Okay, so this isn't exactly men crawling back to me, begging for me to take them back but, fuck it, it made me feel special (and secretly, drunkenly wanted by ex-boyfriends).
Zach, the high school into college boyfriend of 3 years, texted me Friday night and said:
You're pretty.
That was all. Nothing huge, nothing drastic. But because I know him oh so well and for years he has begged (literally, in the form of an 8 page handwritten love letter, begged) to get back together, I know that when he calls, or texts, or IMs, or facebooks, it's all bad news in the world of Zach. Poor kid really has never gotten over me. And I'm not just saying this. He's told me, many times. He's told me year after year that he's tried to get over me, and tried to date other people but alas, no one compares to yours truly.
It makes me feel terrible, poor kid. Secretly I love it. Hahaha, of course I do. I'm evil and love knowing that people are still hung up on me.
Okay so that's that. I asked him the next day if he knew he sent that, and he did the whole "uh, yea, I think" aka he was wasted but you know what they always say:
A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
Or at least I think that's how it goes, I don't know.
Also on Friday night, or Saturday morning however you'd like to see it, Ryan P sent me a(n) (obviously drunk) IM at 4:35am.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
Oh really? So we can have the same lovely conversation that we had Tuesday night over drunk text messages where I (or you) say totally embarrassing completely insincere things? Oh I don't think so. See I wasn't drunk Friday night and I would never think of telling him those things when I'm sober. Partially to save my face, but more importantly because I really don't mean those things.
I don't really like Ryan P. But since he is unavailable, of course I occasionally dream. Again, I like the attention. Kill me. I like feeling desired. And truth is, sometimes you feel most desired when the attention is from another woman's man. Again, sue me... I'm a horrible person.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
oh the horror
I have discovered that Precious Pete is the world's worst, and I mean worst, kisser. This is not a joke. Go back a few blogs and you'll remember my flawed rationale - I was pretty much blacked out by the time we got home from our date and although I know we had sex and I do have this faint memory of him inside me, I couldn't remember if he was good or bad in bed. For whatever reason, I thought that I'd have remembered if he was just so bad, so in fact, he must have been good! Oh great.
Oh no. Saturday night, and Sunday morning informed me that he is in fact, legitimately, really, actually the world's WORST KISSER! Oh, the horror, the disappointment. Precious Pete has everything going for him. He's attractive and adorable, intelligent (in LAW SCHOOL!!), funny, talkative, social, sweet, just eveeeeeerything I could ask for. He has even stated multiple times how much he adores me. I loove being smothered with with these coments! (Or at least in the intial stages of courting it's nice).
He can't kiss to save his life. And what is so strage is that he's like 25 or 26 and been in really long serious relationships so I'm just absolutely dumbfounded. My sister suggested that perhaps his poor ex was just an equally horrific kisser, or she just didn't care.
Nuh uh... you can't just not care. Kissing is everything! I mean, obviously it is not but it leads to everything else and yes... I take that back, it is everything. Kissing is all day, every day, in a million different ways at different times to tell someone different things and feel different things and aaaaaaaaah!
I don't even think I can train this poor man.
And the worst part is that even though I had all day, while laying on the couch, watching football, snoozing left and right, to think this over - I have no idea what I'm going to do... I mean, can I really stop seeing this guy because he's a bad kisser? OF COURSE! is my first reaction, but then I remember his long list of fabulous attributes and I just feel uugh the worst surge through my body of utter disappointment.
He's fabulous. How do I fix this?
Of course the other piece to the puzzle to remember is that German Lover Boy is coming home now in 6 days, and we've made even more plans to hang out. My dear guy friend Brett who I tell literally everything [I think before this blog, in my selective-honesty phase of life, I really did tell him everrrrything] anywaysssss, so Brett thinks I'm going to go with Pete #1 - German Lover Boy - because due to his collegiate sport past, we're thinking he's going to turn out to be a "dick head meat head." Whereas one would think that would turn me off, Brett and I both know that I tend to fall hard for those kind of guys.
Sue me, I'm yet another stupid stereotype - I always fall for the bad guys. Not necessarily the badass guys, but the ones who will inevitably break my heart.
Remember how I called Nick and Kenny before my date with Pete # 2 - Precious Pete? THe one thing they both said was that he was such an awesome guy and he would, I quote, never break my heart. Brett heard this and wasted no time chirping in with his opinion (which is unfortunately pretty accurate). He said if Pete is the kind of guy who would never break my heart than I'm sure to "split his in two." Oh Brett, how well you know me. See nice guys, and me... don't mix. Sure I love how sweet he is now, and ooooh it just melts my heart to hear him actually use the word "adore" when he talks about how much he is enjoying his time with me... I'm doomed. I'm going to pick Pete #1, and in a months time I'll be back here crying, telling you how he's a douche and he broke my heart and I'm devasted and should have stuck with Precious Pete... even though he's a terrible kisser.
Oh no. Saturday night, and Sunday morning informed me that he is in fact, legitimately, really, actually the world's WORST KISSER! Oh, the horror, the disappointment. Precious Pete has everything going for him. He's attractive and adorable, intelligent (in LAW SCHOOL!!), funny, talkative, social, sweet, just eveeeeeerything I could ask for. He has even stated multiple times how much he adores me. I loove being smothered with with these coments! (Or at least in the intial stages of courting it's nice).
He can't kiss to save his life. And what is so strage is that he's like 25 or 26 and been in really long serious relationships so I'm just absolutely dumbfounded. My sister suggested that perhaps his poor ex was just an equally horrific kisser, or she just didn't care.
Nuh uh... you can't just not care. Kissing is everything! I mean, obviously it is not but it leads to everything else and yes... I take that back, it is everything. Kissing is all day, every day, in a million different ways at different times to tell someone different things and feel different things and aaaaaaaaah!
I don't even think I can train this poor man.
And the worst part is that even though I had all day, while laying on the couch, watching football, snoozing left and right, to think this over - I have no idea what I'm going to do... I mean, can I really stop seeing this guy because he's a bad kisser? OF COURSE! is my first reaction, but then I remember his long list of fabulous attributes and I just feel uugh the worst surge through my body of utter disappointment.
He's fabulous. How do I fix this?
Of course the other piece to the puzzle to remember is that German Lover Boy is coming home now in 6 days, and we've made even more plans to hang out. My dear guy friend Brett who I tell literally everything [I think before this blog, in my selective-honesty phase of life, I really did tell him everrrrything] anywaysssss, so Brett thinks I'm going to go with Pete #1 - German Lover Boy - because due to his collegiate sport past, we're thinking he's going to turn out to be a "dick head meat head." Whereas one would think that would turn me off, Brett and I both know that I tend to fall hard for those kind of guys.
Sue me, I'm yet another stupid stereotype - I always fall for the bad guys. Not necessarily the badass guys, but the ones who will inevitably break my heart.
Remember how I called Nick and Kenny before my date with Pete # 2 - Precious Pete? THe one thing they both said was that he was such an awesome guy and he would, I quote, never break my heart. Brett heard this and wasted no time chirping in with his opinion (which is unfortunately pretty accurate). He said if Pete is the kind of guy who would never break my heart than I'm sure to "split his in two." Oh Brett, how well you know me. See nice guys, and me... don't mix. Sure I love how sweet he is now, and ooooh it just melts my heart to hear him actually use the word "adore" when he talks about how much he is enjoying his time with me... I'm doomed. I'm going to pick Pete #1, and in a months time I'll be back here crying, telling you how he's a douche and he broke my heart and I'm devasted and should have stuck with Precious Pete... even though he's a terrible kisser.
Friday, September 26, 2008
HOW COULD I FORGET?
Oh wow, I forgot to share this part.
He asked me, legit mid hook up (I think), not while we were actually having sex because I can remember exactly how we were laying and how he looked when he asked me this ah! The AUDACITY of this man!!! Precious Pete no longer so precious!
Okay, okay he goes: "When was the last time you had an orgasm?"
EXCUSE MEEEEEE? Now the question itself was just too good to fall into the I'mreallydrunkandwon'trememberthistomorrow category but what followed after that lovely, sweet, totally normal comment I forget. So it's killing me because not only do I not remember how I replied (I do remember being totally shocked and flabbergasted) but even worse! I don't remember what he explanation was, like excuse me what the fuck does that mean?
So now I'm left, morning after and awfully hungover at work, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind that made him ask me this.
Perhaps I'm just screaming "I'm alone and haven't got laid in ages." (Which thinking back about the night with Adam... I don't necessarily know if I can say that, eh). Maybe it was his way of saying "why won't you just get off already?" Or maybe he just sensed that I was holding something back, not giving in to actually intimacy (was I giving that off? ugh, I try not to let anyone see that).
So this is going to continue to plague me all day. And I texted him over an hour ago (he texted me first, don't worry) but he hasn't responded yet?
Is he already kicking me to the curb? Oh no, I hope he gets over the fact that I put out on the first date and actually wants to see me again. Despite being appalled (but not surprised) but my antics, I really just cannot stop smiling when I think about him and would die if this turns in to another one night stand.
Ugh.
He asked me, legit mid hook up (I think), not while we were actually having sex because I can remember exactly how we were laying and how he looked when he asked me this ah! The AUDACITY of this man!!! Precious Pete no longer so precious!
Okay, okay he goes: "When was the last time you had an orgasm?"
EXCUSE MEEEEEE? Now the question itself was just too good to fall into the I'mreallydrunkandwon'trememberthistomorrow category but what followed after that lovely, sweet, totally normal comment I forget. So it's killing me because not only do I not remember how I replied (I do remember being totally shocked and flabbergasted) but even worse! I don't remember what he explanation was, like excuse me what the fuck does that mean?
So now I'm left, morning after and awfully hungover at work, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind that made him ask me this.
Perhaps I'm just screaming "I'm alone and haven't got laid in ages." (Which thinking back about the night with Adam... I don't necessarily know if I can say that, eh). Maybe it was his way of saying "why won't you just get off already?" Or maybe he just sensed that I was holding something back, not giving in to actually intimacy (was I giving that off? ugh, I try not to let anyone see that).
So this is going to continue to plague me all day. And I texted him over an hour ago (he texted me first, don't worry) but he hasn't responded yet?
Is he already kicking me to the curb? Oh no, I hope he gets over the fact that I put out on the first date and actually wants to see me again. Despite being appalled (but not surprised) but my antics, I really just cannot stop smiling when I think about him and would die if this turns in to another one night stand.
Ugh.
look nice and go home, alone
I slept with him.
I slept with him? We had sex. Oh god.
And he has a small penis.
What better way to let a guy know that not only are you a drunk but that you're also a whore than to get drunk on your first date, take him home, and sleep with him.
I don't even remember if it was good or bad. I'm thinking that it must not have been that bad because, go with this for a second, I'd remember bad sex before I remembered good sex right? Or is that wrong. I don't know. You know what? I don't even mind (right now) that he has a small penis. Because I had a fucking blast yesterday.
Apparently dates are fun! And he was such a gentleman. Unless of course, you think getting a girl drunk, going home with and sleeping with her on the first date disqualifies him from the gentleman award. But he met me outside and opened doors and even pulled out my chair and paid for everything and ordered my drinks (okay maybe that's too much) but he is GREAT! We have so much in common (like sleeping with someone on the first date) and he was extremely easy to talk to and made me laugh and fjdklasfjdkafjdla.
And then we had sex.
At least we used a condom! Hey look at me :) I didn't remember this until I went to make my bed and FOUND IT IN MY BED. I also have no idea how we got home to my apartment. Details.
I slept with him? We had sex. Oh god.
And he has a small penis.
What better way to let a guy know that not only are you a drunk but that you're also a whore than to get drunk on your first date, take him home, and sleep with him.
I don't even remember if it was good or bad. I'm thinking that it must not have been that bad because, go with this for a second, I'd remember bad sex before I remembered good sex right? Or is that wrong. I don't know. You know what? I don't even mind (right now) that he has a small penis. Because I had a fucking blast yesterday.
Apparently dates are fun! And he was such a gentleman. Unless of course, you think getting a girl drunk, going home with and sleeping with her on the first date disqualifies him from the gentleman award. But he met me outside and opened doors and even pulled out my chair and paid for everything and ordered my drinks (okay maybe that's too much) but he is GREAT! We have so much in common (like sleeping with someone on the first date) and he was extremely easy to talk to and made me laugh and fjdklasfjdkafjdla.
And then we had sex.
At least we used a condom! Hey look at me :) I didn't remember this until I went to make my bed and FOUND IT IN MY BED. I also have no idea how we got home to my apartment. Details.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
since when do people go on dates? what IS a date?
I didn't even get to the good part! Whoops.
Soooo, Precious Pete does call Wednesday to talk about what we should do Thursday. All of you out there who read and live by "the rules" go fuck yourself because I can't do those things. I don't care about the three days you have to wait or this or that or blaaah okay.
7:55 pm - Incoming call from: Pete
Ignore!
I chickened out. I'm a baby. I'm childish and immature and EXTREMELY NERVOUS! So I don't pick up or call back right away. I need to first listen to his voicemail and see what he has to say, and then wait, for a good solid chunk of time to calm down and sort out all the things I could possibly say when I do eventually call him back. hummmph
His voicemail is adorable. Makes me giddy, tummy tumbles as my dear friends in the chick lit world might say. He wants to meet up around 8p and wonders where we should go? (We live on opposite sides of the city)
I have no idea where to go? Since when is it my decision? I want him to pick. I'm terrible at making decisions. Most of the time I really just don't care, but I don't like being responsible for things like that... So before I call him back I call two of my trusted guy friends - my older sister's age - who happen to be very, very close friends with Pete. Remember? I told you he was my sister's friend.
They are thrilled, which really, calms my nerves. I learn quite a bit in those two conversations. He's into service work? Volunteering? Who is this guy! I only know him as the cute, blonde drunk that I always partied with in college. (Okay, I knewww there was a sweet side). So again, they are both thrilled that we're going out for drinks, think this could be a great thing in the making, and assure me that he is the chillest, most social, not awkward person so the whole "first date thing" should be an issue.
I seriously doubt that, but I'm trying to relax.
I call him back, and he's great. I find out he's in law school (I guess was too drunk Saturday to remember this) and he finds out I'm living in the same neighborhood as his law school (he was too drunk on Saturday to remember this as well.) Welp, perfect, we can then meet at a bar around his school since he'll be in class until around 8, and I won't have to travel far from my abode.
Oh
my
God.
I'm going on a date.
Who goes on dates?! Adults or something?! This is all a very new, scary world to me. Coming from a school that was well known for the LACK of dating culture and the seriously overbearing hook up culture. We didn't go on dates in college (or high school) until we were already dating someone. I know it's all backwards, as do most of you I'm sure... but my god -
This is a date.
Soooo, Precious Pete does call Wednesday to talk about what we should do Thursday. All of you out there who read and live by "the rules" go fuck yourself because I can't do those things. I don't care about the three days you have to wait or this or that or blaaah okay.
7:55 pm - Incoming call from: Pete
Ignore!
I chickened out. I'm a baby. I'm childish and immature and EXTREMELY NERVOUS! So I don't pick up or call back right away. I need to first listen to his voicemail and see what he has to say, and then wait, for a good solid chunk of time to calm down and sort out all the things I could possibly say when I do eventually call him back. hummmph
His voicemail is adorable. Makes me giddy, tummy tumbles as my dear friends in the chick lit world might say. He wants to meet up around 8p and wonders where we should go? (We live on opposite sides of the city)
I have no idea where to go? Since when is it my decision? I want him to pick. I'm terrible at making decisions. Most of the time I really just don't care, but I don't like being responsible for things like that... So before I call him back I call two of my trusted guy friends - my older sister's age - who happen to be very, very close friends with Pete. Remember? I told you he was my sister's friend.
They are thrilled, which really, calms my nerves. I learn quite a bit in those two conversations. He's into service work? Volunteering? Who is this guy! I only know him as the cute, blonde drunk that I always partied with in college. (Okay, I knewww there was a sweet side). So again, they are both thrilled that we're going out for drinks, think this could be a great thing in the making, and assure me that he is the chillest, most social, not awkward person so the whole "first date thing" should be an issue.
I seriously doubt that, but I'm trying to relax.
I call him back, and he's great. I find out he's in law school (I guess was too drunk Saturday to remember this) and he finds out I'm living in the same neighborhood as his law school (he was too drunk on Saturday to remember this as well.) Welp, perfect, we can then meet at a bar around his school since he'll be in class until around 8, and I won't have to travel far from my abode.
Oh
my
God.
I'm going on a date.
Who goes on dates?! Adults or something?! This is all a very new, scary world to me. Coming from a school that was well known for the LACK of dating culture and the seriously overbearing hook up culture. We didn't go on dates in college (or high school) until we were already dating someone. I know it's all backwards, as do most of you I'm sure... but my god -
This is a date.
mistake number one through five thousand
Okay here goes... so last night, no Tuesday night - the "after work get together turned black out" night - I fucked up. I get it, I'm flawed, but even worse than that is the fact that I just don't learn from my mistakes! I'm a terrible drunk dialer. More often it's drunk texting, oh what has our generation become, but Tuesday night was a combination of the two.
And I cried. At the bar... to a stranger. What is wrong with me? I honestly think this is a sign of something worse than my drunkenness... like a sign that I need to see a therapist. STAT! I'll get to the crying later.
First, the drunk texts. Not only did I text the boy who I saw Saturday who had promised me he'd call later this week - hello? When a guy says he'll call later in the week it is FAR too early to accuse him of not calling on TUESDAY! Tuesday is not later this week. Whoops. I did. Poor Pete. And this isn't German lover boy, this is a few years older used to go to college good friends with my older sister and her friends Pete. This is blonde Pete. I never date blondes. This is sweet, kind, actually a good human being, likes to volunteer and is going to law school Pete. AND HE'S SINGLE! Finally, I'm not throwing myself into the arms (or towards the groin) of an unavailable man! Precious Pete!
So Saturday we hang out (not by ourselves, this was by pure chance) and get to talking and catching up a little, considering it's been two years since I've seen him.
UGH pause... my co-workers just asked me to join them in a "company lunch." Since when do we have lunch together? HELLO! I have more important things to do.. like blog about Pete, and Ryan, and fjdlkajfd be back in 30.
Ah surprisingly fun lunch.. okay, so Pete... we're drunk on Saturday, he seems excited that I'm living back in this city, asks for my number and promises he'll call later this week so we can get together! Fast forward to Tuesday night, I'm drunk again and fucking text the kid... I did so using a hint of sarcasm, I believe my text said: "Tuesday night and no call? Just kidding, but seriously you ought to call me this weekend so we can meet up!"
Idiot.
Luckily he doesn't seem too annoyed by my impatience and responds happily with "Aah you beat me to the punch. What are you doing Thursday? Should we get a drink? I'll call you tomorrow."
Wooohoooo so my drunk texting doesn't get me in too much trouble, just makes me look like a desperate (I am), impatient (I am), Tuesday night drunk... (I was).
Next idiot move... I scroll through my phonebook and land on Ryan P. Ryan P. (not asshole, drunk sex, ruined friendship Ryan) has expressed his legitimate love for me since 6th grade. I, being the kind of girl who really, truly, only wants what I can't have (which makes me worried about Pete, does this mean secretly I know I'll never have a chance?), strongly disliked little immature, annoying Ryan P. until... Christmas of last year. Naturally, although this man is no joke, the most beautiful man I have ever seen (think Tom Brady meets Rob Kardashian... he's a looker) I didn't necessarily take to him and his good looks until, well, he was unavailable. Christmas time came around and one of my girlfriends told us all that she and Ryan P. had been "talking a lot, like all semester" HELLO HE WAS IN AUSTRALIA!! (oh god, I'm such a hypocrite, this is exactly what I'm doing with German lover boy!!!!) Anyways, I knew better. Ryan P. talked, online, to anyone who would listen while he was in Australia... anyone. I ignored him for a solid 3 months... he's the kind of kid who will IM you and say "Hey" - you respond - he says "What's up?" and then there is silence... it's pointless.
So I know that this budding relationship with Ryan P. and my girlfriend is shit. She is just over excited and the first night we run into him at the bars he immediately dismisses her and informs her "ugh... it wasn't like that, I guess we weren't on the same page." She was slightly frustrated, but not heartbroken, and suddenly... I realize that Ryan P. may actually be desirable. Only now that I see there is competition, of course.
We chat occasionally during the spring, summer rolls around and I try, I mean... I really tryyyyy to like the kid. When we're out I engage (or attempt to) in conversation and there is just nothing. Nothing. The kid is like a brick wall. A really, really, nice looking brick wall. Okay so, the more and more I try, the more and more I think maybe if I just give in and make out with him you know, mayyyybe I’ll feel something.
The night that I finally go home with him just happened to be the night a kid from work was hanging all over me at the bar so maybe Ryan only likes what he can’t have too? Anywho… I go home with him and have a fucking BLAST! Like, a blast. We were literally rolling around in bed all night making out… like high school kids. We didn’t have sex. We didn’t (that I can remember) do anything, except make out. WHAT A RELIEF! What a great feeling. To wake up smiling next to an incredibly cute, and apparently kind, sweet in bed man. And I didn’t have to regret having unprotected, drunk sex, with a kid I didn’t even like talking to… like normal.
Then I find out he has a girlfriend.
Okay, honestly I found out like 2 days before we hooked up – I’m telling you, I really only like what I can’t have, damn it… But he completely denied they were “official.” What are you, actually still in 6th grade? Your best friend calls her your girlfriend, your little sister calls her your girlfriend, your entire posse of best and closest lady friends call this girl your girlfriend. You’re official… you just don’t care enough right now to pass up a hook up with the girl you’ve loved since 6th grade.
I liked the attention. I took it, kill me. Playing the home wrecker is not new to me. At least I didn’t sleep with him, right?
Then we hook up again. He is all of a sudden fun. We can talk freely and openly about everything, as if we’ve known each other forever… I guess we have, makes sense. And he is just fun! We laugh, we go out to breakfast the next day and sit on the outdoor patio of an adorable restaurant downtown and aaaaaah my heart is aching.
He’s another woman’s man. I’m the fling. Like always. Fuck.
He drove back to college (oh yea… he’s younger than me, eeeeeeeek) that same day and we have hardly talked since. He lives next door to his girlfriend, he obviously is with her and has far too many things to think about (girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend) to continue talking to me so he is suddenly out of my love life as quickly as he came into it.
Tuesday night? I text him: “Ryaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.”
Hello drunky, mcdrunkster. As if that text isn't screaaaming I'm drunk and wish you were here to hook up with me. Welp, ladies and gents, that's pretty much what I explicitly state in the next texts. If my roommates weren't so nosy (and also my best friends who love to creep) and hadn't forced me to erase my inbox and outbox the following morning I would share with you the entire conversation that continued for about 2 hours...
It had a lot of me wiiiishing oh so much that I had told him my feelings long ago, and lots of me begging for him to come visit (whaaat?!!!) and pleaaading that we should try the "us" thing.Who the hell am I and what was I thinking?! This is Ryan P... remember the brick wall? The kid who I couldn't even hold a 2 minute conversation with until I decided to make him my summer fling?
Embarrassing.
I apologized the next morning (via one very miserable text) and haven't heard from him. So! There's another one out the door.
What else did I do Tuesday night?
Oh yeah! ... I CRIED.
In the bar. To a stranger. In my defense, he was a doctor so was pretty damn good at playing the life coach therapist role... but I can't remove all fault from myself... I brought up the sob stories and the oh life is so tough talk...
That wasn't about guys at least. My brother died 4 years ago and it's still a hugely, unresolved issue but come on... keep it in private? I cried in a mother fucking bar... again.
I'm always that girl, for one reason or another.
Luckily this little sob fest happened with a stranger and I think my guy friends were all too drunk to notice.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
morning after damage control
I'm really big on damage control, but more often than not I try to fix my screw ups and actually just make things worse.
Remember how I was all hot to trot about going out after work last night? Terrible idea. Okay, not a terrible idea, it was really fun, but it’s normal for me that a “really fun night” comes with some pretty heavy consequences. I’m a fucking idiot.
One might wonder: how many things could I possibly regret doing on a Tuesday night? When you’re a twenty something, drunk, somewhere on a Tuesday night… the answer is way too many.
With each mistake I feel more and more like a character out of an Anna Maxted book. I AM an Anna Maxted character. Give me a British accent and I’d fit the mold perfectly. Anyways, I can’t wait to share all my idiot moves from last night… but for now I’m going home.
Yes, it's only 1:15p and I’m leaving work because apparently everyone in the office bought my 7:00a email, short and to the point, lacking enough details so that everyone would be crawling with sympathy:
Hi all, I woke up around 3a with a full blown migraine so I am coming in late today.
Well “late” turned into 12:30p and I swear 5 minutes had not even passed before every single employee managed to look pathetically at me and say “oh my god why’d you even bother coming in? you must feel terrible” or “oooh my, hunny, why don’t you just go home?” or “are you feeling any better? No? didn't think so you look like you’re about to cry” or my favorite, the always dreaded comment “oooh, you don’t look so good.” No shit sherlock, I'm hungover as hell.
Oh that's right they think I'm mid migraine. Either I’m a really good actress or this hangover is shining right through my makeup and cute outfit day because this migraine free girl actually does look like shit… so I’m told.
But, point is I’m not passing up this opportunity to head home! After a long, 45 minute work day. Hey, you can’t be given the green light from every, single employee to go home and “get back in bed” and not take it, can you?
As soon as I’m home, back in bed, I’ll work up the courage to share with you all the idiotic drunk texts, messages, calls I made last night…
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
some music needs air, roll down your window.
Recently Clever Girl Goes Blog posted a soundtrack to her life. Not that I think she was the first to think of such a thing (as I'm sure all of us music lovers have done so a trillion times) but kudos for posting. Got me thinking, and to be honest, streamlining my music obsession into one 13 track CD would be nearly impossible.
Keeping with the themes of my blog: sex, love and boys, I'll try to spit out a few songs that make me cry, cringe or vomit - those that reduce me to a god awful flashback of some[man] who has come and, regretfully (or not so regretfully) gone... from my life. So this is the start of my "God, why I am such a desperate, clueless, moron when it comes to sex, love and boys?" soundtrack.
Ugh, starting with:
Brian - the old guy who can't seem to grow out of his play-on-playa-homeboy-wannabe phase. The one who remains incredibly inarticulate and seemingly unintelligent - who also managed to break my heart... twice three, four, how many times? What a mistake.
Apologize by Timbaland: I must have changed my Myspace profile to feature this song 25 times during the two or three months (or 6 months, a year?) that I tried to convince myself I could walk away from our saga with the upper hand. I kept listening to this song thinking that I was over him, and he couldn't have me back, to quote the song... it was too late to apologize. Unfortunately once reality (or my best friend Lindsey) slapped me across the face I realized that he wasn't trying to apologize, or have me back... he didn't even want to talk to me.
Zach - the 3 year high school into college high school sweetheart. Should I even try to list all of "our songs?" Probably not.
I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston: During one of our nasty, terribly heart breaking break ups (all my doing, god I was heartless) he sent me a CD. I was in college, he was still in high school. I received the CD in the mail and like an idiot, decided to open it between classes when I was checking my email in the computer lab. I put my headphones in the computer to spare the entire school from listening to what my desperate ex-boyfriend was sending me. Like an even bigger idiot, I put the headphones into the wrong hole and proceeded to get about 2 minutes into Whitney Houston belting out a terribly sappy song, before the kind soul next to me tapped my shoulder and asked if I could turn down my music... he was trying to write a paper.
Ryan - the dear, dear friend with whom I had a lovely emotional love affair with for 7 years which was then ruined by one sweaty make out session and two drunken fucks.
Blinded By the Light by Manfred Mann: For 7 years he and I texted, called, or left a blaring voice mail to inform the other that this song had just came on where ever we were. We danced like fools who were so high on life a dozen times, in a dozen different bars, in a number of different cities to this song. It started because on our first date at the beginning of those 7 years we watched Blow on his couch. This then became one of our "songs" and for no reason we just took to it. I probably should have read into the lyrics a bit more and taken "she was blinded by the light" as a sign that he was Bad News Bears...
More to come with David (the Hollywood movie star), Todd (the long distance soul mate), Ian (the cheating, head games, college boyfriend) and the list will continue...
For now I'm going to fancy myself with a little after work party at a bar downtown. How very posh of me... I don't even know how fancy is supposed to be used... and beers and a baseball game probably do not count as posh.
But whatever.
xoxo
Thursday, September 18, 2008
38 more minutes
I'm meeting my college roommate Claire for drinks after work today and I've couldn't be more pleased. I need a drink. Now. Actually, I've been needing a drink since about 10 this morning.
If yesterday I felt incompetent at work, today I feel hated. Not worth explaining, because for once I really didn't do anything wrong, and everyone knows that - they are just blaming me because well, there is no one else to blame for... a certain issue that does not deserve to be explained.
So I'm meeting Claire. She is a thrill. She loves to gossip and rant and rave and drink. So this will be a hoot and a holler. I need to spend time around someone who can't wait to listen to me talk in circles and attempt dissecting my every emotion only to end up more confused and clueless about how I really feel or why.
I also can't wait to tell her I have not one, but TWO dates with German lover boy as soon as he returns to the beauteous U S of A. :-)
Mwahaha.
xoxo
If yesterday I felt incompetent at work, today I feel hated. Not worth explaining, because for once I really didn't do anything wrong, and everyone knows that - they are just blaming me because well, there is no one else to blame for... a certain issue that does not deserve to be explained.
So I'm meeting Claire. She is a thrill. She loves to gossip and rant and rave and drink. So this will be a hoot and a holler. I need to spend time around someone who can't wait to listen to me talk in circles and attempt dissecting my every emotion only to end up more confused and clueless about how I really feel or why.
I also can't wait to tell her I have not one, but TWO dates with German lover boy as soon as he returns to the beauteous U S of A. :-)
Mwahaha.
xoxo
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
i feel incompetent today
There's one person in my new office that intimidates me. Maybe that's not the best way to phrase it, but I just don't feel like I've proved myself to him yet... like everytime he walks by he judges me. I always get the sense that he's disapproving of me, thinks I'm lazy, fail to take initiative... I don't know, but I don't like it.
Then today, little things like how I just happened to be taking a bite out of the biggest, frosted with sprinkles sugar cookie when I turned the corner to see two professional men standing on the other side of our all glass, front door. Keep in mind that it's my job to buzz these people in so that they don't have to stand outside looking like lost little children.
Well they were standing outside, looking like lost little children, and they saw me indulging in my cookie.
Then today, little things like how I just happened to be taking a bite out of the biggest, frosted with sprinkles sugar cookie when I turned the corner to see two professional men standing on the other side of our all glass, front door. Keep in mind that it's my job to buzz these people in so that they don't have to stand outside looking like lost little children.
Well they were standing outside, looking like lost little children, and they saw me indulging in my cookie.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
did I mention...
...that we talked all day yesterday? Literally all day. I worked from 9-5 and we were talking from 10:45 until 4:55 (when I decided I'd better get started on my things to do).
Who does that? That's like what I did when I was in 3rd grade - you know, when you actually talked to your "boyfriend" on the phone for more than a "Hey, how was your day, what are you doing for dinner, when are you coming over" kind of conversation.
Anywhooo, it was splendid. I was giddy all day, and I learned that we have a lot, a lot, a lot in common.
Fabulous.
Who does that? That's like what I did when I was in 3rd grade - you know, when you actually talked to your "boyfriend" on the phone for more than a "Hey, how was your day, what are you doing for dinner, when are you coming over" kind of conversation.
Anywhooo, it was splendid. I was giddy all day, and I learned that we have a lot, a lot, a lot in common.
Fabulous.
Ich bin verliebt
I Googled that.
I don't know a single word of German. Do you blame me? It's not exactly the prettiest looking, or sounding language. Anyways, it's not like Pete knows any German either. And this is Pete, who claims he is actually good at picking up languages, who has lived in Germany for 9 months now. He doesn't know a thing. He certainly doesn't know Ich bin verliebt which I just learned means I'm in love.
And I know, I know, I'm not actually in love - I'm not pretending to be, or even trying to convince myself I am. Awww, he shall be called German Lover Boy.
This is lust at its best. Like the giddy, can't stop smiling when he sends me a message kind of lust. And sending messages is all we can do, after all, he is in Germany. BUT lucky me, this beautiful, tall, athletic, dark hair, big smile, Italian hunk is moving home TO AMERICA in 2 weeks. And his best friends just happen to live down the road from my new apartment. Oh isn't it wonderful how some things work themselves out?
So this brings me to a very important (must try and think about this one before I get myself all worked up over something that's just destined to crash and burn) point. I have a eh hem... tendency... long history, bad habit, of...
only wanting what I can't have.
Spare me the gasps and the rolling of the eyes. I get it, this is nothing new. It's actually so cliche that I'm a bit disappointed in myself. I should have come up with something new. Some bad habit that's all my own.
Well I didn't. I like the chase. I like the flirting and the lust and all the good stuff that comes before well, before I get whatever it is I thought I wanted. Play Train song in background: "In a world that what we want is only what we want until it's ours." Yea, yea, yea.
So I'm a little afraid that as soon as German lover boy over there across the pond comes home, and we hang out... well, I'll get over him. How presumptuous of me! Isn't it? I mean, that's assuming that this hunk of a man enjoys my company, wants to spend time with me, even likes me just a little bit. Whatever, I also have a tendency of thinking all these things will come true. I try and avoid calling this cocky or overconfident - because I'm far from either... and I don't like saying that I'm just being an optimist - because, well I'm most cynical.
I think it's best to give myself the least amount of credit here and say I'm just damn desperate, and obsessed with men. Since they are all I think about, boyfriend, dating, hooking up, husband - well I have to assume he's going to like me when he gets home. Otherwise that puts a quick end to my daydreaming...
And I still have 2 weeks to daydream about how perfect we could be :)
I will certainly keep you updated. We have a big date planned for when he arrives! Yes, I said it... a DATE. Like he asked me out on a date. Kind of, I mean we both talked about hanging out and agreed on it, but nooow the way he talks about it, it's like a date.
So go with me here, I never get asked out on dates. Again, I'm sure (I hope, I tell myself) it has nothing to do with me or my crazy basketcase-ness... it's just that no one goes on legit dates anymore. Not at my college and not at my age. Maybe later in my twenties the dating world will resurface. I hope?
I don't know a single word of German. Do you blame me? It's not exactly the prettiest looking, or sounding language. Anyways, it's not like Pete knows any German either. And this is Pete, who claims he is actually good at picking up languages, who has lived in Germany for 9 months now. He doesn't know a thing. He certainly doesn't know Ich bin verliebt which I just learned means I'm in love.
And I know, I know, I'm not actually in love - I'm not pretending to be, or even trying to convince myself I am. Awww, he shall be called German Lover Boy.
This is lust at its best. Like the giddy, can't stop smiling when he sends me a message kind of lust. And sending messages is all we can do, after all, he is in Germany. BUT lucky me, this beautiful, tall, athletic, dark hair, big smile, Italian hunk is moving home TO AMERICA in 2 weeks. And his best friends just happen to live down the road from my new apartment. Oh isn't it wonderful how some things work themselves out?
So this brings me to a very important (must try and think about this one before I get myself all worked up over something that's just destined to crash and burn) point. I have a eh hem... tendency... long history, bad habit, of...
only wanting what I can't have.
Spare me the gasps and the rolling of the eyes. I get it, this is nothing new. It's actually so cliche that I'm a bit disappointed in myself. I should have come up with something new. Some bad habit that's all my own.
Well I didn't. I like the chase. I like the flirting and the lust and all the good stuff that comes before well, before I get whatever it is I thought I wanted. Play Train song in background: "In a world that what we want is only what we want until it's ours." Yea, yea, yea.
So I'm a little afraid that as soon as German lover boy over there across the pond comes home, and we hang out... well, I'll get over him. How presumptuous of me! Isn't it? I mean, that's assuming that this hunk of a man enjoys my company, wants to spend time with me, even likes me just a little bit. Whatever, I also have a tendency of thinking all these things will come true. I try and avoid calling this cocky or overconfident - because I'm far from either... and I don't like saying that I'm just being an optimist - because, well I'm most cynical.
I think it's best to give myself the least amount of credit here and say I'm just damn desperate, and obsessed with men. Since they are all I think about, boyfriend, dating, hooking up, husband - well I have to assume he's going to like me when he gets home. Otherwise that puts a quick end to my daydreaming...
And I still have 2 weeks to daydream about how perfect we could be :)
I will certainly keep you updated. We have a big date planned for when he arrives! Yes, I said it... a DATE. Like he asked me out on a date. Kind of, I mean we both talked about hanging out and agreed on it, but nooow the way he talks about it, it's like a date.
So go with me here, I never get asked out on dates. Again, I'm sure (I hope, I tell myself) it has nothing to do with me or my crazy basketcase-ness... it's just that no one goes on legit dates anymore. Not at my college and not at my age. Maybe later in my twenties the dating world will resurface. I hope?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
sex changes everything, doesn't it?
So here we go, what should be a great weekend recap is... well, not. Sex seriously ruins everything. Everything and everyone. I hate it. True statement there... I haven't had sex and enjoyed it, really, actually enjoyed it in so long that it's pathetic. It's pathetic because I know better - I know that if I dislike having sex so much of the time, it probably means I shouldn't be sleeping with these people.
It ruined things with Ryan, that's for sure. We had so much going between the two of us... so many years of history. An awesome friendship. Mystery. Innocence. A secret emotion just between the two of us. SO MUCH that I wanted to hold onto, without RUINING it by sleeping together. Needless to say, we slept together. It doesn't matter that we were both wasted. It didn't matter that the next morning we were both terrified by what we had just done. Months before when we hooked up, it felt INCREDIBLE to not have sex... we had a night that was perfect. Perfect hooking up, perfect cuddling, perfect PDA and perfect time alone, literally rolling around in the bed, laughing like stupid little school children. The innocence that I felt, and that he even said he knew kept us together - well it was ruined by one stupid drunk night.
And the sex wasn't even good.
It was so not even good, that I slept with him again. Another night. Drunk. After we fought.
Logical? No, not at all.
Anywhoooooo, that put an end to whatever messed up, confusing, relationship we had going on. Sex changes things, whether it ruins things or perfects things, it changes things. And until I'm in a relationship that is ready to be quote unquote perfected, I'm putting my money on the fact that drunk sex with people who don't adore me... will... ruin things.
Where's this going? Friday night. Really drunk, obviously... as I was going out with Elena and Lauren and the three of us together have quite the habit of pregaming too hard, and going out too hard. A few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride (during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka) later... I arrive at my new favorite bar - absolutely wasted.
I somehow manage to be shady the whole night (the word 'whole' is up for debate here, considering I left the bar at 12:50, but we'll get there in a second). My friends are all downstairs dancing, drinking and I'm sure having fun. What am I doing? I don't know... I really don't but they told me the next day that I was not with them. Your guess is as good as mine. However my inbox/outbox tells me that I continued to text Adam with whom I had texted for most of the evening... and around 12:30 I get a call. Adam's going back to his neck of the woods and not coming to the bar we are at after all. Shit, I had really wanted to meet up with him. Have no fear, he tells me to just catch a cab to his house.
Like an idiot, I do. I don't have any cash in my wallet. He tells me he'll meet the cab outside and pay for my cab. Does this make me a prostitute? Or just make him a nice guy? The answer is yet to be determined. However considering the fact that before I got in the cab I stopped at an ATM and took out $60 because a tiny, itsy bit of me didn't trust that he would meet me outside and pay leads me to think he may not be such a nice guy after all. Damn it, trust your instincts. No, no, no... I think he is a nice guy? He's always been so sweet.
Okay so my cab gets lost, we eventually make it. Adam does in fact meet us outside, pays the cab driver for my fare (or my services... kidding of course) and we go hang out inside.
Hanging out turns to making out and hooking up and the next thing I know (but don't fully remember) we're naked at at that point where we're going to start having sex.
Before I continue.. Adam and I used to hook up pretty regularly, but if you notice in my first post... he's not a notch on my belt. For all the times we hooked up we never had sex! And he never even came close to trying. Which made our relationship have that same dreaded, waiting to be ruined, "innocence." Adam was always the fun hook up, the really sweet guy who would just hang out, like really just hang out and hook up, make out and cuddle. UGH if only I could preserve that in a glass jar (unfortunately glass jars can break right?) So when I realize all of a sudden (okay I need to stop talking like I'm a victim here, I know I was pulling his hips closer to mine, I was there too...) that we're having sex (and it's actually enjoyable)...
here it comes...
I push him enough away from me and...
start crying?
Yea, I don't know why. I don't know where it came from, perhaps the few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka had something to do with it... but I cried! IDIOT. Poor kid had no idea what just happened. If only I could have snapped out of my drunkness just for one second to tell him calm down, don't worry, I'm just wasted.. and hey that was feeling pretty damn good. Unfortunately that didn't happen and I just continued sobbing quietly to myself, leaving him utterly confused and probably wishing he hadn't dropped $25 on this head case's cab (yeah, that's me I'm referring to.)
I end up calling or texting Elena, she picks me up, drives us home.
The end.
Hellooooo damage control the next morning. But in situations like this, I almost always just make it worse. Maybe I should have let it be.. not brought it up, left Adam to be confused and just got on with life knowing damn well that he now completely and entirely knows of my basket case-ness. Ehhh, see I still think he's such the perfect guy. He even managed to say some pretty sweet, perfect things the night before amidst my sobs and snotty nose.
So I text him. Try and make up for the night before with a hint of "ooooh man, I feel like such an idiot.. I'm so sorry for calling you a fucking asshole?" (Oh yea, on my way out I may have dropped the you're such a fucking asshole line before I slammed the door.) Truth is - he is the farthest thing from an asshole. He didn't pressure me, he didn't force anything and yes I'm sure I was asking probably begging for everything. That's not the point. In response to my text he even apologizes (for WHAT Adam?!!! I was just wasted, I'm the idiot here who should be apologizing). I think I'm in the clear after a few texts back and forth so I give him the "Can we try meeting up again sometime soon? Preferably not when I'm so wasted" text and his response?
Ladies and gents, the reason why sex in fact ruins everything... He says back, via text message the morning after:
"Yea, sure."
Man does he sound enthusiastic.
Not.
It ruined things with Ryan, that's for sure. We had so much going between the two of us... so many years of history. An awesome friendship. Mystery. Innocence. A secret emotion just between the two of us. SO MUCH that I wanted to hold onto, without RUINING it by sleeping together. Needless to say, we slept together. It doesn't matter that we were both wasted. It didn't matter that the next morning we were both terrified by what we had just done. Months before when we hooked up, it felt INCREDIBLE to not have sex... we had a night that was perfect. Perfect hooking up, perfect cuddling, perfect PDA and perfect time alone, literally rolling around in the bed, laughing like stupid little school children. The innocence that I felt, and that he even said he knew kept us together - well it was ruined by one stupid drunk night.
And the sex wasn't even good.
It was so not even good, that I slept with him again. Another night. Drunk. After we fought.
Logical? No, not at all.
Anywhoooooo, that put an end to whatever messed up, confusing, relationship we had going on. Sex changes things, whether it ruins things or perfects things, it changes things. And until I'm in a relationship that is ready to be quote unquote perfected, I'm putting my money on the fact that drunk sex with people who don't adore me... will... ruin things.
Where's this going? Friday night. Really drunk, obviously... as I was going out with Elena and Lauren and the three of us together have quite the habit of pregaming too hard, and going out too hard. A few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride (during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka) later... I arrive at my new favorite bar - absolutely wasted.
I somehow manage to be shady the whole night (the word 'whole' is up for debate here, considering I left the bar at 12:50, but we'll get there in a second). My friends are all downstairs dancing, drinking and I'm sure having fun. What am I doing? I don't know... I really don't but they told me the next day that I was not with them. Your guess is as good as mine. However my inbox/outbox tells me that I continued to text Adam with whom I had texted for most of the evening... and around 12:30 I get a call. Adam's going back to his neck of the woods and not coming to the bar we are at after all. Shit, I had really wanted to meet up with him. Have no fear, he tells me to just catch a cab to his house.
Like an idiot, I do. I don't have any cash in my wallet. He tells me he'll meet the cab outside and pay for my cab. Does this make me a prostitute? Or just make him a nice guy? The answer is yet to be determined. However considering the fact that before I got in the cab I stopped at an ATM and took out $60 because a tiny, itsy bit of me didn't trust that he would meet me outside and pay leads me to think he may not be such a nice guy after all. Damn it, trust your instincts. No, no, no... I think he is a nice guy? He's always been so sweet.
Okay so my cab gets lost, we eventually make it. Adam does in fact meet us outside, pays the cab driver for my fare (or my services... kidding of course) and we go hang out inside.
Hanging out turns to making out and hooking up and the next thing I know (but don't fully remember) we're naked at at that point where we're going to start having sex.
Before I continue.. Adam and I used to hook up pretty regularly, but if you notice in my first post... he's not a notch on my belt. For all the times we hooked up we never had sex! And he never even came close to trying. Which made our relationship have that same dreaded, waiting to be ruined, "innocence." Adam was always the fun hook up, the really sweet guy who would just hang out, like really just hang out and hook up, make out and cuddle. UGH if only I could preserve that in a glass jar (unfortunately glass jars can break right?) So when I realize all of a sudden (okay I need to stop talking like I'm a victim here, I know I was pulling his hips closer to mine, I was there too...) that we're having sex (and it's actually enjoyable)...
here it comes...
I push him enough away from me and...
start crying?
Yea, I don't know why. I don't know where it came from, perhaps the few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka had something to do with it... but I cried! IDIOT. Poor kid had no idea what just happened. If only I could have snapped out of my drunkness just for one second to tell him calm down, don't worry, I'm just wasted.. and hey that was feeling pretty damn good. Unfortunately that didn't happen and I just continued sobbing quietly to myself, leaving him utterly confused and probably wishing he hadn't dropped $25 on this head case's cab (yeah, that's me I'm referring to.)
I end up calling or texting Elena, she picks me up, drives us home.
The end.
Hellooooo damage control the next morning. But in situations like this, I almost always just make it worse. Maybe I should have let it be.. not brought it up, left Adam to be confused and just got on with life knowing damn well that he now completely and entirely knows of my basket case-ness. Ehhh, see I still think he's such the perfect guy. He even managed to say some pretty sweet, perfect things the night before amidst my sobs and snotty nose.
So I text him. Try and make up for the night before with a hint of "ooooh man, I feel like such an idiot.. I'm so sorry for calling you a fucking asshole?" (Oh yea, on my way out I may have dropped the you're such a fucking asshole line before I slammed the door.) Truth is - he is the farthest thing from an asshole. He didn't pressure me, he didn't force anything and yes I'm sure I was asking probably begging for everything. That's not the point. In response to my text he even apologizes (for WHAT Adam?!!! I was just wasted, I'm the idiot here who should be apologizing). I think I'm in the clear after a few texts back and forth so I give him the "Can we try meeting up again sometime soon? Preferably not when I'm so wasted" text and his response?
Ladies and gents, the reason why sex in fact ruins everything... He says back, via text message the morning after:
"Yea, sure."
Man does he sound enthusiastic.
Not.
Friday, September 12, 2008
meeting of the minds best friends' ex boyfriends?
On the eh... mode of public transportation unique to my city... this morning I ran into not one but TWO of my best friends' ex boyfriends. And these aren't just like oh the awkward blind date ex boyfriends or the raunchy one night stand kind of people. We're talking sigh, first loves. And first loves they were! Elena and Nick are ridiculously complicated, dated for like five or six years? And still have managed to sustain a high level of "it's complicated" even though they no longer speak let alone see each other. Well folks, I saw AND spoke to good old Nicky baby this morning and I have to admit, for probably the first time in my 10 years of knowing him... he looked good, real good. Then there's Jake. Lindsay's first love (from over 6 years ago) and still the man who makes guest appearances in her dreams, oh I don't know, multiple times a week. Scratch the 'guest appearance' comment - he legitimately stars in her dreams. She melts at the sound of his name. I don't blame her. Ivy League grad now attending Ivy League med school? Not bad.
Too bad both of these men have new girlfriends. Serious girlfriends at that. Which brings me to an impending conversation I must have with this trusted, honest blog: the man with the girlfriend, the unavailable man, the man who ALWAYS seems to be more attractive once he's taken.
Unfortunately for me, when this conversation does happen, I'll only have one word to describe myself: homewrecker. I can't help it. Well, of course I could help it if I wanted to help it. I could make the decision not to hook up with people with significant others. Alas my morals aren't that flawless and I have a long string of hook ups (and flings and lusts and afjdklasfjdaskl GOD I always fall hard) with the ones I can't have.
Much more about this later. I'm about to being a 4 hour training on web design. Funny.
Too bad both of these men have new girlfriends. Serious girlfriends at that. Which brings me to an impending conversation I must have with this trusted, honest blog: the man with the girlfriend, the unavailable man, the man who ALWAYS seems to be more attractive once he's taken.
Unfortunately for me, when this conversation does happen, I'll only have one word to describe myself: homewrecker. I can't help it. Well, of course I could help it if I wanted to help it. I could make the decision not to hook up with people with significant others. Alas my morals aren't that flawless and I have a long string of hook ups (and flings and lusts and afjdklasfjdaskl GOD I always fall hard) with the ones I can't have.
Much more about this later. I'm about to being a 4 hour training on web design. Funny.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
my type
One more post before I jump on the train home. To quote my favorite reality TV star, Miss Lauren Conrad: "My type is someone I've already dated." I can deny it time and time again. I know it's true, no no no. It shouldn't be true, but the past tends to repeat itself! What can I say? While I'm on this search for sigh, true happiness, I find comfort in "feeling safe." Even if it's in the arms of an asshole.
More on my actual type later.
More on my actual type later.
wedding rings
I guess I never knew how many people in this god damn city are married. Let me try that again - I never paid attention to how many hot, attractive, intelligent men wear wedding rings. Of course I know that nearly every adult considers, assumes, actually does get married but something fucking magical happens when you graduate college and marriage consumes you. I seriously look at every person I pass on the streets, in the grocery market, in line at Starbucks and think hmmm, I wonder if we will start talking and begin dating and fall in love and get married. I wonder if... you would make a good husband, father to my children? JESUS! I'm 22 and so terribly single yet the only thing I can keep busy with all day is trying to figure out which man, oh, I don't know on this PLANET, I will marry...
Maybe I should try talking to a random guy before I wonder if he'll be able to father my children and live happily ever after.
This is just the start of these rants... I'm telling you, this subject consumes me as of lately. I will go on, and on, and on and on again about how I obsess over this future husband of mine - this future husband that I have not yet met - this future husband, fuck... who says I'll even find a husband? So far not too many guys have wanted to stick around and sort through my issues, to deal with my craziness, to fight the perfect, double personality, Gemini that I am.
Ugh, day 1 of this blog and it just crossed my mind that perhaps this is only going to make me more crazy. I mean, what did I say, hmm 2 hours ago? That I thought 'coming clean' with myself would be a good way to feel sorted out? Explained? Sane? Maybe if I create this space to vent and to think and to write, it will just consume me even more. And by 'it' I mean this constant, terrible, tragic consummation of mine - men. Finding a boyfriend. Wanting a boyfriend. Desperately wanting a boyfriend. Deciding I don't want a boyfriend. No, I certainly don't need a boyfriend. Fuck, maybe single life is good for me...
Oh, and then it all becomes so clear again - I'm on this never ending trip... to find myself. To be honest with myself. To just, be me.
Maybe I should try talking to a random guy before I wonder if he'll be able to father my children and live happily ever after.
This is just the start of these rants... I'm telling you, this subject consumes me as of lately. I will go on, and on, and on and on again about how I obsess over this future husband of mine - this future husband that I have not yet met - this future husband, fuck... who says I'll even find a husband? So far not too many guys have wanted to stick around and sort through my issues, to deal with my craziness, to fight the perfect, double personality, Gemini that I am.
Ugh, day 1 of this blog and it just crossed my mind that perhaps this is only going to make me more crazy. I mean, what did I say, hmm 2 hours ago? That I thought 'coming clean' with myself would be a good way to feel sorted out? Explained? Sane? Maybe if I create this space to vent and to think and to write, it will just consume me even more. And by 'it' I mean this constant, terrible, tragic consummation of mine - men. Finding a boyfriend. Wanting a boyfriend. Desperately wanting a boyfriend. Deciding I don't want a boyfriend. No, I certainly don't need a boyfriend. Fuck, maybe single life is good for me...
Oh, and then it all becomes so clear again - I'm on this never ending trip... to find myself. To be honest with myself. To just, be me.
just a number?
I have exactly 13 minutes before my meeting with the company's accountant. Ugh, (uuuuggh even worse! the 'ugh' groan reminds me of Ryan P, inside jokes making getting over someone hard) anyways! Who enjoys meeting with accountants? I hate numbers, I hate math - even though I'm really good at it, if we're going to keep with this honest trend - math even used to be my favorite subject in school... don't quite know when I started hating numbers and money and math so much. Perhaps it was when I was old enough to realize that I'll never have as much money as I want and watching my bank account dwindle away after my shopping and coffee and bar habit.. well that's not as fun as my 9th grade math class, now is it?
Okay, so since this is my first day with the blog, I've wanted to post like, well constantly. I should jump on this eagerness, it's sure to fade within a week but alas I've waiting until, now 10 minutes before a meeting to write. So I'll keep it to something quick and easy. Ha, easy... interesting. My number? I can't even tell you right now I'm literally going to have to think about it. Awhile ago I told myself I'd stop counting. Not because it's so many people, just because. I mean, why should we have to walk around (in heels, at night, in a bar) with this magical number attached to our name (and perhaps body) as if anyone else ought to be able to judge me for it?
Okay, I'm avoiding the issue... let me count thy waaays, or people. Jon, Luke, Zach, Andrew, Jamie, Brandon, Will, Todd, Brian, David, Matt, Lucas. I'm forgetting people. Who am I forgetting? And isn't it terrible that I could forget someone I've slept with? Brendan. Hahah, I just realized the part of my life I was leaving out. Awww, how could I.. jackass... Ian. UGH! Lucas (the first) OH god, it's really coming to me now... Ryan. SIXTEEN? OH MY GOD. I haven't said that number before... well ladies and gents, I said I was going to be honest, and that's honest.
I've called myself a slut before, a whore, a homewrecker (unfortunately true)... AAH!!!! SEVENTEEN! I forgot about Tommy. Aah, the ultimate one night stand. The ultimate absolutely wish it never happened, one night stand. Whore. Ugh...
Okay, so since this is my first day with the blog, I've wanted to post like, well constantly. I should jump on this eagerness, it's sure to fade within a week but alas I've waiting until, now 10 minutes before a meeting to write. So I'll keep it to something quick and easy. Ha, easy... interesting. My number? I can't even tell you right now I'm literally going to have to think about it. Awhile ago I told myself I'd stop counting. Not because it's so many people, just because. I mean, why should we have to walk around (in heels, at night, in a bar) with this magical number attached to our name (and perhaps body) as if anyone else ought to be able to judge me for it?
Okay, I'm avoiding the issue... let me count thy waaays, or people. Jon, Luke, Zach, Andrew, Jamie, Brandon, Will, Todd, Brian, David, Matt, Lucas. I'm forgetting people. Who am I forgetting? And isn't it terrible that I could forget someone I've slept with? Brendan. Hahah, I just realized the part of my life I was leaving out. Awww, how could I.. jackass... Ian. UGH! Lucas (the first) OH god, it's really coming to me now... Ryan. SIXTEEN? OH MY GOD. I haven't said that number before... well ladies and gents, I said I was going to be honest, and that's honest.
I've called myself a slut before, a whore, a homewrecker (unfortunately true)... AAH!!!! SEVENTEEN! I forgot about Tommy. Aah, the ultimate one night stand. The ultimate absolutely wish it never happened, one night stand. Whore. Ugh...
a new start to an old something
I've been writing for years. Not as a writer, and certainly nothing good, but I've been writing. From diary days to zine cliques, I've tried to use writing as a way to feel explained. Maybe I was trying to explain myself, to me, or perhaps I really did just want to explain my 8th grade woes to all the other Hanson loving tweens in the AOL zine world. Welp, ain't none of it worked. I'm 22, entering the "twenty something" stage of life, nearing a quarterlife crisis, and damn determined to try this writing thing once again. This time, I'm trying something new.
Honesty.
I've never been honest about anything in my writing. I think even in my diary I would exaggerate, or write from the heart and messed up mind of the girl I wanted to be. I tried to write about a distorted body image because I wanted to have one. I wrote about it so much that I convinced myself it was true. That's the scary part about lying to yourself and others - you keep telling yourself something, over and over again, and pretty damn soon you believe it. But I'm really not here to delve into my 8th grade bout with anorexia. Merely anecdotal. If I'm going to try honesty, I don't even know what anecdotal means. One of those words you think you know, because it just comes to mind in the middle of a sentence as the next word you should use, but in reality that could be the completely wrong word. Whatever.
My point is: I'm 22. I'm a brilliantly, beautiful mess. Part of me thinks I'm right where I'm supposed to be, but my god, if that's true, this place sucks. But it doesn't suck. I'm happy. I'm 22, right? Recent graduate. Living in a big city with my best friends. I drink and party and have sex. I watch trashy tv, I try to pick up a reading habit (not going very well). I have a ton of friends. (Some) guys like me. I make minimal amounts of money at a job that I claim to love which provides me with so much free time that I decided to write a blog. Hmm.
Honesty, and truth. That's what I want in this blog. I'm not here to talk my life up or make people think I'm cool or really even to find people to read my blog. I'm here because I realized the other day, when it comes to my feelings, and men, and love, and sex, and hook ups and drunk dials and everything else that comes along with being a desperate twenty something girl in a big city - no one knows everything, no one.. not even my best best best friend knows everything about me. Of course I tell my roommates all the raunchy details in the ever so popular "morning after" recaps. And I have my token emo friends who I can get a good cry in with when I'm feeling like my life is well whatever I may be feeling. But if I can't be honest with my best friends, my roommates or my family, it's time I at least come clean to myself. And naturally, in this day and age, that means by spilling my guts on the internet - to millions of complete strangers who simply know that I'm a girl, somewhere.
Honesty.
I've never been honest about anything in my writing. I think even in my diary I would exaggerate, or write from the heart and messed up mind of the girl I wanted to be. I tried to write about a distorted body image because I wanted to have one. I wrote about it so much that I convinced myself it was true. That's the scary part about lying to yourself and others - you keep telling yourself something, over and over again, and pretty damn soon you believe it. But I'm really not here to delve into my 8th grade bout with anorexia. Merely anecdotal. If I'm going to try honesty, I don't even know what anecdotal means. One of those words you think you know, because it just comes to mind in the middle of a sentence as the next word you should use, but in reality that could be the completely wrong word. Whatever.
My point is: I'm 22. I'm a brilliantly, beautiful mess. Part of me thinks I'm right where I'm supposed to be, but my god, if that's true, this place sucks. But it doesn't suck. I'm happy. I'm 22, right? Recent graduate. Living in a big city with my best friends. I drink and party and have sex. I watch trashy tv, I try to pick up a reading habit (not going very well). I have a ton of friends. (Some) guys like me. I make minimal amounts of money at a job that I claim to love which provides me with so much free time that I decided to write a blog. Hmm.
Honesty, and truth. That's what I want in this blog. I'm not here to talk my life up or make people think I'm cool or really even to find people to read my blog. I'm here because I realized the other day, when it comes to my feelings, and men, and love, and sex, and hook ups and drunk dials and everything else that comes along with being a desperate twenty something girl in a big city - no one knows everything, no one.. not even my best best best friend knows everything about me. Of course I tell my roommates all the raunchy details in the ever so popular "morning after" recaps. And I have my token emo friends who I can get a good cry in with when I'm feeling like my life is well whatever I may be feeling. But if I can't be honest with my best friends, my roommates or my family, it's time I at least come clean to myself. And naturally, in this day and age, that means by spilling my guts on the internet - to millions of complete strangers who simply know that I'm a girl, somewhere.
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