are willing to make changes in ourselves to be better for the other person.  So, I know that.  I admit that.

As for anything else, no.

In fact, I changed the wording in point 1 from “we are sexually monogamous” to “we have pledged to be” because I have do not know that he’s been true while he’s away.

He is back on Friday and I have no expectation I will see him.  I have a thing scheduled with him on the next Monday . . . a foodie bacchanal.  I am not certain, even though it’s on his calendar, that I will see him then.

I know we went through this super-intense thing last weekend and he reached out on Monday, but I just lack the confidence in our relationship to know where we stand.

So, despite all we know about my relationship with BV, I am afraid and withdrawing from him a bit because I am afraid of getting hurt by being happy about how things are if he comes back from this trip a different man, forgetting where we were or how much he loves me.

I am wondering how many steps back we’ve taken and where we are now, as we are clearly not where we had been when he left.

And now, to hit pause on BV ruminations for a few minutes . . .

PR and I are still connected by this weird chemistry thing we’ve always had.  It never ends. Everyone is aware of it.  And, you know, we actually slept together in February.

This week, PR’s band had a ridiculous and cool and ridiculous honor.  Like, it’s so cool I can’t tell you what it is or why it’s a big deal and it really only matters to us, but it matters to us.  And it was all very public.  And it was awesome.

They had to play at 530 and then at a venue later at 1030.  I’ve had this on my calendar for months.  Months!  Long before BV and I started speaking again. Possibly before PR and I slept together, I put this on my calendar.

The event is happening at 530 pm and we are all so excited about it. I even text PR a note of congratulations and say it’s “amazing . . . and hilarious.”  He responds back with thanks and agrees on hilarious.

I decide to meet RA, who I’ve not seen in two weeks or so, for cocktails early.  She’s just closed a big deal and feels like celebrating.  I have already planned to be downtown and to take off most of the afternoon, which I work towards by starting work at 630 in the morning.

We decide, of course, on the Chic Hotel Bar.  They have an amazing happy hour, and a daily special cocktail for $5.  Well, okay then.

As my day starts to fall into place, I realize I am booked fairly tightly: cocktails with RA at 3, the Event with PR’s band at 530, cocktails with the think tank exec and visiting fabulous friends from New York at the hot new secret bar in town at which you must make a reservation(!), then dropping my bag and checking on the Software Developer’s brand new baby kitten, and then PR’s show.  I am staying at SD’s overnight, saving myself cab fare to get home after the show, with only a 4 block walk from the venue to SD’s building.

I try to figure out the right dress to wear, as it’s going to be scorching hot, and I have a socialite thing and then a rock show.  I decide such a dress does not exist, so I choose to wear my favorite Spring dress.  My weight is stable at 113 and this dress looks amazing on me.  It’s a statement dress, mod-ish, silk, elegant.  It stands out.

I get to the CHB before RA, but I don’t order a drink until she arrives.  When she does, we both get this tequila-based watermelon spicy slice of heaven.  It’s an amazing cocktail.  We order our favorite low-carb dish (also $5). And then we end up having a second cocktail.

As I knew PR, Jr. would be joining me for the PR event, located adjacent to the CHB, conveniently, I had texted him and he joined us about halfway through.  That gave RA and I enough girlie time to catch up on boys and weight and activities and nonsense.  She thinks I should not drop below 113.  She discerns my attempts to argue around it. She is seriously the best.  She says, thin, but not unhealthy, and she is a little concerned.

Anyway, PR, Jr. shows up and we have a blast. He’s really funny and clever and the three of us are falling into a nice routine of getting spoiled at the CHB together every week or two.

We have a little discussion about whether PR’s famous nickname is a status or his name.  I had wanted to use it to refer to BV as well, as it also fits him, but PR Jr. was actually insulted that I would do that, insisting “that’s [PR]’s name. He’s the only [nickname].”  RA agreed with him and pronounced it with the full sentence that had spawned it 18 months ago.  It is, among all of our friends across different cliques, a very famous story.

We realize we need to step a little lively, and I finish my second cocktail and then head to the event.  There are hundreds of people there for various things and it’s being televised.

PR, Jr. and I cannot find anyone: not PR, not the guys, not BandMate’s Girl.

Finally, we see PR, walking into the building.  He is wearing exactly the same t-shirt as PR Jr.  A black t-shirt repping a high-end cycling fashion and gear label. Yes, you read that sentence fragment correctly.  I laugh, as do they, and call them Team [Label].  PR is sort of embarrassed by that (PR Jr loves it, of course) and he’s very nervous.  He’s always nervous before he goes on.

We walk into the big room where the taping is going on and we’re standing in the back.  I am tipsy and trying to be quiet, so I walk out of the taping part so I can giggle, after I flash him a note on my phone that says I’ve had entirely too much tequila to deal with this.  He smiles and chuckles silently.

PR is terrific, really, and every time we hang out, I am always grateful I have him in my life.  There are so many things in my life to which I credit him — amazing friends, amazing music, ridiculous drunken escapades — that would have never happened but for our relationship.

PR Jr insists we would have become friends through the Software Developer, but my status as PR’s girl meant we spent a lot of time together, in circumstances like this one, waiting around for PR to do something with our enthusiastically supporting his stuff.

PR finally finds the rest of the band and they go to set up.  BMG has arrived, and we are both a little freaked out and nervous for our friends to go on and do this.

The three of us grab seats in the second row and we shoot photos and video of the event and it’s really awesome.

We leave as soon as they are done and we’re sort of waiting around while a reporter interviews them, as BandMate is being very funny and none of us are taking this seriously at all, while we are also all secretly thrilled this is happening.  We are, at least in personality, hipsters, underplaying the serious coolness of this thing.

The boys wrap up and we all decide to hit a coffeeshop PR and PR Jr often hit post-ride to start the beer drinking.  I know I only have about 20 minutes before I have to meet think tank exec and friends, so I join them for a club soda as they order two pitchers for the four of them.  I am surprised none of the other wives and girlfriends are there, as this is a big deal, but it’s just us three and the four bandmates.

I have to duck out rather suddenly, mid-story for one of them, leaving it to PR Jr to explain later why I am leaving and that I will be back.

I really wanted to stay but this cocktail thing is a big deal and the TTE is moving back to the west coast at the end of the week, and his friends meeting us include a sort of famous editor who is visiting town.  So, I leave, and I fail at the secret instructions and cannot figure out how to get in for like 15 minutes.  The whole time I am kicking myself for scheduling it so tightly and for leaving PR and the guys.

Once I finally get it, it’s fun.  I have a fabulous cocktail and it’s worth the trouble as the company is amazing.  We have a blast.  After two hours, they wander to get food and I go to SD’s condo to drop my tote bag and check on the kitty and recharge my phone.

It occurs to me at this moment that I am drunk.

I decide, as I am sitting on SD’s concrete floor while a baby kitten crawls on me, to call the Bon Vivant.  It’s stupid, but I miss him so much and we’ve not spoken since Monday when he reached out to me.  I call him, but there is no answer.  Instead of leaving a voicemail, I shoot him a text.  I tell him I am checking in as I am housesitting for SD and kitty and end it Miss you. See you next week!

No response.


15 minutes later, I gather myself to head to the show. I text PR Jr to ask where he is and he’s already at the venue.  I wander down, not getting food, and pay a very cheap cover.

There are so few people there it’s shocking.  FM is there, though, and a few other famous around town music writers and photographers.

I greet all the guys, and PR and PR Jr and I buy a beer.  Because I need to keep drinking.

Also, PR’s girl is there with a girlfriend.  It’s all cool.  PR and I are friends and everyone is aware I am dating the Bon Vivant.  In fact, I extend my hand to her and reintroduce myself when she is talking to BMG.  She does not remember meeting me, which is sort of funny, as it means that no one has told her who I am.  Which is really funny.  It means they think she’s sort of insignificant.

There is protocol around dating people in a band and being an ex of someone in a band and I give them a wide berth, and intentionally never turn in their direction when PR joins her briefly on the floor before heading back stage to finish his prep.

The opening band I love and BMG and I are doing our regular dancing along in the front row and giggling to each other.

The band itself is awesome too and their show is great. I joke about them being a terrible band, but they’re really not.  They’re actually really entertaining.

PR’s girl and her girlfriend are getting progressively drunker.  For some reason, we’re all in dresses, even though we’re in a rock club, and they are holding hands and dancing like two drunk sorority girls as the band plays.  It’s kinda entertaining, as it’s so incongruous with the rest of the crowd and crew.  But, hey, PR is PR.

After they wrap their set, I mention to BMG this little fun fact that BV’s sister’s best friend from college is the recent ex-wife of the guitarist.  That may sound like our typical small world stuff in this interconnected town, but BV’s sister went to school 1500 miles away and it’s completely and utterly random.  BMG insists I tell the lead singer and she thinks this is hilarious.  As it is.

It also, for me, reinforces that I have someone I am seeing who is not PR.

The lead singer cannot believe it, nor can he believe I would date someone from that podunk state, which is right next to the state that he and PR grew up and attended college in.  I love east coast biases.

I said, well, he’s really cute.

PR’s girl leaves before they’re done or soon thereafter.  Like I am surprised they’re gone when they are, leaving PR and the rest of the guys hanging with me, BMG, the tall hot lesbian lead signer of the opening band who we love, and PR Jr.  We are sitting outside on a patio getting drunker and drunker, on a Thursday.  Which is not terribly unusual.

The lead singer is a wildly successful tech executive from a hugely important local company and we have spent more time talking today than we ever have.  We are sitting together at the merch table, and we figure out that his wife, who no longer works as they have children and she does not need to, and I worked at the same place ten years ago.  Piecing it together right now, he’d been asking me all day what exactly it is that I do, as he knows from social media stuff that I am often eating at “3 or 4 great restaurants a day.”  So, I tell him, which then leads to a story about how I got into doing it, which then leads back to my favorite job ever, which I shared, in part with his wife.

He is so happy about it, he insists that we get together and that I get to know his wife, who I have met before of course.  When I mention this later to BMG and PRJR they both yell “nooooo!!!! she’s awful!” Which is even funnier to me.

I think to myself, how lucky I am that these are my friends.

I tease BandMate for allowing PR to make shirts in sizes that are too big for the very women PR dates, and laugh that I can’t wear any of their shirts as they’re too big.  He somehow finds a previous anniversary shirt that’s an American Apparel women’s small, which he tosses to me.  Score! As PR did the shirt, it’s awesome. The man has talent.

I look over and PR is holding onto a railing as BandMate’s Girl is massaging his back. He is clearly in pain of some sort, but this scene is giggle-inducing for all of us.  And them.  I drunkenly chat with him about his back pain and offer to help.  We realize we are out of beer in the band fridge at this venue and it’s nearly 1230, so the guys pack up the van.  When they’re done, as usual, BM and BMG head out with me and PR.  I must have told him I was staying at SD’s condo, so we have decided he’ll walk me there, which is a few blocks past his place, although I did not realize that at the time.

We walk up a back staircase and onto the street, and we are standing at the corner with our arms encircling the other’s waist.  We are truly hammered, of course, and completely comfortable with each other physically, of course, and I am vaguely aware this is inappropriate.  This awareness is reinforced by BM and BMG who are in the van honking, waving and hooting at us.

I hate when we’re caught being us.  We’re not doing anything wrong, really, but it certainly looks as intimate as it is.

We stumble along drunkenly, pausing frequently for me to find this spot on his lower back that’s killing him, and put some pressure into that spot.  It provides a little relief.  Were this the more traveled east-west street, we would likely not be as physical.  It’s not romantic or sexual, although we are starting to flirt rather outrageously and to say intensely sexual things to each other.  Neither of us has any intention of following up on anything, but we’re again really comfortable being overtly sexual, which is sort of how we ended up dating in the first place.

When we are a block from SD’s building, at the corner of a big upscale hotel, PR bids me goodnight.  By kissing me.  Rather passionately.

There is no discussion or thought of it going further.  We’re not even really making out. But we kiss a few times and I guess we must have held hands as we walked because we break our connection and he turns the corner, when he’s at the diagonal, he turns and says, “take good care of the pussy . . . and the one upstairs.”  Which makes me laugh more than it should, but my brain was soaked in beer.  And it’s funny.  He grins that mischievous smile that wins him so many hearts — or panties — and he’s off, as am I.

After much drama getting into SD’s place again, I am upstairs, out of my dress, and in a nightgown, curled up with a tiny tiny baby kitten.

I feel weird about kissing PR.  It’s certainly no violation of anything with the Bon Vivant, although I am aware that were he in town, I would have been more discreet.  I would have still behaved largely the same, I just would have been more discreet about it.  Which I think makes me a terrible person.

PR and I have this undeniable chemistry, which has nothing to do with who we are dating or what our situation is.  If we’re in the same space, we’re together.  If we can’t be, then he is looking at me somewhat mournfully while pretending he’s not, while I am doing everything I can to not meet his eye.  Our friends all know we are still connected, as we obviously leave almost every show together, and you know, we were standing on a street corner in the club district outside this music venue with our arms around the other’s waist.  So dumb.

I mean, really, it’s so dumb.

I had gone out of my way after we slept together to give him so much space in public so that he did not misinterpret a hug for an expression of sexual or romantic interest.  I have been sort of silly with him, especially when I was single and he was not, to like hug and kiss his best friends in front of him, and kinda elbow him like “what up, dude.”  It’s all been calculated and intentional on my part.

And now, we’re both very publicly seeing people, and . . . we’re kissing on a street corner, wrapping our arms around the other, and holding hands.

The fact is that we have this ridiculous chemistry and we really love kissing each other. Apparently.

This has been going on behind the scenes since August when he hit on me in front of PRX at PRX’s going away party.  We started kissing again at a show in the green room weeks later, which then lead to a street corner makeout session, which is almost always how those evenings end.  Except for that one time when I got blackout drunk and we had sex.

I feel badly about the indiscretion of it, and I feel weird about doing it.  I’ve not gone out on dates since the Bon Vivant has been gone.  I’ve not thought about another man, I’ve certainly not kissed anyone.  It’s not even occurred to me.

Until PR.  And even then, I don’t know I would have kissed him, until he kissed me.

I don’t have a boyfriend.  It’s not a violation of anything with the Bon Vivant.  And yet it sort of feels as though it is.

It sort of feels as though perhaps if BV and I are still dating or not dating or whatever bs thing his mind creates for our status the next time they have a show, I will bring him.  Of course, that will only make it more tempting for PR, not less.

But, it would be respectful to the Bon Vivant.  If we’re together, I should bring him to a show.  The guys will love him, but find that he’s my guy amusing.  BV is super-fun, but he’s not who you’d ever see me with . . . unless you knew I’d dated PR . . . and then you’d realize I have a “type.”

I also have begun to embrace the knowledge that I will likely end up seeing PR again.

Until one of us is in an exclusive monogamous relationship, we will likely continue to kiss on street corners, hold hands as we walk, and embrace each other tightly.  We will probably end up in bed together again, too.  Kissing him is always amazing and we have always really genuinely liked each other.

It’s sort of inevitable. That chemistry we have is undeniable.