New Year's Eve, Karaoke, and the Not-So-Stunning Conclusion to the Saga of Engi'dear

Alas, it has been two fat months since my last post. To the faithful few among you who check in once a week or so, clinging to the faint hope that something, anything, will have changed on this blog---thanks for hanging in there. This post's for you.

So, last night Engi'dear and I got all spiffed up and went to a New Year's Eve party at the home of some mutual friends from church. Everything was awesome---the people, the food, the lethally alcoholic (yet delightfully fruity) rum punch. At some point, someone busted out a karaoke machine. I vaguely recollect joining one of our gracious hosts for a duet---Atlantic Starr's "Always." Feel the cheese, people! And you know what's even more unfortunate than the song selection? The fact that my singing skills rank somewhere below those of, say, William Hung. Bwahahaha! Bygones.

Eventually we took a karaoke break to count down to midnight and watch the Times Square ball drop. More general merriment ensued. Around 1:30, Engi'dear and I gathered our things and headed out the door.

On the drive back to the East Bay, the conversation was very stop-and-go. Little awkward silences began to pile up like snowflakes. Now, because I am by nature a shy person, I always feel personally responsible for these weird quiet spots. In my mind's eye, I imagine Smokey the Bear pointing an admonishing finger at me: "Only YOU can prevent conversational lulls!" Sometimes, when my brain has exhausted all possible small talk options, I'll go for the Hail Mary and ask something so broad, yet so personal, that it can only be described as a "college essay" question.

So I asked him what he thought was most different about the Engi'dear of five years ago, when compared with the Engi'dear of today. And he was game--he considered the question carefully, gave a thoughtful answer, and then lobbed it back at me. I said that I thought I was braver than I was five years ago---maybe not by much, but braver nonetheless. He asked me why I thought that was the case. And I said that I was beginning to understand that, in most cases, the potential benefits of whatever risk I was considering outweighed the potential costs.

And then he started making his ducky face. The ducky face is characterized by a furrowed brow, expanded cheeks, and protruding lips from which air is slowly expelled. I'd seen the ducky face on one or two other occasions---it usually indicates that he's making a decision about whether he should say something that's weighing on his mind. I've seen him get flummoxed, think better of it, and then switch conversational gears entirely. This time, though, I could tell he was going to soldier through and say what needed to be said.

We pulled alongside the curb in front of my apartment and he took a deep breath and started in on The Speech. There is only one Speech; it has been the same since the dawn of time. The foundation of the Speech never changes, although masters of the Speech may introduce stylistic variations on the basic themes. I've heard the Speech many times, and I've given it before, too (Okay, okay, maybe twice. And once was in middle school, so I suppose it doesn't really count). I appreciate the courage it takes to wade into the treacherous waters surrounding the Speech. I do.

But you'll forgive me if I zoned out a bit while he was talking.

"Confused...you and I...really crazy time right now...transition at work...value our friendship...wouldn't want to ruin...Um, does this make any sense?"

Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I totally understand. We're good.

"So, hey, I'll see you later this week?"

Um, yeah, I think so. (Unless of course I'm working late, or recovering from ebola, or leaving the country immediately to broker a peace accord in the Middle East. Any of which could legitimately happen between now and Wednesday.)

And when it was over I felt a little sad and a little stunned. It took me a long time to muster up the will to change out of my black evening gown and into my pajamas. The peep-toe stacked heel pumps came off with a quickness, though, so I must not have been totally out of my head with despair. ;-)

Now that the rum punch has worn off, I think I can expand on my answer to last night's college essay question. The difference between me now and me five years ago is that the 2002 model would have spent gobs of time and effort trying to analyze the situation and fix it. Because if you just try hard enough to change yourself, and become whatever it is you think lovable looks like, someone will eventually choose you, right?

2007 me is gentle but honest: "Oh, cupcake, he's just not that into you. I'm really sorry. Chin up, kiddo, we're rollin' on."

And right now I'm rollin' out to pick up a CD and some Korean food, because I was a very good girl--I blogged!

Happy New Year, y'all.