Go Blue

5 October 2014

When I root for Michigan, people often ask me if I went to school in Ann Arbor, or I’m from the state. No and No. What’s your connection they ask next.

I tell them that one of my high school football teammates played ball there and I started following the team in support. I tell them that a couple of collegiate friends loved UM so much that I grew more fond of it by osmosis. I tell them that I fell in love with Ann Arbor when I was considering grad schools and almost attended.

All of those things are true to a certain extent, however, in the quiet and honest corners of my mind the real answer is that I liked UM, but never considered myself a fan, let alone knew the words to the fight song. My affection was detached, kinda like a car that one admires but has never driven, or a song that you like but not enough to purchase. That was until I fell for a woman whose love for Michigan football was about 29th on the list of things that I loved about her. That was until the day I watched a game with her in some basement bar, clapped my hands and said “let’s go Blue!” and she leaned over to whisper “that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”


Probable Cause

17 July 2013

Metro signs told me the train was only three minutes away. I almost didn’t take the seat on the platform bench. I looked at the two women on opposite ends of the of the concrete seat and all of the space between them, felt my aching knee and decided I would sit. I sat in the middle and continued reading the Washington Post on my iPad. Both women had purses sitting next to them toward the middle of the bench. The woman to my left suddenly felt her purse would be more secure in her lap. The woman to my right had a new inclination to wrap her arm through the loop of hers.

I noticed both actions via peripheral vision while I continued to read an op-ed about Trayvon Martin being profiled.


From an Actual Exchange on a Dating Site

29 May 2013

Her: Your profile is terrific. Your passion for your work (in specific) and life generally really comes through and that is very charming. I leave for grad school in late July. If dating a short timer isn’t a problem for you, I’d love to have a drink sometime. If that’s not what you’re looking for, I will totally understand.

RR: You’re leaving in 6-8 weeks, and I think that’s fanfuckingtastic. As it happens, that is just about the amount of time it usually takes for the mutual falling, lots of great dates, and then my seemingly inevitable but subconscious desire to fade away / screw things up because a woman has gotten too close to me. Another thing that typically occurs round that mark: the charms of dating a chef (the exquisite food, the random left-over sweets brought to her office, etc.) begin to fade in the face of late night hours, lack of weekend availability, and the like.

I think our caveats are different in nature but equal in measure. Now that you know mine, still wanna grab that drink?

Her: are you always so candid about your failings, or is this the dating equivalent of it being easier to tell strangers your deepest & darkest?

RR: I would like to think that it’s equal parts from each column, but the truth is more the later than the former… though I generally have no problems talking about my short-comings. That admission about the 6-8 week thing is a new one though.

What about you? Are you always so cynically realistic as your profile seems to suggest?

Her: I’ve already gave you one for free, you gotta buy me whiskey to hear more… but I swear if you even mention frequent-flyer miles, I’m out the door.


A Poem in Search of a Muse

2 May 2013

Her notes demand to be read aloud

Words beg to linger on the palate

Like soft syrah – Lush, ripe, full 


Something Crossing My Mind Today

1 May 2013

When I first wrote a list of what I wanted in a woman, I was 21, inspired by some movie I cannot recall. It was two pages long.

When I next wrote that list, I was 30, inspired by a failed marriage and finding the impossibly shallow first list while unpacking in a new place. The second list was one page long.

Now I am just past 40, inspired by a question in a tweet and my list can fit on post-it note.


Odds Are It Ain’t the Last, But…

22 March 2013

Every kiss is its own dance, has its own rhythms… hell, kisses are goddamn snowflakes in their infinite uniqueness… and any smart man would want a wide swath of them even if he only wants them from one partner.  However, were I forced to choose just one for the rest of my life, I would choose our first.


Call me Crazy, but…

6 October 2012

I don’t know if she wanted to take me home because she was lonely, horny, mad at her ex, or didn’t have cab fare… but I know it wasn’t because she liked me.

Sometimes maturity = making the right choice even when it’s a bad one. I thought about that the whole ride home.


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