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So, I received a negative comment on my last post, and I’m going to try not to go into a long rant about it, but I felt I should address what was said.
I’ve only read the comment once, and I read it hastily because my friends were on the way over to my house, so I don’t remember what all exactly was said in the comment. I know the words “slutty” and “immature” were used, and I am neither of those things. Yes, I have issues. I have problems I need to work on. I’m human for fuck’s sake. I can be a red hot mess sometimes. I acknowledge this.
Something I have a problem with is that I think too much. If I didn’t analyze, re-analyze, and over-analyze every situation, I probably wouldn’t have a blog. And if I did, it would probably read something like this: “I went to work today! I have a cat! I like Diet Coke! I am having a good hair day! Taco!”
And no one wants to read that.
I don’t want to write that, either.
So I’m going through a rough patch right now, and I’ve had a few weak moments. BEE. EFF. DEE.
That’s all I’m going to say about that. Moving right along . . .
I previously mentioned that I joined a dating site. I realize that I’m moving too quickly back into dangerous territory. But there’s a reason I’ve taken this step.
My mother.
Now, don’t go hating on my mom because of what I’m about to write. My mom is, in my mind, the greatest person to walk the planet and as far as I’m concerned she could have three heads and fart out her eyeballs and I’d still think she was the best thing ever.
But my mom? Has baby fever.
Bad.
I’ve dubbed it Sperm Watch ‘09.
I suppose it all started a few weeks ago when I told her I went to a psychic and was told I would have two children—both girls.
(Also filed under Topics I Am Not Discussing: The validity of psychics and tarot card readings)
My mother is the youngest of nine. She is the only one of her siblings who is not already a grandmother (a couple of them are GREAT grandmothers—holy shit!!!!). Granted, she is the youngest, and she only had one child (that’s me!), so of course her chances of being a grandmother by now are slimmer than those of her older sisters and brother. But that still doesn’t stop her from trying to get me a husband RIGHT THIS SECOND so I can start becoming a baby factory and squeeze out some little tax deductions already.
Now, I’m not giving her false hopes. I told her when I DO get married and have kids, she’s not getting any more than two grandchildren. She wants three, but tough shit.
I also told her I was apprehensive about getting into a serious relationship. But I do want it to look like I’m trying so she’ll get off my back about it a little bit.
It’s really bad. Andy thought I was exaggerating until he saw my mom’s neurosis in action.
I shit you not. I was out at a restaurant with my parents this weekend, and when I came back from the bathroom my mom asked me, “Did you meet anyone on the way to the bathroom?”
“Yes, mother. I’m engaged.”
WTF?
As far as the dating site goes, I’ve met three guys. The first one to contact me who seemed decent enough is a guy who is 6′5″ and a little on the larger side. He’s nice, but I’m just feeling sort of meh about the whole thing. He doesn’t excite me. I haven’t e-mailed him back in a few days.
The second guy is an Athletic Trainer and he is HOT. He’s new to the area and wants to meet people. He’s supposed to be getting in touch with me about doing something this week, but I haven’t heard from him yet. Whatevs.
The third guy is Asian, and is also really cute. I think he and I have the most in common, but he lives the farthest away. We exchanged numbers and mentioned going to a sushi restaurant, but again, whatevs. I just wanna have fun.
And to end this post I am pleased to report that I am cutting back on the booze and cigarettes. I’m trying to concentrate on my health and happiness, and hopefully after that everything will fall into place as it should.
Things just go from bad to worse, don’t they?
Sigh.
I kinda went on a roller coaster of emotions on V Day. I woke up feeling really happy and positive, because I just felt like I needed to be, so I forced it upon myself. I decided to go shopping because I hadn’t bought myself anything in a while and I needed some new clothes.
I guess I wasn’t feeling it because I didn’t buy a single. damned. thing.
That is just wrong.
So I got some cookies and took them over to Andy’s and hung out with him for a while. I was feeling down at this point about my failed shopping attempt and no contact yet from New York. So I went from really happy to really blah and kinda sad. But I tried not to let it get to me too badly. You’re only as happy as you allow yourself to be, or some bullshit like that.
When I got home, I found a cute postcard from New York in my mailbox. It was very him. Not mushy-gushy, but he made a cute pun with my last name and it did arrive on the right date, so props for that. I also got a “happy valentines” text, which is a vast departure from the funny stuff he usually sends me. I called him later and we talked for about 30 minutes, and that was that.
After talking to him and feeling better in general about the situation, my mood lifted. I sang to my dogs and played my karaoke game. Don’t judge. I was on fire with that shit. I ended up having a really good time by my damned self. Then Sandra texted me to come up to the bar.
I decided, why the hell not.
And, uh, BrownEyes was there.
Shit.
Well, I knew I was going to have to see him eventually. So I tried to make it as painless as possible.
“Hey, how have you been?”
“Good, and you?”
“Good.”
(hug)
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
And that was that. Like pulling off a band-aid. Now that it’s over with, I feel better.
New York got back home on Monday night. Yay, right? Enh. We’ll see. He was ultra tired from his trip so he went straight home to bed, which I get. I don’t blame him for that at all.
But yesterday? I had the day from hell. Boss lady was on a rampage and was really bitchy to me and my co-worker. I ended up having to work a bit late, and you know the only thing on my mind was getting out of there to see New York, (who earlier had gone by my house to pick up the stack of mail I’d obediently retrieved from his mailbox, like a fucking Labrador).
He told me to call him when I got off work, so I did. I told him about my crappy day at work, and he listened until I was done. He got distracted trying to find a picture on his computer, so he told me to call him when I got home.
I was really stressed out from my effed up day at work, and at that moment, heaven to me would have been having dinner and wine with NY, catching up on things, and not having to worry about work, or anything else for that matter. At least for the night.
So I gave him some time, and I called back. No answer. Whatever. He called back like an hour later. He’d been taking a nap. Fine.
NY: [Friend] wanted me to go with him to the movies. It starts in ten minutes.
LRC: Are you gonna go?
NY: Yeah.
LRC: Cool.
NY: I mean, I think I’m gonna go.
LRC: Huh?
NY: I don’t know. I’m hungry.
LRC: So you either want food or a movie?
NY: Yeah.
LRC: And you want someone to make the decision for you?
NY: Ha. Yeah.
LRC: Well, I’m hungry . . .
(I don’t remember the details of the conversation at this point. I was very confused indeed. NY had just woken up from a nap and was therefore a bit disoriented. Somehow we got back on the topic of going to the movie.)
NY: I don’t think I’m gonna go to the movie. I only have two dollars in my wallet.
LRC: Yeah, I have zero dollars in my wallet.
NY: Well, let me text [Friend] and tell him I’m not going to the movie. I’ll call you later.
UGH. I should have just told him, “TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER, YOU HALF WIT,” but I don’t think I should have had to do that. It’s kinda rude to like, demand that someone take you out to eat. Highly annoyed at this point. Giving up on dinner plans, I munched some Ruffles potato chips and scowled.
I finally heard back from him at 9pm.
“Fnd enuf coin 4 a sandwich!”
Are. You. Fucking. Serious?
I texted him back, “You ain’t eat yet?” <— please ignore my horrible grammar here. This is my attempt at making fun of the rednecks I converse with on a daily basis. Yes, people talk like that here. It’s frightening.
He texted back: “Jst”
What the fuck does that even mean?
He is just not even trying at this point.
LRC: huh
NY: huh?
I was beyond pissed. He obviously wanted me to do all the work here, and it’s apparent that I’m not a priority in his life. I decided to go to bed after that (this was around 9:45).
He called me at about 10:10, but I was in the bed and didn’t hear the phone ring.
I can’t believe this shit.
We haven’t seen each other for three weeks and he’s not knocking down my door to see me? He wants his mail and a sandwich.
I hope he went to bed hungry.
Well, it’s “Facebook Official.”
Murray is now in a relationship.
Murray, the guy I dated for three years, bought a house with, and thought I was going to marry.
Before the breakup last May, he’d grown complacent, and felt “safe.” We weren’t sleeping together anymore and he spent all his time outside, working in the yard. I knew he wasn’t the one for me when I enjoyed my alone time immensely more than the time we spent together.
But it still hurts.
Not only because, well, he’s my Murray. Or he was. And there will always be a part of me that misses him like crazy.
Also? It’s just a big “fuck you” from the dating gods that Murray, who has NO GAME whatsoever, has managed to land himself a girlfriend, and I can’t even get a guy to admit we are more than friends.
When I woke up Sunday morning after a Super Swell Saturday Night of crying myself to sleep because all of my friends were ignoring me and here I was crawling into bed at 9:00 p.m. because I’d rather sleep than be lonely (melodrama. I has it), I went on a routine E-Mail/Google Reader/Facebook check and was bitch slapped with the news that Murray had finally moved on.
And I had to find out via that God Damned Social Networking Site Which Shall Not Be Named From This Point Forward.
What makes it worse is that I know the girl. We were very good friends growing up. BLARGH.
And to top it off, she posted pictures of them all over her profile, looking all happy and shit. And in those pictures, posing with the happy couple, were some of my best friends.
I feel replaced.
I had already felt like people took sides after the breakup with Murray (which is silly, but it sorta does feel that way), and most of them sided with Murray (even though our breakup was pretty drama-free and neither of us had wronged the other). I just feel like I have no one left. Claire, Andy, and my parents are pretty much the only real friends I have that actually want to hang out with me. And New York, of course, but he’s not here right now.
Aaaaaand he had to torture me on Sunday with a text that said, “[Name of eating establishment where LRC and NY frequently eat lunch on Sundays]?” as he does almost every Sunday (when he’s actually here, that is). It was his idea of a cute joke, because DUH, we can’t go eat there but haha isn’t it funny that I’m suggesting it? but given my emotional state it was just a reminder that no, he isn’t here, and no, we can’t go to lunch together. Or see each other. Or touch each other. Or kiss each other. At all.
Aaaaaand he may not be back for Valentine’s Day, either. He has a follow-up appointment with his doctor on Thursday. He hasn’t mentioned when he’s planning on coming back.
Aaaaaand what is the effing deal with all the BrownEyes sex dreams I’ve been having lately? I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH BROWNEYES. I don’t. What’s funny about them, though? In the dreams, we are doing more bickering than sexing. That is a pretty close representation of how things were when we were dating.
Aaaaaand I have a bag of Murray’s things that I’ve been meaning to give back to him for the past couple weeks that’s just rolling around in the back of my car, and if I give the stuff to him NOW, even though it’s in my way, I’ll look like a resentful bitch.
Things can only get better, right?
Because this shit has just got to stop. Like right now.
Topics of discussion on gchat with Andy today:
- Steve Jobs
- The Dark Knight
- Blue balls vs. pooping in terms of importance (not as in, which should I take care of first—no, no. We discussed which was more newsworthy)
- Trans fats
- Jennifer Aniston
- Naked teens
- Robot sex
- Throwing away Christmas gifts from relatives
- PMS/Bloating
- Wagering on someone’s death (Andy’s co-workers actually do this)
- The abstract nature of happiness and love and how our perspective distorts our hopes for both
- Pooping in the river
- Purses made out of cat fur
- Medicaid reimbursement rates for rural hospitals
- E-Penis
- Dog farts
- Analog to digital conversion
- What does Edward do when Bella is on the rag (Related topic: Oxygen content of period blood)
- Actual topics of relevancy
OK, that last one was a lie.
We clearly have too much time on our hands. Although, we did manage to cover a myriad of topics in a relatively short period of time. You know what that means—we got SKILLS.
Either that, or we’re slightly retarded.
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.
You’ve probably noticed I’ve tried to refrain from bitching about BE. Reasons being, I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing about it and many of you think I’m a foolish woman for continuing to see him.
I’m not disagreeing with you.
So here I am to bitch about BE again.
If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve probably noticed I’ve been complaining about my lack of sex. It’s been almost a week and a half since our last bump ‘n grind, and while I know that is not an extremely long time, my body is telling me HOLY HELL I NEED THE SAUSAGE AND I NEED IT NOW. Since we didn’t have sex this weekend, as our plans to spend Saturday night together changed due to the Incredible Shitting Man, I have been anxious to get back between the sheets with BE.
It started Sunday night. I called BE around 8:00 p.m. to see if he wanted to ‘hang out.’ He didn’t answer.
He called me the next night around 9:00 p.m. He explained that he’d fallen asleep on the couch the night before and didn’t wake up until 11:45 that night. A perfectly reasonable excuse, as sleeping is one of BE’s favorite pastimes. I knew since I was getting the phone call after 9:00 that there was no chance for sex, as he had to go to bed early for work the next day.
Last night (Tuesday), I made some delicious turkey chili in my slow cooker, so I called around 6:15 to ask him if he wanted to come over and have some with me, in hopes of bedding him later that night. Here’s how the conversation went.
BE: What’s up?
Me: Whatcha doing?
BE: Just got done working out.
Me: Oh. What are you about to do?
BE: Well, I’ve got to drop by a couple people’s houses, and . . . that’s about it.
Me: Oh. Well, I made some chili and I just wanted to see if you wanted to come eat some.
BE: Well actually, my brother’s in town, and we’re going to eat with the family. But I certainly appreciate it.
Me: OK then.
BE: Hey, can I call you back later?
Me: Yeah, bye.
BE: Bye.
First of all, why the eff didn’t he just say that in the first place? It felt like he was hiding something from me. “I’ve got to drop by a couple people’s houses.” What the fuck? Did he think I was going to try to invite myself to eat dinner with his family? I most certainly would not have.
When he asks what I’m doing, I always just SAY WHAT I AM DOING. Be it, watching a movie, hanging out with Claire, shaving my armpits, or plotting sweet, hairy revenge on a co-worker.
Also, is he ashamed of me? Does he not want to introduce me to his brother, for whatever reason?
When he pulls unneccessary crap like this, my immature side comes out in my brain and I think, well next time he asks what I’M doing, I’m just going to say, “I’ve got to go to a few people’s houses.” But I know that is a CHILDISH GAME and it will NOT solve anything. But I just get SO FRUSTRATED. What is so hard about being truthful?
BE, if you’re not going to admit that we’re dating, and if you won’t clear an hour from your entire week to bang my drum slowly, then DO NOT GET JEALOUS WHEN I TALK TO OTHER MEN.
You want me to stick around? THEN ACT LIKE YOU GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME.
He called back at 9:30 last night. I didn’t answer. He left a message.
Hey, I’m just headed home, getting ready to hang it up for the night. Call me back later. Bye.
I was having one of my hormonally-charged raging bitch moods last night, and when I heard that message I said out loud, “I’M HANGING IT UP FIRST. ASSHOLE.”
Of course, that was just the result of a little too much Cabernet Sauvignon and frustration that had been building for three hours. So I went to bed early and slept off my aggravation.
This morning, I asked Andy what he thought. He was equally confused, but he did offer this little nugget of wisdom.
You’re not looking to suck the fun out of his life… you just want to do crap with him.Guys… we have a tendency to think that women are trying to suck the fun out of everything.
Is this true? Do all men think this? Please, enlighten me.
In an effort to amuse Andy, because I was bored (and he won’t admit it, but he was, too), I videotaped myself “dancing” (AKA MAKING A FOOL OF MYSELF—FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY) and then dubbed a random song over it. Keep in mind, I was dancing to NO MUSIC, so it isn’t that I have a lack of rhythm. No, no. It is that I have a lack of SANITY and SELF-RESPECT.
(Also, add a mixture of White Merlot and Coors Light. Mix well.)
(Be glad that I care about your entertainment. And also, I know everyone is keyed up about the election. JUST LIGHTEN THE EFF UP ALREADY.)
You’re welcome. And now I have to go cry in a corner now, because I have completely humiliated myself for all eternity.
So, remember when I said I was pissed that BE didn’t come with me to the visitation for my deceased friend? Well, I started planning what I was going to say to him. On Thursday at work, I opened a Word document and started typing out what I was going to say, after I talked to Andy about it over gchat. I know, typing a list of things to say to BE (and then E-MAILING IT TO MYSELF) makes me a huge dork. I knew, though, that if I didn’t type it out and recite it to myself, I would get flustered and forget what I was going to say (like I always do).
So I referred to it a few times that day, in between tasks (wouldn’t you know that the week my boss is gone, I had INSANE amounts of work to do, so I couldn’t even play on the internet all day. Tragic).
After work that day, I met my friend Honey from work, and Claire at a local pub for happy hour. We had a really fantastic time, gossiping and just being girly over copious amounts of beer and nachos. So by the time 8:00 rolled around, I was pretty tipsy. Honey left, so it was just me and Claire. Then BE called.
“Hey, whatcha doin?”
“I’m up at [name of pub], drinking some beer with Claire.”
“Oh, I was thinking about coming up there and getting a bite to eat. You still gonna be there in a little bit?”
“Yeah, if you’re lucky.”
The Coors Light had given me enough liquid courage to smart off to BE, which was good. At least he wasn’t thinking I was, you know, OKAY with his flakiness on Sunday.
On the same note, though? I was just tipsy enough to completely eff my speech up. And I effed it up good.
After BE arrived, Claire left so we could talk.
My rant our conversation started out nicely enough. I started with something like this, almost verbatim from the e-mail I sent to myself:
I wasn’t going to say anything just yet, because I was, and still am, kind of emotional about it. But I’m going to be honest with you, just the same as I would want you to be honest with me. We both deserve honesty. I was upset that you didn’t come with me to the visitation. I needed someone to be there with me. It was awful having to go alone.
He agreed that yes, it was pretty shitty of him and he apologized.
“That’s not all,” I said.
“OK, what else?”
This is where I stumbled over the rest of it and it came out like verbal diarrhea.
I tried to explain to him that it was irritating that he would call to tell me what he was doing before he “headed home,” because really, what’s the fucking point? If you don’t want to hang out with me, don’t call to tell me what you’re doing INSTEAD of seeing me.
“Well fine then, I just won’t call you anymore.”
“You KNOW that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, uh, just, uh . . . um . . . I’m not trying to be unreasonable here. I just get frustrated when you call and I think you’re going to ask me to do something with you, and instead you’re like, ‘Well I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner and then I’ll probably go home.’”
Then he went on to say he’d argued with past girlfriends about that same topic. He was confused because he was thinking, “Well do you WANT me to call, or do you NOT want me to call?”
I kinda see his point. Men think differently than women. They’re more black and white, where we are more “gray area” type thinkers.
So I guess we accomplished SOMETHING with that conversation. Like I’ve said before, no relationship is perfect. You have to WORK at them.
So that was Thursday.
Friday? Was the Best. Day. Ever.
Naturally, I wore my cheerleading uniform to work. And, naturally, I was the ONLY ONE to dress up. I felt like a total fool. But I just let it roll off my back and the day actually turned out pretty great.
I work in the Marketing/PR department at a small college, and Claire is actually enrolled in one of the programs. Each year, we have a Halloween parade, and many of the different programs make a “float” and dress up to be in the parade. Claire had complained the night before about having to participate, so imagine my surprise when I saw Claire coming around the corner, her hair a mess from hairspray and blood painted all over her face and neck, being “dragged” by a guy dressed as a crazy hunchback doctor. “Dr. Nuts and Patient Insane” were what they were called, and Claire was TOTALLY in character, acting like an escaped mental patient and screaming, “Let me gooooooo! AHHHHHHHHH! Help me! Help meeeee! Let me gooooo!” I honestly could not contain my laughter, it was that kind of laughter that makes your face hurt. Everyone was cracking up, and they won second place in the costume contest.
About an hour before quittin’ time, I got an e-mail from one of my male coworkers. He was going to take his plane up into the air after work and wanted to know if I wanted to come along.
SHIT YEAH I WANNA RIDE IN YO AIRPLANE HOMESKILLET!
I can’t really explain how awesome it was. It was just. Awesome. I got to take aerial photos with my fancy Nikon D200 (work camera, not my own. I can’t be affordin’ that shit), so I got some really cool pictures of my house and the downtown area of my town. We flew to a nearby city and landed at the airport there, and HE LET ME TAKE OFF.
It was SO. AMAZING.
I GOT TO FLY THE PLANE. AND I GOT TO TAKE OFF FROM THE RUNWAY.
It was so exciting. He was going, “Push in the throttle. All the way! ALL THE WAY! YEAH!”
That shit was Off. The. Chain.
So yeah. I’ll definitely be doing that again.
Later that night, I went out and met BE at one of the bars that was having a Halloween bash. I was rocking my Karen Carpenter dress with straight hair:
(Again, not my face. Greta Garbo’s.)
Isn’t that dress THE SHIT?
Yeah, I thought so too.
BE was loving my straight hair. He kept running his fingers through it. He was really, really nice to me. He was very affectionate, and we were being all lovey-dovey, like a real live COUPLE.
I can’t really explain what it’s like when I’m with BE. At times, I want to tear his hair out, but when it’s good?
It is Oh. So. Good.
Friday night was the first night where I actually thought, you know? I could fall in love with him. I can totally feel it from him, too. When we first started dating, he would say things like, “If I’m still here . . .” or “If we’re still dating . . .” but now? He says things like, “NEXT YEAR, we are going to do THIS . . .” and it’s nice to know that he’s talking about us like we actually have a future together. It seems with every argument/discussion we have, it’s like he GETS IT (and at the same time, he GETS ME) a little bit more, and it seems like he’s really trying to step up to the plate. We aren’t always going to agree on everything, but our extreme “like” for each other trumps all that. For me, anyway.
By the end of the night, though? Sadly, my dress ripped. Whoever wore that shit back in the day was seriously tiny. I had to dig up a sundress from the wayback of my vehicle and change into it. Rest in peace, 70’s dress. You will be missed.
Anyhoods, again. I know you’re not all on the BE bandwagon right now, but our relationship is SO much more than what I put into this blog. I’m starting to figure him out and vice versa. Which is making us both happier. The good is outweighing the bad, by far. By LEAPS AND BOUNDS.
And I think that’s an excellent place to be.
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.
