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The other day, The Lawyer and I were watching Jersey Girl.
(What? Jersey Girl was a GOOD MOVIE. Why did everyone hate on that movie so hard? On that note, why does everyone hate on Ben Affleck so hard? HE CO-WROTE GOOD WILL HUNTING, DAMN IT. AND KEVIN SMITH LIKES HIM, SO YOU SHOULD, TOO.)
Sorry, I’ll stop yelling now.
Anyhooter, we were watching the part where B. Aff’s character, Ollie, and his fatass pregnant wife Gertrude (played by J.Lo) are getting ready for an important something-or-other for Ollie’s job. Ollie is trying to get the two of them out the door in a timely manner and Gertie is just not having that shit. No ma’am. She’s pregnant. She’s enormous. She can’t poop. She has a motherfucking PERSON practicing kickboxing in her uterus. She wants. To. Cry. And do anything but leave the house, but she has to support her husband.
Ollie consoles her, while gently reminding her that they need to go. Like, now. Gertie, through tears, complies and says, “Just one more minute,” and runs to the bathroom to fix her makeup.
It’s at this moment that Ollie does that thing that, apparently, all men do behind their girlfriends’/wives’/hos’/boyfriends’/trannys’ backs: the “boyfriend cringe,” as Lawyerman called it. They do some kind of thing with their clenched fists in the air while looking extraordinarily annoyed. The kind of thing one reserves for times of great disdain. Sadly, I can’t illustrate this because, apparently, Googling “Jersey Girl movie boyfriend cringe gif” does not yield desirable results for this blog post.
Who knew?
But you know what I’m talking about, anyway.
Since The Lawyer mentioned it, I asked.
“Do you do that behind my back often?”
“Define . . . often . . .”
I thought about all the times in which I could have annoyed The Lawyer to the point of gesturing violently and wanting to silently throttle me as I slept.
“Once a week?”
“Well, if once a week is often, then yeah. Pretty often.”
-Record scratch-
“Wait, WHAT?”
I couldn’t imagine that I could ever be that annoying. Surely, I’m not! I thought. He annoys me way, way more than I annoy him! He’s perpetually annoying!!! HOW DARE HE!!!!
“What do I do that’s so annoying?” I implored.
“Well, I can’t really think of anything in particular right now.”
WRONG ANSWER.
Dudes. Don’t tell us we annoy you often and then not be able to back it up with examples. That’s just bad form.
Finally, after much prodding from yours truly, he came up with ONE thing he could think of that annoyed him on the reg.
You know those salt and pepper grinders you buy from the grocery sto’ . . . the ones that have lids on them . . . kinda like this?
The Lawyer and I use these to season our food. When we cook dinner at home, I usually serve myself first because 1) WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST, BITCHES, AND I’M BOTH and 2) I’m always hawngriest because I heart food and NOMNOMNOM and 3) he is extremely slow in putting his food on the damned plate already.
So what annoys Lawyerman about LRC?
It annoys him that I leave the lids off the salt and pepper grinders.
I LEAVE.
THE LIDS OFF.
FOR HIM.
SO HE CAN USE THEM.
ON HIS FOOD.
WITHOUT BEING BOTHERED TO TAKE THE CAP OFF AGAIN.
I can’t think of a more ridiculous thing to be annoyed by.
And now, you ask, what annoys ME about The Lawyer?
He corrects me. On everything. Even when he’s wrong.
Except I do the cringe/arms flailing/IMMA MURDER YO ASS face right in front of him, instead of behind his back.
Because I want him to be prepared for the middle-of-the-night throttling.
So tell me, bloglings (no, really, tell me. I’m curious). What is it that your current or former significant other does/did that makes/made you go ABSOLUTELY INSANE?
What do/did you do to a current/former significant other that causes/caused grave annoyance?
You’re getting bullets. Deal with it. I’m leaving work in four hours and I don’t have time for B.S.
- After watching a Sex and the City episode involving Samantha, the guy of her dreams, and his tiny penis, I began to worry. Oh God, I thought, What if The Lawyer has a tiny penis?!?!??! because seriously? I can’t be havin’ that. I don’t need a Dirk Diggler or anything, but sex shouldn’t be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Not that I have a hallway down there or anything, I mean, oh God. There’s no way I can talk myself out of this one. The hole has been dug. So I will conclude with this: The Lawyer does not have a tiny penis. Praise Allah.
- Earlier in the week, The Lawyer and I were exchanging e-mails, and he mentioned coming over to my house after eating dinner at his grandpa’s house. About 30 minutes before I left work, he mentioned that there might be a slight change of plans. His grandpa wanted to meet me. Immediately. So I did the good girl thing and agreed. It actually wasn’t terrible. The hilarity of it all was the fact that they served boxed red wine, chilled, with hamburgers. There were two awkward moments in the night . . . the first was when The Lawyer’s grandpa said, “Hey we’re selling this house, y’all should get married and buy it” (WHAAAAT????), and the second one came when there was a misunderstanding about my age, and The Lawyer’s uncle thought that he in fact was dating a 19 year old. Okay, I look young, but I don’t look that young.
- New York , in true NY fashion, decided it had been too long since he sent me a random ass text message, so he sent me a message that said only, “corn bread!” I, of course, replied with the obvious response, “turnip greens!” and went back to my NY-free routine. Then, Wednesday night while I was playing bar trivia with The Lawyer (we won first place, by the way, and all our drinks were free), I received yet another text from NY. The gist of it was that his car had died on the way to the airport (which is 2.5 hours away from where he lives) and he had a 10am flight the next morning and no way to get to the airport. He never out-and-out asked me to give him a ride, but honestly? Why the fuck would he be texting me about it if he weren’t trying to hint toward it? So he more or less tells me I’m not important enough to him to make me his girlfriend, goes over a month without seeing me, then all of a sudden wants me to offer to make a 5 hour round trip drive at 10pm on a weeknight so he doesn’t miss his oh-so-important flight to Who The Fuck Knows Where so he can blow his inheritance even more on sushi and promotional materials for his “band”?
No thanks. - I’m pretty sure I heard Murray’s name on the radio this morning for getting arrested for DUI. It may not have been him because his name isn’t terribly unique, but the person in question was arrested on the street right next to a bar where one of Murray’s favorite bands was playing last night. If this was, in fact, Murray, whose money management skills are atrocious, then he may not be able to fund the refinancing of the house after this. Also, if he gets his driver’s license taken away without a permit to drive for work (his job requires him to drive around in a truck and watch other people work), he may lose his job. Balls.
- I got a mani/pedi with Ma yesterday and my toes are all smooth, painted, and ready for the beach! I leave at lunch time to head south with The Lawyer.
We had this e-mail exchange yesterday:
aaand I think that about sums up what we’ll be doing on our trip. Have a fabulous weekend, freaders! Mwah!
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.
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:
- 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.
- 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?
- 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.
- 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’ve had so many dating fiascos, it should be illegal. With numerous relationships gone awry, I have even contemplated giving up The Dating and joining a convent. Then I remember that the whole “religion” thing would get in the way.
Also, no more drunken mistakes sex.
I digress.
However, despite being unlucky in love, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, this does not mean I am not a desired woman. I’ve had several men pursue me recently, and it has reached levels of effing retardedness I can’t even track.
First of all, I have a sort of, Mini-Stalker, if you will.
Saying “if you will” makes me feel smart.
I say “mini” because he’s not to the level of saving my bubblegum wrappers and making a shrine to me out of strands of my hair. He’s only marginally creepy.
A student at the college at which I work, he habitually drops by my office to chat, and I habitually stare straight ahead at my laptop, typing away while giving “yes” or “no” answers to his queries, and hoping he will take the hint and go away.
Okay, that makes me sound like a turbo-bitch. But this guy just won’t get it. I’ve tried being nice, but that just fuels his desire to follow me around. While I can’t be straight up rude to him, because that’s just not something I am capable of doing to someone who hasn’t been rude to me first, I can’t lead him on. He seems a little slow in the head and honestly, he won’t get it unless I act like he’s not there.
If he sees me at a bar, which has happened a couple times, he practically surgically attaches himself to my hip and follows me around. Meh. Such is the stigma of being seven different kinds of awesome. What can you do?
Incidentally, on one of these bar nights, I managed to duck outside for a smoke (I’m trying to quit . . . yay?) and escape the little bugger for long enough to strike up a conversation with a (male) friend of Claire’s. Our paths cross sometimes but for some reason I have never really been as close to him as I am with some of his friends. I was talking to him and his bandmate about one of their upcoming gigs (these two are in a popular local band) and all of a sudden he was asking me when we were going to go on a date, and his bandmate was totally going along with it.
I wasn’t really sure how to react to the situation, so I just kind of laughed it off, but I thought, “Would it really be so bad to date him? He’s funny and cute, but I just don’t know . . .”
So I asked Claire what his deal was, and she admitted that he’d asked her before to hook us up, but she, too, just laughed it off. I think maybe that was his way of putting himself out there, asking me when we were going to go out, and effectively putting the ball in my court.
Whatevs. It is what it is.
My third pursuer, whom I will call The Lawyer because The Guy Who Has Already Passed The Bar In Another State But Had To Take It Again In Our State Because I Guess That’s How Lawyers Do It Even Though He’s Not Technically A Lawyer But He Will Find Out In May If He Passed The Bar Then I Guess He Will Be A Lawyer is a bit cumbersome. Sandra (again, of having a brother who shat on the porch because he got so drunk at her wedding reception fame) is trying to set us up because she works with him, and he seems to be a very nice, funny guy. He also lives on the water, which, OMGBONUS (am I a terrible person for possibly exploiting him for his waterfront property and boat access?) Sandra, her husband, and I went to his house Saturday night for us to “get to know each other” and I had some of the best ribs I have ever tasted. The man can cook.
He’s supposed to call me tomorrow and we’re going to go to trivia night at a local bar. I hope it’s with a group of people though, because 1) trivia’s always better with a group and 2) PRESSURE!!!!!!!! NO PRESSURE PLEASE! I always feel “forced” to like someone if I’m being “set up,” and well, I just don’t like feeling that way. I like to ease into things.
Except when I’m falling head over heels for someone who will inevitably hurt me.
But again, I digress.
And last but not least, I got a text message from Glen. Oh, how we love Glen. First, his crazy girlfriend called me a skank in a bar, then shortly afterward I received a Hea-VY text from him about how he wanted to be with me instead of her. So imagine my surprise when I received a text from him at NINE FREAKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING on Sunday with this gem of a pickup line:
I want to lick u from head to toe
Lord, have mercy.
When I told Claire about this unfortunate beginning to my Sunday, she painted me a hilarious mental picture.
Glen’s girlfriend, Amy, lives in a semi-heavily trafficked part of town. So as Claire was driving by Amy’s apartment the other day, she saw Amy standing on the porch, arms flailing about and screaming at Glen, who was playing with a golf club in the yard, paying her abso-fucking-lutely NO attention.
God, sometimes I love this town.
So this leads me to believe that Glen is having “girl trouble” and wants to rekindle an old flame in a weak moment.
NOT MY PROBLEM.
I realize this post is getting extremely lengthy, and for that, I apologize. But stay tuned for some vom-worthy Murray news in the upcoming week.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
