they all come crawling back

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.

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

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...