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.

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

Things just go from bad to worse, don’t they?

Sigh.

I kinda went on a roller coaster of emotions on V Day. I woke up feeling really happy and positive, because I just felt like I needed to be, so I forced it upon myself. I decided to go shopping because I hadn’t bought myself anything in a while and I needed some new clothes.

I guess I wasn’t feeling it because I didn’t buy a single. damned. thing.

That is just wrong.

So I got some cookies and took them over to Andy’s and hung out with him for a while. I was feeling down at this point about my failed shopping attempt and no contact yet from New York. So I went from really happy to really blah and kinda sad. But I tried not to let it get to me too badly. You’re only as happy as you allow yourself to be, or some bullshit like that.

When I got home, I found a cute postcard from New York in my mailbox. It was very him. Not mushy-gushy, but he made a cute pun with my last name and it did arrive on the right date, so props for that. I also got a “happy valentines” text, which is a vast departure from the funny stuff he usually sends me. I called him later and we talked for about 30 minutes, and that was that.

After talking to him and feeling better in general about the situation, my mood lifted. I sang to my dogs and played my karaoke game. Don’t judge. I was on fire with that shit. I ended up having a really good time by my damned self. Then Sandra texted me to come up to the bar.

I decided, why the hell not.

And, uh, BrownEyes was there.

Shit.

Well, I knew I was going to have to see him eventually. So I tried to make it as painless as possible.

“Hey, how have you been?”
“Good, and you?”
“Good.”
(hug)
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”

And that was that. Like pulling off a band-aid. Now that it’s over with, I feel better.

New York got back home on Monday night. Yay, right? Enh. We’ll see. He was ultra tired from his trip so he went straight home to bed, which I get. I don’t blame him for that at all.

But yesterday? I had the day from hell. Boss lady was on a rampage and was really bitchy to me and my co-worker. I ended up having to work a bit late, and you know the only thing on my mind was getting out of there to see New York, (who earlier had gone by my house to pick up the stack of mail I’d obediently retrieved from his mailbox, like a fucking Labrador).

He told me to call him when I got off work, so I did. I told him about my crappy day at work, and he listened until I was done. He got distracted trying to find a picture on his computer, so he told me to call him when I got home.

I was really stressed out from my effed up day at work, and at that moment, heaven to me would have been having dinner and wine with NY, catching up on things, and not having to worry about work, or anything else for that matter. At least for the night.

So I gave him some time, and I called back. No answer. Whatever. He called back like an hour later. He’d been taking a nap. Fine.

NY: [Friend] wanted me to go with him to the movies. It starts in ten minutes.
LRC: Are you gonna go?
NY: Yeah.
LRC: Cool.
NY: I mean, I think I’m gonna go.
LRC: Huh?
NY: I don’t know. I’m hungry.
LRC: So you either want food or a movie?
NY: Yeah.
LRC: And you want someone to make the decision for you?
NY: Ha. Yeah.
LRC: Well, I’m hungry . . .
(I don’t remember the details of the conversation at this point. I was very confused indeed. NY had just woken up from a nap and was therefore a bit disoriented. Somehow we got back on the topic of going to the movie.)
NY: I don’t think I’m gonna go to the movie. I only have two dollars in my wallet.
LRC: Yeah, I have zero dollars in my wallet.
NY: Well, let me text [Friend] and tell him I’m not going to the movie. I’ll call you later.

UGH. I should have just told him, “TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER, YOU HALF WIT,” but I don’t think I should have had to do that. It’s kinda rude to like, demand that someone take you out to eat. Highly annoyed at this point. Giving up on dinner plans, I munched some Ruffles potato chips and scowled.

I finally heard back from him at 9pm.

“Fnd enuf coin 4 a sandwich!”

Are. You. Fucking. Serious?

I texted him back, “You ain’t eat yet?” <— please ignore my horrible grammar here. This is my attempt at making fun of the rednecks I converse with on a daily basis. Yes, people talk like that here. It’s frightening.

He texted back: “Jst”

What the fuck does that even mean?

He is just not even trying at this point.

LRC: huh
NY: huh?

I was beyond pissed. He obviously wanted me to do all the work here, and it’s apparent that I’m not a priority in his life. I decided to go to bed after that (this was around 9:45).

He called me at about 10:10, but I was in the bed and didn’t hear the phone ring.

I can’t believe this shit.

We haven’t seen each other for three weeks and he’s not knocking down my door to see me? He wants his mail and a sandwich.

I hope he went to bed hungry.

The cupcakes probably would have been too dry anyway

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.

Good Lord, make it stop

Well, it’s “Facebook Official.”

Murray is now in a relationship.

Murray, the guy I dated for three years, bought a house with, and thought I was going to marry.

Before the breakup last May, he’d grown complacent, and felt “safe.” We weren’t sleeping together anymore and he spent all his time outside, working in the yard. I knew he wasn’t the one for me when I enjoyed my alone time immensely more than the time we spent together.

But it still hurts.

Not only because, well, he’s my Murray. Or he was. And there will always be a part of me that misses him like crazy.

Also? It’s just a big “fuck you” from the dating gods that Murray, who has NO GAME whatsoever, has managed to land himself a girlfriend, and I can’t even get a guy to admit we are more than friends.

When I woke up Sunday morning after a Super Swell Saturday Night of crying myself to sleep because all of my friends were ignoring me and here I was crawling into bed at 9:00 p.m. because I’d rather sleep than be lonely (melodrama. I has it), I went on a routine E-Mail/Google Reader/Facebook check and was bitch slapped with the news that Murray had finally moved on.

And I had to find out via that God Damned Social Networking Site Which Shall Not Be Named From This Point Forward.

What makes it worse is that I know the girl. We were very good friends growing up. BLARGH.

And to top it off, she posted pictures of them all over her profile, looking all happy and shit. And in those pictures, posing with the happy couple, were some of my best friends.

I feel replaced.

I had already felt like people took sides after the breakup with Murray (which is silly, but it sorta does feel that way), and most of them sided with Murray (even though our breakup was pretty drama-free and neither of us had wronged the other). I just feel like I have no one left. Claire, Andy, and my parents are pretty much the only real friends I have that actually want to hang out with me. And New York, of course, but he’s not here right now.

Aaaaaand he had to torture me on Sunday with a text that said, “[Name of eating establishment where LRC and NY frequently eat lunch on Sundays]?” as he does almost every Sunday (when he’s actually here, that is). It was his idea of a cute joke, because DUH, we can’t go eat there but haha isn’t it funny that I’m suggesting it? but given my emotional state it was just a reminder that no, he isn’t here, and no, we can’t go to lunch together. Or see each other. Or touch each other. Or kiss each other. At all.

Aaaaaand he may not be back for Valentine’s Day, either. He has a follow-up appointment with his doctor on Thursday. He hasn’t mentioned when he’s planning on coming back.

Aaaaaand what is the effing deal with all the BrownEyes sex dreams I’ve been having lately? I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH BROWNEYES. I don’t. What’s funny about them, though? In the dreams, we are doing more bickering than sexing. That is a pretty close representation of how things were when we were dating.

Aaaaaand I have a bag of Murray’s things that I’ve been meaning to give back to him for the past couple weeks that’s just rolling around in the back of my car, and if I give the stuff to him NOW, even though it’s in my way, I’ll look like a resentful bitch.

Things can only get better, right?

Because this shit has just got to stop. Like right now.

Irritation

I’ll spare you any poeticism or whimsy I may have otherwise included in this post and just get right down to business.

I’m irritated.

With the New York situation.

I’m irritated that he’s not here.

That he was gone for a week, back for two days, and now gone for two weeks again. I’m irritated that the bulk of our contact with each other has consisted of random picture messages with little to no meaning. That he hasn’t been calling back when he said he would. That the frequency of his calls and texts is dwindling as the days pass.

That he could already be back but he’s chosen to wait a bit longer. That he’s apparently not as anxious to see me as I am to see him.

I’m irritated that I’m stuck here in Small Town USA hanging out with my cats and watching American Idol because all my other friends are too busy while he is in NYC with all his friends and plenty of shit to do.

I’m irritated that it seems I’ve been relegated to a secretary of sorts—checking his mail, watering his plants, shipping a package to him, and apparently serving as an Allergist Referral Service.

But you know what I am most irritated about? I’m irritated that I have no fucking clue how to deal with it.

He hasn’t wronged me or intentionally hurt my feelings. He’s really done nothing wrong. These things I’m doing for him? Are totally voluntary (except the Allergist Referral one—no, NY, I don’t know any good fucking allergists in this area, and you know damned well how to use Google). I’m being a good friend. I would expect nothing less from him if the tables were turned.

Then why do I feel like such a fucking pushover?

I love doing things for people. I’ve established this. Nothing breaks my heart more than disappointing someone. And if I needed help with something, I’m quite certain he’d have no problem offering it to me. I just haven’t asked him for help with anything.

I’m kinda curious to see how he’d react if I did ask for help with something. Now, don’t get me wrong. I hate games. But I just want to be sure I’m right about him—that he does want to do right by me and isn’t just using me for whatever mundane tasks he needs completed while he’s away.

Any ideas on something I should ask him to bring back for me, New Yorkers? Something unique to NYC? If he goes out of his way to get something for me that I have requested, then my doubts will be squashed. I figure it’s worth a shot.

But, I’m still fucking irritated.

No wonder I make men run screaming in the other direction

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

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

Meet a new guy.

Like him  a little.

Make out with him.

Like him a LOT.

(Those last two happen in rapid succession.)

Begin having doubts.

(This is where The Crazy enters.)

Cry.

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

Float on air for a few weeks.

Start having doubts again.

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

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

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

I know I’m worth a man’s time.

I cook. I praise. I give BJs.

I’m a great girlfriend. I know this.

But do they know it?

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

But no, I keep pressing on.

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

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

I’m not allowing them to.

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

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

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

But damn it, I’m gonna try.

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

For that, I apologize.

But damn it feels good to have Partners In Crazy.

You can’t fire me, bitch I quit

I’m going to take a break today from blogging about my love life to tell you a horror story from an old job of mine.

When I was 19 and a freshman in college, I was desperate for a part-time job. One day,  my friend’s mother notified me of a part-time clerical position at a Pennysaver-esque publication which would be the perfect fit for me.

Score!

So I  got the details, and went by the office (let’s call it the Pennysaver). I met the man in charge (I shall call him Miserly Misogynist—for reasons that will become apparent momentarily—or MM for short) and he hired me on the spot. Our conversation went something like this:

MM: “So, do you have typing skills?”
LRC: “Yes, I type 80 words per minute.”
MM: “Are you available Wednesday through Friday?”
LRC: “Yes.”
MM: “You’re hired.”
LRC: “Wow, thanks!”
MM: “What’s your name again?”

So began a three year long tenure of being overworked and underappreciated! I will say this, however: within the first month of typing classified advertisements, I saw the other workers doing ad layouts on their Macs and I said, “I want to do that!” And so, another graphic designer was borne into the workforce. Exactly what this world needs. Tee. So I do have that job to thank for the work experience that landed me my current job. Yay.

Anyhoodsterpoot, my boss turned out to be a huge jackass misogynist with absolutely no clue as to how to manage people. Surprise! Bet you didn’t see that one coming. He, however, was not the worst person I worked with. My co-worker, Skankface, was the bane of my existence.

Let me give you a little background on Skankface. This girl was very likely the white-trashiest person I have ever met. She came to work every day with greasy hair and was always at least 30 minutes late. When I started the job, she’d recently had a boob job gone awry and she’d had to have one of the implants taken out. After a few weeks, she was able to get the implant replaced, but a few months after that? She got bitten by a brown recluse spider (don’t click on that link unless you want nightmares for the rest of the week). ON THE BOOB. I don’t know if you know about brown recluse spiders, but when they bite you? THE VENOM EATS AWAY YOUR BODY TISSUE. So she had a hole in her boob. Had to get the implants taken out, again.

And instead of just accepting that sweater cows just weren’t in the cards for her?

SHE GOT MORE IMPLANTS.

Smart one.

Well, Skankface and I developed sort of a pseudo-friendship out of convenience because we worked so closely together, and every once in a while I’d even risk being seen in public with her (until that time she got in a drink-throwing fight with another group of girls, and vomited all over the steps outside a bar. I vowed never to take her anywhere again after that debacle).

When she got promoted to a sales position in our sister office, though? It quickly became clear who MM’s favorite was.

Hint: not me.

Sure, she landed lots of accounts. Brought in lots of money to the company. Her clients loved her.

Guess why?

She was sleeping with them!

Are you getting a clearer picture of her skankiness now?

Good. Because I honestly don’t think I could ever do it justice.

Sooo, anyway. Back to the story at hand. MM was allowing Skankface to squeak by at work, drifting in around 11am and sneaking out before 5, taking 2 hour lunch breaks. Just being a slackass in general. Doting on how great a job she was doing. But if I was five minutes late (which was RARE)? You’d better believe I’d never hear the end of it.

I wasn’t the only one who was angered by MM’s preferential treatment to Skankface. Especially since it was her (more than likely) STD-ridden vadge that was the cause of all her “success.” Several of us complained to MM, and, of course, in true MM fashion, he told Skankface that we’d been complaining about her.

(If we’d had an HR department, his ass would have been grass SO, SO many times. His practices were highly unethical. I would work late every Friday while MM and my other co-workers sat in the back room and drank beer.)

So Skankface began to resent all of us. Our hatred was mutual.

Then one day, I arrived at work to find some clutter on the desktop of my computer. There was a new image file I’d never seen on there before. Skankface used my computer on Monday mornings (she worked in my office one day a week, when I wasn’t there, since MM didn’t want to pay me more than he had to), so I knew the image had to be hers. I clicked on it to make sure it wasn’t anything I needed to keep on the computer.

It was.

A photo.

Of Skankface.

Naked, covered only by twenty dollar bills.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?

This was too good not to share, so I told my co-worker to come look before I deleted it. Well, instead of keeping it to herself, she called MM’s wife and told on Skankface. Of course, in true Skankface fashion, Skankface was taking a  “sick day,” so MM had to call her at home to reprimand her, only because MM’s wife made him. Not because he actually thought that, you know, having a naked picture of yourself on a co-worker’s computer was WRONG, or anything.

So guess what Skankface does?

Calls the office, asks to speak to me, and my co-worker takes a message because she knows that Skankface is going to be PISSED at me for “telling on her” (even though I didn’t, really), and her message to me is this.

“Tell [LRC] to call me on her lunch break because I am going to BEAT HER ASS.”

Yeah, THAT is going to happen. Let me go ahead and call you so we can make an appointment for that ass-kickin’. Shall I provide the brass knuckles?

I manage to get through the rest of the day fairly unscathed, until MM comes into the office around 4:45, right before the end of the day.

He asks us to all gather around, because he has an announcement to make.

“[Skankface] put in her two weeks’ notice today.”

Internal monologue of the rest of the office: “WOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Instead of addressing the absolutely tasteless and inappropriate behavior from Skankface (um, hello? She put a naked picture of herself on my computer and then THREATENED ME WITH BODILY HARM), MM’s complaints were, “Sigh, well, with [Skankface] gone, we are going to lose [account], which is [$xxxx] per month, and [account], which is [$xxxx] a month . . .”

And while MM is going down his list of people Skankface was fucking accounts, I stopped him and said, “I’m sorry, are we not going to address how [Skankface] THREATENED me earlier?”

Then, and I will never forget the look on MM’s face when he asked me this, MM said, “Well, why did you have to say anything to anyone about it?”

Oh hell naw.

So I stood up from my stool, said “FUCK. THIS. SHIT,” and walked out.

MM (the coward that he is) had my co-worker call me, begging me to come back. I said, “No, and if he calls me, I’m going to tell him the same thing.”

So MM came to my HOUSE, BEGGING me to come back. Man was almost in tears. After all, I WAS a very big part of his company. I did all the layouts and ads.

I told him, in my firmest voice, and with my straightest face, “No, I will not come back to work for you. Not now, not ever.”

And that was one of my proudest moments. Finally saying enough was enough, and standing up to a 60 year-old man who had mistreated me for three years.

All seriousness aside, though? That shit was crazified, y’all! My coworkers still tell that story to this day, and now I can laugh about it.

Sooooo, after having read that long-ass story, don’t you want to delurk (since it’s National Delurking Day or whatever the flip it is) and tell me a work horror story of your own? Doesn’t have to be as lengthy as mine, obviously.

Oh, and I’m not proofreading this post. Bitch is already 1400 words long and it’s almost quittin’ time. So I apologize for anything that doesn’t make sense, which is likely this entire post.

Someone shat on my front seat

When I was sixteen, I got a new car.

I know. I was one of THOSE kids. Although I may have BEEN spoiled, I didn’t ACT spoiled. But that’s not relevant to my story.

If you’ve ever been in a new car before, you know that the new car smell is one of the best smells ever. When your car loses that new car smell, it is a sad day.

For me, that day was the day I left my window down and one of my cats decided to defecate on my front seat.

Yeah, I know. What. The. Fuck.

I cleaned the poo as best I could, but I never did get that new car smell back. My car didn’t smell like poop, but it sure didn’t smell like new car, either.

That’s how I feel about my current situation with New York.

Some information has been revealed to me about NY’s past that I really, really didn’t want to hear. I understand the reason the person told me, but it just sucks to find this out. Things were going SO well, and now I just don’t know what to think.

It’s nothing TOO terrible. He didn’t rape a girl or anything, which is what my first thought was when my friend told me he’d heard some “horrible” things about NY.

I know, I’m so morbid.

Not that NY has ever done anything to exhibit tendencies toward rape, or anything. I mean, that’s just fucked up. But I think I think these things because I’d heard that about a guy I used to know several years back, so whenever someone says they have some bad news about a person’s past, that’s where my mind wanders.

I’m efffed up in the head. It’s okay. I know this.

So, even though I know the things NY did are in the past, haven’t we all done things we wish we could take back? Haven’t we all had a phase in our lives when our behavior was less than stellar?

While I’m not excusing NY’s past behavior, I do think he’s changed since then. He certainly hasn’t exhibited any behavior that would insinuate he’s still the same as he was in wilder times.

But I feel like someone shat on my front seat. That “new car smell” isn’t there anymore.

And while I know the new car smell doesn’t last forever, it sucks when it’s gone prematurely.

Again, with the title, I’m not blaming the person who told me these things for “shitting on my front seat,” because it’s not his fault. He was only passing along information he thought would be relevant to my situation so that I wouldn’t get hurt later on.

I was with NY earlier today, after I had heard the unfortunate details of his icky past, and we had a good time as usual, but it’s not the same.

I want to forget and just move on, but I just can’t help but feel a little down and out about the whole situation.

Tell me freaders, what would you do if, from a third party, you found out a deep, dark secret from your significant other’s past that could potentially impact your relationship as it is in the present?

Because right now I just don’t know how to feel. I guess “duped” could sum it up. Definitely “confused” as well.

Sigh.

Stupefied

I don’t get it, peeps.

(I have this awful habit of adopting a word or phrase and abusing it terribly for weeks, and in extreme cases, even months. I used to have the compulsion to say “FYI” all the time, and Murray hated it. Which makes me sorta love the fact that New York says it frequently. Apparently, “peeps” is my “new word.”)

Ahem.

As I was saying. I don’t get it, peeps.

I still haven’t closed the deal with New York. And it’s seriously starting to weigh on me. Not in the I NEED SEX LIKE RIGHT NOW, KTHX way that it was at first. Now it’s more of an OH MY GOD I CAN’T POSSIBLY BE SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE AT ALL THAT IS THE ONLY EXPLANATION, PERIOD way.

NY invited me to dinner last night, and we had a fantastic time. We ordered various forms of red meat (a bloody sirloin for me and a hamburger steak for him) and we drank dark beer. Afterward, he said he had to go to the grocery store to grab some vanilla soy milk (is it strange that I find it adorable that he drinks vanilla soy milk?), but he would stop by my house later if that was okay.

Um, yeah. That is TOTALLY okay with me, I thought. Although my actual answer was more like, “Sure, that sounds good.”

So I went home. Made up my bed (WISHFUL THINKING). Took two shots of rum so I’d have the courage to jump on him later in the evening. My heart was about to beat out of my chest in anticipation (or, it could have been the rum). Once he got there, we sat on the couch, turned on some random movie, and after a few minutes, I finally made my move.

I leaned over and kissed him, gently but seductively. He allowed the kiss to continue for about, oh, five seconds.

Huh.

All right then. Fine.

So we went back to watching crappy TV. The minutes ticked by like hours.

Then, again, I leaned over and began working my magic.

Again, he let it last about five seconds before pulling away.

At this point, I was thoroughly confused.

Trying not to let on what I was doing, I went into the kitchen and took another sip of rum in an attempt to gain a bit more confidence, and also, a little out of frustration. I couldn’t make sense of the scenario, and it was irritating me.

I went back into the living room and sat down on the couch with him again. More minutes passed. Time was running out before he would inevitably retreat to his quarters across town. I had to try one more time.

So I kissed him.

And this time?

He didn’t even let me slip him the tongue.

Fucking. Shit.

What is wrong with me? In the words of Cher Horowitz, “Did I stumble into some bad lighting?” I don’t get it. He obviously is into me. I must not have frightened him too badly last night because I have gotten an e-mail and a text from him today. I hate to admit this, but after he left, I cried. My self-esteem was shot for the night.

My mood has improved vastly as the day has progressed, but this morning? You would have thought someone had just told me that caffeine was now illegal.

I am still quite mystified, though. I’m not the hottest chick on the planet, but damn it, I’m young and cute and I have a hot bod. Why would NY not want to bed me?

I don’t know what my next approach is going to be. I feel like I reached for the cookie jar and my wrist got slapped. And now I don’t even want to think about cookies anymore.

Colorado? You can kiss my ass. Bitch.

After going back and forth in my head (call him? or wait for him to call me?) I just asked for a man’s perspective on the whole thing, and decided just to give in. I called him on Thursday.

He didn’t answer.

I figured he’d call back Friday if I didn’t hear from him on Thursday.

He didn’t.

SO. I went out and got super drunk with my friends on Friday, which was a nice distraction.

Until Saturday morning. When I was alone and hungover and it all came crashing down on me again.

I called my Mom, crying. “What is wrong with me? Why do men just inexplicably run away from me when things seem to be going so great?”

My Mom, being the Awesome Lady that she is, helped me put things into perspective. She helped me come to the realization that the reason he hasn’t called has nothing to do with who I am as a person. That any man would be lucky to have me (it’s true–I’m a pretty awesome girlfriend) and if he is going to stop talking to me it’s only because he is a non-committal flake.

Her advice for me was to call him one last time, and if he didn’t answer or respond, then I would have my answer and things wouldn’t be in limbo anymore.

Moms. They know everything, don’t they?

I called him. Waited for his answering machine. Much to my surprise, he answered. He was in the shower and he said he’d call me back. I took this as a good sign, because he MUST have wanted to talk to me if he answered the phone IN THE SHOWER.

And while waiting for him to call me back? I promptly dropped my cell phone in the toilet.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!!!!!!

Luckily, I retrieved it from its watery abyss quickly enough so that it wasn’t COMPLETELY kaput. Gross, I know, but luckily there were no bodily fluids in the potty at the time. I took the battery off and let it dry in the sun outside, the whole time thinking OMG WHAT IF HE CALLS HOLY SHIT WILL HE LOSE INTEREST IF I DO NOT ANSWER THE PHONE AGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Yeah, I know. I am the poster child for mental stability and self-confidence.

By the time it had dried out, I put the battery back on and he called me back. He couldn’t hear me, but I could hear him. So I called him back on my Mom’s phone (of course I was at my Mama’s house . . . when I called her crying she said COME ON OVER HERE AND SEE YOUR MAMA, SWEETIE), and then HE started getting crappy reception and I had to hang up.

“Great. Now I’m never going to hear from him again,” I thought.

SELF-CONFIDENCE. I HAS IT.

So I took my phone to Verizon to have it serviced, and they gave me a time to go back and pick it up. EXACTLY when I was gathering my things to go pick up my phone, he called me back on Mom’s phone. He told me he was going to come to town later to watch the UGA vs. Who The Hell is Central Fucking Michigan game, so I said I’d call him after I got a shower.

I MAY have lied to the Verizon guy so I didn’t have to pay for a new phone (“Did this phone get wet?” “Um, I mean, I guess it could have gotten wet at some point”) and luckily he just let me have it without a warranty.

So we met up later at his friends’ house. When I got there, he and his friend were discussing how they were going to fix his front steps, so I just kind of sat on the porch and waited for them to finish talking about it because they were pretty deep in conversation at that point.

When they finished talking, BrownEyes said, “Hey there Miss [LRC's last name], lookin’ all cute and pretty and skinny and tan.”

I smiled that little crooked smirk I always smile when I find something mildy amusing. But on the inside, oh baby I was grinning from ear to ear.

So things are looking good, right?

HAH.

I must remember never to get my hopes up.

BrownEyes’s friend’s wife started asking him when he was going to help fix their front porch steps, and if it would be conflicting with his interview.

INTERVIEW.

Motherfucker.

“Interview for what?” I said.

He looked down and answered in a much tinier voice than he usually uses, “A job.”

IN COLORADO.

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT.

JUST, SHIT.

“It’s only for eight months!” he said. Like that would somehow placate me. “Hell, maybe even for only five or six!”

Does he think I am going to wait on him for eight months? Highly unlikely.

He may not even take the job, but still. This just really freaking disappoints me. Obviously I am not important enough for him to stick around for LONGER THAN TWO SHITTY LITTLE MONTHS.

I feigned enthusiasm at the prospect of his new job. “Oh, Colorado! That sounds awesome! I bet you’ll love it there!”

I am obviously a glutton for punishment.

But I definitely was not going to pout about it, because that would probably scare him. Although, I am getting tired of walking on eggshells about the situation. A part of me thinks that the reason he won’t broach the subject is because I won’t, either. Sometimes I feel like he’ll drop something casually into a conversation to see how I react, but it’s never enough to warrant an entire discussion.

The rest of the night went well. We watched some football and played Apples to Apples (fun game! BrownEyes won and I tied for second), and BrownEyes and I each let his friends’ little girl braid our hair (he has long hair), then later I went home with BrownEyes and we did Our Favorite Thing To Do (read: each other). And for the moment, all was right with the world.

But I’ve just got this feeling he’s going to take the job, because he likes to move around a lot. And truthfully, I’m going to be pretty bummed if he does. But there’s not much I can do about it. I know I shouldn’t be a factor in such a big decision, but a small part of me is saying, SHOULDN’T I COUNT FOR SOMETHING? So if I want him to consider staying here, I am going to have to grow a pair and say something. This is what Andy told me to say:

Hey, I know this won’t count for much in your decision making process… but I’m still gonna say it. I really like you and would be really bummed if you moved out to Colorado. I’m not trying to hold you back or anything, but if you’re looking for an excuse or reason to stay in this area I’m trying to give you one.

So I guess that’s the plan. Wish me luck.

FUCK COLORADO.