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I would make this a bullet point post, but knowing me, the bullets would probably end up really long, and well, what’s the fucking point of a bullet post if each bullet is several (fun-filled!) paragraphs long? There’s no point, that’s what.
Just like those last two sentences.
Remember a couple weeks ago I got that text from Glen that said “I want to lick u from head to toe“?
Well, I neglected to mention my response to said text. I didn’t recognize the number, so I responded:
Who dis?
I like to get ghetto from time to time. I’m so ‘hood it hurts.
After his text confirming his identity, I responded with this:
You better be glad my baby daddy dint see dis
You know, to keep the ghetto vibe going. And also to ease the tension of the fact that, hello, you have a girlfriend and you texted me at 9:30 on a Sunday morning that you want to drag your tongue all over my body. And also because, hell to the no.
He sent about two apology texts, and that was the end of that.
Until yesterday.
When Glen called me at work.
He told me that he’d been driving and when he passed my neck of the woods, he decided to call me.
To ask me if I was pregnant.
Because I’d said something about a “baby daddy” in that last text.
These are the kind of people that roam the streets of my hometown. The people that vote in elections, bear children, and run for local office.
They’re all fucking idiots.
I assured him that no, there would be no mini LRC coming into the world anytime soon, and that’s when Glen told me that—WHAT DO YOU KNOW!— he, in fact, WAS expecting a mini-Glen in the future. He’d knocked up Amy and they were now engaged.
THEY’RE REPRODUCING!
She of I Like To Scream At Other Women In Bars And Snort Coke Off The Back Of The Toilet In The Ladies Room fame, and he of I Like To Text Women Other Than My Girlfriend At Strange Hours And Tell Them That I Want My Saliva All Over Them fame.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry in a corner now, because the apocalypse is near. It’s only a matter of time before my town is overrun by worthless parasites, suckling at the teat of society. Snorting my tax dollars up their noses and puking all over the sidewalks.
In less depressing news, I really am warming up to The Lawyer. In an e-mail exchange with Narm last month, I even used this sentence to describe what I want out of a potential suitor:
Right now, I kinda just want someone who will play Mario Kart with me, rub my bum shoulder, and tell me how awesome I am.
- I have already played Mario Kart with The Lawyer, and I kicked his ass. Then he kicked mine right back.
- He has not given me a shoulder massage yet, but has alluded to it.
- This is part of our conversation last night:
The Lawyer: “Have I told you how awesome you were today?”
LRC: “No.”
The Lawyer: “You’re awesome. *smooch*”
FYI — he didn’t say smooch. He, uh, smooched me.
I’d say that’s pretty effin close right there.
You know what else I’ve discovered?
There are men out there who like to make plans.
Sometimes days in advance!
Holy fucking shit!
Also? I’ve learned that it’s okay to leave my phone in the other room and not check it every five seconds because OMG What if he texts? WHAT IF HE CALLS? WHAT IF IT CAN’T WAIT? because you know what? It is possible to know someone is into you. Without wondering. Without worrying. Without fear.
And that is a pretty great feeling.
Also, phone calls > texting. And he agrees with me on this:
“I mostly only text when I’m drunk. Which is why I usually text you from work.”
(He’s funny.)
I accepted his invitation to the beach. And I’m really, really looking forward to it.
I told him last night, “I guess there really are men out there who give a shit.”
I found one!
Happy weekend, y’all.
Okay, so I found out what the deal was with the blatant denial of sex from New York.
HE WAS SICK.
SICK, people.
DER, LRC.
And all this time I was thinking I was somehow inadequate.
Not the case, my friends.
The past few days, NY has been unable to keep his hands off me. We just haven’t been doing sexual things because, and I quote, he “feels like [he] swallowed sandpaper.” He just doesn’t want to pass germs on to me! Awwww . . .
Dear NY’s sickness:
Go. The. Fuck. A. Way.
Kthx,
LRC
Since I quit feeling sorry for myself and actually realized what the hell was going on, I have been smitten all over again. Everything we do together is fun.
Buying grout from Lowe’s? Picking up sticks in the yard? Looking through an antique picture book of the flags of the United Nations?
ALL OF THAT WAS PURE BLISS.
He just has this infectious personality that makes me feel good instantly. He possesses such a quick wit that makes me spontaneously burst into fits of laughter, and when I look over at him as I’m laughing uncontrollably? He’s smiling back at me with that sexy grin of his, and I can tell he’s happy to make me happy.
Right back atcha, kid.
This hell I put myself through this week has illustrated to me that I need to stop WORRYING about everything. I worry entirely too much, and it’s just not healthy. I always try to “hope for the best and expect the worst,” but the whole time I am “expecting the worst” and forgetting about the “hoping for the best” part. Expecting the worst all the time can become draining.
Enjoy life!
Stop with the worrying!
JUST STOP IT!
I don’t have to go back to work until January 30th, so in the meantime in between time, I’m gonna be lovin’ life.
And I suggest you do the same.
Several years back when I was still a child, consumed with the magic of Christmas—the smell of the Frasier Fir and gingerbread, the sounds of Nat King Cole wafting through the air, the excitement of waking up early Christmas morning and wolfing down pancakes with maple syrup anxiously so I could hurry up and just OPEN THE DAMNED PRESENTS ALREADY—I remember hearing the words of my sweet, loving grandmother, and feeling completely and utterly confused.
“I wish I could skip Christmas.”
Why would ANYONE want to SKIP CHRISTMAS? I thought.
Now, I know exactly how she feels.
I’m not a scrooge or anything that extreme. I have gradually (yet begrudgingly) allowed Christmas music to permeate the speakers of my car’s stereo. I have been wearing a lot of red lately (although I refuse to don the red and green combo). I agreed to participate in the Secret Santa gift swap at my workplace.
But that? Is about the extent of it.
The number of Christmases I experience in my life is directly related to the apathy I feel toward each of them. Each year, it’s a little less exciting and a little more . . . annoying.
THAT. Is depressing.
I don’t WANT to feel this way. Christmas is supposed to be FUN, damn it. Now, it’s just a reminder that January is around the corner and it will soon be tax return time.
When did I start getting more excited about filing my taxes than about Christmas? How EFFED UP is that?
I didn’t even buy a tree this year. I have ALWAYS, every single year of my life, had a Christmas tree. A REAL one, too. This year? I’d just rather not bother. A combination of laziness, apathy, and a desire not to have to clean up seventeen broken ornaments every day (I have three cats and two dogs. Helloooooo hot mess of a house) or vacuum up hundreds of tiny tree needles.
I can count on one hand the number of Christmas decorations I have put up. ONE. HAND. I haven’t even put up any LIGHTS!
NO. LIGHTS.
This is tragic.
I’m sure part of my lack of enthusiasm involves the reality that I have no significant other to share it with this year. I know I’ve got New York, and we’ve been having tons of fun together, but it’s quite different from what I’m used to. My past three Christmases were spent spoiling Murray rotten and mastering the art of choosing the perfect presents for him. Selecting gifts for his parents and his sister always proved to be a fun challenge, even though his sister is about as warm and gentle as a rusty razor.
Side note: man, I am glad I did not marry into that family. Murray’s sister? Sucks at life. What a total bi-otch.
I love wrapping presents. LOVE. Like, more than is probably considered rational by normal standards. And I used to break out the wrapping paper every time I brought even one new gift home because I just COULD. NOT. WAIT. ANY. LONGER.
I have not wrapped a single present yet.
I know present-buying is definitely NOT what the holidays are about, but I am not a religious person, and the Christmas shopping was kinda the glue that held it all together for me. Thinking of others and all that jazz.
Well, I have been thinking of others, but it’s just, not the same this year. There’s an emptiness. And I know I’m making it sound worse than it actually is. I’m not depressed. I’ve actually been very happy since I actually started dating someone who, ya know, actually wants to BE AROUND ME on a regular basis. But something just doesn’t feel right.
I know I’m not the only one who’s in a holiday funk. I’ve just got to put more energy into it. My last day of work before the 30th is this Thursday, and that gives me plenty of time to get into the Christmas spirit.
I’m just going to go home and put Christmas lights on anything that doesn’t move, and maybe that will help awaken my mojo.
Because right now? It’s in hibernate mode. And it doesn’t want to come out until January 1st.
