You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2008.
Aside from Becky’s Bitchery (which was really only a miniscule annoyance that had little to no bearing on my psyche. I just felt like venting all WHERE-DOES-SHE-COME-OFF?-style and then I was over it), my holidays were very enjoyable. Time with the family involved shooting Miller Lite cans with a BB gun (OH YES WE DID), and taking the boys down a notch by being the only one to hit the can on the first try (total luck, btw). My cousin, who is a Marine, especially liked being upstaged by a tiny female with little to no experience with firearms.
Oh, I snuck into my first movie ever! I blame New York. I didn’t even realize what we were doing until it had already happened. We saw Seven Pounds (which was soooo good), but after the movie, as I was pulling out of my parking space, I said, “I’m sorry. I really have to go buy two tickets so I don’t feel bad.” Guilt was eating me up for having snuck into the movie, so I parked again, went back in to the ticket office, and purchased two tickets.
I know, I know.
If I had really been thinking, I would have left them at the counter and told the ticket person to give them to the next couple who came to buy tickets for the movie and say “Merry Christmas,” but alas, I am not a good thinker-on-my-feet. NY was apparently amused with my supreme presence of conscience. I guess he thinks The Guilt/Worry/Fear is cute.
He’d better get used to it.
Just sayin’.
The next few days (and even today) were filled with tissues, Sea Mist, and Sudafed. I guess NY passed his sickness on to me. So no fornication. Frown.
Speaking of amorous relations, I was hoping to ring in the new year with a new year’s kiss from NY, which I didn’t think would be too much of a stretch since we have been seeing each other pretty much every day for the past week or so. When he came over last night, I dropped several hints about NYE, and he wasn’t biting. I finally just flat-out asked him what he wanted to do for NYE, and his answer sorta perplexed me.
“I might not do anything.”
Huh?
Call me strange, but I just can’t imagine not doing anything on NYE. It seems like if you were to go out one night in your year, wouldn’t it be that night? I guess I’m rarely ever single on new year’s, so I’ve always had plans. I mean, a couple years ago Murray and I drank champagne at our house and I passed out at 12:30 like an old lady (yeah I’m a trouper), but I was with someone. I can’t imagine a more depressing scenario than sitting on my couch with my cats and a box of tissues, watching Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve (featuring Ryan Seacrest!) while weeping to myself about what a failure my year has been.
No offense if that’s what YOUR new year’s eve is lookin’ like. Hey, if the shoe fits . . .
Is it just me? What do you think, people? I know we’ve been hanging out a lot lately, but it seems like he’d want to save up valuable LRC time for NYE rather than just some random Monday or Tuesday, right?
Don’t get me wrong, if that’s what he wants, I’m totally not going to stand in his way. It’s just going to be weird if I go out and my friends are asking me where the eff my Man Friend is and I have to say, “Uh, he’s at home,” because, inevitably, people will think we are A) fighting or B) broken up.
Note to self: STOP WORRYING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK, LRC.
And if I have to get a New Year’s Kiss request from some random strange drunk dude at the bar, I may have to throw up.
I have a friend. Let’s call her “Becky.”
Becky and I have been friends since kindergarten. We are complete opposites in every way (she’s loud, I’m soft-spoken; she’s free-spirited, I’m more focused; she’d prefer to live la vida loca, I prefer to have balance; etc.), but somehow we’ve remained friends for the last 20 years. We’re the type that can go months without speaking and then pick up right where we left off, as if nothing ever happened.
Our friendship, like every friendship, has not been without its ups and downs. For instance, when we were in junior high, she started copying me. My clothing style, my taste in music, you name it. And when I called her out on it, she tried to act like I was being unreasonable and bitchy. That was probably one of our worst falling outs. But we got through it and moved on.
Another time my friendship with Becky was tested was when I made the cheerleading squad in seventh grade. SEVENTH GRADE. It’s not like I was cheering for the Dallas Cowboys. Becky didn’t even TRY OUT for the squad, nor did she have ANY DESIRE to be a cheerleader, but somehow my good fortune just caused her to seethe with rage. When the results were given, it was announced that there was a tie (of course the judges didn’t reveal who the tie was between, that would be unethical), so the squad would include ten members instead of the usual eight (which would indicate a three-way tie, but who’s counting?). A few days after the results, I was in the car with Becky and her mother. We were talking about the tryouts, and Becky’s mom said, “I’m so glad you made it, [LRC]!”
Then Becky said, “Well, it’s only because she TIED with [other cheerleader's name].”
Um, excuse me?
First of all, there is no way she would have that information. She just assumed that I was one of the ones at the bottom of the totem pole that they just HAD to include because it would be UNFAIR, or something. Whatever. If they didn’t want ten cheerleaders, they wouldn’t have kept ten cheerleaders.
And Becky’s mom didn’t even say anything.
So you can see a bit of a theme developing here. I’ll give you a hint. It’s green and rhymes with hellisy.
Jealousy.
Now, I’m not the type of person who thinks she’s this Ultra Mega Awesome Chick whom everyone else should envy. No. I’m not saying that at all. But the pattern of all my arguments with Becky usually seemed to carry that underlying theme.
And it’s unfortunate.
Becky is well-liked. She’s creative, funny, and beautiful. But for some reason, she’s always wanting more. She must be the center of attention. If ANYONE else gets ANY attention at all, well then she is just not having that.
As a result of that addictive personality, Becky is in outpatient rehab for cocaine.
She ran up thousands of dollars in credit card debt on her mom’s card, and hid the bills when they came. When her mom finally found out what was going on, Becky said she was withdrawing money and “giving it to homeless people on the street because they needed it more than [she] did.”
Um.
Yeah . . .
So that was that. She moved upstate to live with her dad a few months ago. She cut her hair off, dyed it dark brown, and got her nose pierced. I guess she feels like she’s starting over.
I told you all of that to tell you this. I saw Becky a month ago at a bar in our hometown. She was visiting for Thanksgiving. I was with New York.
Becky: Is that your friend [NY]?
Me: (smiling) Yeah . . .
Becky: I wish he’d get a haircut!
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe her audacity. If I were meeting a significant other of hers for the first time, there is no way in hell I would insult him. There have been many boyfriends of hers that I COULD have said something negative about based on my first impression, but I can’t even IMAGINE telling her those things! Hell, I have a hard time coming up with them now because when I meet someone my friend has been dating, I only focus on the positive.
I just let it slide and tried to avoid her the rest of the night.
When she came home for Christmas break, I avoided her texts and phone calls. I texted her back once, but only to let her know I’d been sleeping when she’d texted me the night before.
Well, I saw her at the bar again the day after Christmas. Again, I was with NY. And again, Becky said, “I wish he’d cut his hair!”
Well, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I wasn’t going to be nice about this anymore. So I said, “Well I sure do wish you’d take that nose ring out of your face.”
For the record, I don’t mind nose piercings. I think it actually kind of suits her. But I just wasn’t having that disrespectful shit anymore. Don’t insult my Man Friend. You don’t know him, and he’s been a hell of a lot more to me in the past month than you have been to me in the past few years.
I just can’t believe she would have the audacity to say that to me. TWICE. You know, I’m SORRY she’s in rehab. I’m SORRY she can’t keep a job. I’m SORRY she just wants to do nothing for the rest of her life.
That’s not my problem.
And don’t insult the people in my life who actually DO give a shit.
/rant
For those of you who wanted details on my bump ‘n’ grind sesh with NY:
PERVERTS.
I kid. I would totes want details, too, if I were you. Let’s just say, I made his man meat happy at least three times.
Ahem.
Things are going well between us. We didn’t formally discuss exchanging Christmas gifts this year, but I took the liberty of making something for him. Let’s backtrack for a second here.
A few weeks ago, we went to a basketball game at the college I work for. He saw banners on the wall of businesses who had donated x amount of dollars to our booster club. He jokingly mentioned he wanted his own banner up on the wall.
“Only I don’t want it to say ‘Go [name of basketball team]. I want it to say, “The [NY's really awesome last name] Society. With a big purple fist on it. And then underneath, it would say ‘Deal with it.’”
Yes, he has a very active imagination.
So I stored that bit of info in my memory banks, and decided that having that very sign printed for him would be the perfect Christmas gift. I knew he would appreciate it because I made it. It took me hardly and time or money to make it, so it wasn’t like I went out of my way in an obsessed stalker sort of way.
I e-mailed my file to a print company, and when I went to pick it up I said, “Yes, I’m here to pick up the sign with the large purple fist on it.”
I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when the print people saw that sign. I’m sure they thought, “What. The. Fuck.”
So I gave it to him with the warning, “I hope you think this is funny and not stupid,” and luckily, he thought it was hilarious. I told him I almost got a frame for it, but I didn’t know if he’d prefer it framed or not. He said, “Yes, I want to frame this and put it on the hood of my car.”
And NY? He bought me a gift, too! He bought me some very soft black gloves because my hands are always cold.
Awww…
I honestly cannot quit gushing about NY. Andy says he thinks it’s great that, at 25, I can still be this excited about seeing someone.
I love it when he musses up my hair in the morning and says, “Sexy!”
I love it when he gives me little smacks on the rear end . . . when he texts me to let me know the yams I brought him were “BANGIN!” . . . when he tells me he likes my Southern accent . . . when I catch him checking me out when I’m in my underwear and he tries to be slick about it.
Le sigh.
WE DID IT.
FINALLY!
Okay, so I found out what the deal was with the blatant denial of sex from New York.
HE WAS SICK.
SICK, people.
DER, LRC.
And all this time I was thinking I was somehow inadequate.
Not the case, my friends.
The past few days, NY has been unable to keep his hands off me. We just haven’t been doing sexual things because, and I quote, he “feels like [he] swallowed sandpaper.” He just doesn’t want to pass germs on to me! Awwww . . .
Dear NY’s sickness:
Go. The. Fuck. A. Way.
Kthx,
LRC
Since I quit feeling sorry for myself and actually realized what the hell was going on, I have been smitten all over again. Everything we do together is fun.
Buying grout from Lowe’s? Picking up sticks in the yard? Looking through an antique picture book of the flags of the United Nations?
ALL OF THAT WAS PURE BLISS.
He just has this infectious personality that makes me feel good instantly. He possesses such a quick wit that makes me spontaneously burst into fits of laughter, and when I look over at him as I’m laughing uncontrollably? He’s smiling back at me with that sexy grin of his, and I can tell he’s happy to make me happy.
Right back atcha, kid.
This hell I put myself through this week has illustrated to me that I need to stop WORRYING about everything. I worry entirely too much, and it’s just not healthy. I always try to “hope for the best and expect the worst,” but the whole time I am “expecting the worst” and forgetting about the “hoping for the best” part. Expecting the worst all the time can become draining.
Enjoy life!
Stop with the worrying!
JUST STOP IT!
I don’t have to go back to work until January 30th, so in the meantime in between time, I’m gonna be lovin’ life.
And I suggest you do the same.
I don’t get it, peeps.
(I have this awful habit of adopting a word or phrase and abusing it terribly for weeks, and in extreme cases, even months. I used to have the compulsion to say “FYI” all the time, and Murray hated it. Which makes me sorta love the fact that New York says it frequently. Apparently, “peeps” is my “new word.”)
Ahem.
As I was saying. I don’t get it, peeps.
I still haven’t closed the deal with New York. And it’s seriously starting to weigh on me. Not in the I NEED SEX LIKE RIGHT NOW, KTHX way that it was at first. Now it’s more of an OH MY GOD I CAN’T POSSIBLY BE SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE AT ALL THAT IS THE ONLY EXPLANATION, PERIOD way.
NY invited me to dinner last night, and we had a fantastic time. We ordered various forms of red meat (a bloody sirloin for me and a hamburger steak for him) and we drank dark beer. Afterward, he said he had to go to the grocery store to grab some vanilla soy milk (is it strange that I find it adorable that he drinks vanilla soy milk?), but he would stop by my house later if that was okay.
Um, yeah. That is TOTALLY okay with me, I thought. Although my actual answer was more like, “Sure, that sounds good.”
So I went home. Made up my bed (WISHFUL THINKING). Took two shots of rum so I’d have the courage to jump on him later in the evening. My heart was about to beat out of my chest in anticipation (or, it could have been the rum). Once he got there, we sat on the couch, turned on some random movie, and after a few minutes, I finally made my move.
I leaned over and kissed him, gently but seductively. He allowed the kiss to continue for about, oh, five seconds.
Huh.
All right then. Fine.
So we went back to watching crappy TV. The minutes ticked by like hours.
Then, again, I leaned over and began working my magic.
Again, he let it last about five seconds before pulling away.
At this point, I was thoroughly confused.
Trying not to let on what I was doing, I went into the kitchen and took another sip of rum in an attempt to gain a bit more confidence, and also, a little out of frustration. I couldn’t make sense of the scenario, and it was irritating me.
I went back into the living room and sat down on the couch with him again. More minutes passed. Time was running out before he would inevitably retreat to his quarters across town. I had to try one more time.
So I kissed him.
And this time?
He didn’t even let me slip him the tongue.
Fucking. Shit.
What is wrong with me? In the words of Cher Horowitz, “Did I stumble into some bad lighting?” I don’t get it. He obviously is into me. I must not have frightened him too badly last night because I have gotten an e-mail and a text from him today. I hate to admit this, but after he left, I cried. My self-esteem was shot for the night.
My mood has improved vastly as the day has progressed, but this morning? You would have thought someone had just told me that caffeine was now illegal.
I am still quite mystified, though. I’m not the hottest chick on the planet, but damn it, I’m young and cute and I have a hot bod. Why would NY not want to bed me?
I don’t know what my next approach is going to be. I feel like I reached for the cookie jar and my wrist got slapped. And now I don’t even want to think about cookies anymore.
Several years back when I was still a child, consumed with the magic of Christmas—the smell of the Frasier Fir and gingerbread, the sounds of Nat King Cole wafting through the air, the excitement of waking up early Christmas morning and wolfing down pancakes with maple syrup anxiously so I could hurry up and just OPEN THE DAMNED PRESENTS ALREADY—I remember hearing the words of my sweet, loving grandmother, and feeling completely and utterly confused.
“I wish I could skip Christmas.”
Why would ANYONE want to SKIP CHRISTMAS? I thought.
Now, I know exactly how she feels.
I’m not a scrooge or anything that extreme. I have gradually (yet begrudgingly) allowed Christmas music to permeate the speakers of my car’s stereo. I have been wearing a lot of red lately (although I refuse to don the red and green combo). I agreed to participate in the Secret Santa gift swap at my workplace.
But that? Is about the extent of it.
The number of Christmases I experience in my life is directly related to the apathy I feel toward each of them. Each year, it’s a little less exciting and a little more . . . annoying.
THAT. Is depressing.
I don’t WANT to feel this way. Christmas is supposed to be FUN, damn it. Now, it’s just a reminder that January is around the corner and it will soon be tax return time.
When did I start getting more excited about filing my taxes than about Christmas? How EFFED UP is that?
I didn’t even buy a tree this year. I have ALWAYS, every single year of my life, had a Christmas tree. A REAL one, too. This year? I’d just rather not bother. A combination of laziness, apathy, and a desire not to have to clean up seventeen broken ornaments every day (I have three cats and two dogs. Helloooooo hot mess of a house) or vacuum up hundreds of tiny tree needles.
I can count on one hand the number of Christmas decorations I have put up. ONE. HAND. I haven’t even put up any LIGHTS!
NO. LIGHTS.
This is tragic.
I’m sure part of my lack of enthusiasm involves the reality that I have no significant other to share it with this year. I know I’ve got New York, and we’ve been having tons of fun together, but it’s quite different from what I’m used to. My past three Christmases were spent spoiling Murray rotten and mastering the art of choosing the perfect presents for him. Selecting gifts for his parents and his sister always proved to be a fun challenge, even though his sister is about as warm and gentle as a rusty razor.
Side note: man, I am glad I did not marry into that family. Murray’s sister? Sucks at life. What a total bi-otch.
I love wrapping presents. LOVE. Like, more than is probably considered rational by normal standards. And I used to break out the wrapping paper every time I brought even one new gift home because I just COULD. NOT. WAIT. ANY. LONGER.
I have not wrapped a single present yet.
I know present-buying is definitely NOT what the holidays are about, but I am not a religious person, and the Christmas shopping was kinda the glue that held it all together for me. Thinking of others and all that jazz.
Well, I have been thinking of others, but it’s just, not the same this year. There’s an emptiness. And I know I’m making it sound worse than it actually is. I’m not depressed. I’ve actually been very happy since I actually started dating someone who, ya know, actually wants to BE AROUND ME on a regular basis. But something just doesn’t feel right.
I know I’m not the only one who’s in a holiday funk. I’ve just got to put more energy into it. My last day of work before the 30th is this Thursday, and that gives me plenty of time to get into the Christmas spirit.
I’m just going to go home and put Christmas lights on anything that doesn’t move, and maybe that will help awaken my mojo.
Because right now? It’s in hibernate mode. And it doesn’t want to come out until January 1st.
Normally, I am not a very shy person. But put me around a cute boy? And I am rendered incapacitated. I stumble over my words, I have a hard time with eye contact over an extended period of time, and I usually say something embarrassing. And you can forget about making the first move. I even have a hard time initiating a goodbye kiss.
Yeah, I know. For someone who loves sex as much as I do, that seems uncharacteristic, right?
New York? Seems to be the same way. I don’t know much about his dating past, but I get the feeling he hasn’t had many girlfriends. That’s just a hunch, but it could very well be true given his behavior.
On our first date when I was leaving his house, he leaned down to kiss me, and after a few seconds of tonsil hockey, he took my purse out of my hand and dropped it on the floor so that a makeout sesh could ensue. I liked that. I like when the guy takes charge. I’m one of those people who seems all reserved but . . . the whole time I’m thinking how badly I want you to throw me up against the wall and have your way with me.
I don’t know why he’s being so shy about it now. Nothing really has changed since that first night. I can tell I’m going to have to give him the go-ahead before he’ll try any hankey-pankey. He’s probably just being a gentleman and waiting for a sign. We women always THINK we’re giving out signals loud and clear, but men basically need you to write it down on posterboard with a chisel-cut Sharpie and parade around the living room with it, chanting your message in repetition.
So I’ve got to come up with a way to grow a pair and just jump his bones. Here are some thoughts.
- Send him a text that says “Let’s fuck.” Quick and dirty, with shock value. Guys, what can you really say to that except “YES YES YES!”?
- Buy a bottle of cheap rum. Take two shots of said cheap rum. No, three. OK, three and a half. NO MORE. Just enough for some liquid courage. Go to New York’s house. Walk inside. Don’t say a word. Grab him by that sexy HOH of his and commence mackage. That’s got “throw-me-up-against-the-wall” appeal.
- Make a date with him. Ask him to pick me up. Show up to the door half-dressed, as if I am “not quite done getting ready.” I’m thinking skivvies and pumps. HOTT.
- Or, you know. I could just TALK to him about it. Hmm . . .
Honesty seems like the best policy. Although, I do like the excuse for pounding shots of rum. What better reason than to facilitate a bump ‘n’ grind?
I love that word, facilitate.
I kid, though. This post is a joke. Mostly. About 74%. I realize that it’s just going to happen when it’s going to happen—when the time is right for both of us. I just hope that time is SOON SOON SOON.
Happy Friday, everyone!
Operation BrownEyes Fade Out is in full effect.
As is Operation If I Find Any More Reasons To Increase My Infatuation With New York I Am Going To Implode.
We spent over 24 hours straight with each other this weekend and I? Was so wrapped up in all the fun that I COMPLETELY FORGOT about asking him to the Christmas party.
I know, right?
Clearly this boy has had a strong effect on me. He is just the cutest thing ever. Examples:
- Falling asleep on my shoulder, perfectly nuzzled up against my neck, his only movements being his fingers grazing my legs every few seconds. I died. I’m dead now.
- Replying to my text message—in which I asked him to pull the fire alarm at my office so I could escape—with, “Can’t, saving kittens.”
- Calling to ask me if I wanted to go “put on other people’s shoes and throw a ball” (bowling).
- Playing with my hair on a regular basis (I HAVE WANTED A MAN TO DO THIS FOR SO LONG).
- Grabbing my arm in a firm but non-threatening way when I accidentally woke him up in the middle of the night.
- Kissing me on the forehead. MELT.
So yeah, we went bowling, which I haven’t done in YEARS. He beat me by about ten points on the first game, but I came back and totally KICKED HIS ASS in the second game, scoring a 145. I was “Chainsaw” and he was “Boxcar.” We totally took a picture with my phone for proof. Behold.
Yeah, I know you’re jealous.
While we were there I ordered drinks for us (NY requested a White Russian and I decided I’d order a Rum & Diet) and the bartender/snack bar attendant said she’d bring them out to us once she made them. Minutes ticked by, still no drinks. We kept wondering, “Where the hell are our drinks?”
Well, NY went up to the bar to investigate and this yielded the discovery that the reason it was taking so long for our drinks was because they were out of milk for his White Russian, so the bartender had been opening numerous individual half & half liquid creamers to compensate for their lack of milk. ELL. OH. ELL.
NY contemplated ordering two more White Russians just to be funny, but he is a NICE person, therefore he did not do that.
NY is doing a good job of keeping my mind off BE, but yesterday I got a text message from Sandra of Getting Married Recently And Also Having A Brother Who Shits In Public Places fame, asking what BE likes to drink. Not sure why she wanted to know, but I just really didn’t want to think about him. UGH is all I think when he comes to mind.
As far as the Christmas party went, as I said at the beginning of the post, I forgot to ask NY about it this weekend, and then Monday and Tuesday I wasn’t able to get in touch with him until it was too late, so I ended up going stag. It was probably better that way anyhoots because there were TONS of people there and I had to photograph throngs of guests pretending to have a good time. He would have been left alone most of the night and it probably would have been really awkward for him.
After the party I met up with him at a friend’s house, and one of my best girl friends was there. We took one of those obligatory “I am a woman therefore I can’t go to the bathroom alone” trips and she told me that NY had said he was moving back to the big city in January.
Now, here’s the thing. I have heard varying degrees of explanations from NY about this subject, ranging from “I may be going back just for two weeks” to “I may going back for good, I haven’t decided yet,” all of which have been given to other people and not myself. Also, my friend is not the most reliable source of information (sorry, but it’s true—she has a habit of blowing things out of proportion/misinterpreting things), so for all I know he could have said, “I’m going back to New York in January,” which could very well just mean he’s going there to visit. I don’t know why I’m so effing frightened to ask him the question. Oh wait, yeah I do. Because I DON’T WANT HIM TO MOVE BACK, and if that’s the answer, I will cry and cry and cry, and you probably won’t want to be around me for at least two weeks. And my blog will turn into a collection of whiny, verbal diarrhea and my readers will want to click “mark as read” and move on. And we don’t want that to happen, now, do we children?
Dear NY,
Please stay here, just a little while longer at least! If not for me, DO IT FOR THE BLOG. Three, maybe four people will be very appreciative.
Kthx,
LRC
I know there’s not much here for him, but gosh darn it, I would like more time with him.
On a happier note, I am FINALLY going to get my economic stimulus payment. Yes, I know, most of you got yours earlier this summer. Well, the IRS LOST MY PAPERWORK so for months I was asking WHERE IS MY GEE DEE MOTHER EFFING STIMULUS CHECK YOU BASTARDS and I FINALLY got some answers from someone. My paperwork? They basically told me, “the dog ate it.” No, actually, they didn’t basically tell me that, that is what they really said to me. Sure, it was a joke, but you? Are the IRS. Shouldn’t you have a better explanation than that?
But yeah, $600. With my name on it. Coming in the mail by 12/12/08. Holla.
Unfortunately, that’s the only way I’m getting stimulated right now. Still no sex. Bah. Can a woman get blue balls? If so, I think I’ve got it coming.
So, I know I haven’t mentioned BrownEyes in a while, and there’s a reason for that. Actually, there are at least TWO reasons.
- I don’t want to get lambasted by my reader.
- There hasn’t been a whole lot to say about the sitch because I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks.
We’ve been playing phone tag a bit. He called on Thanksgiving and left me a Happy Thanksgiving message. I called him back and got no answer. He called back another day and left a message. I returned his call and got no answer. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’ve kinda only been keeping up the “checking in” phone calls (he is quite the fan of the “check in”—nevermind that we actually might want to SEE each other) as a courtesy. I don’t really know why. As we’ve drifted apart over these few weeks (due to my recent infatuation with New York), I guess I kinda hoped maybe whatever we had going on would become more casual and friend-like. I am such a chicken when it comes to breaking it off.
After Murray, it had been so long since I’ve been single. My past breakups have mostly been with guys I’d been in serious relationships with. While BE and I did our thing for four months, we were never serious. I kinda . . . don’t know HOW to end it, you know?
So after several impersonal voice mails, imagine my surprise when I get a message at around 10:30 p.m. (past BE’s bedtime!) from BE, mentioning that his young niece and nephew are visiting this weekend (his sister’s children, whom I’ve never met) and basically invited me to meet them.
WTF?
He’s actually ASKING ME TO DO SOMETHING?
WITH HIS FAMILY?
SEVERAL DAYS IN ADVANCE?
Thanks, BE. Thanks for making this REALLY AWKWARD for me.
(I know this is my own fault. Sarcasm is being used here.)
I get that he’s realizing he’s going to have to try harder to keep me around. I get that he realizes he’s messed up and that when people are dating, they actually MAKE PLANS together, rather than just expecting the other person to be available at any given moment. I get that.
But now I have to give him an answer. I am really, really dreading this part. I don’t want to hurt him, but he also deserves an explanation if I turn him down. Feh. I’m going to have to figure something out. UGGGGGHHHH, the situations I get myself into.
In the meantime, I have yet ANOTHER dilemma.
My office is having a Christmas party next week, on a Tuesday. Booze will be involved. Not relevant to my dilemma, but I thought it should be mentioned anyway because, HELLO, FREE BOOZE.
My dilemma is this:
To go alone? Or invite someone?
Here are the logistics of the situation.
Cases FOR inviting New York:
- New York knows my work is having a soiree, because it came up in conversation. I could sense interest in his voice, but he never brought up the subject again. So it’s not like I can just pretend it doesn’t exist. I might hurt his feelings if I don’t invite him, since he is aware of it.
- It will be a good way to show him that I’m interested (because BOY AM I INTERESTED).
- It will be a good excuse for me to see him, and I’ll get to see him dressed up all sexy-like.
Cases AGAINST inviting New York:
- Did I mention I live in a small town? My co-workers are NOSY, and I would not be able to bring anyone without being the butt of office gossip for weeks to come. NY and I went to a basketball game the other night (I work at a college with a basketball team) and co-workers I barely know were asking me the next day if he was my boyfriend. How about NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, kthx. I am a private person (except for, you know, this blog where I expose pretty much EVERYTHING). I don’t want my bidness being on everyone’s lips.
- On that note, office Christmas parties are—to me, anyway—something you bring your BOYFRIEND to. I wouldn’t think you would bring someone you were casually dating, even if you were really into each other. NY and I have only been seeing each other for two weeks. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend.
- Rather than getting his feelings hurt if I DON’T invite him, on the flip side of the coin, NY may get FREAKED OUT if I DO invite him. “Oh my God, she wants me to go to a fancy work thing with her? Where I have to dress nice and pretend I give a shit? NO THANKS. NEXT.”
So, reader, what should I do?
