Rah Rah, Sis Boom Bah!

It still fits!

(Sorta.)

You can’t see the gaping hole in the back where I was unable to button and zip it all the way.

Hey,  I was thirteen when I last wore it! What do you expect??

Please ignore the horrible Photoshopping job (that’s Salma Hayek’s face, not mine obviously). I did it on my lunch break in between bites of my Chicken BLT salad from Wendy’s.

I will be wearing this to work tomorrow, with my letterman jacket (Scholar Athlete WHATUP) and some warm tights, but tomorrow night? Karen Carpenter, baby! I found a truly heinous seafoam green 70’s prom dress at Goodwill, and I will be ROCKING that shit with some stick straight, parted down the center hair. I couldn’t do the feathered look a la The Anorexic One because my hair isn’t cut like that, so I have to go for the next best thing.

I’ve gotta get a picture to show you all my dress when I’m wearing it because that thing is FIERCE.

I’ve already started practicing my rendition of “Close to You” should anyone not be able to guess who I am. I thought about drawing dark circles under my eyes (to look anorexically haggard) and carrying around a sign with a picture of a hamburger with a big “X” marked over it, but I thought that might be a tad offensive.

So what are YOU going to be for All Hallow’s Eve?

Cinco Meses

13,219,200 seconds.
220,320 minutes.
3672 hours.
153 days.
21 weeks.

Five months.

It’s been five months since the breakup with Murray. It has simultaneously been the longest and shortest five months of my life.

—

Before the breakup:

I had been having doubts. Serious doubts. Murray and I had been dating for three years and marriage was still the furthest thing from his mind. He still had a lot of maturing to do. He had all these wonderful traits that hardly any of my previous boyfriends had exhibited, but there were definite problems. Our sex life became virtually nonexistent. He didn’t pay very much attention to me. He would come home, and then immediately start doing yard work, which he would do until sunset. When he spoke, I just wanted him to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Yeah.

Not good.

I had numerous discussions with Murray about how my needs weren’t being met. I told him what needed to happen in order for me to be happy (my depression was beginning to spiral out of control again), and I gave him the opportunity to tell me what HIS needs were that weren’t being met, because I could tell he wasn’t happy, either.

So began the cycle. We’d have a “talk,” he would promise to do better, and he would. For about a week. Then we would be right back where we started.

When he initiated sex, it felt forced. Like if we didn’t have sex, he was going to have to face my wrath or something.

(For the record, I would never YELL at a boyfriend for not having sex with me. It’s been done to me before, and I HATED it. If I didn’t have sex with him at least once a week, he would scream at me and accuse me of cheating on him. The truth is, I had gained 30 pounds and I didn’t feel sexy naked. Not to mention he always wanted to do it in the morning, when sex was the FARTHEST thing from my mind. I would actually start getting nervous when I realized it had been almost a week since the last time we’d had sex. Yeah, THAT was a healthy relationship.)

So after a few failed attempts at improving the weak spots in our relationship (there weren’t many, but the few weak spots? Were MAJOR), I sat down with Murray for what would be one of our last discussions about the relationship.

I wanted a trial separation.

Murray said it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was opposed to it at first, but as I stated my case (with a lot of tears) about how it would be good for us to be alone for a little while to assess if what we were doing was really the best for both of us, he agreed that it was something we both needed.

He moved in with a friend for a week.

Then a week turned into a month.

Then a month? Turned into two months.

We had to stop putting off the inevitable.

—

The Breakup:

I remember the scene well, but I don’t remember everything that was said. We were standing in the kitchen. I was standing between my Granny’s antique pub table and the pantry. He was standing between the stove and the refrigerator. Other than that, it was kind of a blur.

I’d been going through hell in my mind because I knew that a breakup was best for both of us, but I didn’t want to hurt him. After the way he reacted when I initially brought up the trial separation, I thought he would take it pretty hard. So we danced around the issue for a bit.

Then, Murray actually took control.

(For once in his life.)

“Do you want to make this permanent?”

While this made things easier for me in that I didn’t have to actually SPEAK the words, at the same time I couldn’t help but be a little bit hurt. Really? He liked not being with me? He’d rather be alone?

I know, ridic, right? I felt the same way . . . why did I give a crap?

Because we dated for THREE YEARS.

THAT’S WHY.

But we both knew what was best. I nodded. I cried. He hugged me.

And that was that.

—

After the Breakup:

Things were pleasant at first, but then they quickly got nasty when we couldn’t come to an agreement on the house. Ultimately, I got stuck with it, and Murray took the easy way out. I wanted to wring his neck.

During our trial separation, I’d heard that Murray had been going out a lot.

Every. Single. Night.

And he continued to go out, every. Single. Night. for the first month or so after our breakup. Which became pretty awkward when I started dating and he, well, didn’t.

Not too long after the breakup, there was Adam. He was fun, exciting, and unbelievably gorgeous. He constantly complimented me, and treated me like royalty. Also? The sex was AMAZING.

He was exactly what I needed. Someone to shower me with affection and give me what I’d been missing with Murray.

Right up until the point when he decided he didn’t want a girlfriend, and that he’d rather just ignore me.

Awesome.

I was particularly vulnerable because, hello? I’d just gotten out of a three year relationship, and now this guy I was crazy about had gone from one extreme to the completely fucking other.

So I cried. A lot. He went on a five week vacation. I moved on, vowing not to wear my heart on my sleeve anymore. Not to let another guy dictate my happiness.

Then came BrownEyes.

(BE for short).

You all know the story on BE.

(Unless you don’t, then . . . start here.)

I know some of you have a love/hate thing going on with BE (some of you, just a hate thing). Believe me, I do too. But I will say this.

I have had SO. MUCH. FUN. in the past three months.

All the silly games and confusion aside, we have a damned good time together. The sex is great (although not quite as often lately as he has had a series of recent ailments). We’re always laughing. We just have FUN.

Fun is good, right?

Our quasi-relationship is far from perfect. Believe me, I know. But as Little Miss Obsessive commented in my last post:

But I think deep down you know if he’s worth it or not. You know him and the relationship way better than any of us so good luck!

I think she hit the nail on the head with that one. I KNOW a lot of what I say about BE sounds bad. But if you’ve never been around us? You have no idea what we’re like together. Nothing I could ever write here, in black and white, could ever encompass everything. Of COURSE I write about the bad stuff. I use this blog to vent. The good stuff, while good to me? Is not always what I want to write about. This is my outlet.

Also, I like to TRY to keep it entertaining.

(Whether or not I actually SUCCEED at that, well . . .)

I think the next couple of months are going to be eye-openers for me. The holidays are coming up, and I’m curious to see how BE reacts regarding the whole family/holiday thing. Also, a week from Saturday will be our first Wedding Appearance together, and there will be a LOT of people there we know.

But.

If it doesn’t work out with BE? Will I be sad? Of course. Will I let it ruin me?

Hell. No.

I hope the next five months yield as much growth and insight into relationships as the last five have.

Onward!

We ain’t even been to the ocean, we been running barefoot through the stream

I’ve been going back and forth between two very intense emotions in the past week. Anger and confusion.

These emotions are related to two separate, very different things, but I’ve found myself, in both situations, dealing with BOTH emotions.

Anger because I’ve lost a friend. A co-worker, former landlord, and most importantly—a friend. Last Friday, he was killed in a car accident. His two sons are good friends of mine. One of them is Glen, and the other is the male half of the married couple who introduced me to SoccerBoy.

I’m angry because the sixteen year-old kid who hit him passed on a double yellow line. I’m angry because that kid is still alive and my friend is not. I’m angry because this little prick made a stupid decision and now there are three more fatherless children in the world.

I’m confused because, well, isn’t death always confusing? When you find out someone close to you has died, this surreal moment occurs. It feels as if you’re not inside your own body. You’re just a spectator in your own life. Then reality sets in. But it still never feels real.

On a less significant note, I’m also confused about BE.

AGAIN.

Shocking, I know.

Well, after we had our “talk,” things took a much needed turn for the better. The next day, he told me, “I’m so glad we talked about the situation. We were both doing the same thing (trying to get the upper hand), and I’m glad we’re not doing it anymore.”

He spent the next few days telling me how beautiful I was, holding my hand, being protective of me. He was starting to act like a real, actual, BOYFRIEND.

(Although we’re still not using that word.)

I can tell in all the little things he does that he cares about me. The way he gets jealous when I talk to other guys. The way he plays with my hair. The way he opens the car door for me EVERY. TIME. The way he looks at me.

Then why is it so hard for him to understand basic relationship concepts like, oh, I don’t know, BEING THERE for someone when times are hard?

I left his house yesterday morning to go home and do some laundry before I started getting ready for visitation. The day before, he’d mentioned going with me. In the back of my mind, though? I kinda knew he was going to let me down.

When I was leaving he was still in bed. He sleeps late on the weekends because he has to get up super early on the weekdays.

“I’m going. Are you coming with me to visitation later?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t have to go, but it would just be nice to have someone there with me.”

For the record, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Most men need things spelled out to them, and it probably should have gone more like this:

“I’m going. Are you coming with me to visitation later?”
“Probably.”
“You’re damn right you are. I’m not going to be able to handle it alone.”

So then I get angry because I’m going through all this emotion—the anger and confusion about the death of a friend, the fact that my friends will never be able to speak to their father again. They’ll never be able to touch him, to hug him. He’ll never be able to be a grandfather and hold their children. They’ll never be able to share a laugh together again.

And BE can’t even roll his ass out of bed to make it to visitation by THREE O’CLOCK.

Andy told me to wait a little while before I mention it to BE. I was confused about the reasoning behind this, so Andy explained it to me over gchat.

(Hope you don’t mind me using this, Andy. I guess I’ll ask for forgiveness rather than permission.)

9:07 PMme: i am just having a hard time understanding how it will be any different if i talk to him tomorrow, versus, two weeks from now Andy: Different people handle death differently. You’ll be less emotional in 2 weeks I think.9:08 PM I’d much rather hear “Hey, you remember when you did so and so… that was pretty shitty of you.” Instead of someone bringing it up right as it happened. me: i kinda see that it just irritates me that he wouldn’t go out of his way to be there for me i am fragile in times like this even if he doesn’t know that about me yet he should err on the side of caution Andy: I’m NOT saying you shouldn’t be upset with him.9:09 PM I’m NOT saying you shouldn’t bring this up. me: iknow Andy: If people in my family didn’t guilt me into going, I wouldn’t go to funerals. me: it goes back to the whole HE JUST DOESN’T GET IT thing

then later . . .

9:15 PM me: THIS IS WHY I AM SO CONFUSED

BUT [ANDY]

WHEN IT IS GOOD

IT IS DAMNED GOOD

Andy: Obviously or you wouldn’t be sticking around.

me: when it’s bad, it’s just irritating

i prefer irritating over abusive

or unstable

So I guess that’s my excuse for sticking around. When it’s bad, it’s just irritating. I could see us being together, FOR REAL. I could see us loving each other. But certain social/emotional situations?

HE JUST DOESN’T HAVE A DAMNED CLUE.

And that can be pretty frustrating.

To me, something is more forgivable when the person just doesn’t understand. He’s not intentionally trying to hurt me. So that’s the frustrating part. I feel like I’m being a pushover, when it’s really just due to the fact that he is A MAN that he is so clueless.

But for now, I’m going to place my problems on a shelf. I’m going to put my own feelings aside and be there for my friends. They’re going to need their friends and family right now, and I’m prepared to help them through this.

in which I attempt to be ‘arty’

Well I was just so into the whole “vlogging” thing that I decided to video myself and my cat whilst gchatting with Andy. Kitty kept jumping up onto the keyboard, and Andy thought it was sweet, so I took that opportunity to make YET ANOTHER VIDEO.

And then Andy introduced me to the wonder that is Windows Movie Maker.

So here is the clip of me and my kitty cat, loving on each other.

I’m sorry if you want those fourteen seconds of your life back.

(BTW, if you know the song used in the clip, you automatically get ten cool points from me. Yeah. That’s right. That shit is a currency. It’s worth almost as much as the US dollar. HAHAHAHA!!!)

My vlog, in which my ta-tas are on prominent display

Happy Vlog Day!

I’m going along with the pack of twentysomethings who are posting video blogs today. I didn’t really follow the rules, though, because:

1. My internet connection is unbelievably slow and I never would have been able to upload a video that long.
2. My voice is super-annoying and I didn’t want to torture my readers for an extended period of time.
3. I am lazy.

So what you’re getting is a video of my dogs sitting and shaking.

Yay for you!

In an attempt to protect my anonymity, I tried to record myself from the mouth down, so I inadvertently put my rack on display for the first ten seconds of the video.

You’re welcome.

(Sorry it’s so dark. It wasn’t that dark when I recorded it. Honest!)

It’s a freaking MIRACLE

WE HAVE A BREAKTHROUGH PEOPLE.

I GOT BE TO TALK.

Yes, it’s a small breakthrough, but a breakthrough nonetheless.

Let’s back up for a minute here.

Yesterday my mom called me and asked me to meet her for drinks at our favorite bar after work. We had beer (she had Miller Lite, I had Coors Light) and shared a margarita, fried green tomatoes, and curly fries. My dad came and met us when he got out of his Important Meeting.

I heard my phone as it was alerting me of a new voice mail. The “new voicemail” sound is like, tons louder than my actual ringtone, which is utterly useless. But I digress. I checked my inbox, and lo and behold, it was BE.

“Hey (somethingsomething) over here at your parents’ house (somethingsomething) (dogsbarking) Bye.”

I laughed and called him back.

He answered. “Yeah I was over here at [irrelevant to this post person]’s house and decided to stop by your parents’ house because I was in the neighborhood, but no one’s here.”

“Yeah, they’re with me.”

“Oh.”

“At [name of bar]. Why don’t you come up here?”

“OK, give me 45 minutes.”

So, again, I found myself in the situation where I was with BE and my parents. Which is always enjoyable, but again. WE ARE NEVER ALONE. We made plans to eat dinner at their house Friday night (tonight). After an hour or so my parents left, and BE and I went to another bar across the street to meet his friends.

Glen showed up.

Remember Glen? Of Professing His Love For Me Via Text Message fame?

Glen is a friend of mine, as well as BE’s. We both talked to him briefly, and then BE and his friends went and sat down. Glen was still talking to me about something, so I stayed put. After a couple minutes, BE said, “Hey, [LRC], come over here and sit next to me.”

HAH. BE WAS JEALOUS OF GLEN.

And when Glen left? He walked up behind me, whispered in my ear and said, “If it doesn’t work out between you two, give me a call.”

Um, no.

Anyway.

While I was sitting next to BE, I turned around and was looking out the big window behind us. I saw a guy I knew walk by. I was talking to BE but I waved at the person, and then I realized, SoccerBoy was with the guy. BLEH. SoccerBoy didn’t wave. He looked kinda pissed.

Oh well!

Don’t fuck up and you won’t have to worry about such things!

So, BE and I leave the bar. We are FINALLY. ALONE.

FINALLY.

We’re making small talk . . . he’s talking about his cats (his cat had kittens and they’re old enough to be given away now). He told me I should take one of his kittens. I’ve gotten kinda attached to them, so I said sure, I’ll take one of your kittens on Sunday, after I get home from camping.

Then he says, “One day it’ll probably end up back with me again anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well if we end up together we’ll be living together, and so you’ll bring the cat with you . . .”

“OK. Wait a minute.”

(This is where I finally grow a pair.)

“You say things like that, and then other times you make it abundantly clear that we are NOT together. You confuse the HELL out of me. I need you to be straight up with me. Am I wasting my time? Am I wasting YOUR time?”

I could tell he was blindsided a bit. But, you know? I deserve some answers. Once and for all.

Here’s what he said.

“[LRC], I think you’re very beautiful. I like spending time with you, and I like you a lot. I can see me and you ending up together and having a future. I just got out of a two and a half year relationship, and that’s why I am acting this way, because I don’t want the same thing to happen again. No, you are not wasting my time, and I am not wasting yours. I like being with you.”

So, this is a LOT more than I have EVER gotten out of him. It’s not poetic. It’s not life-changing. But it’s the answer to my question, and that is what I’ve been wanting.

He thinks it’s cute when I take up for myself and, while he doesn’t like being the bad guy, he knows it’s necessary for us to have mini-arguments to figure out what we really want and what the HELL we are doing with each other. When we “argue,” we don’t really “fight.” We can get kinda heated sometimes but, truthfully? I like it. Murray never put up much of a fight. I kinda thought it was pussy-ish of him, if I’m being honest. And we don’t get angry with each other, we just challenge each other to really think about what the other is saying.

Couples that don’t fight? I honestly don’t think those kind of couples are passionate about their relationship. My parents have had some of the worst knock-down drag-outs you could ever witness, but they LOVE each other. Unconditionally. They have that can’t-live-without-each-other type of love and they’re willing to FIGHT for it.

My mom says she still gets butterflies sometimes when she sees my dad. Twenty-five years later.

I want that.

No relationship is perfect. There are compromises. That doesn’t mean I want to “settle.” No. I think the concept of “soul mates” is complete and utter bull. Only one person out there for you? Really?

How . . . overwhelmingly sad.

Relationships are flawed. Beautifully, complicatedly, flawed.

. . . and after the revelation? We had mind-blowing, wall-shaking, LOUD SEX.

SHAZAM.

Happy Friday!

In which I share the pitiful details of my life

So yeah, I was in a bit of a funk on Monday. I think my somber mood had a little to do with the lack of sleep the night before. I tossed and turned until about 2:30 a.m., which is way, way later than I’m used to going to bed on a night before I have to work the next day. I don’t know why . . . it’s unlike me to have insomnia.

Not to mention one of my dogs had chewed up my cell phone charger (the little SHIT) so my phone was dead. When they started barking around midnight I thought, “This is just effing wonderful. The one night my phone is dead is going to be the night a large burly man burglarizes my house and rapes me. STELLAR.”

I struggled to stay awake all day yesterday, and had every intention of taking a nap when I got home, but instead I got a sudden burst of energy and decided to mop my floors while jamming out to my “ready to sang?” playlist and exercising my diaphragm.

(No, not THAT diaphragm.)

(THIS one.)

(I sing.)

(Albeit not very well.)

This has become a new hobby of mine. Mopping slash singing.

Such is the life of a single woman.

So anyhoodster, while Rihanna’s Umbrella was ella-ella-ing in my living room, I went to grab my mop and bucket and OH MY GOD THERE IS A MAN STANDING OUTSIDE MY DOOR LOOKING IN MY HOUSE HOLY FUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I switched off my iPod as Ri-Ri was telling me that there’s no distance in between our love, and I answered the door sweating from head to toe in a tank top and yoga pants (I call them yoga pants because it makes them sound more hip. They’re really just Old Navy sweatpants. And now I’ve blown my cover. Shit).

“Yes?”

“My wife spoke with you earlier today about your house?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course!”

(For those of you who are new readers, I am in the process of selling my house and I’ve had very little luck so far.)

He asked if he could come in and look at it, and while I was definitely NOT prepared for visitors (his wife had only called to inquire about the house, she never said that anyone was going to DROP BY to look at it!), I was desperate for someone to PLEASE BUY MY HOUSE OH MY GOD so I let him look around.

He fell in love with it, especially the koi pond (he has a four year-old) and the pole barn (he has farm equipment), so he called his wife, and she came to look at it as well. I could tell he was much more enthusiastic about the property, while she was a bit apprehensive. But still. It’s a possibility. FINGERS CROSSED.

In man boy-related news, I got another text from SoccerBoy this morning:

Hey are you still alive?

Yes I’m alive, poop stain. I’m just ignoring your texts.

As far as BE goes, well, the jury’s still out on that one. At least I know he’s not using me for sex, because we haven’t had sex since my birthday (October 1st). He’s been sick with a cold and didn’t want to pass it on to me. We’ve hung out twice (I think) since my birthday, and one of those times we ate supper with his parents.

Although in spite of the fact that I had a particularly weak moment last night when I was having my “sad day,” I didn’t call him. Instead I just texted Andy and said, “Why do I even care if he calls?” but I just chalk that up to having a “valley” day. Today is much better . . . I feel like I’m going back up the “hill” now. I’m not sitting by the phone waiting for him to call. I’m not calling him. I’m doing my own thing and if he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Whatevski.

I’m planning on talking about non-man-boy-related things tonight over pizza and a pitcher with Claire (but . . . if it comes up, it comes up. You know how that goes). We haven’t been hanging out as much because she’s been with Scott (barf). You think BE can be a disrespectful prick? You should hear some of the things Claire tells me about Scott. BLEH.

So it’ll be a nice change of pace from my Mopping Slash Singing Routine and Claire’s Eating Dinner With Scott Slash Doing Whatever The Hell Scott Tells Her To Do Routine.

And yeah, I know I said yesterday that I was broke, and I really shouldn’t be buying beer and pizza, but I finally got paid today, so now I can pay my Dish Network bill. After Wednesday (the finale of PROJECT RUNWAY! FINGERS CROSSED JUDY NOODLES!), though? I am canceling that shit. Dish Network can suck it, charging me $70 a month for channels that I don’t even WATCH. Seriously. The only thing I watch is P.Run. If that’s not on, I don’t even pay attention to the TV. I turn it on, intending to watch something, and then walk away from it.

I told you. ADD.

So I’m signing up for Netflix. $14 a month is a hell of a lot more manageable than $70. Word.

I has a sad

Got a text from Soccerboy on Thursday afternoon:

Well off to go fishing sorry that we did not get up last night maybe we can get up next week or not a little confused on the situation

Yeah, buddy. You and me both.

“maybe we can get up next week or not” <— How about NOT. Kthxbai.

Also not helping my Single Woman Situation? Murray has been looking super sexy every time I see him. UGH. Those baby blues get me every time. Oh well, I guess it serves me right for dating attractive men!

Speaking of good-looking men who are wrong for me, I know you all want me to stay the eff away from BE. I know I need to, but it’s easier said than done. I’m sure you have ALL had relationships like that (don’t lie!). We still see each other, and we have a good time when we do. He hasn’t been acting like a drunk asshole, so that’s on the plus side. The thing that is keeping us from having “the talk,” though — to see what each of us is expecting out of this whole situation –  is the fact that we are NEVER alone. There are ALWAYS other people around.

I don’t know if he’s doing that on purpose, or if it’s just a coincidence. Is he afraid to be alone with me because he doesn’t want to have “the talk”? Does he want to make sure his friends like me? Or does he just like being around a bunch of people all the time?

Maybe it’s a combination of all three, but I think it’s mostly the third one. He’s a social butterfly (God I hate that term–someone think of a replacement, quick, so I never have to use that term again) and has lots of friends. A lot of the time I think he’s honestly just clueless about relationships. He has done some crappy things over the past few months, but I really don’t see how any of them were DELIBERATELY meant to hurt me.

I feel like I’m just wasting my time on him. I HAVE to know where he stands on whatever the hell it is we are doing with each other. Is he trying not to get too close because he doesn’t know how long he’s going to stay in this area? Is he just not that into me? I’m tired of all this analyzing, re-analyzing, and over-analyzing. I want some answers, damn it.

All of these man woes, in addition to the fact that I think I may have ADD, throw in the fact that I wasn’t able to pay my TV bill this month, and stir with a little bit of My Dogs Chew Everything In My House While Simultaneously Stinking It Up and a dash of I Can’t Afford My Mortgage Payment . . . these things do not exactly bode well for my state of emotional health. The Depression is still here, and some days it’s worse than others. I feel like a big emotional trainwreck and I just want to crawl into my bed and stay there until 2019.

Then when I start thinking about all these things and feel sorry for myself, I THEN feel guilty because hey, my life is really not all that bad, and there are people that have it a lot worse than I do. So then I feel like a spoiled brat who is sad because everything doesn’t go her way.

So yeah.

More depression.

I told Andy I’m going to stay away from the menfolk this week because they are not good for my psyche.

But also, right now? Not much else is good for my psyche, either.

I hate these funks. Bleh.

The SoccerBoy Chronicles

So, the results of the poll were clear. Give SoccerBoy a chance. Tuesday night, I texted.

(Have I mentioned how much I hate fucking texting?)

Perhaps we can have a drink after work one day this week

He texted.

Perhaps, i am leaving to go deep sea fishing thursday so it would have to be tomorrow.

Fuck. If I’m going to do something, it’s gotta be now. Yesterday morning, I bit the bullet, despite having doubts (thank Andy for making me stay true to my poll. I came THISCLOSE to disappointing my freaders [you. Well, most of you. Some of you told me to just leave well enough alone.])

I texted.

Whatcha doin at 5 today?

He texted.

No plans might work out but whats up?

Ugh. This has proven to be a pattern of his, making me do all the work. He will text me something generic like “Hey.” What am I supposed to say to that? What do you want, dude? You obviously want to talk if you’re texting me. SAY SOMETHING.

(NOT HEY.)

I sat there, thinking of what to say. I waited.

He texted again.

Hey so whats up? I am at work and my phone might die so let me know.

God damnit. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Fuck this shit. I’m gonna make him work for it.

I am evil, I know.

I texted.

Well you said you wanted to do something this week.

HA. Ball back in SoccerBoy’s court. Pun definitely not intended.

(Sorry, Maddox.)

He texted.

Okay that sounds good i will call you around then to see your status.

At this time, I’m already dreading it. But I have an obligation. TO YOU. AND MY BLOG. What have I got to lose, anyway? If I don’t have a good time, I will tell him I’m not interested and be done with the whole thing.

. . . a few hours pass  . . .

He texted. AGAIN. Couldn’t wait until 5 to call me I guess? I am that charming and attractive? OK, we’ll go with that.

So where do you want to go at 5?

Hmm . . . this took some thought. There aren’t many bars/restaurants where I live, so my options were limited. One particular bar, which would have been my first choice, is no good, because BE likes to go there sometimes and sit at the bar to watch sports on their TV’s (he doesn’t have cable). Scratch that one.

We have a great Mexican restaurant that has Happy Hour specials, but it is ALWAYS packed with people. I don’t want a lot of people to see us out because 1) someone may tell BE and 2) people might assume we are dating and then it will spread. I told you, I live in a small town. Scratch that one.

Another cozy restaurant/bar that’s a favorite around my town? Pretty much all the employees know BE. Scratch. That. One.

I came up with 2 other options and texted him back with my choices. We texted a couple more conversational texts not worth mentioning here, and then when 5 o’clock rolled around I just picked one of the two options I’d given him and went there. He said he’d call at 5, and I trusted him to do that. I went in and ordered a key lime martini.

At 5:02 p.m., SoccerBoy texted.

Hey i just got off and am going to workout. i am going to trivia tonight we should team up.

I had already TOLD him I only had time to get a couple drinks, then I had to go home to clean up. He completely disregarded that, and missed his last chance.

Epic. Fail.

So I drank two martinis by my damned self, and enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than if I’d have had to feign interest in SoccerBoy the whole time.

He called last night a little before 10, and I didn’t answer. Any and all texts from SoccerBoy from now on? Will be ignored.

The Last Email

Today’s post is the first guest post EVER for this blog, and it is brought to you courtesy of Andy, my guy BFF, who reads this blog and also comments occasionally. His comments are always witty and insightful, so if you so desire, go look at my last few posts and read Andy’s comments. BUT READ THIS FIRST. Kthx.

A few weeks back, LRC gave me what seemed like a simple task… I was asked to write a post for her blog. Normally I’m an excellent writer and have little trouble putting my thoughts to words, but this time was different. I’m really not sure why I struggled so much with this… I floated around several ideas that her readers (that’s you!) would find interesting and/or enlightening… and one by one I rejected them. Here are some of the ideas I floated around…

1. I’ve only spent a full day with LRC once in my life and I felt it’d be interesting to share our experiences from that day. I learned a lot about LRC and I think that was the day we really renewed our friendship.
2. A guide to wooing LRC. NOT that I have experience with this… the idea was that it’d be more of a resource for LRC’s (and her suitors!) benefit from a friend’s perspective.
3. Miscellaneous stuff about LRC that she probably didn’t know her readers would find interesting. (e.g. she has pretty feet and her face lights up at the mention of alcohol)
4. Things about LRC that make me sad.

I suppose I could have let this matter be settled in a democratic fashion (a vote!) … but one last idea popped into my head that seemed to trump them all. Having recently seen Randy Pausch’s “The Last Lecture”, I settled on a similarly-themed post… things I’d want to tell LRC from beyond the grave. So here goes…

———————-

Dear [LRC],

I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been the best friend to you. Over the years I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not proud of… many of them with zero regard towards you and your continued friendship. I know that you’ve never held any of this against me, but I did want to acknowledge that aspect our friendship. You have gone years without hearing from me and yet somehow I feel that you kept me as a friend though all of that. I just went digging through my Sent Mail folder (yes, of course there is email in Hell… where do you think spam comes from?) and it contains 9614 emails that I’ve sent to various people, but I went back and found (a very special) one that I sent on March 22nd, 2008. It wasn’t a particularly personal email (OK, it wasn’t personal at all) but it probably means more to me than the other 9613 combined. It was the first email I’d sent to you in a year. I re-read that email just now and the words were so impersonal… I’d have sent the same email to anyone… and yet from that, I rediscovered a friend..

Enough with the mushy, emotional crap… now we’re getting to the meat and potatoes! I guess since you’re reading this, it means that I have shuffled off this mortal coil and assumed my place in the fiery pits of Hell (don’t worry… all the cool people are here so I’m doing fine!) I feel a bit more comfortable sharing some thoughts that I never felt comfortable sharing with you now that it can’t alter our friendship. You’re such a kick-ass person that it REALLY makes me sad that you’re not able to get to a place in life where you are genuinely happy. Now that I’m well on my way to becoming worm food, I’m gonna make a confession… every time you’ve told me you were OK being single, I didn’t believe you. Every time you’ve told me that you were OK with the shitty treatment you received from [insert shitty guy name], I didn’t believe you. I never lied to you about this. I never said “Oh, you’re SOOO right.” I kept my mouth shut. You’re free to dig me up so you can grab and shake me while shouting “YOU ARE WRONG! YOU DON’T KNOW ME YOU ASSHOLE!” If it comes to that, just know that I won’t hold it against you and don’t plan on haunting you for the remainder of your life for defiling my corpse like that. I’ve always felt that. It needed to be said. It’s been said. I’m done with that topic.

Quit fuck’n smoking. There! I said it… not in a particularly graceful way, but I said it. The years we’ve been friends I really have done my best not to make an issue of this despite some VERY strong personal feelings on this topic. The day we went to [large city] together I didn’t object to you smoking in my vehicle… it was your day and I wanted you to be happy. Honestly, it didn’t bother me. I can think of at least one occasion where you’ve asked me to keep up with your cigarettes (I’m assuming you were sans pockets that night) and I didn’t object. You have always been a friend first and a smoker second, but it has always bothered me that you smoked. I totally accept that people are going to smoke… the world is filled with people who don’t know better… people who just don’t care… people who don’t have awesome things to look forward to… but NONE OF THAT APPLIES TO YOU. I sincerely believe that you will quit one day, but it’s too late for me to see that now. I’m not disappointed, but I’d have loved to say I knew a smoke-free [LRC] Don’t worry… it’s not all bad. Your smoking has given me the motivation to haunt the living crap out of many, many tobacco executives for eternity. Think Beetlejuice, but way, WAY more sadistic… and without the Harry Belafonte music. You really are such an awesome person… I just don’t like the idea of your time among the living being shortened by something so stupid. Regrets? Maybe. I wish I’d been a little bit more assertive on this topic… even if it meant risking our friendship. If keeping you as a friend was more important to me than keeping you alive, I guess that’d make me a selfish asshole of a friend… and that’s not how I wanted you to remember me.

Well, Cerberus is demanding a bit more attention than normal and I’ve still got a couple of tobacco executives to haunt today, but there is one last thing I want to mention. On numerous occasions you have apologized to me… you have said that you were sorry for bothering me… sorry for weighing me down with your problems… sorry for keeping me up too late… [LRC], you had nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. Shake that crazy thought out of your head!

Can’t wait to see you again!

Your friend,

Andy

p.s. Jesus is down here too… he was a false prophet all along! Who knew?