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You thought you were done hearing about New York, weren’t you? Well, you’re not. Hopefully this will be the last post that involves him.
Before I go any further, let me just say that yes, Lawyerman and I are doing fine. There is nothing to worry about. We are in love (!!!) and still can’t keep our hands off each other. I just had to share this What the Fuck, New York?™ moment.
NY and I have remained quasi-friends since we stopped doing… whatever it was we were doing. Usually that entails chatting when we see each other and sending the sporadic text message (aka 0.1 KB of PURE EVIL–you know how I feel about texting). Recently, I told him that I started reading the Harry Potter series (late to the game, party of 1), which he has already read in its entirety. So he’s been making it a point to text me “spoilers” (“has Ron killed Hagrid yet?”, etc.) just to mess with me (for all you Harry Potter nerds… I know Ron doesn’t kill Hagrid. OR DOES HE?). Somehow, New York turned our conversation about Harry Potter into something… dirty.
What the Fuck, New York?™
When we were “dating,” he NEVER engaged in dirty texts (I should have known at that point we wouldn’t work, because Geez Louise you’ve GOT to have the dirty texts!), so why did he want to start now, when we haven’t been anywhere remotely intimate since well before the summer solstice?
But more importantly, I think, is the fact that he tried to make a conversation about HARRY POTTER into something SEXUAL. I believe “a wanding” was mentioned and he also alluded to “mystical 3somes.”
UHHHHHH…….
Of course I responded to him that I had vomited on the magazine I was reading.
I wish I could properly convey the craziness of this situation, but alas, I cannot. I just don’t even know. What The Fuck seems to be the only reaction I can come up with.
I sure hope he enjoyed stroking his wand alone that night.
*****NEW TOPIC!*****
So I went to a strip club for the first time ever last weekend because my friend had her bachelorette party. At first I was extremely uncomfortable, but then I started to kinda… uh.. enjoy it? Not because I’m sexually attracted to women, but because seeing gyrating nakedness… reawakened my sexuality? I guess?
I was inspired.
I decided that I needed to try to be a little..sexier for my Lawyerman. He’d mentioned before that he wished I had more g-strings in my underwear collection because he thinks they’re sexy. So I went to a trashy lingerie website and proceeded to buy myself a sexy babydoll lingerie set with a g-string..which leaves very little to the imagination. I was straight up giddy, y’all, when I thought about how his eyes would light up when I answered the door wearing that sexy getup with some 5″ heels. Then, before placing my order, a certain naughty word caught my eye…
Crotchless.
HOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT. I’ve never owned a pair of crotchless panties! This is excitin’, y’all! So I purchased a pair of those, too. I told Lawyerman I bought him two surprises on the internet and that he’d get the first one soon after the package arrived, and the second one later.
This is where I need your help.
Do I start off with the answering-the-door-in-my-new-lingerie-set-and-high-heels deal? Or do I walk around the house in a skirt (with the crotchless panties underneath!) and throw my leg up over Lawyerman’s shoulder? DECISIONS, DECISIONS.
In times like these I guess I need to ask myself one question:
What would Jesus do?
Or not. I’d rather know what you would do. Or what you’d want your girlfriend to do for you.
And now I feel that I’ve met my skank quota for the day, so I’m stopping there.
Oh, dearies.
I feel the need.
The need . . . to blog.
I feel like I’ve been keeping you lovely freaders so out of the loop. And while I don’t blog just so others read it? I do feel a compulsion to blog, even though I don’t know exactly how to vom it all out into this little WordPress box.
When I write it down? It sticks. It’s more . . . real.
Dig?
I’ve started several drafts and haven’t finished any of them. This is highly unlike me, as I hate to let drafts just hang out there without being finished by at least the end of the day.
Have I wanted to blog about my trip to the quickie store to buy porn for Dating Without Pants (now defunct blog, tear) since he won my contest (even though I still haven’t sent his prize and I have an anal-centric porn DVD just chilling on my computer desk for anyone to find if they want to)?
Of course I have.
Have I wanted to blog about the fact that New York called me and asked me to come over to his house to pick up something, and when I went over there, he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in six days and his house was a complete wreck? And the fact that The Lawyer called when I was at NY’s house? And that I answered the call and talked to him while NY was standing right across the room from me? And that it was a big YES I AM OVER YOU and he hasn’t bothered me since?
You KNOW I have.
But I’ve been spending so much time with Lawyerman that I have barely any time to blog at home. And my brain has been unplugged at work recently because we’re between quarters.
And I’ve had zero alone time to sort out all my thoughts and emotions.
I’m going to need some “me” time away from The Lawyer, and I hope he doesn’t think I’m giving him the kiss-off. But lately? Since we’re around each other so much? I’ve begun to get weird feelings. About stuff. And I’m afraid if we never leave each other’s side? The Crazy is going to rear its ugly head far sooner than I’d anticipated.
I really, really want to talk about what’s going on, but I just don’t know what to say. No, The Lawyer hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s a difficult situation to explain and I’ve already had difficulty explaining it to my, you know, TANGIBLE friends.
I just feel so helpless in my situation and I don’t know what’s going to have to happen for the situation to become resolved. It’s a shitty feeling . . . sorta like purgatory. I can’t talk about how I feel without it becoming a HUGE, serious issue, yet I can’t just let it go. I’m not ready to break up over something stupid that I’ve probably fabricated inside my own mind. But I’m not ready to talk about it, either.
I don’t want my freaders getting off The Lawyer’s bandwagon. Like I said, he hasn’t done anything. It’s all right here bouncing around inside my brain.
At least . . .
I certainly hope it is.
Because I certainly can’t handle another heartbreak right now.
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.
You’re getting bullets. Deal with it. I’m leaving work in four hours and I don’t have time for B.S.
- After watching a Sex and the City episode involving Samantha, the guy of her dreams, and his tiny penis, I began to worry. Oh God, I thought, What if The Lawyer has a tiny penis?!?!??! because seriously? I can’t be havin’ that. I don’t need a Dirk Diggler or anything, but sex shouldn’t be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Not that I have a hallway down there or anything, I mean, oh God. There’s no way I can talk myself out of this one. The hole has been dug. So I will conclude with this: The Lawyer does not have a tiny penis. Praise Allah.
- Earlier in the week, The Lawyer and I were exchanging e-mails, and he mentioned coming over to my house after eating dinner at his grandpa’s house. About 30 minutes before I left work, he mentioned that there might be a slight change of plans. His grandpa wanted to meet me. Immediately. So I did the good girl thing and agreed. It actually wasn’t terrible. The hilarity of it all was the fact that they served boxed red wine, chilled, with hamburgers. There were two awkward moments in the night . . . the first was when The Lawyer’s grandpa said, “Hey we’re selling this house, y’all should get married and buy it” (WHAAAAT????), and the second one came when there was a misunderstanding about my age, and The Lawyer’s uncle thought that he in fact was dating a 19 year old. Okay, I look young, but I don’t look that young.
- New York , in true NY fashion, decided it had been too long since he sent me a random ass text message, so he sent me a message that said only, “corn bread!” I, of course, replied with the obvious response, “turnip greens!” and went back to my NY-free routine. Then, Wednesday night while I was playing bar trivia with The Lawyer (we won first place, by the way, and all our drinks were free), I received yet another text from NY. The gist of it was that his car had died on the way to the airport (which is 2.5 hours away from where he lives) and he had a 10am flight the next morning and no way to get to the airport. He never out-and-out asked me to give him a ride, but honestly? Why the fuck would he be texting me about it if he weren’t trying to hint toward it? So he more or less tells me I’m not important enough to him to make me his girlfriend, goes over a month without seeing me, then all of a sudden wants me to offer to make a 5 hour round trip drive at 10pm on a weeknight so he doesn’t miss his oh-so-important flight to Who The Fuck Knows Where so he can blow his inheritance even more on sushi and promotional materials for his “band”?
No thanks. - I’m pretty sure I heard Murray’s name on the radio this morning for getting arrested for DUI. It may not have been him because his name isn’t terribly unique, but the person in question was arrested on the street right next to a bar where one of Murray’s favorite bands was playing last night. If this was, in fact, Murray, whose money management skills are atrocious, then he may not be able to fund the refinancing of the house after this. Also, if he gets his driver’s license taken away without a permit to drive for work (his job requires him to drive around in a truck and watch other people work), he may lose his job. Balls.
- I got a mani/pedi with Ma yesterday and my toes are all smooth, painted, and ready for the beach! I leave at lunch time to head south with The Lawyer.
We had this e-mail exchange yesterday:
aaand I think that about sums up what we’ll be doing on our trip. Have a fabulous weekend, freaders! Mwah!
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.
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?
So, you want to hear about my date?
Fine.
If you must.
It wasn’t a terrible date. It wasn’t even a bad date. It was . . . unimpressive.
He was the same height as me. I was wearing 4″ heels, but still. I knew this going into the date, but actually being eyeball to eyeball with a guy was a little weird for me. I prefer to look up at my guy and be able to tell if he needs to trim his nose hairs.
The sushi was good. Conversation was good. After getting past the whole “what do you do for a living / where are you from / what’s your favorite color” bullshit, we started just talking like normal people. He was really impressed with me and how I was “different” from how he’d originally perceived me to be. I thought I was enjoying the conversation greatly until I realized why I was enjoying the conversation.
Because he was kissing my ass.
I haven’t been the recipient of a good ass-kissing in a while, and it felt good. I’m accustomed to my friends being used to the extreme dryness and unapologetic “ME-ness” of yours truly, so while on the date with Smartass Engineer I was just being my (un)normal self. Instead of my quips being met with silence, indifference, or disgust, as they usually are with those who know me, instead I was hearing scores of laughter and praise.
Basically, he was more into me than I was into him.
Once we were properly sushi-ed, we got in his car and decided to go to a bar for a drink.
He put in a burned CD.
And Nickelback permeated the speakers.
You have GOT to be fucking kidding me, I thought.
Then, he asked the dreaded question.
“So, do you like Nickelback?”
Blink.
Blink.
“To be completely honest with you, no. I do not.”
I figured “Actually, I would rather eat Rosie O’Donnell’s toe jam while being photographed in a nylon, camelt0e-highlighting pantsuit and being run over repeatedly by a half-ton pickup truck, all the while watching baby bunny rabbits get curb stomped by Ann Coulter than ever hear another Nickelback song again” was a little harsh for the first 90 minutes of a date.
NICKELBACK.
Let me repeat that.
NICKELBACK.
His. Favorite. Band. Is. Nickelback.
Normally, music taste does not fall into the category of Things That Matter Greatly to Me in another human being. But when your favorite band is NICKELBACK?
I have to question your intelligence.
Nee, your sanity.
I think irony is fucking with me because THE DAY BEFORE THE DATE, I tweeted this.
If I had to describe my personal hell, it would involve Nickelback, inaccessibility to alcohol, and ironing.
So there you go. This band belongs in my personal hell, and my potential suitor is on Ticketmaster buying presale tickets for the concert.
Also, I had to iron my shirt for the date. So we’re batting .667 for LRC’s Personal Hell components.
(Of course alcohol was involved. His favorite band is Nickelback. How else was I supposed to enjoy myself after that?)
Don’t worry, it gets worse.
After the Nickelback fiasco, AS IF THAT WEREN’T BAD ENOUGH, the worst song ever recorded ever in the history of mankind, ever, came through the speakers. And SaE then told me a lovely anecdote about how his neighbors used to complain to him because he listened to this particular “song” on repeat.
Hold me.
I had driven a whole hour to get to this particular date, so I tried not to let his horrible, atrocious, unforgivable taste in music ruin it. We had a few drinks at a cheesily-named bar, and at nearly 1am it was time for me to go home. He was nice enough to drive me around until we found a place that was open and served coffee since I had to drive another hour home and I was getting sleepy, but by the time we got back to his house (where I’d left my car) I found myself reciting the chant “pleasedontlethimkissmepleasedontlethimkissmepleasedontlethimkissme” over and over in my head.
When I got out of the car, I tried to maneuver my body in such a way that I could slip around and get into the driver’s side of my car unscathed and dry-lipped.
No such luck.
He appeared seemingly out of nowhere with his arm hooked around my waist and a grip that said he wasn’t letting go. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, where I let them rest for about .00000000042 seconds before I pulled away, thanked him for dinner and drinks, got in my car, and dipped the fuck out.
He left me a message yesterday about how he wanted a second date and this time he would come to my neck of the woods. I just frowned. He was very nice. Very funny. But I’m just not that into him. And he has vomit-inducing taste in music.
And I didn’t like his shoes.
I’ve put my profile on the dating website on private for the time being. I’m starting to get over New York and I’m realizing that I can be comfortable being alone again. I don’t always have to be surrounded by people or get approval from guys to be happy. It always seems that they come along when you’re not looking, anyway.
And whenever I start to miss NY?
I just think about how I used to cringe when he would bend over and have Plumber’s Crack, and he has an extremely hairy ass.
That makes me feel a little better.
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.
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.
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.
- I’m a fucking idiot.
- I’m a masochist.
- I hoped at the very least I could get some sex out of it.
- Blog fodder!
- I wanted to see if he’d changed for the better. (HILARIOUS, right?)
- 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.
