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Guys like sports.
I get that.
Some of you, though? Just baffle the shit out of me with your shenanigans.
The Lawyer, for instance.
The Lawyer is a University of Florida alum. He eats, sleeps, breathes, and shits Florida athletics. He’s one of those guys.
This year, Florida’s softball team is the #1 seed in the Women’s College World Series. Since regular season games aren’t televised, the WCWS is The Lawyer’s only chance to see them in action.
During a UF vs. Alabama game on Sunday, we were starting to give up hope on the Gators. They were down by 3, and the end of the game was drawing near. If they lost, they’d have to play another game later that night. Neither of us wanted that to happen.
When the game ran long, it switched over to ESPN 2. When The Lawyer changed the channel, his piece of shit TV just decided it was going to turn itself off.
After much swearing and hat-throwing, The Lawyer got an idea. He retrieved a smaller, even shittier TV from storage, and set it up next to the other TV. There was peace in the forest again.
Until, that is, THAT TV started fucking up.
Oh yes. The picture would come and go. Audio stayed the same but let’s face it. You don’t want to listen to the game when you could be watching it.
The Lawyer surmised that the TV’s were becoming overheated. So he went into his bedroom and grabbed his fan. He plugged the fan up behind the smaller TV and put it directly next to the TV’s vent.
“You’re a freaking nut,” I said.
“Oh no. I’m not done.”
He grabbed his tool bag and pulled out one of those hand saws (sorta like this one), and began SAWING THE BACK OF THE TV OFF.
Behold:
The Lawyer's handiwork, taken with my camera phone.
Now that, my friends, is the dedication of a sports freak. The Lawyer sawed his TV up to watch ONE INNING of a WOMEN’S SOFTBALL GAME.
His efforts paid off when the TV started working again just in time to see the Gators’ first baseman hit a walkoff grand slam in the bottom of the 7th.
I think it’s all a result of The Lawyer’s devotion.
—
In other news, The Lawyer and I are “official” now. My first real boyfriend since the breakup with Murray, almost a year to the day later! Of course, he saws up TV’s, but other than that? Completely normal.
Riiiiiight. Who am I kidding? Like I could ever date anyone “normal.”
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 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?
Love, or rather, the pursuit of love, is a very complicated thing.
Wow, did I actually start an entry without sarcasm or any mention of the word “vagina”?
I must be maturing.
How boring.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been doing some major thinking about what I want out of life and love. In the past eleven years of my life, I’ve gone through failed relationship after failed relationship and I’ve determined that I have a “type” of man that I tend to gravitate toward.
I go after sexy musicians who don’t appreciate me.
I’ve dated five of them, to be exact.
I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s effing SCARY.
It seems that by now I would have tried to break that pattern, huh?
I know these men are wrong for me. I know they’re going to eventually break my heart. But I keep. going. back.
It’s exhausting.
So New and Improved, Been Down That Road and Ain’t Goin’ Back LRC™ knows better. She deserves a man who treats her like the Super Swell Lady that she indeed is. She deserves a man who will appreciate the fact that sappy country songs and movies about talking animals make her cry. She deserves a man who will offer her the last cigarette. She deserves a man who thinks it’s cute when she burps (which is A LOT) and isn’t annoyed by the fact that she pees approximately thirty-seven times per day. She deserves a man who appreciates her and gives a shit about her well-being.
And at the present moment, she has that.
On paper, The Lawyer is top drawer (I’m totally going to start saying “top drawer” from now on. It makes me sound less “skanky” and more “distinguished”). He has a law degree. He’s gainfully employed (and wears a tie to work). He lives on waterfront property.
He also seems to have all the other elements going for him. He loves to cook. He has a great sense of humor. He’s intelligent. He’s nice looking with pretty feet and a nice ass. He is clean cut and dresses well. He loves doing things for me, and he treats me with utmost respect. He’s a good kisser. He even politely told a creep to shove off when he was bothering me at a bar.
My friends like him, and so do my parents (YES HE HAS MET MY PARENTS ALREADY OMG AND HE WASN’T EVEN FREAKED OUT ABOUT IT I WAS LIKE “YOU DON’T HAVE TO” AND HE WAS LIKE “I WANT TO” AHHHH).We enjoy spending time together. That’s not an issue at all.
Then why aren’t I dying to get between his sheets?
DAMN YOU, LRC, AND YOUR MEANBOY-LOVING VAGINA.
Le sigh.
I’m going to give him a chance—I’m not writing him off yet. There is definitely some promise there. I’ve got to break my sexy musician habit and go after a proper guy. I’m just hoping the OMG I MUST JUMP YOUR BONES NOW sensation comes soon. Because this is a quality guy I could be letting go just because he’s not sexy in the exact way that all those assholes that came before him were.
If not . . .
Am I doomed for a life of being attracted to the wrong men?
I mentioned I had some vom-worthy Murray news, so here it is.
For those of you who are new readers, Murray was my boyfriend for three years. We broke up last May, but not before buying a house together, which I currently still inhabit and cannot sell. Murray lives in apartment that costs him less than half the house payment I have to dig up each month, so there’s already a leeeeeeetle bit of bitterness there.
A few months ago, Murray and his new girlfriend became Facebook official after about thirteen seconds of dating, which was like a 4″ heel kick in the boob to me because ever since the breakup, I’d tried to keep anything dating-related far, far away from The ‘Book. I posted no pictures and made no mention of any of the men I was dating, deleted any comments from friends that might have alluded to the fact I was seeing anyone, and I took my relationship status off completely (while Murray was, up until this point, still proudly declaring himself “Single”).
Fine. Whatever.
Then, a couple weeks ago, I was talking to a mutual friend of ours. This friend told me that Murray had turned down a great job offer in another city because he said things were “getting pretty serious” with his girlfriend. After TWO MONTHS of dating.
Chalk it up to the bitter, cynical bitch in me, but I knew that this was exactly what Murray was going to do. Settle for the next live woman who still had most of her teeth and showed any remote interest in him. Now, I’m not saying that this girl I haven’t spoken to in years may not have turned out to be a Saint of a woman with an ass you could bounce quarters off of who also makes a chocolate-covered dessert every night and gives 5-star BJ’s, but I know Murray. He’s a settler.
Also, this chick is 25, lives at home with her parents, and is a mother to a toddler.
(NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT)
Part of the reason Murray and I broke up was because of his laissez-faire (let’s be lazy and see how we fare!) attitude. About EVERYTHING. It’s one thing to be laid-back, but it’s a completely different thing to just not Give. A. Fuck. Murray was prepared to just take whatever life gave him (provided it wasn’t hard and didn’t take any effort).
Everything except me, it seemed.
If I’d never brought up the fact that I was unhappy, however, we would have continued living our sad, boring lives until one or both of us died. So he did want to keep me around . . . he just didn’t want to work for it. And he didn’t want to get married anytime soon, either.
This caused me more pain than I should have allowed. I will admit that.
So our relationship ended, I dated several selfish assholes, and now here I sit, as far from marriage as one could possibly be. I’m totally fine with that.
And then I hear something that makes my blood boil.
Another mutual friend told me something that was overheard between Murray, his girlfriend, and her little girl recently.
The little girl called him “Daddy.”
DADDY.
Hear that sound? That’s the sound of me punching a kitten.
(Just kidding, OMG I would NEEEEEEEEVER do that . . . just thinking about that makes me want to punch anyone who would punch a kitten.)
I dated Murray for THREE YEARS and the word “marriage” made his skin crawl (WE ALREADY OWNED A HOME TOGETHER, REMEMBER?), and now some random chick is dating him for THREE MONTHS and he’s DADDY??!?!!!??!?!?
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go vom. Repeatedly.
Ultimately, though? I win. Because I don’t have to wipe snot off the face of someone else’s child. Ever.
Also I am way hotter than Murray’s girlfriend. Who has had the same haircut since birth.
WIN.
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.
Aside from Becky’s Bitchery (which was really only a miniscule annoyance that had little to no bearing on my psyche. I just felt like venting all WHERE-DOES-SHE-COME-OFF?-style and then I was over it), my holidays were very enjoyable. Time with the family involved shooting Miller Lite cans with a BB gun (OH YES WE DID), and taking the boys down a notch by being the only one to hit the can on the first try (total luck, btw). My cousin, who is a Marine, especially liked being upstaged by a tiny female with little to no experience with firearms.
Oh, I snuck into my first movie ever! I blame New York. I didn’t even realize what we were doing until it had already happened. We saw Seven Pounds (which was soooo good), but after the movie, as I was pulling out of my parking space, I said, “I’m sorry. I really have to go buy two tickets so I don’t feel bad.” Guilt was eating me up for having snuck into the movie, so I parked again, went back in to the ticket office, and purchased two tickets.
I know, I know.
If I had really been thinking, I would have left them at the counter and told the ticket person to give them to the next couple who came to buy tickets for the movie and say “Merry Christmas,” but alas, I am not a good thinker-on-my-feet. NY was apparently amused with my supreme presence of conscience. I guess he thinks The Guilt/Worry/Fear is cute.
He’d better get used to it.
Just sayin’.
The next few days (and even today) were filled with tissues, Sea Mist, and Sudafed. I guess NY passed his sickness on to me. So no fornication. Frown.
Speaking of amorous relations, I was hoping to ring in the new year with a new year’s kiss from NY, which I didn’t think would be too much of a stretch since we have been seeing each other pretty much every day for the past week or so. When he came over last night, I dropped several hints about NYE, and he wasn’t biting. I finally just flat-out asked him what he wanted to do for NYE, and his answer sorta perplexed me.
“I might not do anything.”
Huh?
Call me strange, but I just can’t imagine not doing anything on NYE. It seems like if you were to go out one night in your year, wouldn’t it be that night? I guess I’m rarely ever single on new year’s, so I’ve always had plans. I mean, a couple years ago Murray and I drank champagne at our house and I passed out at 12:30 like an old lady (yeah I’m a trouper), but I was with someone. I can’t imagine a more depressing scenario than sitting on my couch with my cats and a box of tissues, watching Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve (featuring Ryan Seacrest!) while weeping to myself about what a failure my year has been.
No offense if that’s what YOUR new year’s eve is lookin’ like. Hey, if the shoe fits . . .
Is it just me? What do you think, people? I know we’ve been hanging out a lot lately, but it seems like he’d want to save up valuable LRC time for NYE rather than just some random Monday or Tuesday, right?
Don’t get me wrong, if that’s what he wants, I’m totally not going to stand in his way. It’s just going to be weird if I go out and my friends are asking me where the eff my Man Friend is and I have to say, “Uh, he’s at home,” because, inevitably, people will think we are A) fighting or B) broken up.
Note to self: STOP WORRYING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK, LRC.
And if I have to get a New Year’s Kiss request from some random strange drunk dude at the bar, I may have to throw up.
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.
I’ve been doing some thinking lately about why I blog. Why I choose to share what I share, and withhold what I withhold.
When I returned to blogging around October of 2007 (previously I’d had several personal websites and a LiveJournal, on and off, since about 1996—when I was THIRTEEN. Literary masterpieces, my first “blogs” were not), it was mostly just to share my interesting and comical thoughts (although, how “interesting” or “comical” these thoughts were is debatable). I had become bored at work and needed something to fill all the moments in my workday after I’d checked Facebook and MySpace eleventy bajillion times, after I’d finished my work and there was little to occupy my time.
I was in a relationship with Murray at the time, and while I did blog about things related to him, our relationship was not the focus of my blog. I started out at Blogger, then moved to WordPress a few months later, deciding that it was the superior of the two. I used my first name and Murray’s first name (although I switched to using only his first initial upon my move to WP), and would only post photos of myself periodically.
One day, not long after the breakup with Murray, when checking my blog’s stats, I got a sinking feeling that my privacy was about to be compromised. I made the impulsive decision to close the blog and open a new one, and only told those in my gmail contact list about it.
This is that blog. I named it Long Red Cape after a song about letting go of something you had been holding onto for far too long. Not only was I in love with the song, but I thought its meaning was very fitting for the phase of life I had just entered. Moving on. Letting go.
Through blogging, I have “met” throngs of amazing women and men, and I’m grateful for the experience I’ve gotten through all of this.
When I look at my entries that garner the most attention—higher stats, more comments, longer and more emotionally-driven comments—are the ones that relate to my dating life, post-breakup.
While I don’t write this blog for my readers, I also don’t do it JUST for me.
That being said, I think one of the things that makes my blog unique is the theme it has adopted as the months have passed (almost six months since the breakup! CRAZY! Seems like five minutes ago I was writing the five month post) is this: dating in a small town.
You may be thinking, Whoop-De-Fucking-Doo, LRC. Congratulations. I don’t give a shit.
I know many of you who read inhabit large cities. I live in a town of less than 20,000.
Dating in a small town? Is some TOUGH SHIT.
Do you know how hard it is to hang out with someone ONCE and then find out the next week everyone is talking about how you are in a relationship with that person?
So all the crazy stuff that has been happening to me has largely been the result of living and dating in a small town. Because Murray? And BE? And New York? And even Adam?
Yeah, they all know each other.
For example, the other night, after drunkenly giving NY my number and probably being more flirtatious than usual, I saw Murray, and he said, “So, I saw you talking to [NY] . . .”
Me: “Yeah . . .” (thinking: NONE OF YOUR DAMNED BUSINESS, HOLMES.)
And the other night when I was out with NY? One of his friends said, “I see your car over at [name of intersection] sometimes, who lives there?”
Me: “Um . . . [BE]’s parents.” He asked me this RIGHT IN FRONT OF NY.
So, uh, don’t be surprised if the craziness continues. Because I am in like with two boys right now, and I hope, for my sake and theirs, that the shit does not hit the fan.
In NY-related news (you seem to all like him so this should make you happy): we hung out again on Friday night, and I actually did sleep in his bed. Still no sex, which is the way I want it to be, but there are times when we’re getting hot and heavy on the couch that I am thinking GOD WHY DON’T YOU JUST RIP MY CLOTHES OFF ALREADY. He doesn’t snore, which is fantastic, because I have a hard time getting to sleep when it sounds like someone is choking on a windmill. I cooked dinner for him last night and we played Scrabble.
Can I just say? I LOVE THAT HE WANTED TO PLAY SCRABBLE WITH ME. I always feel like I’m being an imposition on someone if I ask them to play a game with me. Most guys I date, do not play games (well, not games like SCRABBLE anyway . . . they play MIND GAMES. Totes different). I ended up conceding because he was ripping me a new one.
I actually think he might be too smart for me. He writes shit. Shit that gets published. He has a very quick wit. And he has a phenomenal vocabulary.
And I? I write this little blog that is basically just a dump for my brain and emotions. Not exactly on the same level as his stuff, as I have read some things he has written (GOOGLE = MY BOYFRIEND).
I know this sounds bad, but I’m not used to being the less intelligent one. It’s not that I need to feel smarter than the other person to feel in control. It’s not that at all. I LIKE smart guys. They TURN ME ON.
I just feel uncomfortable if I’m unable to communicate with someone on a higher level than myself. I think things like, “Does he think I’m just another one of those cute, dumb girls who has gotten through life on her looks alone?” I mean, I know I’m no beauty queen, but I have felt judged on my looks before. People think that since I’m young and cute, that I can’t possibly know anything about life, because things have just been handed to me.
I didn’t mean for this to turn into a long-winded rant on feeling pigeonholed, because I really don’t feel like that most of the time. I guess I’m just not used to being the less intelligent one.
BUT. That doesn’t stop me from being SERIOUSLY IN LIKE with NY. He makes me giggle, and he gives me the WHOOSH feeling when think about kissing him.
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In other news, Ashley of Turquoise Ribbons gave me this lovely award:
The award says: “This blog invests and believes in proximity” (meaning, that blogging makes us ‘close’-being close through proxy). These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbon of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!
So here are the folks I’m passing it on to:
