Another melodramatic one from yours truly. Yay.

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.

I’ll write a more clever title once someone brings me a Diet Coke

I got a text from Murray yesterday regarding our home loan. The loan for the house I currently inhabit where he hasn’t lived or made a payment on in over a year.

If I was able to cover closing cost, would you consider refinancing? I need to get out from under that loan.

A few things:

1. Yes, holy hell, if you cover closing costs let’s go ahead and get that fucker DONE. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it here, but I’ve decided to hold off on selling the house for the time being. I’m actually miraculously able to make the payments despite this recession, and I rather enjoy living there.
2. What big purchase is Murray planning to make that he otherwise wouldn’t be able to make with his name already under a large home loan? Perhaps, another home? For himself, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear?
3. If Murray is indeed planning on purchasing a home for himself and his recently acquired family AFTER THREE MONTHS OF DATING THIS CHICK, I am going to  LOSE. MY. SHIT.
4. Seriously, someone is going to get hurt.

Okay, I may be jumping to conclusions here, but why else would he all of a sudden need this done “quickly,” as he said in a later text? Of course, I would never actually physically harm someone, but if I do find out that he’s buying a house with Mushroom Head McTrampStamp +1, I am going to be so furious. Like, red-in-the-face-and-vibrating-out-the-door-to-throw-a-wine-bottle-in-the-driveway-to-hear-the-satisfying-sound-of-glass-breaking mad.

Not that I’ve ever done that before.

Not with a bottle that wasn’t already empty, of course.

Of course, it’s really none of my business, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thoroughly pissed off.

Also, I unfriended Mushroom Head McTrampStamp on Facebook (I added her before I realized she and Murray were dating) so I didn’t have to look at pictures of the happy couple that she posts oh, every 3.9 seconds or so. Because it’s just another reminder that he took her canoeing. And he always refused to take me canoeing because it was “a guy thing.”

Paddling is for losers anyway.

—

In other news, Gonzo has sent apology text after apology text, written on my Facebook wall multiple times, and invited me back to his apartment (with the futon!) almost every day since the incident. I have only responded to let him know that I wasn’t angry with him, and left it at that.

He is obviously having some personal problems I can’t fix, and I just don’t have room in my life for that right now.

—

And last but not least, I received a beach invite from The Lawyer for next weekend. I’m pretty sure hotel expenses will be covered, as well as some other expenses as he likes to spoil me, so that’s not an issue (I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON), but it’s with his family. His mom and younger brother (who’s my age, incidentally, and because of this fact The Lawyer had jokingly said that he wasn’t planning on introducing us) are going. It’s one thing to have dinner with them, but it’s quite another to spend an entire weekend with them. What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them?

If I hadn’t been having some recent doubts about The Lawyer, I wouldn’t be quite as apprehensive. I mean, I’ve been dying for a beach vacation. Any other time I would jump at the chance. But I’m feeling sorta lukewarm for him still. It’s only been a couple weeks, so it’s still a bit early to tell. But he’s like this perfect combination of nice guy and asshole. He’s very considerate (something I am NOT used to) yet he’s not afraid of ribbing me. Plus, I’m pretty sure he adores the shit out of me.

I still haven’t given him an answer about the beach trip. I’ll probably do that this weekend so as not to leave him hanging.

—

In summary:

Murray is causing me heart trouble for unknown reasons because seriously, wasn’t I the one who broke up with him? I don’t harbor any feelings for him whatsoever. So why is this pissing me off so much? Oh yeah, because he and I were together for two years before we bought a house together. And we were pretty sure we were getting married.

Gonzo is being irritating as fuck, and as I type this entry, he just texted me again. Desperation is not becoming on him.

The Lawyer is a perfect gentleman and pretty much everything I have been missing in all my previous relationships, and I still can’t get it up for him. And I am considering turning down a beach invitation because of it. WAH, LRC. YOUR LIFE IS SO DIFFICULT.  DID A $1,000 BILL HIT YOU IN THE FACE WHILE YOU RODE YOUR UNICORN TO WORK THIS MORNING?

I love it when you call me Big Papa. Except, not.

I mentioned I had some vom-worthy Murray news, so here it is.

For those of you who are new readers, Murray was my boyfriend for three years. We broke up last May, but not before buying a house together, which I currently still inhabit and cannot sell. Murray lives in apartment that costs him less than half the house payment I have to dig up each month, so there’s already a leeeeeeetle bit of bitterness there.

A few months ago, Murray and his new girlfriend became Facebook official after about thirteen seconds of dating, which was like a 4″ heel kick in the boob to me because ever since the breakup, I’d tried to keep anything dating-related far, far away from The ‘Book. I posted no pictures and made no mention of any of the men I was dating, deleted any comments from friends that might have alluded to the fact I was seeing anyone, and I took my relationship status off completely (while Murray was, up until this point, still proudly declaring himself “Single”).

Fine. Whatever.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I was talking to a mutual friend of ours. This friend told me that Murray had turned down a great job offer in another city because he said things were “getting pretty serious” with his girlfriend. After TWO MONTHS of dating.

Chalk it up to the bitter, cynical bitch in me, but I knew that this was exactly what Murray was going to do. Settle for the next live woman who still had most of her teeth and showed any remote interest in him. Now, I’m not saying that this girl I haven’t spoken to in years may not have turned out to be a Saint of a woman with an ass you could bounce quarters off of who also makes a chocolate-covered dessert every night and gives 5-star BJ’s, but I know Murray. He’s a settler.

Also, this chick is 25, lives at home with her parents, and is a mother to a toddler.

(NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT)

Part of the reason Murray and I broke up was because of his laissez-faire (let’s be lazy and see how we fare!) attitude. About EVERYTHING. It’s one thing to be laid-back, but it’s a completely different thing to just not Give. A. Fuck. Murray was prepared to just take whatever life gave him (provided it wasn’t hard and didn’t take any effort).

Everything except me, it seemed.

If I’d never brought up the fact that I was unhappy, however, we would have continued living our sad, boring lives until one or both of us died. So he did want to keep me around . . . he just didn’t want to work for it. And he didn’t want to get married anytime soon, either.

This caused me more pain than I should have allowed. I will admit that.

So our relationship ended, I dated several selfish assholes, and now here I sit, as far from marriage as one could possibly be.  I’m totally fine with that.

And then I hear something that makes my blood boil.

Another mutual friend told me something that was overheard between Murray, his girlfriend, and her little girl recently.

The little girl called him “Daddy.”

DADDY.

Hear that sound? That’s the sound of me punching a kitten.

(Just kidding, OMG I would NEEEEEEEEVER do that . . . just thinking about that makes me want to punch anyone who would punch a kitten.)

I dated Murray for THREE YEARS and the word “marriage” made his skin crawl (WE ALREADY OWNED A HOME TOGETHER, REMEMBER?), and now some random chick is dating him for THREE MONTHS and he’s DADDY??!?!!!??!?!?

If you’ll excuse me, I have to go vom. Repeatedly.

Ultimately, though? I win. Because I don’t have to wipe snot off the face of someone else’s child. Ever.

Also I am way hotter than Murray’s girlfriend. Who has had the same haircut since birth.

WIN.

On insults, sperm, and booze

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.

LRC Makes Bad Decisions, Vol. 17

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

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

Whatevs.

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

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

But last night? I got drunk.

Like, Let’s Make Bad Decisions drunk.

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

And he was happy to hear from me!

And he wanted me to come over!

Like right now!

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!, right?

No.

NOT “EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”.

Bad LRC.

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

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

And then we started making out. Big time.

Clothes started coming off.

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

“Don’t you want to have sex?”

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

“No. [insert random excuse here].”

Pause.

Blink.

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I texted him again.

UGH.

“Then again i dont think it is my fault”

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

So yeah.

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

It sucks. But I’ll move on.

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

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

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

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

Happy weekend, lovelies.

Things I did this weekend

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

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

The letter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a masterpiece.

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

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

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

And if he doesn’t respond? Well then.

Good.

Fucking.

Riddance.

Trying isn’t always enough

Allright people, let’s get this over with.

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

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

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

Probably not the best reasons, but reasons nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

EVERY.

SINGLE.

TIME.

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

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

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

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

[record scratch]

Shut. The. Front. Door.

HELLLLLLLLLLLL NAW.

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

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

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

What’s going on at [name of bar]?

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

Forehead? Meet desk.

I don’t date [BE].

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

Is this my life? Seriously?

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

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

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

I had to make the melodrama humorous somehow.

ARGH

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

Scenario.

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

BrownEyes was there.

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

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

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

BIG MISTAKE, LRC.

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

ARE YOU HEARING THIS PEOPLE?

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

FUCK. ME.

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

Again.

FUCK. ME.

Is he DENSE?

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

I should seriously fucking move to Egypt.

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

I deserve . . .

. . . a glass of wine (or six) after a day of endless news releases, perpetual requests from co-workers, and smiling through backhanded compliments. And the satisfaction of a hard day’s work.

. . . all the love my pets give me.

. . . to treat myself to a mini-vacation. No, scratch that. A REAL vacation. One that involves more than eight hours annual leave.

. . . to feel guilty for the things I should honestly feel guilty about. And to forgive myself for things I should not.

. . . to look like absolute crap when I’m home alone. And sing to the top of my lungs.  And to dance out the stresses of the day without consequence.

. . . to be just a little bit jealous of my ex’s recent acquisition of a girlfriend. And to be absolutely happy for him at the same time.

. . . to cry when I need to cry.

. . . to stumble every now and again.

. . . to have some sense slapped into me when I need it.

. . . to be happy even when so many others are suffering.

. . . to not be taken advantage of just because I love doing things for others.

. . . to not feel bad when I ask for something completely reasonable.

. . . to be able to let go and never look back. And to feel absolutely at peace with that.

. . . to have friends who reciprocate the level of loyalty I give them.

. . . to be loved for me. Smeared mascara, belly bulge, occasional moments of absolute boringness, PMS, weakness, tendency to be a little too loud (or too quiet), guilt/worry/fear, ALL OF IT.

. . . to post a melodramatic blog entry. Just because.