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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.
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.
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.
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.
That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. About blogging. About dating. About life. I feel like I’m just sorta hanging here in some sort of Happiness Purgatory. I’m not depressed, but I’m damned sure not skipping through fields of dandelions with a bunny rabbit named Sanchez, either.
(Note to self: get a bunny rabbit. Name it Sanchez. Skipping through fields of dandelions is optional. Coors Light is not.)
I’ve been keeping myself busy with work and other various activities. I participated in a spelling bee fundraiser with three other women I work with. We had to introduce ourselves by doing a skit, and for our skit I had to dress up like a French tourist, complete with beret and fanny pack that carried a stuffed poodle. I looked like a freaking idiot. But our skit won first place. Woot. We lost the bee, though. As a result, I will never misspell “thixotropy” again.
The Junior Service League kept getting all the easy words. TALC? SERIOUSLY? Not. Fair.
New York is gone again, on another road trip. Naturally, I don’t know when he will be back. It could either be tomorrow or Thursday (or possibly later), but he didn’t answer his phone when I called him today.
Whatevs.
And since I can’t go two weeks without some crazy shit happening to me, here’s what happened Friday night. I went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and I stayed in a hotel room with his sister ArtsyFartsy (also a friend of mine). We got way too drunk, danced, and had tons of fun. At 5:00 a.m. when ArtsyFartsy and I were finally back in our hotel room (and tired as HELL), one of the guy friends we’d been hanging with—I’ll call him Harry because, well, he’s hairy—called my friend and asked if he could come by our hotel room.
Knowing Hairy well, and also taking into consideration how drunk he was, I was completely aware of his reason for wanting to come hang with us AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. He’d been flirty with me all night but I had kinda just ignored it. Now, he was going to try and get some poon before he went to sleep. He and his girlfriend broke up about a month ago and he was probably not used to getting va-jay-jay on the regular.
I motioned frantically to my friend while she was saying, “Yeah, sure, come over. We’re in room 305,” as if to say “ABORT! ABORT!” but it was too late. He was already on his way over.
Eff.
Apparently, the fact that my friend and I had just inhaled three different flavors of 99 cent bags of Doritos from the gas station (after a failed attempt at hitting up McDonald’s) did not stop this guy. He wanted to kiss me. He told me he’d been “crushing on [me] for a while now.” I don’t remember what all I said to him (it was FIVE IN THE MORNING and I was DRUNK and SLEEPY AS HELL), but I do remember asking him this:
“Isn’t [NY] your friend?”
He stopped and thought about it.
“I don’t know” was his answer.
Apparently he’s not a very loyal friend.
So I pretended to fall asleep until he left.
Naturally.
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.
I’m trying to stay positive through all this crap I’m going through right now. Really, I am. I even wrote a post called “Today was a good day,” with a bulleted list of why that particular day (Wednesday) was so great.
And WordPress promptly ate it.
EFF YOU, WORDPRESS.
Sigh.
I’m kinda glad my post got eated, though. Because a few hours after I wrote it (about the random comment from a stranger that made my day, the fact that I was becoming okay with Murray’s new relationship status, and the fact that I’d decided to make cupcakes for New York for Valentine’s Day so that way if he didn’t actually get me anything for VD, it wouldn’t be as awkward as if I had actually gone out and bought him something), I had a nice little conversation with NY that pretty much negated my wonderful mood.
Basically, he’s not going to be home for Valentine’s Day.
Hear that sound? That’s the sound of me banging my head against the wall. Repeatedly.
Why can’t I just find a guy who makes a fucking effort? I am worth more than this bullshit. I know Valentine’s Day is a stupid holiday that doesn’t matter, but I am a girl, and he would have to be either dumb or apathetic to ignore the fact that his not being home for Valentine’s Day (when he very well could be) = not good.
Hint: he’s definitely not dumb.
Just, shit.
So he won’t be getting any cupcakes from me. Obviously. Or anything else for that matter.
He hasn’t mentioned That Holiday at ALL. For someone who loves cheesy holiday crap, this is unlike him.
The only thing that would make this acceptable to me would be him showing up on my doorstep tomorrow to surprise me. Anything short of that just isn’t going to cut it.
Apparently I was wrong in thinking that we were more than just friends. We do boyfriend and girlfriend stuff together. Why would this be any exception?
If he sends me some lame cryptic text on VD and that’s all I get? I am going to LOSE. MY. SHIT.
I need to talk to him. Not on the phone. DEFINITELY not via text or e-mail. I need to speak to him face to face and find out exactly what the hell this is that we’re doing. His not being here is really wearing me down. It’s like, we’re “together,” but we’re not. I feel like I’m just wasting time.
His arrival is in the homestretch, but he still hasn’t given me an exact day. Until then I’m just going to distract myself with whatever friends I can round up and try not to think about what the eff is going on with my “love life.” I have to pull myself out of this funk. My unhappiness right now can only be fixed by yours truly. And I’ve got to try.
I have GOT. To. Try.
Friday evening when I got home from work, I did a little tidying up and sat down at my computer to catch up on all the blogs I didn’t get a chance to read while I was, you know, working (sit in front of a computer for eight hours, come straight home and sit in front of a computer some more. My life is awesome).
As I was clicking away, all of a sudden I heard a noise. Kinda like “eee! eee! eee! eee!”
I knew immediately what it was.
I didn’t want to face the creepy little thing in fear of it flying at my head (I’m not afraid of being hurt by a bat, I’m just terrified of it touching me. NASTY), but I knew I had to remedy the situation sooner rather than later.
I tiptoed into the kitchen, where the sound was coming from, trying not to make any sudden movements. It was sitting on the rug, next to my dog.
GROSS. Those things are so vile.
So I went back into my computer room and did the first thing I always do when faced with an icky rodent situation.
I called my Dad. Duh.
“Dad, uh, there’s a bat in my kitchen. What do I do?”
“Open the door and get a broom to swat it out.”
“Ew, I don’t wanna do that. What if it flies at my head? OH SHIT. AHHHHH! AHH! AHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
It was at that VERY MOMENT that the bat decided to fly into my computer room, TOWARD MY HEAD, screaming “EEE! EEE! EEE!” in circles the whole mother effing time.
So I did what any sane person would do. I ran, phone in hand, still screaming at the top of my lungs while my poor Dad listened to my embarrassing ordeal. Where did I run to? Anywhere that bat was NOT flying toward.
When I thought I was safe, I put the phone back to my ear, apologized profusely for all the screaming, and said “I’ll call you back, Dad.”
(He told me later that he’d let my mom listen in on my embarrassing ordeal.)
So I did what he said. I opened the door and grabbed a broom. Then I went to look for the little beast.
I found it in my living room, which is on the other side of the house, so I had to swat it across the room, through my kitchen, and once we got to the laundry room (ALMOST THERE!), he decided to crawl the rest of the way behind my cats’ litter box.
It took some maneuvering, but I coaxed him out from behind the litter box, made sure his disgusting little head was facing toward the door, and pushed him into flight.
DIRECTLY OUT THE DOOR.
Oh, but that would be too easy, right?
As soon as he was crossing the threshold, my kitty Pepper SWATTED HIM BACK DOWN, and he flew past me, back into the laundry room.
Fuck.
Thanks a lot, Pepper.
So I repeated what I’d done before, making sure Pepper was out of the way in the process (not an easy task, as she was WAY TOO INTERESTED in this bat situation and wanted to have him as her plaything).
SUCCESS. He flew out the door.
Directly into my dog’s mouth.
I closed the door. I wasn’t interested in what transpired after that. I just wanted to make sure the damned thing didn’t get back inside.
NASTY NASTY NASTY.
