Too Single To Care

Many men (and a few women) later, I moved on.

But not before I dated T.

Until T, most the people I dated had no idea what they wanted for their life or how to get it.

The one’s before were stuck. Stuck in their relationships, like the German, who was separated from this wife but not legally divorced until (by law) a year has past. Stuck in their jobs, like the Theater guy who was in his mid 20’s and still working at a movie theater. Stuck in future, like Drug guy who no matter what his life’s ambitions or interests were he was doomed to run his father’s company. Stuck in their religion, like the Mormon who’s life was not his own, but god’s. Stuck in their past, like M who was forever haunted by trauma. Stuck in their heads, like OCD guy who, turns out has Multiple Personality Disorder.

T was different. He was responsible, he was active, he was organized, he had a plan. And it was sexy.

About 4 months into it I was just getting comfortable, even thinking about committing. And then he gave me the ultimatum.

I denied it, partially because I’m power hungry and partially because I need someone to be sensitive to that. He was not that person.

That’s when I started to think that person doesn’t exist.

Just like society has these damn near impossible traits for women (goodlooking but not high maintenance, excellent fuck but not a slut, smart but not nerdy, sexy but can take home to meet the parents, drinks but not more than you, aspires to cooking, cleaning, raising children and have a fulltime job)… I had similar one’s, if not the same ones.

DAMN. Does this mean I’m a sexist pig too?

So, I decided to block out this realization with a pizza delivery boy who months later got the herp from his girlfriend, a frat boy that looked in the mirror more than me, a Texan who gave me the line “Sorry, I just always act weird after I hookup with someone”, and a model who ate me out in the bathroom at a party. All winners. Or wieners.

But I didn’t care, I was single and they were hot. And as long as they were std free and could prove it, I was game. Because I wasn’t looking for love, or a relationship, or a reason to care. I wanted to do whatever I fucking felt like and answer to no one.

I’m not proud that I’ve broken a few hearts, I just don’t give a shit.

Left Behind and Last to Know

No, I’m not okay.

No, I’m not adjusting well.

No, I’m not happy.

 

Damn this rain cloud over my head. I hate how it pours down when I come home from a long day of distracting myself from my misery. It’s always worse at night, when I realize I’ve come home empty handed.

 

I haven’t made it to my own bed yet. It’s still vacant and messy with all my clothes strewn about. I’m sleeping in the guest bed that we had taken over, ‘our’ bed. Despite my loathing for the fru-fru furniture and the fact that I think my bed is more comfortable, I still sleep were we have laid. Some part of me believes that one night you’ll come home.

 

It’s all disturbing. It’s all completely unlike me. Especially this aching hope I have that wishes us to be together. After seeing you last night, that cold and distant affect that sent me choking on my own desolation. It got me to wondering if I should be moving on?

Ghost

I’m buying books today. I’m standing there, lost, in the mist of the Anthropology and Human History. Where is the god damn Physical Fitness section? The class started about 5mins ago and I’m still looking for the book. I’m stressed and tired.

Then a man enters the same aisle. He stands there scanning the books not noticing that I am there, not even acknowledging my existence. True, this is what people do in this culture. We respect another’s personal space… we ignore each other.

However, I know this man. I know him more than he would like to admit.

We dated, you see, a couple years ago. And in a small liberal arts school like this, you’re bound to run into a few, scratch that, you’re going to run into all of your ex's sooner or later, possibly in the same day. I know this, he knows this, I think everyone in this small town knows this. But we still fuck each other and act like nothing happened the next day.

I try not to. I want to be as humanistic as I can toward my former affaires. He doesn’t. He wishes it never happened. I’m not asking for much, just acknowledgment of my fucking existence. For crying out loud we’ve seen each other naked. The least we can do is recognize each other as another human being… a greeting or even a nod would do. But no, we stand there looking at the same row of books, in silence.

My brain isn’t silent though. It cries out trying to make him not regret anything… I don’t. So I go blind by my own thoughts and I walk away from the book case, I walk away from my past. I reject my past just as it rejects me. I wanted to leave, I just stood on the other side of the book case sorting my thoughts. All I could think about was walking to the door but I needed to find this damn book. Where the fuck is it?

“Can I help you with something?” A short robust lady walked toward me. I hate when I ask for help in here. There are like 5 bookcases total, all labeled. Why the fuck should I need help?

I told her yes, and she escorted me to the proper bookcase adjacent to the Human History section… My History. I peered down the aisle, and he was gone.

That’s the thing about ex’s. They either wish you to disappear or want to be in your life. And in a small town like this one you have to make a quick conscious decision to either act like a complete asshole or a inviting warm person because you’re bound to run into each other and it will be awkward as hell if you haven’t decided how you’ll react. 

And no matter how much you resent your past relationships, no matter how much you try to repress them and bottle up all the feelings and images toward that person, it won’t work. They’re still out there just as alive as you are. They’re in your class, at your store, down the street, even at the same party. 

This is a ghost town, where everyone is running from each other, from their past. But, we’re all ghosts. Someone has made the decision to make you a apparition because it’s too painful to acknowledge you as part of them. Someone wants to blink out your existence. Mine has been. Not because I've done anything I regret, but because I'm someone's mistake. I'm someone's ghost.

3 Little Words

Last time I saw Sandy, I was at her apartment meeting her new interest. He was a clean cut country boy from Versailles, Kentucky and talked a lot about nothing no matter how uninterested everyone in the room seemed to be. Sandy’s roommate, Saundra, expressed how much she disliked the new interest. I could not disagree with her but made an argument that he had been drinking a lot of whiskey and perhaps that intensified his personality to annoying.

We both warned Sandy to not fuck him that night for fear of whiskey-dick.

Well, she did. And apparently it was good sex. With one minor draw-back. He said the ‘L’ word.

“This was your first time sleeping with him right?” I asked her.

“Ya, this was only our first real time hanging out besides the night we met. I knew he liked me a lot. So, before we did anything I sat him down and told him not to expect anything and that I just got out of a bad relationship and I’m not looking for one right now. Then he told me he loved me while we were having sex.” To clarify, Sandy did get out of a bad relationship, but that was a year ago. And she wasn’t looking for a relationship, at least not with him. Out of disgust and horror, I told her to dump him. Anyone that throws around the ‘L’ word like that doesn’t have any respect for it’s true meaning (whatever that is).

The next day I saw my interest, WXL. I was ill. And convinced I caught whatever he had the couple days prior. We were at his buddy’s house watching a cheesy horror flick. All along while I was teasing WXL, telling him we cannot kiss since he made me sick.

“You can’t just cut out kissing. There’s so much to a kiss.” He obviously was opposed to a non-kissing relationship.

And as if on que, the movie cut to a making-out scene.

“You see. It’s not by chance that people kiss on the lips, it’s perhaps, one of the most erogenous zones on the human body. And all the feeling that goes into a kiss…”

“Feeling? What is this feeling of which you speak of? What should I be feeling?” I loved playing the cold-hearted one.

“I can’t tell you what you should be feeling”

“Then tell me what you feel”. I was looking for something erotic, like kissing me made a tingling feeling shoot down his spine to his shaft.

“Well, I love you”.

“Huh?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

“Ya.”

And then I kissed him

Commitment Phobe

I have never fully committed to anything.

I've never put the time or effort into my school work. I've never been dedicated to any job. I've never entrusted myself with anything and I've never put in 110%.

And now, I look over at the $2 intended for the investment in a key for Him which has now been sitting on the table for about a week... and I think "is there a reason he doesn't have my house key"?

I could have just forgotten.

But, trained in psychology, I know better. Even our inattention has meaning, the brain forgets for a reason.

My history falls short at this point in a relationship. My Men before had never had a key to my house, not the first (3+ year relationship), and not the last (3+year relationship). 

I've been committed, whole-heartedly to my current relationship (granted, this was an adjustment in itself). So,  Why am I reluctant to give this Man a key, who, mind you, has been practically living with me for the past 6 months?

Commitment phobia? Or just lazy?

I choose the latter. I'm off to get a key made.

Red, red.

Red, red. You are my first.

Overloaded and wide-eyed, I contemplate what others will think.

I contemplate what I think...

Yes, that's right, I've never had a virtual diary before. I'm a virgin blogger.

My only living diary is a list of people I've pursued in one form of another. Which I predict I will probably post on here? I expect the stories would get some laughs (or cries).

This is much like losing your actual (vaginal) virginity.

You think about it entirely too much. Arousing at first, disappointing in the end. Most likely you regret it. And it only matters to you.

And (like any sexual relationship) as time goes on you become less interested and stop doing it as often. Eventually, you find something new.

Why am I losing my blogger virginity now?

1.) Everyone's doing it (I'm not usually a sucker for peer pressure, but there is some allure to having your life spread eagle on the internet, vulnerability is sexy.)

2.) Perhaps aiming for some sort of self therapy (this, does not mean therapy in the traditional sense, more like an organization of one's thoughts)

3.) I'm closing to a turning point in my life (I'm going to graduate from college soon...with a bullshit degree in hand... and no immediate plans for grad school.)

I don't know about you, but I'm done mulling over my loss of innocence and whoring myself out to the hungry virtual world of blogging. I shall (like most newly popped cherries) go cower in the corner, fetal position and all, thinking "WHAT HAVE I DONE!"