I give up (again)

That’s it. Call up the convent. I’m becoming a nun.

(Do convents have telephones? I don’t know . . .)

Yes, God damnit. I hung out with BE again. I know, I know. Grab your belts and switches and commence t’ beatin’. I am a stupid, stupid woman. I just can’t help myself.

When I start acting aloof and uninterested is when BE decides he wants to be with me. It’s actually kind of fun making him squirm, because I get the feeling he’s been in many relationships where he’s had the upper hand, and he is not a fan of having the tables turned on him. Now, I don’t like to play games. But if you play games first, then I have to do what I have to do to maintain my dignity. If that means not calling even though I want to, then so be it. At least I don’t feel like a groveling wench.

So.

Anyway.

He calls me on Friday at about 1:00, knowing I am at work. He leaves a message and I don’t call him back until 9:30 that night. I know, I shouldn’t have called at all. But I guess I had a moment of weakness when none of my friends were returning my texts and I really didn’t have anything planned that night.

He says he’s at a restaurant/bar with some of his work friends. He is the only one there without a girlfriend or wife. I stupidly agree to come and make him feel like less of an outcast. The reason he’d called me earlier in the day was to invite me to go with him, but I called him back too late.

So I get there, and he is all affectionate, again. Which is nice. He even takes me out on the dance floor, which he has never done before.

I accidentally offended one of the girls who was with his group. When she introduced herself, I misheard her name, and I repeated it back to her. It wasn’t her name. It was the name of a girl her boyfriend had cheated on her with.

Oops?

I apologized profusely and offered to buy her a drink. I then hugged her and apologized again, and she seemed to be okay with it. Later, though, her friends came up to me and told me not to feel bad, that it was okay, and I said, “Well, I feel bad that I had to bring up bad memories for her unintentionally, but, uh, her boyfriend shouldn’t have cheated on her!”

Am I right, or am I right?

After a couple hours, BE and I decide to leave. It is at this point that I notice, BE is hammered. Surprise! On our way back to his house, we’re talking like normal. And then he drops this bombshell on me.

“I love you.”

FUCK.

“No, you don’t,” I said.
“I love you, [LRC].”
“You don’t mean that!”

He never responded to what I said. He just kept saying it. He also said things like, “You’re the only one I want to be with,” and, “I’m gonna marry you.”

JESUS EFFING CHRIST.

Why must men do this to me? The mind fuckage? It’s not cool. AT ALL.

I should have just left him at his house and driven my ass back home, but it was late and, again, I was tired.

So the next morning when we wake up, I hear BE say, “imeeamrraym”
“What?”
“I need a memory.”
“Oh, did you forget some things from last night?”
“Yeah. A lot of it.”
“Do you remember anything after leaving [name of the restaurant/bar]?”
“I don’t even remember LEAVING [name of restaurant/bar].”
“Oh, that’s probably best.”

I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t tell him what he said. A part of me wonders if he does remember and he’s just too embarrassed to admit it. Either way, I’m not going to bring it up to him. He said, “Well, I’m sorry if I did anything rude or mean to you!” and I just said nothing.

Later that night (Saturday), there was a birthday party to be held in honor of me and several other friends. I invited BE to go, and he said he probably would, and that he would call me later.

Guess what? He didn’t call. Surprise again!

All things considered, I had fun at the party. Of course, there was a bit of a depressing undertone for me because, first of all, Adam came to the party. With another girl. An Emo Screamo girl with a hideous haircut that looks like it was styled using a weedeater and a vat of Crisco. So that was no fun. I don’t still have feelings for Adam, but it DOES suck when you see an “ex” with someone else for the first time.

Also, I found out that my other ex, the one before Murray, has a live-in girlfriend. I am genuinely happy for him, but again. The ex-boyfriend moving on thing is multiplied by two at this point.

Oh yeah, and Murray was there, looking really effing hot in a shirt I had helped him pick out when we were dating.

So blah.

Blonde-Haired-Boy ended up coming to the party as well, because the married couple that had introduced me to him was invited, and they brought him as a guest. I tried to avoid him all night because . . . oh wait I didn’t tell you what happened with BHB! Whom I will refer to from now on as SoccerBoy, because DUH, he plays soccer. So here’s what happened with SoccerBoy:

After getting several second opinions on the SoccerBoy situation, I decided to give him my number. When I woke up Thursday morning, I had two missed calls from him, both after 12:00 a.m. Why the hell is he calling me after midnight on a WEDNESDAY? I had a voicemail from him, apologizing for a derogatory text AND voice message he supposedly sent me (I got neither). So, at this point, I have taken SoccerBoy out of my “Possibilities” folder and demoted him to the “No Way In Hell” folder, because really, if you have had to apologize to me twice and we haven’t even gone out on a single date? Then sorry. No.

But back to the party. I couldn’t avoid him forever. He eventually ended up talking to me. I guess I was in a forgiving mood because it was my “birthday” party (although my birthday isn’t until Wednesday). I gave him a reprieve for his less than admirable antics and said, “We all have our moments.” So he’s been texting me a bunch since then. I don’t know if I really like that. He’s obviously interested in me but I don’t know if I’m feeling it with him. We’ll see what happens.

So that’s the status quo right now. Number one on my list is ME. I’ve started cooking again (for a while there it was Lean Cuisines, sandwiches, and leftovers from eating out), which is something that makes me really happy. Last night I made a potato and spinach frittata! I also rented a movie, and I was completely fine with having my entire Sunday to myself. I’m getting more used to the single girl life and I know that I don’t need a man to make me happy.

PLUS, I’ve got my birthday to look forward to. Woot! Also, tomorrow I’m going to rent Forgetting Sarah Marshall (penis!), and the complete series of My So-Called Life should be in my mailbox either today or tomorrow. So that’s how I’m keeping myself occupied. Any other suggestions?

Random Friday: A Post in Two Acts

ACT I:

(Wow, I am cheesy as hell. Referring to this post as if it were a play? PUHthetic.)

I got an award! Holla. From the lovely Little Miss Obsessive, who is enduring the same type of single girl bullcrap I am currently going through. BEHOLD ITS MAGNIFICENCE.

Here are the rules (aren’t there rules to everything?)

1. The winner can put the logo on his/her blog. Check.
2. Link to the person you received your award from. Check.
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs for an award. Check.
4. Put links to those blogs on yours. Check.
5. Leave a message on the blogs for the people you’ve nominated. Uhh…maybe I’ll get around to it?

Here comes the fun part. In no particular order:

1. Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat – If you are not reading Laurie’s blog, go to it. Like, now. Seriously. She, like LMO and I, is single, and she retells her single girl stories SO. WELL. She is hilarious, and she also leaves the best comments.
2. Wine Glass Logistics – This chick, like myself, has a drama-filled life. Whenever I see that she’s updated, I think, “Ooh! Wonder what happened next!” She also fulfills my ADD needs because her posts are short little snippets. Just enough to keep you waiting to see what happens next.
3. Mindy Does Minneapolis – Mindy just has a damned entertaining blog. She has cute pups (always a plus!), and you can tell that she has an awesome attitude/outlook on life. She’s not afraid to make fun of herself when she does something embarrassing, and she does it hilariously.
4. New Life in South Dakota – Another single girl (are you noticing a pattern here?), Kate’s stories are raw. Honest. You don’t feel like you’re getting the watered down version of Kate. She has feelings – happy, sad, enraged, euphoric – and she’s not afraid to blog about them.
5. Crissy’s Page – It never fails, every. single. one. of her entries makes me laugh. If you’re having a bad day, go read what Crissy has to say (I completely did not mean for that to rhyme). Plus, she does these hilarious re-enactments of things that happen in her life using her daughter’s Barbie dolls. And she calls her readers “queefs.” What’s not to love? OK, I just realized that brookem already gave this award to Crissy, but dangit, I’m leaving it up here.
6. Speaking Of . . . – I always look forward to Nic’s posts. They’re usually short (again, The ADD), and always funny. I love her toolbag posts, although she hasn’t done one in a while. What’s up with that, Nic? Where have all the toolbags GOOOOoooooOOOOOONE? do do do, do do do, do do do (OK I’ll stop with the cheesy nineties music reference to a woman who apparently did not own a razor). It’s OK, we’ll give her a pass because she is in looooove
7. Chasing Paradise – Last but TOTALLY not least (you know I luh you girh), my blog BFF CP (although I have not consulted her about this . . . sorreh CP, if you disagree! [again with the rhyming, ugh]). She’s getting married to the love of her life next year, and now she’s busy planning her wedding. But CP is not one of those annoying OH MY GOD I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT WEDDING PLANNING OH HELP ME PICK SHOULD I GET THE NAPKINS IN IVORY OR OFF WHITE bloggers (not that there’s anything wrong with that). She tells it like it is – the good AND the bad. And I love her for that.

Whew. That was tough.

————————-

ACT II:

Bullets! Yay!

(Or is it . . . Bullets! Not Yay?)

(I don’t give a shit, you’re getting bullets anyway.)

(AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH AGAIN WITH THE RHYMING!!!! I should quit my job and become a poet. Or Dr. Seuss.)

• My new favorite word is “dangit,” because it’s like a curse word, but it’s not. I’d feel comfortable using it in a work setting . . . it helps me not be such a potty mouth, but at the same time it satisfies my urge to say something inappropriate. Because it’s almost inappropriate. At my last job, my ultra-religious co-worker refused to curse, and his replacement for a curse word was monkeys. I said, “Really? Monkeys? How could that possibly satisfy your need to express anger or frustration? Sorry, but monkeys ain’t cutting it for me.” I can make “dangit” sound angry, but no matter how hard you try, “monkeys” just cannot sound angry.
• If you’ve been looking for some new tunes for your iPod, go download Kings of Leon’s album, Only By the Night. It is AH-MAZE-ING. Possibly life-changing. OK, it’s probably not life-changing, but it’s DAMN GOOD. Ole dude’s vocals have improved. He still uses that ultra-unique voice but it just sounds like he’s been practicing more, you know?
• I know people hate to hear about other peoples’ dreams, but I will make this brief. It seems that I have an inordinate amount of airplane dreams. Flying an airplane. Being a passenger on an airplane. Airplanes crashing into a field. Jumping out of an airplane. WHAT GIVES? It could have something to do with the fact that the box fan I turn on to help me get to sleep sounds a bit like an airplane engine. BrownEyes said he dreamed of airplanes once when he slept over. Could that be what it is? Or is it something deeper?
  (Probably not.)
• Here are three things that make me pathetic:
  1) I wrote a list of things to put on my bullet point post so I wouldn’t forget.
  2) I took a photograph of that list.
  3) I posted that photograph on my blog.
  
  OK, wait. There’s four:
  4) I color-corrected that photo in Photoshop and set it to 72 dpi.
  (The reason it says “Klingon” instead of “Kings of Leon” is because Murray’s friend called them that one day and it just stuck. Also it was shorter and I am lazy).

Happy Friday everyone! I could NOT be more ready for the weekend. Sorry if this post doesn’t make sense but I have to go do something now and I’m not going to proofread. Take THAT, society!

“It’s not the men in my life that count, it’s the life in my men.”

Gotta love Mae West.

(And Kendra Wilkinson for providing me with the source of that quote. My God, I can’t believe I actually LEARNED something from watching The Girls Next Door. And from KENDRA, no less!)

(Clearly, men are making me lose valuable IQ points.)

So . . . since I know you are all DYING to know . . . here are a few updates regarding the men in my life.

Murray: Murray and I have moved past the I’m-going-to-be-bitchy-to-you-because-I-feel-like-it phase into, I-don’t-feel-weird-being-around-you-even-though-we’re-not-dating-anymore phase. It’s a good place to be. We text each other random inside jokes just for laughs (today it was, “No, fuck HUGH”). I saw him the other night and informed him of the kitty situation because, after all, he lived with her, too, for over half of her life and I figured he would want to know. He hugged me and offered me his sympathy. I told him he looked the best he’s looked since the breakup. By saying this, I didn’t mean to imply that he had been looking a mess because he was distraught about the split. It’s just that, right after we broke up, he shaved his face clean and got a short haircut. Murray, while very attractive, has a large, round face, and this was not the best look on him. Now he’s sporting some stubble and a half-grown out haircut. He looked rather handsome.

He asked me if I was dating anyone. I said, “No,” which, at the time, was NOT a lie, because the previous day I had told myself I wasn’t going to call BrownEyes anymore and that we were finished (I’ll get to BrownEyes in a minute). I asked if he was dating anyone, and he said, “No,” as well. He asked how I liked being single, and I told him the truth. That at first, it was glorious. Then, it was excruciatingly lonely. Now, things are finally starting to level off and seem normal again. He agreed, that he was lonely too sometimes but in the end it’s worth it to have your freedom.

In a week and a half, I will be going to a concert in Atlanta with Claire, and Murray will be there, too. With other friends, of course (who, oddly enough, are also friends with BrownEyes, but Murray and BrownEyes don’t know each other). I anticipate on it being a really good time, and I’m glad we’re in such a comfortable place with each other. I will say this: I don’t see myself getting back together with him. At all. But times like this remind me of why I stayed with him so long. He’s such a great person.

Blonde Haired Boy: This is a guy I met the same night I talked to Murray. If he becomes a regular here, I will come up with a better pseudonym for him. Right now, though, we’ll just refer to him as BHB because I am lazy. A married couple I am friends with introduced me to him, because I guess they wanted to see if we hit it off. Well, he is a very nice, funny guy. Attractive, too. But he has blonde hair. Which I usually don’t go for. I don’t know why. But anyway. Not an issue. We talked and joked for a while. I told him about my cat woes, and we talked about other things lighter in nature. He became kind of touchy-feely with me late in the evening, but he wasn’t grabbing me in inappropriate places. I just didn’t want people to see him putting his arm around me and then go and tell BrownEyes I was with another guy. You know how that is. If you’re slutty like me, you do, anyway. So I gave him a ride home and he asked me to come up to his apartment with him. He was pretty hammered at this point. I told him no, and he asked again, this time using “please.” I was more persistent in declining him this time. He asked me to call him, so I got his number. I didn’t give him mine because sometimes I actually DO make smart decisions. I had no intention of calling him because, hello, he just wants to do the nasty.

But then I got a Facebook message from him, apologizing. Explaining that he wasn’t that type of person. That he was sorry for putting me in a position like that. That he was sorry again about my cat and that maybe one day we could go out to dinner.

I thought that was pretty ballsy of him. If I had tried to make a move on some guy only to be turned down, there is no WAY I would Facebook message him. But it sounds like he really thought about it. He owned up to his mistake, and in doing so completely changed my perception of him. Well done, BHB.

So I’m keeping him filed under, “Possibilities,” because while I am not really ready to start dating anyone else (especially since I, technically, am still kind of “dating” BrownEyes), I don’t want to miss any opportunities for happiness. He mentioned getting my number but I haven’t given it to him yet. Maybe I’ll give it to him in due time. Right now, though, the ball is in my court and I’d like to keep it that way.

Adam: I am pleading the fifth on this one. Sorry. I will say this, though. He met BrownEyes the other night (I was not with either of them. They met on their own. BrownEyes has a pretty unique name so when he introduced himself, Adam said, “Oh, so you know [LRC]?”), and they ended up having a good time together. Supposedly, they’re buds now. THAT, my friends, is WEIRD with a capital WTF. I don’t know if Adam told BrownEyes that we used to, uh, “date,” but my gut is telling me no. I’m not going to bring it up to BrownEyes, but if he asks, I will tell him the truth.

BrownEyes: Yes, I know you are dying to know about this one, reader. After the Day from Hell, in which I thought things couldn’t POSSIBLY get worse, I got a phone call from him. I wasn’t available at the time he called so he left a message. It was very brief: “Hey, call me back, bye.” I thought the brevity of his message indicated embarrassment. Embarrassment of the way he behaved the night prior. He SHOULD have been embarrassed, after all. Those of you who know the story can attest to that.

I call him back, curious. No mention of the night before. He wanted a favor from me. Of course. Always thinking of himself. I’m not even going to repeat the favor here because it just infuriates me (and also, it’s my blog and I can withhold what I want to. Nyah nyah!). I didn’t give him a direct answer to his request (because I just couldn’t bring myself to say, “FUCK NO YOU ASSHOLE!”), and I changed the subject to that of my cat. He said he was sorry about that, and that his phone was about to die so he would call me later when he got it charged up.

“Fine,” I thought. “Call me. I won’t be answering.”

Sure enough, I had a voice message from him when I woke up the next morning. He’d called at 11:30 p.m. and left another message. I didn’t call him back.

But then a few days later, I got another message from him while I was sitting on the couch reading Marie Claire while half-assedly watching the Tennessee vs. Florida game. I sat there, puzzled, holding my phone. Staring at it.

I called my mom. “[BrownEyes] left me a message. What should I do?”

You see, I have this issue where it is extremely difficult for me to let go of ANYONE, hence the fact that I have managed to have FIVE relationships (FIVE!) that have lasted in excess of a year and a half. I am twenty-four years old.

FIVE. LONG. TERM. RELATIONSHIPS.

It’s not that I allow people to walk all over me. I am usually pretty good about standing up for myself. But after I say what needs to be said when a man fucks up, I usually forgive him, almost instantly. I am WAY too lenient sometimes.

So anyway, back to BE. My mom said, “Call him. I’m curious to see what he has to say.”

I admitted that I was curious, too. I waited a little while, and then I called him back.

He seemed to be in a cheerful mood and invited me to his friend’s house to watch football. I agreed and told him I’d be there in a little while. I took my time getting ready, and then I went over to meet him.

His face lit up when he saw me. He gave me a big, warm hug. When we sat on the couch, he would put his arm around me. He gave me little kisses on the lips when the others left the room. This was, certainly, a change of pace from how he normally acts. “Maybe this leopard has changed his spots,” I thought.

Well, later in the night, let’s just say BE got drunk and acted like an asshat. This was the second time in the span of a week that he did this. We got into two mini-arguments, which weren’t really arguments because BE and I have a strange way of communicating with each other. We both say things that, to the observer, might make it look like we’re being nasty with each other, but we’re really just joking. Still, though, his behavior was, off. I have been around him when he was drinking before, but he’d never acted this way. Something was different.

He had admitted to me earlier in the night that he hadn’t felt “right” for the past few days. He said he’s never been depressed before, and he didn’t know what it felt like. I think he’s abusing alcohol and drugs (he smokes pot and occasionally takes painkillers) because he is unhappy. And I think I should step in and help him. Andy doesn’t really understand why I’d want to waste my time on a “fixer-upper,” but there are several reasons I feel that I need to intervene.

The first is, I would feel guilty if I didn’t. I am constantly plagued by guilt and worry, and I could never live with myself if I didn’t try to help someone who was exhibiting signs of alcohol and drug abuse. So that’s my selfish reason.

The second reason is that I have had success in helping people before, albeit in different areas of their lives. Take Murray. I was his first “real” girlfriend, not counting the one he had in high school. I swiped his V-card. He was pretty much a recluse who stayed in his room all the time, and he was an introvert. When we started dating, I, very much the extrovert, brought him out of his shell. His friends noticed an immediate change in his behavior. He was happier. He was more likely to want to go out and have a good time. I showed him how to stick up for himself. Before, he avoided confrontation at all costs. I taught him that you have to pick your battles . . . you can’t just let people walk all over you. I taught him how to be more independent and not to be so much of a “mama’s boy.” I’m not trying to take all the credit here by any means, but those who know me and Murray would agree that he would not be as independent as he is today if it weren’t for me.

So, back to BE. The night we hung out, he told my dad (yes, we hung out with my parents again. I think BE wants to date my dad) he wanted to cook out on Sunday. My dad said that would be fine, but I didn’t find out about it until the next day (Sunday), when Dad asked me if he needed to go to the grocery store to get food. I had no prior knowledge about these plans, so I called BE and left him a message, asking if he still wanted to cook out, and also, that I’d left my iPod at his house and I wanted to get it back (no, I wasn’t pulling a George Costanza, leaving something behind so I’d have another excuse to see BE. I honestly just forgot it).

Never heard back from him. Not surprising.

So the next time I talked to him, this is pretty much how our conversation went:

BE: So I guess you want your iPod back, huh?
Me: Uh, yeah.
BE: Well I forgot to bring it to town with me today so I will bring it to you tomorrow. I have a dentist appointment today and tomorrow so I’ll call you either later today or tomorrow.
Me: Okay.
BE: What’s the matter?
Me: Thanks for calling me back!
BE: Sorry, I didn’t get your message until like 8:00.
Me: You still should have let me know! I mean, it’s not like we were dying to do it or anything. It would have been nice to hear back from you for planning purposes, is all.
BE: …
…
…
I apologize.
Me: …
…
Okay.
BE: Well, like I said, I’ll either call you back today or tomorrow.
Me: Okay.
BE: Bye.
Me: Bye.

Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting him to call me later that day. Not after the slap on the wrist I gave him. BE is awfully proud of himself and I couldn’t imagine that he was too thrilled with being reprimanded.

Well, yesterday, he called me as I was getting off work and asked me to meet him for a drink. He gave me my iPod when I got to the place, and we began to chat. He was drinking a Jack & Ginger, but he told me that it was the first drink he’d had since the last time we hung out. He also said that he hadn’t smoked any pot or taken any pills.

“Apparently, I forgot I said something the other night, so I guess it’s time for me to cut back on the alcohol and drugs.”

Huh.

So all it took was getting a slap on the wrist for BE to realize what a royal jerk he has been and to make him think, “Hey, maybe I shouldn’t get fucked up so much! It makes me do stupid things!”

So, I considered this a mini-victory because I caused BE to make a good decision without having to actually say, “Hey, I think you need to lay off the booze and drugs.”

Still, though? I don’t think he’ll ever consider me his girlfriend. He will mention former flames (he doesn’t talk about them just to be a dick or anything . . . if something is relevant to the story he will bring up an ex) and call them “ex-girlfriends.” I am left to wonder, “If you call them ex-girlfriends, then at one point you called them your girlfriends. Why am I not good enough to be called your girlfriend? What is missing here?”

So yeah.

It hurts.

I just don’t know what I’m going to do. It seems like when something good happens with BE, something bad immediately follows. I’m tired of it. I deserve better.

Right now, though? I’m stuck in limbo.

Andy: While Andy is not, and has not been, a love interest of mine, technically he is a man and technically he is in my life. So I’m giving an update on Andy. I hope he doesn’t mind my mentioning this, but . . . Andy has found himself a woman! I suggested that he look online, and he took my advice. The reason I suggested online dating was because Andy doesn’t get out as much as I do (which is probably the reason my heart keeps getting curb stomped, come to think of it), not because he is shy, but because that’s just not his style. He has a cabin on the lake and he likes to ride his jet ski and do outdoorsy things. It’s not exactly easy to meet someone while you’re, you know, riding a jet ski.

He is insanely happy, and I am also insanely happy for him. She seems like the perfect match for him, and I am astonished at how comfortable they are around each other, considering they met online. It’s not easy to gague chemistry over the intertubes. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet, but if Andy thinks so highly of her I’m sure we’ll be fast friends. She even shares a birthday with me, which is pretty cool. Now Andy has no excuse if he forgets my birthday!

While I am really, really thrilled for Andy (I honestly am!), I can’t help but be a little bit sad when I get e-mail after e-mail from Andy, each one describing a date better than the last. The latest e-mail begins with no less than SIX “Wow”s.

I’m not sad that Andy has found a woman. I’m not jealous that he won’t have as much time for me. That’s not what makes me sad. What makes me sad is that each e-mail, while this is not Andy’s intention, is a reminder that, “Hey, [LRC]. None of the men currently in your life feel this strongly about you to write an e-mail like this. BE would never write an e-mail to his friend beginning with six “Wow”s. Andy and his chick have had a total of four dates, and already his relationship has had success leaps and bounds over your current one, which BE won’t even call a ‘relationship.’”

Do I think I’ll ever find someone that makes me feel the way she makes Andy feel? Maybe. But Andy found his, and maybe one day I’ll find mine.

Until then, I’ll be focusing on me. I’m not going to go out of my way to get or keep a man. It should be easy, like it is for Andy.

And also, maybe I’ll fashion a dartboard out of a photo of BrownEyes.

The day from hell

So, the day after my night from hell? Turned out to be the Day from Hell.

The day started out relatively ordinary. Not too much to remark on. But as the day progressed, my boss got bitchier and bitchier. I could do nothing right. It was one of those days. There is no middle ground with her — either I am the Best Marketing Specialist Ever or I am the Least Competent Employee On Planet Earth.

I could feel my face getting redder and redder every time she walked into my office. “What have I done THIS time?” I would think.

Then I got a call from my veterinarian. I had taken my kitty, the one who just came back home, to the vet to make sure everything was OK with her, because she had been pooping everywhere and her tail looked funny, like it was broken or something. He called to inform me that my kitty had sustained some pretty bad injuries. He said it looked like someone had run over her tail with a car (so it WAS broken), and that while her tail was still under the tire she probably tried to run away, severely damaging her nerves around her anus. So, basically, she has no control over her bowel movements.

“That’s awful. I suppose I could keep her outside, if her pooping everywhere is the only problem. She’s an outside cat anyway.” My vet agreed and he said he’d keep me posted if he found out anything new.

More bitching, more bitching. Vet calls back.

“We noticed that [LRC's cat's name]’s bladder was full, and we emptied it for her. Apparently she has no control over her bladder, either. Also, we had to amputate half her tail.”

THAT’S why she peed on me the other day. I thought she was scared of the dogs. What had really happened was that when I picked her up, I squeezed her bladder and therefore, she pissed all over me.

So basically what this means is, I have to evacuate her bladder and clean her backside daily.

This is no way for an animal to live.

The vet said to give her two weeks to see if she gets better, and then call him back, but I know she’s not going to get better. I think what he’s trying to do is just give me more time with her before I have to make one of the most painful decisions a pet owner has to make. I’m pretty sure you can guess which one that is.

This situation is very, very depressing. I have to keep her on my screen porch so I can administer her medicine twice a day, and also to do the bladder emptying/backside cleaning. I only cleaned the porch on Saturday and yesterday there was poop ALL over the porch again. But this is not the depressing part. The depressing part is that she is beginning to resent me because it hurts her when I have to squeeze her bladder, and now instead of being happy to see me? She tries to avoid me.

I hate that I have to do what I’m going to have to do. Because a part of me says I am a terrible, selfish person for making that decision. But she is very unhappy. She is a very independent kitty, and would never want to live her life like this. The first few days she was fine with it because she was unaware that anything was wrong. Now, she knows something is up.

I don’t really know how to transition from that or end this post, because it’s just a hard topic to discuss and nothing I say could ever really convey what I’m feeling right now. I’ve had this cat for four years. She was my first pet after I moved out of my parents’ house. And I have to go outside every day and see her, knowing she won’t be here in a couple weeks. And that’s a pretty melancholy feeling.

In the Dog House

Go directly to the dog house. Do not pass go. Do NOT collect two hundred dollars.

BrownEyes = FAIL.

I’m not going to go into detail about all the things BrownEyes has done wrong in the past 48 hours, because, well, I do keep SOME THINGS private (I know, right? Suckage. Sorreh).

Nothing REALLY BAD happened or anything. Like, I didn’t find out he was fucking some other chick or anything like that. But he really, really dropped the ball on this one.

Here is an excerpt from the e-mail I wrote to Andy. It is the end of what Andy referred to as, “the night from hell.”

I should have just driven home, but it was late and I was sleepy. I went and got in the bed with him, and he snored ALL. NIGHT. LONG. I barely got any sleep. Also? His alarm clock? He has two of them. One of them is the standard annoying ENH! ENH! ENH! alarm. The other is country radio that increases in volume the longer you wait to turn it off. He must be the soundest sleeper IN THE WORLD, because almost EVERY time I had to nudge/hit/pinch/poke him to turn the damned things off. And they went off, like, 6,237 times.

So yeah. Any irritation from anything BrownEyes had done up until that point was amplified TENFOLD. Not saying that this alarm clock/snoring incident is the reason I am ill with BrownEyes. I mean, I’m not THAT bitchy. I know that’s not really his fault. But this MAJOR ANNOYANCE helped me come to the realization that, wait a minute. I am a very forgiving person, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. But the way BrownEyes had acted earlier that night? I was completely justified in being frustrated. Andy reiterated this to me in his response e-mail.

To me you described the night from hell… and the fact that you’re even willing to take a call from him says you’re way more tolerant than I am. From this point forward it will be difficult (not impossible) for me to have any optimism for this one.

(When Andy refers to “taking a call from him,” he is referring to the way I ended my e-mail, which said, “I mean, it just seems like he’s not even trying. I think I’m worth trying for. I won’t be calling him. If he really wants to see me, he’ll call. He needs to redeem himself.”)

So like I said, I’m not going to go into detail about the situation, because in the e-mail I sent Andy I revealed things about BrownEyes and myself that I don’t want to broadcast for everyone on the internets to see. If you really, REALLY have to know, e-mail me and I will copy and past the e-mail I sent to Andy. Just know this. You MAY think differently of me afterward. Just a warning.

Here is another e-mail Andy just sent me, so you’re a little less in the dark about the situation:

[BrownEyes] did you wrong yesterday. Plain and simple. All of the other stuff… who knows… we all behave differently. BUT… everything you told me about yesterday sounds like he treated you like crap. I REALLY didn’t enjoy hearing about your day… it’s clear you’re trying… and it just sucks that you don’t seem to be getting anything in return. Nothing is ever going to be exactly 50/50… but it sounds more like it’s 99/1. You can only hold up that for so long… eventually you get tired. Anyone would.

To clarify, I am NOT acting like a googly-eyed teenager in regards to BE. I am acting like a normal, rational, almost 25-year-old (Birthday comin’ up! Holla!) woman would act. I call him on the phone every so often. I don’t say things like, “I miss you!” or “Can’t wait to see you!” or even “Hey sexy!” for fear of him thinking that I am trying to lock his ass down.

And also, because I just don’t say things like that.

Ahem.

So there’s that. And also? I called the vet to get a checkup for my kitty (the one who came back home after disappearing for three weeks!) and the secretary told me to be very careful because she may have rabies and that if she scratches or bites me I could get it, and it can be fatal for humans.

!!!!!

RABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Y’all, if I get rabies, I just don’t know WHAT the hell I’m going to do. I really doubt that my kitty has it, but this chick at the vet has me ALL in a tizzy about it.

If I never write another post again, you will know why. It will be because I died of rabies.

And that will not be fun.

For you OR me.

On an unrelated note . . . I got a booty text from Adam at 3 a.m. last Saturday night. It just said [Page], but at 3 a.m., a [Page] text is most likely in regard to one thing, and one thing only.

I didn’t respond, obviously.

But then Tuesday night he texted me asking what I was doing, and that I could “come hang out” if I wanted to.

Thanks, I think I’ll pass.

But if things don’t work out with BE, I may need to keep him close by for booty calls.

I KID!

Only not really. I need the sex, y’all.

What’s the name of the game?

(Yes, I used an ABBA song as the title of my post.)

(Deal with it.)

I still haven’t had the Colorado conversation with BrownEyes. Yeah, I know. I’m being cowardly. The past few times I have been around him, though, the topic has not come to fruition. I really think he would have told me by now if he were going to be moving 1,500 miles away. I know his actions can be strange sometimes, but that sounds like something he DEFINITELY would have spilled the beans about by now.

(Yeah, I know what happens when you assume. But ignorance? It is sho ’nuff bliss.)

I don’t really know what to say about what’s going on between us. I have never dated a guy like this. Ever. He is an enigma, this one.

I think the main reason we are moving at a snail’s pace is because we both have our walls up. He has a LOT of ex-girlfriends. A LOT. And he’s probably been hurt many, many times before. I have a wall up, too, because I just got out of a three year long relationship and frankly? I’m not ready to jump right back into that again.

BUT.

As the weeks progress, I’ve come to the realization that I am his “weekend girl.” Sure, we talk every now and again on weeknights, but if we see each other it is usually on a Friday or a Saturday. I realize that he has to get up very, very early for work every morning and that he needs his rest on the weeknights. But would it kill him to call me up and say, “Hey let’s grab a bite to eat tonight”? I’m not going to tie him to the hood of my car and kidnap him or anything. He could be home and in bed by 9:00. It IS possible to go out on a date and not end up staying up all night having drunken sex.

Wait, that’s how normal people date? People who aren’t alcohol-guzzling sluts?

Oh.

So yeah. It makes me feel kind of cheap. My Mom asked me today, “So, are you okay with the fact that he only wants to hang out with you on the weekends?”

I suppose I’m okay with it, for now. Like I said, we both have our walls firmly in position, and it may take a while to climb to the other side.

THAT BEING SAID.

(You knew I was going to eventually have a transition like that, right? Given BrownEyes’s tendency to send mixed signals?)

The other night, we were building a bonfire in his backyard and he asked me to call my parents to come over.

While they were there, he asked my Dad what he thought of us dating (he probably used a different word because he does NOT like the labels).

My Dad said, “I know that relationships (Oh God I bet BrownEyes freaked out inside when my Dad said that word) can be up and down. But as long as you don’t hurt or mistreat her, I’m fine with it.”

So, he, essentially, uh…

ASKED MY DAD.

IF IT WAS OKAY.

TO DATE ME.

You don’t know my Dad, but he is a pretty intimidating guy. So that was pretty ballsy of him to do.

And yet, I am his “weekend girl.”

It’s things like this that cause my garbage man to question the abundance of Coors Light cans and the presence of little else in my dumpster.

IN OTHER NEWS, my kitty cat came home! I had not seen her in weeks, so I feared the worst, even though I knew she was a tough little cookie. She had never disappeared for that long before, and I just assumed she was dead in a ditch somewhere.

When I saw her at the end of my driveway today? And heard her sweet little meow? It was all I could do not to jump for joy.

Of course, my dogs had to spoil the moment.

They came running up to her and basically tried to fight this little cat that weighs about six ounces and would not be able to defend herself if she had Wolverine claws, a can of mace, and a forty-five-minute head start.

I’m sure it was a sight to bee seen. Hissing (cat). Barking (dogs). Clawing (cat). Growling (dogs). Screaming (me).

When my kitty got away by jumping up into the rafters of my carport (the same rafters that, in December, just a few days shy of Christmas, the aforementioned cat unintentionally disrupted a MEDICINE CABINET [I had no idea it was even there] which promptly deposited itself into my windshield, where it then slid across the hood of my car, leaving a gigantic scratch and $800 worth of damage. Awesome.), I shooed the dogs inside and finally got her to come down.

I knew it was going to be tough carrying her inside without her clawing me to death for fear of the dogs, so you can imagine my surprise when I got her in the house and safely to her food bowl with little incident.

Satisfied with the outcome of my endeavor, I closed both doors of the office, where my cats and I currently are now, sans dogs.

And then I looked down.

And then I saw the warm piss stain that had appeared on my purple tank top from my frightened kitty.

Oy.

My readers are the best

Wow, you guys. Just, wow. I am floored at the feedback/advice y’all gave on my last post. Give yourselves a hand! I have taken each and every one of your comments into consideration about dealing with my current situation.

Also, I noticed I’ve got some new readers out there. Hi!

One new reader, though? Is Andy.

Everyone say, “Hi, Andy!”

Yep, I gave out the blog address to a real, actual person whom I have interacted with IN ACTUAL HUMAN FORM. Because Andy is the only person whom I trust to read what I have to say and not think horrible things about me. Because these things I write about in my blog are basically my e-mails to Andy, just more detailed and a tad more well-written.

Andy is less than thrilled with his moniker. Sorry, Andy! LET’S SAY IT MORE! ANDY ANDY ANDY ANDY ANDY.

I will admit, Andy is a less manly name than his actual name. And for that I am sorry. But when I come up with the pseudonyms for the “characters” in my life, I just take the first thing that pops into my head.

This will not, however, change the degree of honesty I use in my posts. Nor will I choose to reveal less of myself and what I think/feel/do. I tell Andy EVERYTHING anyway, so . . .

With that said, here is my take on y’all’s response to the optimist/pessimist thing. I’ve always thought myself as more of a realist than anything (I’ve got mad reasoning skills, yo), but lately with the way my life has been, I find myself expecting the worst (as opposed to the most likely) scenario more consistently. I’m having less faith in people (mainly men) than I used to. It’s my armor. I don’t want to get hurt again, but I continue to over-analyze and ultimately just conclude that the world, in fact, does suck and give all men the middle finger.

That’s not fair to all you men out there.

I know there are some good ones out there. I had one (Murray, until his true colors were revealed after the breakup when Worthless Piece of Shit Murray came out to play). Believe me, I don’t doubt that there is someone out there for me. But a lot of my pessimism comes from the fact that I have little faith in the odds of me finding someone worthwhile WHERE I AM NOW.

I live in a town of less than 20,000. The probability of me finding a man that is not married/someone who has dated my friend/gay/a total loser/way too old/has a small penis/has Chlamydia is NOT GOOD.

Also? It can get pretty lonely here. I am at the point in my life where most of my friends are one or more of the following:

1. Married and/or have children
2. Still in college and thusly have to study constantly
3. Still into the LET’S. PARTY. EVERY. NIGHT. scene
4. Not living here anymore (wise decision)
5. Shady as hell

. . . and therefore have very little (if any) time for me.

Having said that . . . I just read Pessimistic Redhead’s latest post about being happy being alone (go read it, if you haven’t already. If you’re not already reading her, WTF is wrong with you? Are you mental?). And I remember feeling the EXACT same way she does when Murray and I were together. When he would announce that he was going to hang out with his friends (actually, it’d be more like ASKING, like I was his mother or something. You don’t have to ask me, just go do it), I would secretly be thinking “YES! YES! YES! Go now! Why haven’t you left already???!”

Now?

Not so much.

I enjoyed being apart from Murray at first, but then, after a couple months when not having him around, well . . . it sucked. Not just HIM not being around, but not having ANYONE around. It gold old pretty quickly. Because when you have a relationship with someone, you can go back to them at any time. When I get done hanging out with my friends, I don’t have a man to go home to. Just my dogs and cats.

So while I COMPLETELY understand where PR is coming from, I just wanted to give my perspective –  a single girl’s perspective of the same situation. I don’t feel like I NEED a man to be me, but it sure is nice having someone around.

Most of the time

When I began this post last night, at about 11:15, I received a phone call from BrownEyes. I was actually quite surprised to hear from him at that hour, considering the fact that he has to BE at work while most of us are still getting our REM sleep (and the college kids are still up drinking). I guess it’s nice that he was thinking of me, but he HAD imbibed a few adult beverages, so . . . I’m going to take the gesture with a grain of salt. When he asked me what I was still doing up so late, instead of telling him I was writing a blog post (wice decision!), I told him I was looking stuff up on Wikipedia (NOT A LIE. I did actually have a tab open for Wikipedia — I looked up Rasputin, randomly, because I’d always heard the name but never knew who/what the heck he/she/it was). He accused me of looking up kiddie porn instead. BrownEyes. Always a jokester.

One annoying habit of BrownEyes is that he likes to talk. A lot. This is actually one of my favorite things about him (Murray didn’t talk ENOUGH), but when the whole conversation becomes about you? And I don’t have time to say what I want to say? It gets irritating. For instance, last night I asked him what he was going to be doing the rest of the week. He said on Saturday he would be helping his friend fix his front porch steps, and other than that, he didn’t have any plans. I didn’t even have a chance to say, “Well if you want to hang out at some point just let me know,” before he went right into, “Allright darlin’, I’ll talk to you later.”

It’s pretty frustrating.

I don’t think he realizes he does it, though. He doesn’t mean anything by it. But that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

I’m going to have to literally start making a bulleted list of topics to bring up when I’m around him so I don’t forget when there is a (brief) lull in the conversation. Seriously! He doesn’t know half the things that go on in my life. HAH.

ANYHOODSTER, I guess I have to, um, you know, do what I get paid to do (work). So that’s all for now.

The Optimistic Pessimist (and other oxymorons)

WARNING — This is a different kind of post for me. One in which I don’t use humor as a defense mechanism. Imagine that!

(OK maybe I use it a few times, but not for the whole post! I swear!)

(And also, there are no other oxymorons in this post. I just thought the title sounded good.)

I used to be an optimistic person. Most people, when asked to describe me, would use the word “nice.”

(Read: Pushover.)

And I was. A nice, optimistic pushover.

Where did that get me? Well, I had two back-to-back self destructive relationships at a time in my life when I was most vulnerable and naive.

Those two relationships (and eventually another bad one later on), however, I am grateful for. They taught me how to stand up for myself, and that I was worth much, much more than I was being given. It was like one day I just woke up and a light bulb went off that said, “Hey, [LRC]! This is not how a normal, functioning relationship should be!” and since then I have stood up for myself when necessary. Not just in relationships, but in life in general.

HAVING SAID THAT.

Now?

I am an absolute, without a doubt, soul-suckingly jaded pessimist.

Nowadays, people are more likely to call me “funny” rather than “nice.” I haven’t heard anyone refer to me as “nice” in a long time.

Whoops?

It’s not that I’m MEAN. I just, don’t take crap.

Except recently, I’ve been sorta straying from myself. I’ve been letting the guys I “date” dictate my life and general state of happiness. I guess I have such a low opinion of myself that I just think, well I’m not even WORTHY of the attention I’m getting, so I guess I should feel LUCKY that I’m getting any attention AT ALL.

I know, right? Great big ball of crazy right there. I can admit that. But it still doesn’t change my way of thinking.

LRC. She is a stubborn one.

So the first thing I need to work on is being happy with me.  Because if I’m not happy with ME? Then I’m definitely not happy in a relationship. I just haven’t quite figured that out yet. The being happy with ME part, that is.

On the outside, I have a fabulous life. I’m cute, smart, funny, have a good job, great family and friends, own a home (thatIcan’taffordbutlet’sjustoverlookthat) and a car, and have absolutely lovely pets.

Why isn’t that enough? All that stuff should make me happy. And a lot of times, it does. But other times? I just feel completely empty. Like I have nothing to offer or contribute. Like I’m just a barnacle on the substrate on my life, just sucking away . . . taking everything and giving nothing.

(When I was looking up the name of what a barnacle sticks to, I learned that barnacles are hermaphroditic. Neat!)

So the depression/low self-esteem issue sparks the other issue. The pessimism. As a woman who has been in several long-term relationships (and had lots of meaningless sex in between those relationships), I have endured many disappointments. Who hasn’t, right? So if I don’t set myself up for wondrous things, I won’t be disappointed when those aforementioned wondrous things don’t transpire.

I discussed this with Andy today, while he touched on the possibility that BrownEyes may invite me to come live in Colorado if he takes the job (highly unlikely, but there I am again being a pessimist!). I told Andy that I was about 99% sure that wasn’t going to happen, so he didn’t have to start preparing to miss me just yet.

Then Andy said, “Don’t be such a pessimist.”

To which I replied, “I JUST AM. If I think optimistically, I am almost ALWAYS disappointed. I’ve been disappointed very, very many times in my life. It’s a crappy way to feel. SO INSTEAD I JUST DISAPPOINT MYSELF BEFORE SOMEONE ELSE CAN.”

(This reminds me of a time when I was eating lunch at a Chinese restaurant with my mother, going through the whole being upset about Adam thing, and I said, “OK, I’m going to let my fortune cookie guide me in the right direction” [I am AWESOME at life] and when I opened my fortune cookie? And read my fortune? It was one big garbled mess. It didn’t even say anything. I said, “Story of my life.”)

And then Andy said this. “You don’t think that contributes to the whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing?”

Huh.

Well.

Hadn’t thought about that really.

Maybe Andy is right. Maybe I should start thinking more positively. If I get disappointed, so what? It’s not the end of the world. Expecting good things to happen does not make one unrealistic, nor does it mean the person is asking too much out of life.

Sending out “good vibes” (or whatever the hell) could ultimately help me exacerbate some gloom from my life and (gasp!) maybe actually make me a HAPPIER PERSON!

WHICH COULD LEAD TO BETTER SELF-ESTEEM!

WHICH COULD LEAD TO MORE OPTIMISM!

Which could also lead to more disappointments. <— SEE? THERE SHE IS AGAIN! I told you, LRC is a stubborn one.

It’s thoughts like those that I need to start eliminating from my train of thought. And I have to start ACTIVELY doing it. I can’t just expect my brain not to think those thoughts. Because it will, inevitably. I’ve just got to kick them out the door, dust off my hands, and be done with them.

It’s all about balance. And I’ve got to find that balance.

I’m sure you’ve noticed a theme here over my last few posts. THIS IS MY NEW PLAN.

I haven’t had the opportunity to try yesterday’s plan yet, but I will keep you posted as to how that pans out. I may need to start on today’s plan to help me out with yesterday’s plan!

Colorado? You can kiss my ass. Bitch.

After going back and forth in my head (call him? or wait for him to call me?) I just asked for a man’s perspective on the whole thing, and decided just to give in. I called him on Thursday.

He didn’t answer.

I figured he’d call back Friday if I didn’t hear from him on Thursday.

He didn’t.

SO. I went out and got super drunk with my friends on Friday, which was a nice distraction.

Until Saturday morning. When I was alone and hungover and it all came crashing down on me again.

I called my Mom, crying. “What is wrong with me? Why do men just inexplicably run away from me when things seem to be going so great?”

My Mom, being the Awesome Lady that she is, helped me put things into perspective. She helped me come to the realization that the reason he hasn’t called has nothing to do with who I am as a person. That any man would be lucky to have me (it’s true–I’m a pretty awesome girlfriend) and if he is going to stop talking to me it’s only because he is a non-committal flake.

Her advice for me was to call him one last time, and if he didn’t answer or respond, then I would have my answer and things wouldn’t be in limbo anymore.

Moms. They know everything, don’t they?

I called him. Waited for his answering machine. Much to my surprise, he answered. He was in the shower and he said he’d call me back. I took this as a good sign, because he MUST have wanted to talk to me if he answered the phone IN THE SHOWER.

And while waiting for him to call me back? I promptly dropped my cell phone in the toilet.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!!!!!!

Luckily, I retrieved it from its watery abyss quickly enough so that it wasn’t COMPLETELY kaput. Gross, I know, but luckily there were no bodily fluids in the potty at the time. I took the battery off and let it dry in the sun outside, the whole time thinking OMG WHAT IF HE CALLS HOLY SHIT WILL HE LOSE INTEREST IF I DO NOT ANSWER THE PHONE AGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Yeah, I know. I am the poster child for mental stability and self-confidence.

By the time it had dried out, I put the battery back on and he called me back. He couldn’t hear me, but I could hear him. So I called him back on my Mom’s phone (of course I was at my Mama’s house . . . when I called her crying she said COME ON OVER HERE AND SEE YOUR MAMA, SWEETIE), and then HE started getting crappy reception and I had to hang up.

“Great. Now I’m never going to hear from him again,” I thought.

SELF-CONFIDENCE. I HAS IT.

So I took my phone to Verizon to have it serviced, and they gave me a time to go back and pick it up. EXACTLY when I was gathering my things to go pick up my phone, he called me back on Mom’s phone. He told me he was going to come to town later to watch the UGA vs. Who The Hell is Central Fucking Michigan game, so I said I’d call him after I got a shower.

I MAY have lied to the Verizon guy so I didn’t have to pay for a new phone (“Did this phone get wet?” “Um, I mean, I guess it could have gotten wet at some point”) and luckily he just let me have it without a warranty.

So we met up later at his friends’ house. When I got there, he and his friend were discussing how they were going to fix his front steps, so I just kind of sat on the porch and waited for them to finish talking about it because they were pretty deep in conversation at that point.

When they finished talking, BrownEyes said, “Hey there Miss [LRC's last name], lookin’ all cute and pretty and skinny and tan.”

I smiled that little crooked smirk I always smile when I find something mildy amusing. But on the inside, oh baby I was grinning from ear to ear.

So things are looking good, right?

HAH.

I must remember never to get my hopes up.

BrownEyes’s friend’s wife started asking him when he was going to help fix their front porch steps, and if it would be conflicting with his interview.

INTERVIEW.

Motherfucker.

“Interview for what?” I said.

He looked down and answered in a much tinier voice than he usually uses, “A job.”

IN COLORADO.

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT.

JUST, SHIT.

“It’s only for eight months!” he said. Like that would somehow placate me. “Hell, maybe even for only five or six!”

Does he think I am going to wait on him for eight months? Highly unlikely.

He may not even take the job, but still. This just really freaking disappoints me. Obviously I am not important enough for him to stick around for LONGER THAN TWO SHITTY LITTLE MONTHS.

I feigned enthusiasm at the prospect of his new job. “Oh, Colorado! That sounds awesome! I bet you’ll love it there!”

I am obviously a glutton for punishment.

But I definitely was not going to pout about it, because that would probably scare him. Although, I am getting tired of walking on eggshells about the situation. A part of me thinks that the reason he won’t broach the subject is because I won’t, either. Sometimes I feel like he’ll drop something casually into a conversation to see how I react, but it’s never enough to warrant an entire discussion.

The rest of the night went well. We watched some football and played Apples to Apples (fun game! BrownEyes won and I tied for second), and BrownEyes and I each let his friends’ little girl braid our hair (he has long hair), then later I went home with BrownEyes and we did Our Favorite Thing To Do (read: each other). And for the moment, all was right with the world.

But I’ve just got this feeling he’s going to take the job, because he likes to move around a lot. And truthfully, I’m going to be pretty bummed if he does. But there’s not much I can do about it. I know I shouldn’t be a factor in such a big decision, but a small part of me is saying, SHOULDN’T I COUNT FOR SOMETHING? So if I want him to consider staying here, I am going to have to grow a pair and say something. This is what Andy told me to say:

Hey, I know this won’t count for much in your decision making process… but I’m still gonna say it. I really like you and would be really bummed if you moved out to Colorado. I’m not trying to hold you back or anything, but if you’re looking for an excuse or reason to stay in this area I’m trying to give you one.

So I guess that’s the plan. Wish me luck.

FUCK COLORADO.

Are we or aren’t we?

Well, I guess if I want someone to call me, I have to write about him on my blog!

So of course, after all my bitching and moaning, BrownEyes called me later that night. We ended up going on an out-of-town “double date” (oh but GOD FORBID I SHOULD CALL IT A DATE) with his married friends on Friday. That particular night, a popular band was set to play at a restaurant/bar downtown, and I had originally planned on going, but I ended up skipping it to go out with BrownEyes. Claire informed me that Murray AND Adam were at said restaurant/bar that night (of course!).

So first, Murray approached Claire and asked where I was. She told him she didn’t know, and he replied, “Oh, is she being all shady now or something?”

OKAY MURRAY, FIRST OF ALL, Claire is not my personal secretary. SECOND OF ALL, IT IS NONE OF YOUR GEE DEE EFFING BUSINESS ANYMORE.

THEN LATER, get this: ADAM asks Claire where I am, and again, she says she does not know. Then Adam says, all sarcastically/smart-assedly, “She’s probably with [BrownEyes],” making sure to add extra syllables to his (actual) name, like a thirteen-year-old CHILD would. And then Claire said, “Yeah, she probably is.”

HA.

Excuse me.

HA. HA. HA! HASHAHAHAHHAHHFHSDHHAHHASHAHAHHFHAHAHHA!!!!!!!!

ADAM. OWNED.

What, did he think I was going to stay single so that we could fuck every now and then? Um, no sir.

BUT ANYWAY.

Still getting mixed signals from BrownEyes. One minute he’s referring to us as a “couple” (!!!!!), and the next minute he’s telling me about how his mom’s neighbor asked him if he was “[LRC]’s boyfriend,” and he said, “Well uh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

AND THEN THE NEXT MINUTE HE IS TELLING ME I SHOULD INVITE MY PARENTS ON A LONG WEEKEND TO CHARLESTON.

Seriously? BrownEyes must like my parents more than he likes me. I wish I were kidding.

Like the other night? I spent the night at his house and we ended up staying up until 4am, just hanging out and talking. When we went to bed I leaned over to kiss him goodnight, and he was all DAMNIT WOMAN I HAVE TO WAKE UP IN TWO HOURS FOR CHURCH.

Well, he didn’t say it EXACTLY like that, but that was the gist of it.

I said, “Geez I’m not trying to do you! I just wanted a goodnight kiss!” and he said, “Yeah right!” but he is a jokester and I’m pretty sure he was joking but hello? I am pretty sexi-fied and I would not turn down sex with me, even at 4am!

Oh yeah, and he didn’t end up going to church the next morning. Of course.

But I digress.

ANYHOODSTER, I am not even going to TRY to analyze his flip-floppetyness (oh who am I kidding, of course I am). I am not trying to be his girlfriend/wife/mother to his children, but it would be nice if he wouldn’t, you know, refer to us as a couple and then tell me that we are definitely NOT GIRLFRIEND AND BOYFRIEND.

I’m just going to ride it out. I’m letting him make all the moves because obviously he is not comfortable enough yet to have “the talk.” You know, the one where both parties are equally uncomfortable and the outcome of which can make or break the “relationship.”

JESUS CHRIST HE’S GOT ME SO SPOOKED I’M EVEN SCARED TO WRITE IT ON THE BLOG.

I’m not ready for “the talk” either, but all this “wondering” crap is not my cup of tea.

OH YEAH, DID I MENTION I MET HIS MOM/AUNT/GRANDMA this weekend, and? AND. We ate dinner with my parents last night.

Again, like I said, I’m not trying to be his girlfriend, but sometimes he’s sending some serious vibes that say I LIKE YOU A REAL LOT and then almost in the same breath he’s all, JESUS CHRIST WOMAN UNLEASH YOUR CLAWS FROM ME.

(For the record, my claws are not in him).

So this week I’m just going to give him some space (even though I was not crowding him to begin with!) so maybe in a few days he’ll be all WHERE IS [LRC] AND WHY IS SHE NOT IN MY BED?

That’s the plan, anyway.