Exodus

This is not what I am used to, this reversal of roles.

I am the one who leaves. I am good at it, as a matter of fact. I've gotten used to the fact that when I move a few hundred or a few thousand miles, my friends still have each other to keep themselves company. I don't feel sorry for myself that I wouldn't have that same cushion, I face change with a certain detached interest usually.

Usually.

This last year or two in Seattle has been rough. Economy. Relationships. Personal Finance.

Friendships. Those have been better.

Until I stopped to look around and took a roll call of the locals that are important to me that have begun to be not so local. The overwhelming common thread has been move or face local unemployment.

My best friend here in Seattle, Mark/Kiki, is moving to LA in a couple of weeks. We've known each other for over three years now. Meeting for the first time when Macy's bought Meier & Frank and he came down to survey my store's Women's Shoe business-his area of responsibility.

This was the first of five (I think) Macy's restructures our friendship would pass through. The result was that my job was eliminated and moved to Seattle, hence my presence here in Sea-Town.

I moved on up to Seattle, selling my house and leaving my friends, family and home of a decade to do so. As I had done probably a dozen other times in my life. I moved into Mark's apartment building (the Shelby) and a year later bought a condo in the same building (the Decatur) that he bought his in.

I joke that I am his SWF.

We have a weekly brunch at his house with his group of friends and neighbors. It's fun. It helps me stay in touch with pop culture through the conversations that people bring with them. At the very least generally reinforces my decision to not watch tv as we have VH1 or MTV on for background noise and the discussions they provoke. The amount of energy spent on and invested in Brett Michael's Rock of Love Tour Bus is certainly disturbing. Both for content and the fact that it does prove to be entertaining...don't get me started on Tool Academy.

Today was the last brunch at his house. It was the typical fun and food with a side of sad. I don't know what my social life will be like without him here.

Earlier this month another friend of ours, Mark's boss at Macy's, made the same move.

In March Crystal-the manager of our old apartment, the Shelby-and a friend of mine, packed up her family and moved to Texas to try her fortune in that job market after her job here basically cut her pay by 25% due to the economy.

Also in March, one of the founding of the DEA was put through the less-than-dignified process of having his work pyramid restructured and being asked to re-apply for his position, with the stipulation that it would likely not remain in Seattle, so he and his partner/outlaw husband were facing relocation. Unluckily, he was not re-hired for his job and is now unemployed with about 12% of Seattle. His job search thus far has pretty much indicated that he will be relocating. Early speculation suggests it will be DC, where else would a lobbyist for the drug company have more opportunities? So, when I look at Chip and Joel nowadays at our weekly Burger Night at Purr (Purrger Night) I already see them from a distance.

Last fall, my boss here when I was with Macy's was actually promoted-one of the few beacons of a positive light in the last year I can recall. His promotion took him to Salt Lake City. He comes to town every now and then, maybe once a month. Sadly, I don't always get to see him since he's usually only here once a month or so. His promotion came at the same time that a couple thousand other people at Macy's in Seattle lost their jobs due to a merging of buying offices. Basically the same process that is causing Mark to have to relocate. It's also causing another former co-worker of mine from Macy's to have to relocate to Vegas in order to remain employed. This is the final restructuring go-round for Macy's corporate employees in Seattle. The remaining 200 or so are pretty much evaporating as it happens. Going forward, there will essentially no longer be a corporate presence for Macy's in Washington. The prior lay-off scattered friends of mine from Macy's to New York City, Chicago, Vegas and many other cities as people-friends-sought employment elsewhere. Recently, I have even gotten reports that some of those friends who lost their jobs and moved have now lost their jobs again and are beginning the process all over again.

I went through that in 2007, leaving Macy's and not working for two months. Suffering through another four months of unemployment after my new company-US Bank-let me go later that same year. Six months off all-together that year, it was financially devastating. I still feel that pain as well as a certain guilt for having enough savings and a comfortable enough family to help pull me through my financial collapse in style. But it may have looked too easy and sent the wrong message to my friends. The side of that experience for me that I kept private was that I emerged from it essentially broke. Savings, gone. Retirement fund, gone. Credit-worthiness, gone. Now I have to watch friends go through the same thing-and try to comfort them without sounding hypocritical for having a family that could help me through.

I see how hard it is for these friends to leave; most having no real or recent experience uprooting themselves, their families and abandoning their lives, friends and homes simply for work. It's like the homesteaders of our country's history.

I have "lost" more friends to this crap economy in the last year than I did to AIDS in the 80's and early 90's. The consolation is that they are alive, just out of my life. The speed with which they are leaving my life is much more shocking than that earlier, sadder time though.

All I have is the equanimity that I traditionally face change with. Hopefully, that lack of panic will be rewarded with a return to reasonable levels of unemployment as well as normal rates of pay for myself and my friends. Hopefully, that will be the outcome. I cannot stretch my imagination to see a worsening of this shituation.

The Difference, Redux

So after my Friday the 13th romance revelation in Portland, I returned home with a renewed sense of purpose toward my dating exploits.

I dumped the, pardon the expression, fuck buddy after telling him that I sought something more meaningful. I made it clear that seeking that depth in a relationship didn't exclude him, but I knew that beneath his repeat trips to my place lay nothing more than an interest in a good lay. He is 21, after all. Wanting more from that situation is like wanting marriage equality from a Republican administration. Besides, if I knew he was coming over each week, how hard would I really look for something deeper?

That said, try to keep up with this account of my initial foray into the wilds of Seattle:

I met a guy in a bar while I was out enjoying a few drinks with my friends, Mark and Brian. I spoke to him. I expressed my interest in him. As he was leaving me with nothing, I became aware of another man in the bar staring at me. I ignored this. I can project, fairly accurately, what his thoughts might have been-but until he makes himself available, he's just another barfly.

Seriously...he's there with a pitcher of my favorite food every time I go to the Elite.

Soon enough, all of my friends fade into the night and I am nursing the last of my beer alone. The Barfly is staring at me again. No easy thing, considering I am directly behind him. He has turned himself completely around on his barstool to stare at me.

Feeling belligerent, I stare back. Holding his gaze with mine. I realize how much stronger I am than him, as his increasing discomfort is betrayed in his eyes.

Still, he won't let go. I am slightly impressed by this but suspect he has selected a spot slightly over my head to stare at, making it easier for him to rise to my challenge.

I release him with the raising of a single eyebrow-no small feat given the amount of botulism in my forehead. He turns around and nurses his loss in his pitcher.

Finishing my beer, I reflect on the evening and how quickly I retreated from my earlier assertiveness to my old habits by playing a mind game with the Barfly. He's someone that I have been warned to stay away from which should be reason enough for me to engage yet I confine my actions to games-which, not for nothing, I do win. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my friends found him to be an unsatisfactory person for me that kept me from exercising my new strategy of making myself available. Putting it out there, so to speak.

Yet I was the one who was in the hot seat. The object of affection. For the moment. Why must I make any move at all? If he had wanted me, he could have very well (perhaps) gotten off of his barstool and come over to speak with me, right?

Laying aside these distinctly un-heavy thoughts, I make my way to the bathroom before heading home.

He tracks me in the mirror the whole way. Pussy. But that pejorative may be a bit harsh depending on how long he has lived in Seattle. He simply may not know how to behave or express his interest in a functional capacity. It is a hazard of this environment.

Or probably he was drunk.

Berating myself in the restroom (internally, of course) for letting his bs put me off my commitment to myself to be more assertive in finding an acceptable dating situation, I made a point of stopping to speak with him on my way back from the bathroom.

"I couldn't help but notice you looking at me before." No wonder I'm single.

But what a wonderfully sublime statement. He was staring. And my return gaze was simply hostile.

Anyway, Barfly and I talk, he invites me to sit and I accept having found that I actually am enjoying the conversation.

After about 20 minutes, the first guy walks back in. Gay-ja vu!

He seems absorbed with his group of friends, so I just stay put and enjoy the conversation while the bar burns down around me. No, wait...that bright light wasn't fire, it was the lights coming on. Shit, I closed the worst bar in Seattle! Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Barfly is too drunk to drive, so I bring him home and let him sleep it off. He passes out immediately, which is nice. I stick to my own side of the bed and have a fitful night's rest. In the morning we snuggle a bit and then exchange numbers as we head out into the day.

Midway through the day, I get an email on my phone letting me know that a friend request on facebook.com has been approved.

WTF?

It might be sad that I don't recall making a friend request of anyone recently. Then it hits me. On a lark, I had made the request while I was talking with my friend, Brian, the night before and the guy he was chatting up had told him to hit him up on facebook. Knowing, ok-suspecting, he wouldn't, I did.

This had the added advantage of perhaps helping me find the original boy from the Elite the night before as he had come to my attention when his friend had struck up a conversation with Brian. God bless ulterior motives.

My life is like an episode of Soap. Remember that sitcom? If they made my life into a TV show, it would be, of course, a shitcom. But I ain't complaining! LOL.

So now I have options. Just by dropping a set and talking to people I find appealing. Even if it's only physical. I mean, that's generally where anything starts, right? Who ever says, "I met the ugliest guy last night!"?

I make a tentative date on facebook with the first guy. No name for now but I am sure one will come to me soon enough. He immediately starts texting me. Frequently. It's cute, but come on, we haven't even met yet. Officially.

Around 2:00 a.m. that next day, I get a few texts from Barfly. Closing time. How charming.

Barfly wants to come over. That's a negative. Some of us have to be awake in four hours, pal. I make plans with him the following evening. Feeling good about the sitch, good practice if nothing else.

A lot happens that next day.

The boy with no name continues to text me like a teenage girl on spring break and Barfly cancels our date for that evening, not feeling well.

I leave Barfly with the "Call me when you're feeling better" chestnut, expecting never to hear from him again and make a date with the boy with no name...let's actually call him the Mad Texter.

So, as it happens, I have no real time to commit to either of these guys in the upcoming week so it's good that Barfly has malaria and is out of the equation for the week. The Mad Texter, on the other hand...sooner for him is better. I have learned in the interim that he is 22. Nothing like instinct to guide your attractions. In my defense, he looks much older. Might just be the company he keeps.

Between working toward a VP visit at work-chaotic hours included-and the gym, I manage to carve out a couple of visits to my fave watering hole, Purr, to keep up with my friends and frenemies.

Both times, the Mad Texter just happens to be there.

Creepy. You'd think I would have noticed him before this if he's so frequently in the places I frequent.

I usually enjoy a few minutes chatting to this guy (sic, as he doesn't say much) but would like to see him when one or both of us is not buzzed, so I am looking forward to our dinner date later in the week.

The big day finally comes and I get a text as I am walking over asking if we are still on. This kind of ticks me off, but I confirm.

Long and short of it? Finally? My first thoughts when I see him are "Are you stoned?" and "Thanks for dressing up". He's in a baseball tee and jeans and has eyes like he just came out of a burning building. Maybe he was at the Elite when it burned down, too...

He says almost nothing during dinner. More awkward is the fact that he seems to have difficulty making eye contact.

I find myself hoping it's because he has had a change of heart upon seeing me while he is sober. After buying dinner for him, I am barely able to manage the offer of a ride home. Barely. So I am not surprised when I exit the car at my curb and have not been thanked for dinner.

Diane Fossey, could you please begin teaching your gorillas to use sign language to communicate again? It was so useful.

Before the elevator reaches my floor, I recieve a text saying "Thanks for dinner". He is, after all, The Mad Texter.

That point notwithstanding, I haven't had much to say to him recently. What, I need a long distant relationship with someone that lives in the same town as me?

But, at least I am out there. In person and off line, which is how god would have intended it if he had any designs on my social and romantic life, I'm sure.