You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Claire' category.
Watch out, it’s TMI Thursday!
This one should have you sufficiently grossed-out.
On with it . . .
—
Okay, sorry. That title made it sound like my Lawyerman is a fecalphiliac (why is my spell checker not recognizing this word? It is a legitimate word that people use in everyday conversation, spell checker! What is your fucking deal? Oh, and now that I’ve written this complaint, the spell checker is recognizing it as an actual word. WHO’S THE BITCH NOW, SPELL CHECKER? WHAT.) I can assure you that he is not.
That was a bad pun. I apologize.
Back to the story. That I never got to in the first place.
A couple weekends ago Claire, The Lawyer, and I enjoyed a nice day out on the lake. While Lawyerman was docking the boat, my bestie Claire and I went inside his house to use the facilities. Since we have been friends since we were basically both fetuses, we don’t mind peeing in front of each other. It’s what friends do. That, and braid each other’s pubic hair.
What, you don’t do that? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything . . .
Anyhoodle, while Claire was getting her tink on, I reached into the medicine cabinet for some deodorant because I was feeling a bit rancid after a day of sweating and swimming in dirty river water. As I reached for the stink stick, I accidentally jostled a bottle of Aspirin (I had no idea people still kept aspirin in their houses. WTF, Lawyerman? This is not 1947). This started a chain reaction of events.
As Claire was flushing the toilet, the Aspirin fell out of the cabinet.
Into the sink.
Bounced out of the sink.
Into the now-flushing toilet.
Down the drain.
Oopsie.
Claire, being the awesome human being that she is, reached down into the toilet to feel for the Aspirin bottle (I suppose she’s touched worse. She is an LPN in a nursing home and changing old people diapers is sorta the norm there . . .), then said, “It’s gone.”
I told Lawyerman about our little mishap, and he said it was fine as long as the toilet still flushed. We flushed it a few times to be safe, and everything seemed to be in working order on his porcelain throne.
So, naturally, later that night, I had to take a poop.
I’m sure you can see where this is going.
It wasn’t a BIG poop, mind you. It was kinda like Mooooog’s daughter’s pellet poop (featured in his header). Like this:
Check out that detail!
I mean, there were like, three pellets. TOPS. Not exactly a huge load. Surely not enough to clog a toilet.
Oh yeah.
Three poop pellets was enough to clog the toilet.
It. Sure. Fucking. Was.
Oopsie again.
So my Lawyerman, bless his heart, tried to snake the drain, to no avail.
So he had to remove the toilet, fish out the blockage (read: Aspirin bottle covered in LRC poo), and replace the toilet.
And take a long, hot shower after getting up close and personal with my latest bowel movement.
That’s love right there.
Dear Guy Who Feels The Need To Yell At Me From Inside His Dodge Pickup Truck With The Trailer Hitch Ballsack As He Drives By Me, And Also To Men Everywhere Who Think Catcalling Is An Acceptable Way To Pick Up A Woman And Holy Hell I Am Six Hundred Millionty Years Old Because I Just Used The Term “Catcalling”:
Look. I realize I am one hot piece of ass. You should be so lucky to get a bite of all this deliciousness.
(Apparently, not only am I elderly, I am also a Choco Taco.)
(I know what you’re thinking, and you have a dirty mind.)
(Pervert.)
(PS: I like you.)
Ever since I grew a badonkadonk (yep, I’m a white girl with an ass—and by the way, I am loving the way Urban Dictionary defines “badonkadonk”: Women who possess this feature usually have a small waist that violently explodes into a round and juicy posterior) and shed my braces, you have made a semi-regular appearance in my life. And ever since, I have been completely and utterly baffled.
What, exactly, are you trying to accomplish?
Do you want me to run after you, screaming, “Wait! Come back, dream man of mine! I can’t wait to run away to the trailer park with you and get started on becoming barefoot, pregnant, and domestically abused!”
Do you want me to return the favor and yell “right back atcha, hot stuff!”?
Or do you just want to pay me a compliment?
I will give it to you. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed.
But I don’t think you’re going to be pulling any broads with your method.
Still?
Don’t stop doing it.
The ego boost is nice.
Shakin’ that ass just for you,
LRC
——
Dear My Best Friend Claire’s Boyfriend Who Won’t Actually Admit To Being Claire’s Boyfriend Even Though Y’all Have Been Dating Oh Around Six Years Now And I’ve Told Her A Bajillion Times To Dump Your Ass Because You Two Are In A Go Nowhere Relationship And Claire Does Actually Want To Be Happy At Some Point In Her Life:
Facebook messaging me that the pair of pants I wore the other day looked good on me was completely inappropriate and a little bit creepy. I will now feel uncomfortable around you pretty much every time I see you.
Keep your eyes to yourself,
LRC
—–
Dear Guy Who Randomly Started Calling Me On The Phone In Middle School And Asked Me Out On A Date Which Never Came To Fruition Because Supposedly He Was Trying To Play A Cruel Joke On Me But How Do You Play A Joke Like That On Someone Who Doesn’t Even Like You Like That And Obviously This Was A Poorly Executed Joke Because Seriously What The Hell Dude You Can’t Even Do That Right And You’re Not Even Cute, To Boot?:
I saw you the other day. Nice double chin.
Karma’s a bitch,
LRC
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.
So, remember when I said I was pissed that BE didn’t come with me to the visitation for my deceased friend? Well, I started planning what I was going to say to him. On Thursday at work, I opened a Word document and started typing out what I was going to say, after I talked to Andy about it over gchat. I know, typing a list of things to say to BE (and then E-MAILING IT TO MYSELF) makes me a huge dork. I knew, though, that if I didn’t type it out and recite it to myself, I would get flustered and forget what I was going to say (like I always do).
So I referred to it a few times that day, in between tasks (wouldn’t you know that the week my boss is gone, I had INSANE amounts of work to do, so I couldn’t even play on the internet all day. Tragic).
After work that day, I met my friend Honey from work, and Claire at a local pub for happy hour. We had a really fantastic time, gossiping and just being girly over copious amounts of beer and nachos. So by the time 8:00 rolled around, I was pretty tipsy. Honey left, so it was just me and Claire. Then BE called.
“Hey, whatcha doin?”
“I’m up at [name of pub], drinking some beer with Claire.”
“Oh, I was thinking about coming up there and getting a bite to eat. You still gonna be there in a little bit?”
“Yeah, if you’re lucky.”
The Coors Light had given me enough liquid courage to smart off to BE, which was good. At least he wasn’t thinking I was, you know, OKAY with his flakiness on Sunday.
On the same note, though? I was just tipsy enough to completely eff my speech up. And I effed it up good.
After BE arrived, Claire left so we could talk.
My rant our conversation started out nicely enough. I started with something like this, almost verbatim from the e-mail I sent to myself:
I wasn’t going to say anything just yet, because I was, and still am, kind of emotional about it. But I’m going to be honest with you, just the same as I would want you to be honest with me. We both deserve honesty. I was upset that you didn’t come with me to the visitation. I needed someone to be there with me. It was awful having to go alone.
He agreed that yes, it was pretty shitty of him and he apologized.
“That’s not all,” I said.
“OK, what else?”
This is where I stumbled over the rest of it and it came out like verbal diarrhea.
I tried to explain to him that it was irritating that he would call to tell me what he was doing before he “headed home,” because really, what’s the fucking point? If you don’t want to hang out with me, don’t call to tell me what you’re doing INSTEAD of seeing me.
“Well fine then, I just won’t call you anymore.”
“You KNOW that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, uh, just, uh . . . um . . . I’m not trying to be unreasonable here. I just get frustrated when you call and I think you’re going to ask me to do something with you, and instead you’re like, ‘Well I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner and then I’ll probably go home.’”
Then he went on to say he’d argued with past girlfriends about that same topic. He was confused because he was thinking, “Well do you WANT me to call, or do you NOT want me to call?”
I kinda see his point. Men think differently than women. They’re more black and white, where we are more “gray area” type thinkers.
So I guess we accomplished SOMETHING with that conversation. Like I’ve said before, no relationship is perfect. You have to WORK at them.
So that was Thursday.
Friday? Was the Best. Day. Ever.
Naturally, I wore my cheerleading uniform to work. And, naturally, I was the ONLY ONE to dress up. I felt like a total fool. But I just let it roll off my back and the day actually turned out pretty great.
I work in the Marketing/PR department at a small college, and Claire is actually enrolled in one of the programs. Each year, we have a Halloween parade, and many of the different programs make a “float” and dress up to be in the parade. Claire had complained the night before about having to participate, so imagine my surprise when I saw Claire coming around the corner, her hair a mess from hairspray and blood painted all over her face and neck, being “dragged” by a guy dressed as a crazy hunchback doctor. “Dr. Nuts and Patient Insane” were what they were called, and Claire was TOTALLY in character, acting like an escaped mental patient and screaming, “Let me gooooooo! AHHHHHHHHH! Help me! Help meeeee! Let me gooooo!” I honestly could not contain my laughter, it was that kind of laughter that makes your face hurt. Everyone was cracking up, and they won second place in the costume contest.
About an hour before quittin’ time, I got an e-mail from one of my male coworkers. He was going to take his plane up into the air after work and wanted to know if I wanted to come along.
SHIT YEAH I WANNA RIDE IN YO AIRPLANE HOMESKILLET!
I can’t really explain how awesome it was. It was just. Awesome. I got to take aerial photos with my fancy Nikon D200 (work camera, not my own. I can’t be affordin’ that shit), so I got some really cool pictures of my house and the downtown area of my town. We flew to a nearby city and landed at the airport there, and HE LET ME TAKE OFF.
It was SO. AMAZING.
I GOT TO FLY THE PLANE. AND I GOT TO TAKE OFF FROM THE RUNWAY.
It was so exciting. He was going, “Push in the throttle. All the way! ALL THE WAY! YEAH!”
That shit was Off. The. Chain.
So yeah. I’ll definitely be doing that again.
Later that night, I went out and met BE at one of the bars that was having a Halloween bash. I was rocking my Karen Carpenter dress with straight hair:
(Again, not my face. Greta Garbo’s.)
Isn’t that dress THE SHIT?
Yeah, I thought so too.
BE was loving my straight hair. He kept running his fingers through it. He was really, really nice to me. He was very affectionate, and we were being all lovey-dovey, like a real live COUPLE.
I can’t really explain what it’s like when I’m with BE. At times, I want to tear his hair out, but when it’s good?
It is Oh. So. Good.
Friday night was the first night where I actually thought, you know? I could fall in love with him. I can totally feel it from him, too. When we first started dating, he would say things like, “If I’m still here . . .” or “If we’re still dating . . .” but now? He says things like, “NEXT YEAR, we are going to do THIS . . .” and it’s nice to know that he’s talking about us like we actually have a future together. It seems with every argument/discussion we have, it’s like he GETS IT (and at the same time, he GETS ME) a little bit more, and it seems like he’s really trying to step up to the plate. We aren’t always going to agree on everything, but our extreme “like” for each other trumps all that. For me, anyway.
By the end of the night, though? Sadly, my dress ripped. Whoever wore that shit back in the day was seriously tiny. I had to dig up a sundress from the wayback of my vehicle and change into it. Rest in peace, 70’s dress. You will be missed.
Anyhoods, again. I know you’re not all on the BE bandwagon right now, but our relationship is SO much more than what I put into this blog. I’m starting to figure him out and vice versa. Which is making us both happier. The good is outweighing the bad, by far. By LEAPS AND BOUNDS.
And I think that’s an excellent place to be.
So yeah, I was in a bit of a funk on Monday. I think my somber mood had a little to do with the lack of sleep the night before. I tossed and turned until about 2:30 a.m., which is way, way later than I’m used to going to bed on a night before I have to work the next day. I don’t know why . . . it’s unlike me to have insomnia.
Not to mention one of my dogs had chewed up my cell phone charger (the little SHIT) so my phone was dead. When they started barking around midnight I thought, “This is just effing wonderful. The one night my phone is dead is going to be the night a large burly man burglarizes my house and rapes me. STELLAR.”
I struggled to stay awake all day yesterday, and had every intention of taking a nap when I got home, but instead I got a sudden burst of energy and decided to mop my floors while jamming out to my “ready to sang?” playlist and exercising my diaphragm.
(No, not THAT diaphragm.)
(THIS one.)
(I sing.)
(Albeit not very well.)
This has become a new hobby of mine. Mopping slash singing.
Such is the life of a single woman.
So anyhoodster, while Rihanna’s Umbrella was ella-ella-ing in my living room, I went to grab my mop and bucket and OH MY GOD THERE IS A MAN STANDING OUTSIDE MY DOOR LOOKING IN MY HOUSE HOLY FUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!
I switched off my iPod as Ri-Ri was telling me that there’s no distance in between our love, and I answered the door sweating from head to toe in a tank top and yoga pants (I call them yoga pants because it makes them sound more hip. They’re really just Old Navy sweatpants. And now I’ve blown my cover. Shit).
“Yes?”
“My wife spoke with you earlier today about your house?”
“Oh! Yes! Of course!”
(For those of you who are new readers, I am in the process of selling my house and I’ve had very little luck so far.)
He asked if he could come in and look at it, and while I was definitely NOT prepared for visitors (his wife had only called to inquire about the house, she never said that anyone was going to DROP BY to look at it!), I was desperate for someone to PLEASE BUY MY HOUSE OH MY GOD so I let him look around.
He fell in love with it, especially the koi pond (he has a four year-old) and the pole barn (he has farm equipment), so he called his wife, and she came to look at it as well. I could tell he was much more enthusiastic about the property, while she was a bit apprehensive. But still. It’s a possibility. FINGERS CROSSED.
In man boy-related news, I got another text from SoccerBoy this morning:
Hey are you still alive?
Yes I’m alive, poop stain. I’m just ignoring your texts.
As far as BE goes, well, the jury’s still out on that one. At least I know he’s not using me for sex, because we haven’t had sex since my birthday (October 1st). He’s been sick with a cold and didn’t want to pass it on to me. We’ve hung out twice (I think) since my birthday, and one of those times we ate supper with his parents.
Although in spite of the fact that I had a particularly weak moment last night when I was having my “sad day,” I didn’t call him. Instead I just texted Andy and said, “Why do I even care if he calls?” but I just chalk that up to having a “valley” day. Today is much better . . . I feel like I’m going back up the “hill” now. I’m not sitting by the phone waiting for him to call. I’m not calling him. I’m doing my own thing and if he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Whatevski.
I’m planning on talking about non-man-boy-related things tonight over pizza and a pitcher with Claire (but . . . if it comes up, it comes up. You know how that goes). We haven’t been hanging out as much because she’s been with Scott (barf). You think BE can be a disrespectful prick? You should hear some of the things Claire tells me about Scott. BLEH.
So it’ll be a nice change of pace from my Mopping Slash Singing Routine and Claire’s Eating Dinner With Scott Slash Doing Whatever The Hell Scott Tells Her To Do Routine.
And yeah, I know I said yesterday that I was broke, and I really shouldn’t be buying beer and pizza, but I finally got paid today, so now I can pay my Dish Network bill. After Wednesday (the finale of PROJECT RUNWAY! FINGERS CROSSED JUDY NOODLES!), though? I am canceling that shit. Dish Network can suck it, charging me $70 a month for channels that I don’t even WATCH. Seriously. The only thing I watch is P.Run. If that’s not on, I don’t even pay attention to the TV. I turn it on, intending to watch something, and then walk away from it.
I told you. ADD.
So I’m signing up for Netflix. $14 a month is a hell of a lot more manageable than $70. Word.
Well, I am now a year older and a year wiser (although, I don’t always feel wise. Most of the time I feel like a fool). I really do feel like my twenty-fourth year was a year of tremendous growth.
I had a pregnancy scare. (I found the entry about it on my old blog. I’ll share it with you here because it isn’t very long and I actually thought it was pretty funny when I re-read it.)
This weekend, I had quite the scare. I looked on my pocket calendar to see when my last period was. The last day I had marked with a yellow highlighter was September 6. I thought, I know I had a period last month. I must have forgotten to mark it. So I casually strolled into the bathroom while [Murray] was cleaning out his closet to take the extra pregnancy test I had tucked away in my linen closet. Just to ease my mind.
NOT a good idea.
Since my dumb ass self forgot to save the instructions, I was unsure about the result of my test. There were two lines, one horizontal and one vertical. HOLY FUCK!!! That means pregnant, right? So I took the test out into the hallway to show [Murray]. He said, What is that?
What do you think it is?
I . . . don’t know.
It’s a pregnancy test! And I’m pretty sure it’s positive!
Then we hugged, and he told me he loved me. I had to have a second test. I wasn’t going to take that as an answer, especially when I wasn’t even sure that’s what the result meant. I drove down to the grocery store (why is it that when I am in a gigantic hurry, everyone just takes their sweet fucking precious time to get where they need to go? They drive 5 mph in a 25 mph zone, they waddle their fat asses down an aisle that obviously will only accommodate themselves, and have no regard for the person behind them that desperately needs to buy a pregnancy test!) So, of course, this particular grocery store does not carry pregnancy tests. Of course, there are tampons and diapers. No pregnancy tests. Gee, thanks a lot. So I left, drove to Wal-Mart, and picked up a two-pack of pregnancy tests, as well as some vitamins (I had needed some anyway, and I was definitely going to need them if I had a small fetus growing inside me.
The entire time I was thinking a million things. My body is going to go to shit. I am going to be a complete fat ass. Where will I send him/her to school? Can we afford this? Should I get an abortion? Will I have to take off work for that? I only have one day left this year, I really don’t want to have to use it for that. What should I name it? What will [Murray]’s bitch sister think, that I’m some whore? We have to get engaged like, right now, so this can happen in the correct order. How did my parents fool people into thinking they were already engaged when they found out they were pregnant with me? I’ll have to ask them about that. Maybe I will have to borrow my mom’s engagement ring to fake it. But it’s gold . . . all my friends know I would have told [Murray] never to buy me gold jewelry.
So I took the test home.
Negative.
NEGATIVE NEGATIVE NEGATIVE. As negative as you could possibly be.
So I celebrated by getting as drunk as I could possibly allow myself to do.
Okay, back to the real topic. Things that happened in my twenty-fourth year.
Claire vomited onto the side of my car.
I saw Keith Urban in concert. Twice.
My cat dropped a medicine cabinet onto my car’s windshield.
My parents almost got a divorce.
I got a new job.
My aunt and uncle moved back home.
My dog had puppies.
I reconnected with an old friend.
I broke up with my boyfriend of three years.
I started a new blog.
I dated an asshole.
I rediscovered my sex drive.
I cried. A lot.
I laughed. A lot.
I injured myself. Many, many times.
I met a blog friend. And promptly made an ass of myself.
I finally invested in semi-permanent contraception.
I began dating the BMOC from my high school.
I got two drunken I-love-you’s.
I had lots and lots of great sex. LOTS OF IT.
I finally realized that I don’t need a man to be happy.
I lost a pet.
Quite a year, eh? It was filled with equal parts pain and pleasure, but y’all? I SERIOUSLY hope my twenty-fifth year is much calmer. I don’t know how much longer I can handle such stress.
The day before my birthday, about 45 minutes after I texted brookem to tell her I was D.O.N.E. with BE, he called me. Earlier, I had gotten off the phone with him to answer Andy’s call. BE had finally (or so I thought) pulled the straw that broke the camel’s back, and I was NOT going to call him back. But I answered his call this time, because I am stupid like that. He said, “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to ask you what I was going to ask you earlier!”
“What’s that?”
“Well, I heard someone was having a birthday tomorrow . . . I wanted to see if you wanted to go out!”
Leave it to BE to call me the night before my birthday and assume I don’t already have plans.
Well, I HAD to invite him to dinner with my parents. It would’ve been rude of me not to, right?
(I KNOW. I AM STUPID.)
But he was nice. And he attempted to dress like a gentleman. And he didn’t do anything to cause distress to me. So it was a pleasant evening. And we won second place in trivia.
So blah. I don’t really know what else to say about that. We’re not moving in any kind of direction, backward OR forward, and I think I’m OK with that. I’m not allowing him to hurt me anymore, and we’re just having a good time. It doesn’t have to be anything more.
Here’s to twenty-five! And ME doing what’s best for ME.
Gotta love Mae West.
(And Kendra Wilkinson for providing me with the source of that quote. My God, I can’t believe I actually LEARNED something from watching The Girls Next Door. And from KENDRA, no less!)
(Clearly, men are making me lose valuable IQ points.)
So . . . since I know you are all DYING to know . . . here are a few updates regarding the men in my life.
Murray: Murray and I have moved past the I’m-going-to-be-bitchy-to-you-because-I-feel-like-it phase into, I-don’t-feel-weird-being-around-you-even-though-we’re-not-dating-anymore phase. It’s a good place to be. We text each other random inside jokes just for laughs (today it was, “No, fuck HUGH”). I saw him the other night and informed him of the kitty situation because, after all, he lived with her, too, for over half of her life and I figured he would want to know. He hugged me and offered me his sympathy. I told him he looked the best he’s looked since the breakup. By saying this, I didn’t mean to imply that he had been looking a mess because he was distraught about the split. It’s just that, right after we broke up, he shaved his face clean and got a short haircut. Murray, while very attractive, has a large, round face, and this was not the best look on him. Now he’s sporting some stubble and a half-grown out haircut. He looked rather handsome.
He asked me if I was dating anyone. I said, “No,” which, at the time, was NOT a lie, because the previous day I had told myself I wasn’t going to call BrownEyes anymore and that we were finished (I’ll get to BrownEyes in a minute). I asked if he was dating anyone, and he said, “No,” as well. He asked how I liked being single, and I told him the truth. That at first, it was glorious. Then, it was excruciatingly lonely. Now, things are finally starting to level off and seem normal again. He agreed, that he was lonely too sometimes but in the end it’s worth it to have your freedom.
In a week and a half, I will be going to a concert in Atlanta with Claire, and Murray will be there, too. With other friends, of course (who, oddly enough, are also friends with BrownEyes, but Murray and BrownEyes don’t know each other). I anticipate on it being a really good time, and I’m glad we’re in such a comfortable place with each other. I will say this: I don’t see myself getting back together with him. At all. But times like this remind me of why I stayed with him so long. He’s such a great person.
Blonde Haired Boy: This is a guy I met the same night I talked to Murray. If he becomes a regular here, I will come up with a better pseudonym for him. Right now, though, we’ll just refer to him as BHB because I am lazy. A married couple I am friends with introduced me to him, because I guess they wanted to see if we hit it off. Well, he is a very nice, funny guy. Attractive, too. But he has blonde hair. Which I usually don’t go for. I don’t know why. But anyway. Not an issue. We talked and joked for a while. I told him about my cat woes, and we talked about other things lighter in nature. He became kind of touchy-feely with me late in the evening, but he wasn’t grabbing me in inappropriate places. I just didn’t want people to see him putting his arm around me and then go and tell BrownEyes I was with another guy. You know how that is. If you’re slutty like me, you do, anyway. So I gave him a ride home and he asked me to come up to his apartment with him. He was pretty hammered at this point. I told him no, and he asked again, this time using “please.” I was more persistent in declining him this time. He asked me to call him, so I got his number. I didn’t give him mine because sometimes I actually DO make smart decisions. I had no intention of calling him because, hello, he just wants to do the nasty.
But then I got a Facebook message from him, apologizing. Explaining that he wasn’t that type of person. That he was sorry for putting me in a position like that. That he was sorry again about my cat and that maybe one day we could go out to dinner.
I thought that was pretty ballsy of him. If I had tried to make a move on some guy only to be turned down, there is no WAY I would Facebook message him. But it sounds like he really thought about it. He owned up to his mistake, and in doing so completely changed my perception of him. Well done, BHB.
So I’m keeping him filed under, “Possibilities,” because while I am not really ready to start dating anyone else (especially since I, technically, am still kind of “dating” BrownEyes), I don’t want to miss any opportunities for happiness. He mentioned getting my number but I haven’t given it to him yet. Maybe I’ll give it to him in due time. Right now, though, the ball is in my court and I’d like to keep it that way.
Adam: I am pleading the fifth on this one. Sorry. I will say this, though. He met BrownEyes the other night (I was not with either of them. They met on their own. BrownEyes has a pretty unique name so when he introduced himself, Adam said, “Oh, so you know [LRC]?”), and they ended up having a good time together. Supposedly, they’re buds now. THAT, my friends, is WEIRD with a capital WTF. I don’t know if Adam told BrownEyes that we used to, uh, “date,” but my gut is telling me no. I’m not going to bring it up to BrownEyes, but if he asks, I will tell him the truth.
BrownEyes: Yes, I know you are dying to know about this one, reader. After the Day from Hell, in which I thought things couldn’t POSSIBLY get worse, I got a phone call from him. I wasn’t available at the time he called so he left a message. It was very brief: “Hey, call me back, bye.” I thought the brevity of his message indicated embarrassment. Embarrassment of the way he behaved the night prior. He SHOULD have been embarrassed, after all. Those of you who know the story can attest to that.
I call him back, curious. No mention of the night before. He wanted a favor from me. Of course. Always thinking of himself. I’m not even going to repeat the favor here because it just infuriates me (and also, it’s my blog and I can withhold what I want to. Nyah nyah!). I didn’t give him a direct answer to his request (because I just couldn’t bring myself to say, “FUCK NO YOU ASSHOLE!”), and I changed the subject to that of my cat. He said he was sorry about that, and that his phone was about to die so he would call me later when he got it charged up.
“Fine,” I thought. “Call me. I won’t be answering.”
Sure enough, I had a voice message from him when I woke up the next morning. He’d called at 11:30 p.m. and left another message. I didn’t call him back.
But then a few days later, I got another message from him while I was sitting on the couch reading Marie Claire while half-assedly watching the Tennessee vs. Florida game. I sat there, puzzled, holding my phone. Staring at it.
I called my mom. “[BrownEyes] left me a message. What should I do?”
You see, I have this issue where it is extremely difficult for me to let go of ANYONE, hence the fact that I have managed to have FIVE relationships (FIVE!) that have lasted in excess of a year and a half. I am twenty-four years old.
FIVE. LONG. TERM. RELATIONSHIPS.
It’s not that I allow people to walk all over me. I am usually pretty good about standing up for myself. But after I say what needs to be said when a man fucks up, I usually forgive him, almost instantly. I am WAY too lenient sometimes.
So anyway, back to BE. My mom said, “Call him. I’m curious to see what he has to say.”
I admitted that I was curious, too. I waited a little while, and then I called him back.
He seemed to be in a cheerful mood and invited me to his friend’s house to watch football. I agreed and told him I’d be there in a little while. I took my time getting ready, and then I went over to meet him.
His face lit up when he saw me. He gave me a big, warm hug. When we sat on the couch, he would put his arm around me. He gave me little kisses on the lips when the others left the room. This was, certainly, a change of pace from how he normally acts. “Maybe this leopard has changed his spots,” I thought.
Well, later in the night, let’s just say BE got drunk and acted like an asshat. This was the second time in the span of a week that he did this. We got into two mini-arguments, which weren’t really arguments because BE and I have a strange way of communicating with each other. We both say things that, to the observer, might make it look like we’re being nasty with each other, but we’re really just joking. Still, though, his behavior was, off. I have been around him when he was drinking before, but he’d never acted this way. Something was different.
He had admitted to me earlier in the night that he hadn’t felt “right” for the past few days. He said he’s never been depressed before, and he didn’t know what it felt like. I think he’s abusing alcohol and drugs (he smokes pot and occasionally takes painkillers) because he is unhappy. And I think I should step in and help him. Andy doesn’t really understand why I’d want to waste my time on a “fixer-upper,” but there are several reasons I feel that I need to intervene.
The first is, I would feel guilty if I didn’t. I am constantly plagued by guilt and worry, and I could never live with myself if I didn’t try to help someone who was exhibiting signs of alcohol and drug abuse. So that’s my selfish reason.
The second reason is that I have had success in helping people before, albeit in different areas of their lives. Take Murray. I was his first “real” girlfriend, not counting the one he had in high school. I swiped his V-card. He was pretty much a recluse who stayed in his room all the time, and he was an introvert. When we started dating, I, very much the extrovert, brought him out of his shell. His friends noticed an immediate change in his behavior. He was happier. He was more likely to want to go out and have a good time. I showed him how to stick up for himself. Before, he avoided confrontation at all costs. I taught him that you have to pick your battles . . . you can’t just let people walk all over you. I taught him how to be more independent and not to be so much of a “mama’s boy.” I’m not trying to take all the credit here by any means, but those who know me and Murray would agree that he would not be as independent as he is today if it weren’t for me.
So, back to BE. The night we hung out, he told my dad (yes, we hung out with my parents again. I think BE wants to date my dad) he wanted to cook out on Sunday. My dad said that would be fine, but I didn’t find out about it until the next day (Sunday), when Dad asked me if he needed to go to the grocery store to get food. I had no prior knowledge about these plans, so I called BE and left him a message, asking if he still wanted to cook out, and also, that I’d left my iPod at his house and I wanted to get it back (no, I wasn’t pulling a George Costanza, leaving something behind so I’d have another excuse to see BE. I honestly just forgot it).
Never heard back from him. Not surprising.
So the next time I talked to him, this is pretty much how our conversation went:
BE: So I guess you want your iPod back, huh?
Me: Uh, yeah.
BE: Well I forgot to bring it to town with me today so I will bring it to you tomorrow. I have a dentist appointment today and tomorrow so I’ll call you either later today or tomorrow.
Me: Okay.
BE: What’s the matter?
Me: Thanks for calling me back!
BE: Sorry, I didn’t get your message until like 8:00.
Me: You still should have let me know! I mean, it’s not like we were dying to do it or anything. It would have been nice to hear back from you for planning purposes, is all.
BE: …
…
…
I apologize.
Me: …
…
Okay.
BE: Well, like I said, I’ll either call you back today or tomorrow.
Me: Okay.
BE: Bye.
Me: Bye.
Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting him to call me later that day. Not after the slap on the wrist I gave him. BE is awfully proud of himself and I couldn’t imagine that he was too thrilled with being reprimanded.
Well, yesterday, he called me as I was getting off work and asked me to meet him for a drink. He gave me my iPod when I got to the place, and we began to chat. He was drinking a Jack & Ginger, but he told me that it was the first drink he’d had since the last time we hung out. He also said that he hadn’t smoked any pot or taken any pills.
“Apparently, I forgot I said something the other night, so I guess it’s time for me to cut back on the alcohol and drugs.”
Huh.
So all it took was getting a slap on the wrist for BE to realize what a royal jerk he has been and to make him think, “Hey, maybe I shouldn’t get fucked up so much! It makes me do stupid things!”
So, I considered this a mini-victory because I caused BE to make a good decision without having to actually say, “Hey, I think you need to lay off the booze and drugs.”
Still, though? I don’t think he’ll ever consider me his girlfriend. He will mention former flames (he doesn’t talk about them just to be a dick or anything . . . if something is relevant to the story he will bring up an ex) and call them “ex-girlfriends.” I am left to wonder, “If you call them ex-girlfriends, then at one point you called them your girlfriends. Why am I not good enough to be called your girlfriend? What is missing here?”
So yeah.
It hurts.
I just don’t know what I’m going to do. It seems like when something good happens with BE, something bad immediately follows. I’m tired of it. I deserve better.
Right now, though? I’m stuck in limbo.
Andy: While Andy is not, and has not been, a love interest of mine, technically he is a man and technically he is in my life. So I’m giving an update on Andy. I hope he doesn’t mind my mentioning this, but . . . Andy has found himself a woman! I suggested that he look online, and he took my advice. The reason I suggested online dating was because Andy doesn’t get out as much as I do (which is probably the reason my heart keeps getting curb stomped, come to think of it), not because he is shy, but because that’s just not his style. He has a cabin on the lake and he likes to ride his jet ski and do outdoorsy things. It’s not exactly easy to meet someone while you’re, you know, riding a jet ski.
He is insanely happy, and I am also insanely happy for him. She seems like the perfect match for him, and I am astonished at how comfortable they are around each other, considering they met online. It’s not easy to gague chemistry over the intertubes. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet, but if Andy thinks so highly of her I’m sure we’ll be fast friends. She even shares a birthday with me, which is pretty cool. Now Andy has no excuse if he forgets my birthday!
While I am really, really thrilled for Andy (I honestly am!), I can’t help but be a little bit sad when I get e-mail after e-mail from Andy, each one describing a date better than the last. The latest e-mail begins with no less than SIX “Wow”s.
I’m not sad that Andy has found a woman. I’m not jealous that he won’t have as much time for me. That’s not what makes me sad. What makes me sad is that each e-mail, while this is not Andy’s intention, is a reminder that, “Hey, [LRC]. None of the men currently in your life feel this strongly about you to write an e-mail like this. BE would never write an e-mail to his friend beginning with six “Wow”s. Andy and his chick have had a total of four dates, and already his relationship has had success leaps and bounds over your current one, which BE won’t even call a ‘relationship.’”
Do I think I’ll ever find someone that makes me feel the way she makes Andy feel? Maybe. But Andy found his, and maybe one day I’ll find mine.
Until then, I’ll be focusing on me. I’m not going to go out of my way to get or keep a man. It should be easy, like it is for Andy.
And also, maybe I’ll fashion a dartboard out of a photo of BrownEyes.
Well, I guess if I want someone to call me, I have to write about him on my blog!
So of course, after all my bitching and moaning, BrownEyes called me later that night. We ended up going on an out-of-town “double date” (oh but GOD FORBID I SHOULD CALL IT A DATE) with his married friends on Friday. That particular night, a popular band was set to play at a restaurant/bar downtown, and I had originally planned on going, but I ended up skipping it to go out with BrownEyes. Claire informed me that Murray AND Adam were at said restaurant/bar that night (of course!).
So first, Murray approached Claire and asked where I was. She told him she didn’t know, and he replied, “Oh, is she being all shady now or something?”
OKAY MURRAY, FIRST OF ALL, Claire is not my personal secretary. SECOND OF ALL, IT IS NONE OF YOUR GEE DEE EFFING BUSINESS ANYMORE.
THEN LATER, get this: ADAM asks Claire where I am, and again, she says she does not know. Then Adam says, all sarcastically/smart-assedly, “She’s probably with [BrownEyes],” making sure to add extra syllables to his (actual) name, like a thirteen-year-old CHILD would. And then Claire said, “Yeah, she probably is.”
HA.
Excuse me.
HA. HA. HA! HASHAHAHAHHAHHFHSDHHAHHASHAHAHHFHAHAHHA!!!!!!!!
ADAM. OWNED.
What, did he think I was going to stay single so that we could fuck every now and then? Um, no sir.
BUT ANYWAY.
Still getting mixed signals from BrownEyes. One minute he’s referring to us as a “couple” (!!!!!), and the next minute he’s telling me about how his mom’s neighbor asked him if he was “[LRC]’s boyfriend,” and he said, “Well uh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
AND THEN THE NEXT MINUTE HE IS TELLING ME I SHOULD INVITE MY PARENTS ON A LONG WEEKEND TO CHARLESTON.
Seriously? BrownEyes must like my parents more than he likes me. I wish I were kidding.
Like the other night? I spent the night at his house and we ended up staying up until 4am, just hanging out and talking. When we went to bed I leaned over to kiss him goodnight, and he was all DAMNIT WOMAN I HAVE TO WAKE UP IN TWO HOURS FOR CHURCH.
Well, he didn’t say it EXACTLY like that, but that was the gist of it.
I said, “Geez I’m not trying to do you! I just wanted a goodnight kiss!” and he said, “Yeah right!” but he is a jokester and I’m pretty sure he was joking but hello? I am pretty sexi-fied and I would not turn down sex with me, even at 4am!
Oh yeah, and he didn’t end up going to church the next morning. Of course.
But I digress.
ANYHOODSTER, I am not even going to TRY to analyze his flip-floppetyness (oh who am I kidding, of course I am). I am not trying to be his girlfriend/wife/mother to his children, but it would be nice if he wouldn’t, you know, refer to us as a couple and then tell me that we are definitely NOT GIRLFRIEND AND BOYFRIEND.
I’m just going to ride it out. I’m letting him make all the moves because obviously he is not comfortable enough yet to have “the talk.” You know, the one where both parties are equally uncomfortable and the outcome of which can make or break the “relationship.”
JESUS CHRIST HE’S GOT ME SO SPOOKED I’M EVEN SCARED TO WRITE IT ON THE BLOG.
I’m not ready for “the talk” either, but all this “wondering” crap is not my cup of tea.
OH YEAH, DID I MENTION I MET HIS MOM/AUNT/GRANDMA this weekend, and? AND. We ate dinner with my parents last night.
Again, like I said, I’m not trying to be his girlfriend, but sometimes he’s sending some serious vibes that say I LIKE YOU A REAL LOT and then almost in the same breath he’s all, JESUS CHRIST WOMAN UNLEASH YOUR CLAWS FROM ME.
(For the record, my claws are not in him).
So this week I’m just going to give him some space (even though I was not crowding him to begin with!) so maybe in a few days he’ll be all WHERE IS [LRC] AND WHY IS SHE NOT IN MY BED?
That’s the plan, anyway.
Y’all, my life is CRAZIFIED.
FOR REALSKI.
The bitchiness continues, but that’s not the half of it.
SO.
Remember how I took off early on Friday? I went to my parents’ house to lie in the sun and read my Donna Martin Tori Spelling book, and I invited Claire to join me. My parents were gone to the beach with my aunt and uncle, and I was taking care of their four dogs. In addition to their dogs, I also had my two dogs, MamaDog and BabyDog. If you’re keeping score, you know that that is six dogs I was responsible for.
SIX. DOGS.
Anyhoodle, I suggested to Claire that we should go to my aunt’s pool the next day (Saturday) since they were out of town and we could have it to ourselves (they knew ahead of time we might do that, so don’t go thinking we are rudeness personified!). We spoke casually about it, it’s not like we tattooed GOING TO [LRC]‘S AUNT’S POOL ON SATURDAY 8.16.08 BEST FRIENDS FO EVA on our arms or anything.
WELL.
Saturday morning afternoon when I woke up and went home (BTW, BrownEyes and I slept on THE. MOST. UNCOMFORTABLE. BED. EVER. the night before, at his friend’s house. It literally felt like a wooden crate with a fitted sheet pulled over it), I instinctively called Lisa, just to see what she was doing. She said she was at HER pool, and invited me to come over. Right as I was pulling into the driveway, Claire texted me. I informed her that I was at Lisa’s pool instead of my aunt’s, and for her to come by.
She texted back, “No thanks. I’ll just go to [Scott]’s. Forget about the plans we made.”
EXCUSE ME?
Ummmmm . . .
Didn’t really know what to say to that. So I said nothing. She was obviously mad at me, but this is a pattern of Claire’s. She is jealous of mine and Lisa’s friendship. It’s ridiculous. You’d think we were in grade school, not wanting to “share” friends. Whatevs.
So she texts me, of course, on Sunday, “What’s up?” like NOTHING is wrong. Claire is always picking fights and then the next day she acts like nothing had ever happened.
Well I’m not letting her do it this time. I’m ignoring her. She needs to find out the hard way that she can’t just throw a little temper tantrum, say rude things to me, and then things just go back to normal. Ain’t happenin’. She needs to grow up, and I haven’t been doing any favors by placating her and “fixing things” for her.
ANYHOODLE. That, however, is not the cherry on top of my fan-fucking-tabulous week.
—BACKSTORY ALERT—
There is this couple I have been friends with for a while. Let’s call them Glen and Amy. Sure, why not? WELL. Glen and I used to, sorta kinda, hook up back in the day. No big deal. It was before he and Amy ever dated. Amy and I were friends, too. Well, when they started dating several months after our meaningless “fling,” I was happy for them. But Amy turned into a raging lunatic, going off on Glen and any woman he talked to if he veered out of her sight for even a moment. You can imagine this reaction was intensified when he spoke with a girl he’d gotten busy with in the past.
So ever since then we have been “frenemies,” sort of. We have had a few “heart to hearts” after copious amounts of beer, and until recently our status was “friends.”
OR SO I THOUGHT.
—END BACKSTORY—
The other night, I saw Glen and Amy out at a bar. Well, first I saw Glen. His face immediately lit up when he saw me. He kept complimenting how great I looked (when we last hung out on a regular basis, I weighed about 30 pounds more than I do now). He also remarked, “I heard you were single. I wish I was!”
Um, awkward?
I don’t remember his exact wording, but he more or less told me he wished he was with me instead of Amy. This was not the first time he has made a comment like this, and, while flattering, it makes me extremely uncomfortable. How do you respond to that, exactly? Also, I was nervous Amy would see us talking and lose. her. shit.
So, throughout the night I tried to forget what was said. We all laughed and joked, fun was had by all.
AGAIN, OR SO I THOUGHT.
Apparently, when it was time for me to leave, I said bye to Glen and forgot to tell Amy goodbye before I left.
BIG MISTAKE.
I didn’t mean anything by it. I really didn’t. I am SO not that type of person. I do not WANT Glen. The ironic thing is, back when we hooked up, I was the one crushing hard on him and he only wanted me on his own time. Now, he is interested in ME and I want nothing to do with him. Four years ago when it was going on, I was 20 and still in college, and he was 24. I didn’t care about what he did for a living. Now, though, he is 28 and has no ambition whatsoever. That is a total turnoff for me. I don’t want an overachiever, but I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t give a damn about ANYTHING.
Oh yeah, I also don’t want SOME OTHER CHICK’S BOYFRIEND, either.
So, I’m leaving with Adam (HOLY SHIT I KNOW–I’ll get to that in a minute), and Amy comes running after me. And proceeds to cuss me out. Yeah, classy. I don’t remember exactly what was said because it all happened so fast, but I do remember her saying I was immature, because I said, “No, YOU are the immature one because you are getting all worked up over some petty bullshit!”, but what I did not hear while I was walking off, which Adam told me later, was that she called me a skank.
A SKANK.
WHO STILL CALLS PEOPLE SKANKS?
And then Adam gave her a little piece of his mind, which I thought was nice of him to do on my behalf.
So, since I don’t have her phone number, I e-mailed her. I told her how bitchy it was and how I would never do something like that to her, especially in a crowded bar in front of lots of people. I also explained to her that she had the wrong impression of me, that I was not that girl that she thought I was. That I also must have had the wrong impression of her, because I thought she was a friend.
Well, she e-mailed me back, apologizing profusely, and we both agreed to just let bygones be bygones and forget the whole thing ever happened. Yeah, I’m nice like that. And also? It’s just ridic. I honestly do not even have the energy to hate on the girl.
So anyway. Back to the Adam thing. We’ve been hanging out casually as friends lately, and it really isn’t weird at all. We just get along so effortlessly, and it’s easier to do that without that whole relationship layer added in there.
HOWEVER.
We did have sex again, once. And it was FUCKING WONDERFUL. God, I wish he wasn’t so damned gorgeous and good in bed.
I told you. My life is crazified.
I get off work in 45 minutes.
I am leaving for the beach tomorrow a.m.
WOO
FUCKING
HOO!!!!!!!!!!
Lisa and I scored a really cheap place ($50 bucks a night and two blocks from the beach? Get. Out.) from a friend’s mom. Which means more money for things like BEER! And FOOD! And a small souvenir for Claire since she bought me one on her last beach trip.
I got a call from BrownEyes today, and he wants me to give him a call when we’re on the way. Yay! Maybe we’ll get to hang out a bit while we’re down there. I just hope that, upon meeting Lisa, he doesn’t like her more than me because Lisa is a HOTTIE. And she is like, NICER than me, and pretty much just superior to me in every way.
I am not actually worried about this happening. I just kinda wanted to brag on Lisa a bit since I don’t really mention too much about her on here other than her (fake) name.
Try not to miss me too much! Hopefully I can get my Google Reader below 50 before I leave so I won’t have a mountain of blogs posts to read upon my return.
Love y’all! xoxo
