*crickets*

Anyone there?

Look, I know I’ve been scarce around these parts. But there’s a reason for that.

The central idea of this blog is my conflict with men and relationships. I’ve had some bad luck with Those With Penises in the past year and for a while, it seemed that the crazy didn’t stop.

But my conflict? For now at least? Has been resolved.

I have a man who makes me want to simultaneously bitch-slap and shin-kick the old me. The me who put up with all that nonsense. All that flakiness. All that confusion.

My conflict has been resolved. At least for now.

I will continue to write here. I’m not giving up the blog. I mean, my relationships with men aren’t the only interesting thing about me. They’re just the most consistently insane things about me.

But right now? I’m happy. The calm has descended. I’m not constantly agonizing over men and their bullshit.

Plus, I’m getting sex on the regular now.

Which is pretty awesome.

Past mistakes and future letdowns

Love, or rather, the pursuit of love, is a very complicated thing.

Wow, did I actually start an entry without sarcasm or any mention of the word “vagina”?

I must be maturing.

How boring.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been doing some major thinking about what I want out of life and love. In the past eleven years of my life, I’ve gone through failed relationship after failed relationship and I’ve determined that I have a “type” of man that I tend to gravitate toward.

I go after sexy musicians who don’t appreciate me.

I’ve dated five of them, to be exact.

1. New York.
2. BrownEyes.
3. Murray.
4. Tom (the one with THE BOIL!).
5. And my high school boyfriend.

I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s effing SCARY.

It seems that by now I would have tried to break that pattern, huh?

I know these men are wrong for me. I know they’re going to eventually break my heart. But I keep. going. back.

It’s exhausting.

So New and Improved, Been Down That Road and Ain’t Goin’ Back LRC™ knows better. She deserves a man who treats her like the Super Swell Lady that she indeed is. She deserves a man who will appreciate the fact that sappy country songs and movies about talking animals make her cry. She deserves a man who will offer her the last cigarette. She deserves a man who thinks it’s cute when she burps (which is A LOT) and isn’t annoyed by the fact that she pees approximately thirty-seven times per day. She deserves a man who appreciates her and gives a shit about her well-being.

And at the present moment, she has that.

On paper, The Lawyer is top drawer (I’m totally going to start saying “top drawer” from now on. It makes me sound less “skanky” and more “distinguished”). He has a law degree. He’s gainfully employed (and wears a tie to work). He lives on waterfront property.

He also seems to have all the other elements going for him. He loves to cook. He has a great sense of humor. He’s intelligent. He’s nice looking with pretty feet and a nice ass. He is clean cut and dresses well. He loves doing things for me, and he treats me with utmost respect. He’s a good kisser. He even politely told a creep to shove off when he was bothering me at a bar.

My friends like him, and so do my parents (YES HE HAS MET MY PARENTS ALREADY OMG AND HE WASN’T EVEN FREAKED OUT ABOUT IT I WAS LIKE “YOU DON’T HAVE TO” AND HE WAS LIKE “I WANT TO” AHHHH).We enjoy spending time together. That’s not an issue at all.

Then why aren’t I dying to get between his sheets?

DAMN YOU, LRC, AND YOUR MEANBOY-LOVING VAGINA.

Le sigh.

I’m going to give him a chance—I’m not writing him off yet. There is definitely some promise there. I’ve got to break my sexy musician habit and go after a proper guy. I’m just hoping the OMG I MUST JUMP YOUR BONES NOW sensation comes soon. Because this is a quality guy I could be letting go just because he’s not sexy in the exact way that all those assholes that came before him were.

If not . . .

Am I doomed for a life of being attracted to the wrong men?

LRC Makes Bad Decisions, Vol. 17

I’m going to attempt a lighthearted approach at this post, because 1) it’s FRIDAY! and 2) mi vida es muy loca lately and I need to start turning the negatives into positives. Or something.

Or, after speaking all that Spanish, maybe I just need a margarita.

Whatevs.

So, I effed up. But this time, I don’t think it was so detrimental that I don’t want to show my face in public ever again. I didn’t call my boss drunk or anything. I just gave in to a moment of weakness.

I mentioned that New York wanted to be friends, right? Well, what I did not mention was the manner in which this information was revealed to me.

In response to that well-thought-out, heartfelt, compassionate letter, I received a three-sentence text message.

“I got your letter. Twas very nice. Thanksfriend.”

Huh.

While all the friends I’ve told this to think this is an outrage because, honestly, is that the response I got? After writing perhaps one of the most perfect letters of all time?  It’s been hard for me to feel anything but numbness and/or complete depression about it. I haven’t been able to feel anger toward him yet because I’m still so enamored with the kid. I can’t just turn my feelings off like a light switch. It doesn’t work that way. I need time to get over him, and I haven’t allowed myself that time yet.

So we tried the friend thing for about a week. He texted me to make sure my animals were inside when there was a tornado warning. I texted him telling him we should have a moustache growing contest (idea totally stolen from My Boys) with the loser earning a free milkshake and the winner getting a creepy moustache. Insert miscellaneous friend chatter here.

But last night? I got drunk.

Like, Let’s Make Bad Decisions drunk.

So I called NY. And much to my surprise? He answered!

And he was happy to hear from me!

And he wanted me to come over!

Like right now!

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!, right?

No.

NOT “EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”.

Bad LRC.

So I went over there, and he eagerly greeted me at the door. We hugged big time because we hadn’t seen each other in about a month. Then we went and plopped down on the couch with his arm around me and my head nuzzled against his neck, like old times.

We started talking for a few minutes. Mostly small talk and chit chat. Catching up and whatnot.

And then we started making out. Big time.

Clothes started coming off.

When things started to progress toward The Sexy Time, I could feel him pulling back. So I asked him a question I had always been too afraid to ask him, for whatever reason.

“Don’t you want to have sex?”

(Note [possibly TMI]: I have already given him a BJ at this point, which was met with great approval.)

“No. [insert random excuse here].”

Pause.

Blink.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like to have sex unless I’m in an intense relationship. With the possibility of my leaving and everything . . .”

And then I just stared at him for a few seconds.

“You’re telling me this . . . after we’ve . . . already had sex?”

(This is about the extent of my ability to take up for myself when I’m drunk. At least, with a guy I’m head over heels for. If I didn’t give a shit about him, I would have let him have it.)

So I just gave up on the conversation at that point. I don’t remember what his response was (I’m HAMMERED, remember?). I just fell back into his arms and he held me close. I cried silently, but I don’t think he noticed.

And then I realized, you know what? I don’t need this shit. I’m just letting him treat me however the fuck he wants. He’s handing out misery, and I’m the first in line.

I wordlessly got up, put my sweatshirt back on, picked up my purse, and walked toward the door. He came after me, but I just kept going. Walked out the door, got in my car, and left.

And cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.

And then. AND THEN? I sent him a drunk text. “I wish I wouldn’t have taken so long to ask you that.”

(Please ignore the bad grammar. Remember, I’m wasted. And yes, I should not have driven. I know this. Save the preachin’ for your Sunday School class.)

I don’t know what I thought that drunk text would solve. Hell, that’s the point of a drunk text. Saying things you probably shouldn’t have but seem like a GREAT idea at the time.

Then I realized, you know what? There I go placing all the blame on myself again. He should have been honest with me from the get-go. If he never saw this going anywhere, he never should have invited me to that James Bond movie. And, at the very least, he never should have made out with me afterward.

So I texted him again.

UGH.

“Then again i dont think it is my fault”

FUHHHHHHHHHH I wish there was a CTRL+Z for text messages. But you know what? He needs to realize what he did was wrong. He led me on, and wasn’t honest with me from the start. And I got all bajiggity about him because he rocks my world. And then he curb stomped my heart.

So yeah.

I guess that settles that. I can’t be makin’ out with boys who are just gonna inevitably hurt me over and over again.

It sucks. But I’ll move on.

Speaking of moving on, I mentioned joining an online dating site in my last post. I was very reluctant at first, but my mom, seeing my unhappy state, basically forced me into it. I think it’s a bit too soon to start dating because I’m still batshit insane enamored with NY even though it’s never going to happen. But I don’t think it will hurt to make some new friends and have a boy take me out on an actual DATE. One in which we go to a restaurant that’s not Quizno’s and doesn’t end with Jager Bomb shots and a massive sense of regret the next morning.

I’ve been in contact with two guys, one of which seems really fun and has a lot in common with me, but, to be brutally honest, he’s not someone I see myself being attracted to. He seems more like the big brother type. He’s not model hot like NY, BE, and Adam (but then again, “model hot” never seemed to work in my favor). However, he has a lot of friends and has a lot of fun things going on in his life, and that could be the breath of fresh air I need. I will probably have to explain to him that if we do date, things have to go reeeeeally slowly. I’m damaged goods here, and I don’t want to play any games.

There’s also another guy I’ve been talking to less frequently, but holy hell is he hot. And he’s an athletic trainer. HOT. BODY. Hold me. I didn’t think he was that into me at first, but after the second time we “talked” (we used the lame IM thing on the dating site), he asked if I wanted to do something next week. I said yes, but I think we’re definitely going to keep it casual. He’s new to the area and is looking for new friends. At the very least, maybe I’ll have a new hang out buddy.

I’ll keep you all posted for sure. I’ve got my sights set on dinner, drinks, and tomfoolery with the girls tonight, and from now on when I’m faced with a tough decision, I’m going to ask myself, “Is this necessary for my happiness?” and if it is, I’ll do it. And if it’s not, vice versa.

Happy weekend, lovelies.

Things I did this weekend

• Found out that NY wants to be friends.
• Cried a lot.
• Became semi-okay with that after I stopped crying.
• Finally got BE to quit calling me by being honest with him and telling him it wasn’t going to happen.
• Joined an online dating site.

Whew. That took a lot out of me. I’m exhausted.

The letter

Well, something good did come out of being pursued by BrownEyes’s friend. After he texted me like a billion times the next day, I decided to just be honest with him and tell him I was having trouble getting over a guy who’d, apparently, recently decided that he’d rather not have me in his life. It was then that he admitted to me that he’d been recently dumped, too, and since then we have formed a quasi-friendship in which we cheer the other on in our respective Efforts At Finding Happiness.

So I’d call that a mini-success. It’s nice to be able to text him at a particularly weak moment and have him reply with something encouraging, and vice versa.

BrownEyes apparently didn’t “get” that I was dipping out on his ass again, and has been blowing up my phone. I’ve only answered once (out of the 8 or so times he’s called), yesterday, just to tell him I was still at work and I would call him later, to buy myself some time to figure out how I was going to break the news to him that he was being dismissed. I came home and wrote out some talking points because when I have to confront someone I get flustered and forget what I was going to say.

Also, despite not being the sharpest tool in the shed, BE has a gift of Conversation Manipulation. He could probably talk a telemarketer into buying HIS shit instead.

Come to think of it, that’s probably why I stayed around as long as I did. Because he convinced me I was having a great time when in actuality I was miserable.

Anyhoots, so I called him back once I was ready to have what would ideally become my final conversation with him before I could talk myself out of it, and this time, HE didn’t answer.

So I plugged my phone up into my charger and began writing some more.

Only this time, it was a letter to New York.

Previously that day, I’d drafted an e-mail that I was going to send to him. Remember how I said there’d been some new developments with our situation that was kinda throwing a monkeywrench into the whole thing? Well, I was going to let him know, through this e-mail, how I felt. While NY and I had loads of fun together, we’d never quite gotten to the emotional level that is so vital in successful relationships. I poured my heart into it while making sure not to sound desperate or vulnerable. I let him know that it was not okay that he was avoiding me (save for the occasional “hope you’re doing well”-esque text he’d send me) but told him if he was having personal issues I was there if he needed me, and not there if he didn’t. I attempted to express that I wanted to salvage what we could of a friendship before he just wrote me off altogether.

I didn’t include that sentiment in the letter in false hope that he’d come crawling back to me to say YES OH LET’S HAVE A RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD AND WE CAN NAME OUR FIRST CHILD DEREK BUT ONLY IF IT’S A BOY AND THEN WE CAN BUY A FORD FOCUS AND OPEN A RETIREMENT ACCOUNT. I honestly DO want to remain friends with him. We have way too much fun with each other to waste a perfectly good friendship on account of his commitment-phobia.

So I concluded the letter stating that if I didn’t hear back from him I’d be hurt, but I would get over it eventually. And also that I couldn’t take not knowing if it was [issue NY told me he currently was having] or the fact that he just didn’t ever want to speak to me again that was causing him to avoid me.

I sent it to several friends, detailing the situation and asking their opinion on it (and thank you SO MUCH to those who gave their input. Heart. You.). One person told me it’d be more personal if I hand-wrote it, and I had to agree.

So after my failed attempt at calling BE from home, I printed out the e-mail and began to write it, almost verbatim, on some leftover wide ruled notebook paper from my college days. It ended up being two pages exactly, with ample spacing and non-threatening penmanship. I folded it up and placed it in an envelope with only NY’s first name on the outside of it.

It was a masterpiece.

I constructed the letter so that anyone who did NOT respond to it had to be the biggest asshole jerkface on planet Earth.

I delivered the letter at approximately 7:30 p.m. in NY’s mailbox and sent him a text that I’d left a note for him there.

I still haven’t heard back from him at 4:45 p.m. the following day.

And if he doesn’t respond? Well then.

Good.

Fucking.

Riddance.

Trying isn’t always enough

Allright people, let’s get this over with.

So remember how BrownEyes wanted to get back together with me?

Well, he called me on Friday and asked if I wanted to come over and see a movie. I said yes. There are various reasons for this. Let me show you dem.

1. I’m a fucking idiot.
2. I’m a masochist.
3. I hoped at the very least I could get some sex out of it.
4. Blog fodder!
5. I wanted to see if he’d changed for the better. (HILARIOUS, right?)
6. I’m a fucking idiot.

Probably not the best reasons, but reasons nonetheless.

I told him I’d call him when I got out of the shower. When I called, instead of  him being at home (as he said he’d be), he’d walked to a nearby bar and was having a drink. He invited me to join him. I was not looking my best as I’d slicked my hair back into a bun and was definitely not dressed for a night on the town. But I decided to join him. For ONE drink.

One drink? Always turns into 5 or 6 or 42 drinks with BE. Stupid, stupid LRC.

He was incredibly inattentive to me the whole night, trying to be his usual center-of-attention self. I’m sure the look on my face said it all. To everyone ELSE, that is. Everyone with a fucking CLUE.

(Hint: BE does not belong to this elite club of Those Who Get It.)

Every time he’d ask me to go outside and smoke with him, he’d open the door for me and motion with his hand for me to go ahead. I would walk through, and EVERY. SINGLE. TIME he did this? He would stop and talk to someone else. Leaving me standing there by myself like a jackass.

EVERY.

SINGLE.

TIME.

THAT got annoying really fast. When I insisted that he go first, he’d say, “no you go ahead!” and then he would do the SAME. EXACT. THING.

Do you know how FRUSTRATING that was? It got old reeeeeally fast.

Aaaand the straw that broke the camel’s back? As if I weren’t turned off enough as it were?

While I was talking to one of his female friends (while he was inevitably making his rounds around the bar), she told me that he’d been telling people that HE was the one who broke it off with ME.

[record scratch]

Shut. The. Front. Door.

HELLLLLLLLLLLL NAW.

I was furious. So I did what any normal person would do. I made him buy me Huddle House at 2am and when he fell asleep on his recliner I dipped the fuck out of there and never looked back.

Speaking of BE, a few minutes ago I got a text from one of his friends, who, last time I saw him, I WAS with BE. But this had to be at least five or six months ago.

not going to [name of bar] tonight is ya?

What’s going on at [name of bar]?

well it’s just poker night but thought maybe you and [BE] might wanna go up there for a little while

Forehead? Meet desk.

I don’t date [BE].

oh for some reason i thought yall were. well if you wanna go, no [BE] that’s even betta

Is this my life? Seriously?

Did I just get a random ass text from BE’s friend asking if I wanted to bring BE and join him at the bar? And then when I said I wasn’t dating BE, did I also get HIT ON by BE’s friend?

Is the universe trying to give me the middle finger? Is it because I arranged all the stickers on the Rubik’s cube when I was little and tried to pass myself off as a genius? I APOLOGIZED FOR THAT A FEW YEARS AGO. LET IT GO, UNIVERSE.

And to end on a more somber note, I don’t see myself getting over New York anytime soon. I had (still have) it bad for that boy. New developments have been brought to light about the situation and I feel torn. Every day when I get home, and every morning when I wake up, I feel like I’m being punched in the face and given a wedgie simultaneously. A wedgie of sorrow.

I had to make the melodrama humorous somehow.

ARGH

Folks, I honestly don’t think I like the way my blog is becoming only about my love life lately (oh, who am I kidding, it’s been like that since I started Long Red Cape last year). I’d love to write about things unrelated to relationships and heartbreak, but in order for that to happen? Men and their penises need to leave me the fuck alone.

Scenario.

I’ve mentioned before that I work at a college. Our basketball team recently won the state tournament (WOOT!), and now they’re in the national tournament. It’s kinda a big deal around town because we’ve never gotten this far before. A group of co-workers, myself included, arranged to go to a local bar last night and listen to the game over the radio.

BrownEyes was there.

I could see him eyeing me in my peripheral vision. I ignored his glaring as long as I could, greeting my co-workers and a few other people I know. As I was chatting up a friend (who had just finished asking me if I was still dating New York, ughsauce), I waved to BE and his friend. They waved back, smiling. I went and sat back down with my co-workers.

I could tell BE wanted to talk to me by the look on his face. So, in an effort to not be Ms. Bitchface Turdpants, I stopped by his table on the way to the restroom. He, his friend, and I ended up talking for a few minutes about our respective St. Patty’s Days and what we’d been up to lately.

It was at this point that BE asked me to go outside and smoke with him. I said sure.

BIG MISTAKE, LRC.

So, basically, BE wants to get back together with me. He explained how he’d had so much fun with me when we were together (this is true, minus the asshattery) and he hasn’t been having much fun lately. He thought it was nonsense that we quit talking. I told him, “Well, you acted like you didn’t give a shit!” He told me I “think too much.”

ARE YOU HEARING THIS PEOPLE?

ONE DAY after chucking NY’s shit back to him and, yes, lots of crying, BE explains to me that he wants to get back together.

FUCK. ME.

And this morning? At 7:30 a.m.? I got a “Gnite”* text from Guess Who????????

Again.

FUCK. ME.

Is he DENSE?

Does he NOT understand that the act of my putting his shit in his mailbox and texting him “You’ve got mail” is my way of saying “FUCK OFF WITH YOUR FLAKINESS, YOU CUNT WAFFLE”?

I should seriously fucking move to Egypt.

*This is NY’s way of being “funny” or “cute” by sending me a “Gnite” text BEFORE 8AM.

I just don’t have words. (OK, I actually have 981 words, but who’s counting?)

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.

Good Lord, make it stop

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.

No wonder I make men run screaming in the other direction

I feel like my life is repeating itself. Like I’m walking around in some fucked up circle of Single Womanhood. It’s like effing Groundhog Day!

(And yes, I know today is Groundhog Day. This only intensifies my point.)

Meet a new guy.

Like him  a little.

Make out with him.

Like him a LOT.

(Those last two happen in rapid succession.)

Begin having doubts.

(This is where The Crazy enters.)

Cry.

Go right back to extreme like when guy does something incredibly sweet.

Float on air for a few weeks.

Start having doubts again.

Fabricate an elaborate scenario in which guy decides to leave and begin needlessly resenting the guy in preparation, so that if he DOES leave, damage to the heart will be minimal.

Yep, that’s me. Preparing for my heart to get curb stomped before they even get the opportunity to love me.

Okay, that last sentence sounded really morose. It’s not that bad. I just wish there were some way to train my mind not to play tricks on me. I did this with BE and now I’m doing it again with NY. It’s like I just know he’s going to hurt me, even though he’s done nothing in the past to indicate that he would. I know that getting hurt at some point is inevitable in every relationship, but I’m not talking about the Oh God He Hesitated Just A Smidge Too Long When I Asked If These Jeans Made My Ass Look Like A Double Wide Trailer Barreling Down The Highway hurt. I’m talking about the I’m About To Up And Leave Your Ass You Worthless Pile Of Woman Who Is Not Even Worth My Time hurt.

I know I’m worth a man’s time.

I cook. I praise. I give BJs.

I’m a great girlfriend. I know this.

But do they know it?

I feel like I put so much time and energy into showing a guy all that I have to offer, that it’s just taken for granted. I don’t even know if it’s my fault or their fault, or if I’m just completely making it up. This dating shiz just has me so confused that there are days I just want to throw my hands in the air, scream “ENOUGH ALREADY!” and bang my head on the desk, never to pick up the “habit” again.

But no, I keep pressing on.

(Sometimes I wish I weren’t so obsessed with the peen. It would save a lot of stress and worry.)

I feel like I’ve got this constant Push and Pull thing going with the men I date. I won’t allow myself to be vulnerable enough to be beaten down, but then I wonder why things aren’t happening for me.

I’m not allowing them to.

(For the record, things are fine with NY. Nothing has changed except for the fact that I have turned into Crazypants McGee. He’s still up in the Big Apple. I’m anticipating his arrival back home this weekend, but he hasn’t nailed anything down for certain yet. He’s got unfinished biz to take care of [that makes him sound a lot more diabolical than he really is] in NYC and he needs to get as much of it done as he can while he’s still there.)

Having said that, I’m keeping my options open. I’m not dating other guys, nor do I want to. But I’m not going to throw all my eggs on one basket and risk breaking all of them just yet.

Blargh. I don’t even know if I’ve really said what I needed to say here. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with the  picture I paint of my life on this blog. There’s just so much going on in Noggin de la LRC that I couldn’t possibly begin to show you what The Crazy is a-brewin’ up there.

But damn it, I’m gonna try.

And you’ll probably lose some sanity right there with me.

For that, I apologize.

But damn it feels good to have Partners In Crazy.