The Beginning of the Blog Disaster

(Originally written on April 30, 2009)

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Every semester, the Friday that would normally be the last day of classes is set aside as “Reading Day”, a day during which all classes are cancelled with the intention that students hole themselves up in the library or SLC (which stands for Student Learning Center for those of you who are not familiar with this abbreviation) to study for the final exams that lie ahead of them.  Naturally, this makes Thursday the last day of classes – however, the class schedule on this Thursday is as it would be if it were a Monday.  I believe this is done because classes are most often cancelled on Mondays in lieu of holidays (e.g., Labor Day, MLK, Jr. Day, Memorial Day, etc…).

Anyways, yesterday’s (Wednesday) class schedule was as usual, so, basically, we had our MW (abbreviation for Monday/Wednesday) classes three out of the four days this week.  Today I turned in two final projects:  one for each of the classes I have on MW (which are both taught by the same prof).  He’s a pretty smart guy in figuring that we were all going to procrastinate on both of our projects, even though we had the entire semester to do them.  So, instead of having regular class yesterday, he made it optional to come to the classroom during normal class hours to ask any questions about our projects that we may have still had remaining.

Scarlet and I decided to go to our first class promptly at 9:30am so that we could go ahead and get our questions asked early and then resume our analysis and report writing (the questions we had were important to get answered before proceeding so not to waste time and effort doing work that was incorrect).  By 10am or so, we had gotten all of those questions addressed.  Scarlet went home, but I instead decided to go to Polly’s and resume working on my projects so that I could still conveniently go back to campus for the second class period later – just in case I had any other vital questions arise.

By around noon, I ended up having gotten everything done except the proofreading of the write-ups, which I decided I was just going to get up early and do this morning.  Just about five minutes after making this decision, Sly ended up coming in early for his bartending shift and he joined me in drinking the afternoon away.  Working behind the bar at this point were Kip, Shooter, and Cranberry (Shooter’s smiley-er older brother).

I’ve met Cranberry a handful of times, but I was drunk every time, so I couldn’t remember his name.  Thus, I decided to “re-introduce” myself and everything was all “oh, it’s nice to officially re-meet you” and whatnot.  HOWEVER, about a half-hour later Cranberry approached me with the following question:

Oooh – are you the girl with the blog?

I mean, a lot of people have blogs these days…that’s a kinda odd question to ask someone you just “met”.  With a skeptic look on my face I replied,

Yea…I have a blog…

You’re the one who uses Disney names for people, right?

Once more, I was taken aback.  How could this guy – that I don’t really even know – know that about me?  Again, I skeptically replied,

Yea…

Oh, that’s some juicy stuff!

I was MORTIFIED.  I was completely comfortable posting such intimate details of my life on the internet for all to see because everything was anonymous.  But now that comfort of being protected under a blanket of secrecy was all gone.  My mind was swarming with questions.  How does he know about my blog?  If he knows, who all else knows?  OH MY GOD…DOES GASTON KNOW?

I sat there in shock for a couple of minutes with all of this flowing through my mind.  I mean, this could potentially change the nature of a majority of my friendships.  Not just that, but people I don’t even know (but I know who they are and visa-versa) may have unfavorable impressions of me and think they know me and who I am (I mean, this is obviously me, but not the “me” that I openly project to the general public).  Who knows how far the reverberations from this can extend?

Meanwhile, Sly kept pleading, “Juicy stuff?!  I want to read this blog!  I mean, Cranberry’s read it – and you had to ask me what his name was earlier!”

There was only one person (other than Scarlet, who doesn’t hang out with the Polly’s crowd anyway) who knew about my blog’s exact web address:  Yuengling.  I mean, everyone knows that I have a blog, but they also know that I want to keep it anonymous.  Here’s how he found out:  one afternoon at Polly’s, probably between my classes on a Monday or Wednesday, Yuengling stumbled upon me posting an entry and asked me what I was doing.  He caught me off-guard (I had probably consumed a few beers and was off my A-game) and I told him it was my blog – BUT I made him swear to secrecy, never to tell anyone.  He was the only possible leak.

At the moment, the only way to find out if Yuengling was, in fact, the culprit was to ask Cranberry.

How do you know about my blog?

Slim was showing it to me just the other night.

How the hell does Slim know (Slim works in the kitchen at Polly’s, by the way)?  And how long ago was the web address of my blog released to the public?  …Cranberry said “the other night”…  And if Slim casually showed my blog to Cranberry, who all else did he inform?

I asked the other bartenders if they knew.

• Kip:  yes.
• Shooter:  yes.
• Voodoo:  yes.

I immediately called and texted Yuengling.  A couple of times, actually.  No response.

Once I got back from Polly’s, I dropped my stuff off in my apartment, deleted my blog from the internet, and went downstairs to see what the neighbors were up to.  Gaston, Napoleon, and Leto were all chilling in Gaston’s and Napoleon’s apartment watching TV.  After sitting down next to Gaston, I announced, “Oh my god, everyone at Polly’s knows about my blog and has read it.  Yuengling must have told them – he’s the only one who knew.  But oh well, I’ve taken it down anyways.”  Not a word in response from either of the three of them.  I just figured this was because they were deeply absorbed into whatever it was that they were watching on TV.

When the show ended, Gaston and Leto headed for downtown and I headed up to bed.  Yuengling still hadn’t called or texted me back. To me, this silence was an immediate admission of guilt.  All afternoon and night I awaited his explanation and got nothing.

…until this afternoon.  I received an e-mail from Yuengling (not sure how he found my e-mail address…).  An e-mail.  In it, he basically put all the blame on me and said that other people also knew about my blog without him telling them.  Okay…and how is that possible, exactly – given that it contained nothing identifiable as either myself or any of the others that I wrote about? Anyways, he claimed that Slim was the only person he told and that it happened accidentally:  Yuengling had been looking at my blog on his phone’s internet browser; Slim asked to borrow said phone;  Yuengling handed it over; Slim asked what was up on the browser; Yuengling told him.  This, of course, happened at Polly’s (Yuengling basically lives there, he’s there every day and night, literally) and Yuengling claimed it was a drunk slip-up and that he didn’t even remember it happened until I asked about it.  Okay, we all make stupid drunken mistakes.  Whatever.  I just wish he could have told me right after it happened.

Later on this afternoon, I ran into Leto on my way to our apartment “pool” (pool in quotes because it’s so small it can easily be confused with a puddle).  We talked for a few minutes and I expressed my concern about my blog’s discovery.  Then she tells me that she has known about my blog for about a week.  Why didn’t she say something last night when I mentioned it? The next question out of my mouth:  “Does Gaston know about it?”  She says he doesn’t.  phew! Then, oddly enough, she tells me,

Don’t take this the wrong way, but you actually write really well.  I was surprised.

I mean, I’ll take a compliment, but said this in a really authoritative way, with an air of “I’m smarter than you”.  Let’s see here, I do have a Bachelor’s degree and am about to have my Master’s – she doesn’t even have a Bachelor’s degree!  What would make her think…ahh whatever. Well at least someone said something that wasn’t directed toward the “juicy” nature of the content.

I have a feeling that, even though I’ve taken care of removing my blog from the internet, I haven’t seen the end of the reverberations from this.  All I can do now is wait and see…

Rampant Miscellany

(Originally written on April 23, 2009)

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Graduation from my Master’s program is less than a month away and Beast and Martyr keep asking me what I want.  First, allow me to share with you what happened with last year’s graduation present:

The deal has always been that I would get a new car upon graduating from college.  I drive a 2001 Nissan Altima that I got when I turned 16.  Yes, I turned 16 in 2001, but Beast, being his frugal self, got a great deal on it.  It had been some dude’s business car for a year – so, considering it was only one year old (since the 2001 models were released in 2000), it had a lot of miles on it…hence, the “deal”.  Okay, so anyways, when I graduated last May I didn’t need a new car since I was staying here for another year and my little Altima runs great. *  In lieu of this, I instead got $1,000 (which – hey – I’m not complaining, something’s better than nothing!) and Beast got a brand new motorcycle for himself.  I just felt a little jipped, that’s all.

*  Random memory/thought triggered:  I’ve never been one to name my car.  However, in high school my best friend (at the time) and I decided that we thought that my emergency break looked like a penis and that we needed to name it something appropriate.  We decided that Newt was a very fitting, penis-sounding name.  I still refer to it as Newt to this day!

Back to what I want for graduation…  It’s hard to ask for anything until I know what I’m going to be doing with my life.  Whenever I eventually find a job and depending on where it is, I might not need a car.  Martyr is insistent upon doing a mother-daughter massage.  Whatever, that’s cool.  Other than that, though, I think I want an iPod touch.  Chip and Dale are graduating this May too (from high school).  I asked Dale what he thought.  He liked the idea and thinks he’s going to ask for the same thing.  Good deal.

Speaking of job uncertainty, I was supposed to have heard from the HR chick at Bacchus on Monday.  Still no call.

In order to become better acquainted with the wine business processes and Bacchus’s products in general, Beast helped me set up a “shadowing”, if you will, for this Friday. I will be going around with one of the wine salesmen from his distributorship for the day.  I’m definitely looking forward to expanding my knowledge about my beloved wine and its industry, BUT this is going to require a full day’s work starting at 7 in the morning!  I mean, not wake up at 7am, but be there and ready-to-go at 7am.  That is going to be rough…

•     •     •     •     •

I FULLY COMPLETED the campus newspaper crossword yesterday ALL ON MY OWN!  Woo-hoo!  I knocked it out in record speed:  all of it during my one-hour-and-fifteen-minute class while also paying some attention and taking notes.  It was a mini-achievement for me.

•     •     •     •     •

I had a test a couple of weeks ago in a class that is utterly pointless.  Just yesterday, I picked it up from my campus box, only to realize that I scored a 75 on it.  Wow.  My “I just don’t give a shit about school anymore” attitude has drastic effects.  My GPA is a 4.0.  Guess I won’t be holding onto that for the remainder of my education…  And I still don’t care.

I’m over it.  The entire school deal in all.  I am just ready to be done with it and enter the real world.

•     •     •     •     •

Upon getting back to the apartment after class Tuesday, I paid a visit to Gaston.  He was in his boxers, just being lazy and lying in bed.  It turned me on a little, not gonna lie.  So I laid with him for a bit and tried to coax him into hooking up. Yes, I actually had to persuade him to have sex.  This went on for quite some time.  At one point he said it wouldn’t be as fun because he was already practically naked, besides the fact that he had errands that he needed to run.  Then, at some slightly later point, he ended up just putting on a pair of shorts.  Then he took a call from Bluto.  This was my window of opportunity.

I started kissing down his chest and stomach…he made no effort to stop me (he had laid back down with me on his bed).  I proceeded to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his shorts – he hadn’t even zipped them up!  I then slid off both his shorts and his boxers.  He still had made absolutely no effort to stop any of this, by the way.  And then I started going down on him (yes, while he was on the phone with Bluto).  It was quite entertaining, actually.  He couldn’t hardly get out a complete thought and Bluto asked him what was wrong (I have a huge grin on my face right now).

Needless to say, he gave in – yet he warned me it wouldn’t last very long since I had been “playing with [him]” – yes, those were his actual words – for 10 minutes already.  Then once I got the condom, he just went straight to it!  I was like, “What?  No warm up for me?”  And he brought up the errands he needed to run again.  Anyways, he lasted longer than I expected, given his warning.

Then, as soon as I got on top of him, my nose started bleeding.  He happened to have a roll of toilet paper right there because of his allergies.  So…he ended up cumming while I had a wad of toilet paper sticking up/out of my nose…  One of the weirdest, most awkward experiences of my life – and you know how I feel about awkward!

Looking back, he took up just about as much time bitching about his errands leading up to sex as it took for us from start to finish.  The deal was:  if he had sex with me, I would go with him to run his errands.  We ended up going to a drive-up ATM to get his account balance and then to the grocery store, where he just got Fudge Rounds, Andoille sausage (apparently he’s making Jumbalaya for me sometime soon), and Gatorade.  Seriously, that was it for his errands.

Stepping back a bit to when we were debating having sex:  Gaston revealed to me that he doesn’t like kissing – he doesn’t dislike/hate it, but he doesn’t like it.  WHAT?!  I don’t even know how to verbalize my feelings about that right now.

•     •     •     •     •

I had an appointment with Angel Tuesday for the first time in a while (my shrink suggested I see him since I was under so much stress and experiencing so much anxiety).  I told him about my worries about school/finding a job/not having health insurance once I graduate and he went on about those for a while.  I mean, yes, I’m worried (at least, somewhat) about all of those things, but I realize at this point that all I can do is take them as they come.

Then, we got onto the topic of my love/dating life.  Here we go…

I told him about the whole Gaston situation and why he won’t make our relationship official.  Angel then asked me a few questions that I never saw coming.

From what you’ve told me about Gaston, your relationship with him reminds me a lot of your relationship with X.  I keep hearing more and more negatives.  Why are you still dealing with Gaston? What do you actually like about him?

Wow.  This threw me for a loop.  My immediate response:  “He’s nice; he’s…” and I went on.

Okay.  “Nice”.  When I was in a sorority and going through rush, we thought of “nice” as an adjective we only used to describe a girl that was either just okay or had northing great/memorable/outstanding about her.

Even now I see myself trying to block this out of my mind.

Then Angel asked me,

Why are you doing this?  How does it make you feel that he won’t make the relationship ‘official’?

Honestly, I know what I want:  a relationship (obviously), and I would (I think, at least) really enjoy one with Gaston.  BUT – I realize that I may be moving somewhere new and far away once I find a job:  so I’m hesitant to start a relationship just in time to move far, far away.

Am I just making excuses?  Just to cope with Gaston’s unwillingness to commit?

Angel suggested that I sit down with Gaston and talk about it – which I would love to do, but Gaston does continually remind me of how he only thinks about the “here and now” and doesn’t look into the future.  I just feel like that’s all I would get out of that conversation.

I also talked with Angel about X.  I’ve been thinking lately about getting together to talk to him (X) about working on becoming friends.  My intentions here are mainly so that I can work on moving on – not just for Gaston, but for me and the rest of my potential love life.

One night a couple of weeks ago or so, I was upset (and probably slightly drunk…yea, chances are pretty high) and going to bed.  All the things I wanted to say to X were flooding my mind.  In order to get them out of my mind and to ensure that I would remember them, I got out of bed and wrote X a letter addressing my feelings and concerns:

X –

To be perfectly honest, I feel insulted that the first thing you always ask me about it my cats.  I mean, even if you didn’t know me (which you kinda don’t anymore), you would at least ask me about the whole job thing.

You and what’s-her-face can get over the whole “me dating again” thing.  Because, just like I told you a while ago, it may be YEARS before I even date again – IF I ever even do.  You can have full confidence in the fact that I am over you; HOWEVER, I am not over what you did to me, and I may never be.

Please, at least give me the opportunity to be your friend – both of your friends.  That is the only way I can foresee myself getting on with my life.

BUT – if you prefer to remain strangers, please let me know.

I mean, I am jobless and have no idea how I can possibly get out of this town and out of your hair.  We can’t ignore this forever.

Elliott

Now, I know it comes across really bitchily, but I think I phrased it well.  I told Angel that I was thinking about meeting with X in person and handing him the letter so that I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting to say anything and I would be there to let him know that I honestly didn’t mean it in a rude way, that I just didn’t know how to better phrase it.

Angel convinced me that it would make X defensive and that I shouldn’t hand him the letter, even if I’m right there.  Instead, he suggested that when I meet with X I bring the letter with me for reminder purposes, but that I should just talk through it with him in a less offensive manner.  This made sense – I think I was under the impression that it would be easier to do it the way I had originally planned.

•     •     •     •     •

Talk about timing, I ended up setting up a meeting with X later that afternoon for that very evening (still Tuesday) – dinner and drinks.

Surprisingly, “How are your cats?” wasn’t his first question for me, it was probably his sixth or so.  I jested,

I’m actually surprised that my cats weren’t the first thing you asked me about.

He smiled and did one of those mini-laughs.

Really?  I guess since I’ve gotten my dog it’s just something that I talk about more.

Okay, I’ll take that.

I then brought up the whole friend thing and, surprisingly, he told me that his girlfriend had told him that she would like to meet me as well.  Wow.  I had thought that she hated my guts.

All in all, the meeting was a success and we’ll just have to wait and see how things move along.

•     •     •     •     •

Once I got back from meeting with X, I joined Napoleon and Gaston for the end of American Idol.  The plan was to go out.  They both needed to shower and then Gaston asked me if I would iron his khakis and a button-down shirt for him.  Napoleon then barked out, “Yea, woman, aren’t you supposed to be domesticated?”  Whatever, it’s not like I was doing anything else wile they were showering.  BUT THEN – Gaston didn’t even end up wearing the shirt – and that’s what was such a pain in the ass to iron!  Oh well, I quickly got over it.

Then Rowdy came over and we all played Name-That-Song-and-Artist-Power-Hour.  We continued doing this while waiting on Snoopy.  Gaston had told him to come over and we would leave for downtown at 11pm.  Turns out, Snoopy thought he meant “come over” at 11pm.  Then, he was late even for that time because he decided to run through Taco Bell on his way over.  Then, we had to wait for him to eat once he got there!  Dear god, it ended up turning into Power-Two-and-a-Half-Hours!

Needless to say, I had gotten pretty drunk, so once we got to Polly’s I just drank water.

It’s Always Something (Continued…kinda)

(Originally written on April 21, 2009)

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Saturday afternoon, I was frustrated because Gaston had said on Friday that he would call me when he left south Georgia.  Thus, I was expecting a call around 3:30pm.  At 4pm or so, I texted him saying that if he wanted to stay there, that was fine, but to just let me know so that I could make other plans.  No response.  Nevertheless, I continued “prepping” (hair and makeup and the whatnot).

At 7pm I decided to go with Napoleon to the cookout at Rowdy’s place.  At first the group of us was watching Superbad, when Gaston eventually ended up calling at around 7:30pm to say that he was just starting to drive back from south Georgia. So we ate and drank and played beer pong until around 10pm-ish when Gaston finally arrived.

Before we left, however, our friend Snoopy had gotten shmammered.  This is an incredibly unusual occurrence – Snoopy doesn’t normally drink that much because his family has a history of alcoholism.  Nonetheless, he imposed some classic quotes upon us in his drunken state as he was retrieving a ping pong ball from the side of the hill:

Snoopy:  You might have to get in here and pull me out!

All:  That’s what she said!

and:

Snoopy:  The spiky thing got my foot!

Perhaps it was funnier at the time, but we all found these comments hilarious.

Anyways, Napoleon, Gaston, and I were all tired and left around 11pm.  When we got back, Gaston was talking about how exhausted he was.  I mean, you could just tell from looking at him.  We went back into his bedroom and I said,

I was wondering why you decided to drive back so late.  Why did you do that since you’re so tired?  I wouldn’t have minded if you stayed in south Georgia.

I wanted to come back to see you.

Seriously?

Yea.

I felt kinda bad after questioning him, but he can frequently be full of shit and great at spitting out those one-liners…

We ended up not going to the fraternity party and just stayed in bed.

It’s Always Something

(Originally written on April 19, 2009)

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I realize that my posts have been becoming fewer and farther-between lately.  This is because graduation is approaching and my professors and project team members just continue to regurgitate more and more of a workload into my lap.  Especially my client project.  But I won’t get into that, it’s incredibly uninteresting and, to be perfectly honest, I’m tired from having worked on it like a madwoman over the past few days.  Anyways, I’ve finished my schoolwork for the day, so we’re moving on.

As far as the job front is going, the interview process with Bacchus isn’t moving as quickly as I had hoped it would.  I continue expecting phone interviews, and the same chick keeps calling me, asking the same questions, and telling me that she’ll call me back for another interview…As frustrating as this cycle is, there is nothing to be done.  I mean, it’s the best lead I have right now in terms of employment.  Oh well.

Thursday afternoon/evening/night, I went to Polly’s with Yuengling and Sly, a friend who looks just like Jack Black and bartends at Polly’s a bit; I probably arrived downtown at around 6pm or 7pm.  It was a pretty chill night and I wasn’t drinking that heavily because I had gotten severe sunburn out at the apartment “pool” (the quotes are because it’s not much bigger than the size of a puddle) with Napoleon earlier that afternoon.

Gaston and Napoleon had an engagement party to attend and then were going to come downtown.  At around 11pm, I was just tired and ready to go home.  However, Yuengling said he wasn’t comfortable driving yet and he needed to walk home one of our sloshed buddies (whose birthday was that night).  When he got back from this endeavor, he still wasn’t ready to drive – which was fine.  I normally would have had no problem waiting, but my sleepiness was more severe than I have ever experienced and I was trying to convince him that I would be fine walking home.

Right around 11:30pm or so, Gaston, Napoleon, and Leto all walked into Polly’s.  Leto and Napoleon greeted me; however, Gaston proceeded straight past me and toward the bar.  At this point I had already decided I was going home, so that didn’t even bother me like it usually would have.  Yuengling then went back to chat, I presume, and I saw this as my window to escape, so I left and texted him once I made it home safely.

I spent an unnecessarily drawn-out amount of time on Friday attending doctor appointments and getting prescriptions filled and finally made it back to the apartment around 3pm.  Napoleon was hanging out on their deck and I asked him what he and Gaston were up to for the evening.  “Well, Gaston is headed home, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

No freakin’ way.  This was the weekend of that frat party that Gaston asked me to be his date to a month ago.  I couldn’t believe he was about to stand me up again!

Last semester, Gaston invited me to their semiformal.  Turns out, he was drunk and didn’t remember asking me.  I gave him an out, saying it was no big deal if he didn’t want to go, but he insisted that we were going.  Two days before the semiformal, he disappeared and absolutely no one knew where he was (his phone was off).  The afternoon of the event, he sent me a text that he wasn’t going to be able to make it.  I mean, I know he hates confrontation, but good god!

Anyways, I had no reason to suspect otherwise this time because Napoleon’s information was the first I had heard of it.  Thus, I went back into Gaston’s room to receive confirmation.  He was playing all chill and everything, whatever, and then I asked if I could kiss him before I went up to my apartment to grab a bite to eat.

No.

Why not?  Are you going back on the deal we made the other day?

No, you just made a really stupid, irresponsible decision last night.

This conversation played out for quite some time, only to arrive at him telling me that I can do whatever I want to do and he wasn’t mad at me.

Well you always seem to have some excuse not to kiss me lately.  Do you not like kissing me?

You know the answer to that.  I like kissing you.

I just don’t understand, if you aren’t mad at me, why you’re punishing me.

I’m not punishing you.

Then why won’t you kiss me?

I’ve just had a bad day.

And, of course, he wouldn’t tell me what made his day bad.  He just insisted that he would be back Saturday by 6pm and that he would then take me to the party or whatever.

Then, as he was leaving he pulled me in for a hug and held me tighter for longer than usual, kissing my cheek.  When he eventually pulled away, he gave me a little peck on the lips (which is all I wanted in the first place) and reassured me that he would call when he headed back up.

Vino + Sex = Success!

(Originally written on April 15, 2009)

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Yesterday I had a brief “interview” with the VP of sales of the winery in Cali (we will from here-on-out call it Bacchus, in honor of the Greek god of wine).  After speaking with him last week, I was left with the impression that he wanted to just see where I may best fit in with the company.  By the way, this dude was Beast’s boss for five years.

Monday was Beast’s and Martyr’s 24^th wedding anniversary.  I had called each of them at some point during the day to give my best wishes as well as ask a few questions about taxes (this year was my first time filing) and my interview/meeting.  Neither of them answered my calls throughout the course of the entire day and didn’t call me back.  Until…they were at a wine bar down the street from my apartment and asked me to join them for a drink, so I went.

So…Beast gave Martyr a fox-fur coat for their anniversary.  I’m not sure exactly how much it will be put to use in the southeast, but that’s cool.

Anyways, at this conjuncture the Bacchus interview came into conversation.  I told Beast that I was under the impression that the meeting was going to be less like a standard interview and more the VP informing me about the company and finding out where I may best fit in (as mentioned earlier).  He fired back with, “You can’t assume anything!  You better go in there prepared, he’s going to ask you [A, B, C, …],” blah, blah, blah.

After this lecture-conversation, I went back home and better prepared myself with Mintel reports for Bacchus as well as the wine industry as a whole.  I also crammed in some additional research on the Bacchus brands and products – just to be sure that I cover all of my bases.

As it turns out, I drove an hour (one way) just for what turned out to be a 30-minute get-to-know-you session.  Thus, only one-fifth of my two-and-a-half hour venture was actually spent “interviewing”.  However futile this may have been, it was a success nonetheless.  And I had also gotten a lot of my work done earlier in the day (which, little did I know, ended up being useless after my client project meeting that took place earlier today).

This called for celebration!

During my drive home, I noticed that Gaston had twittered that he was bored and looking for something to do.  So I called him, informed him that I was on my way home from a successful “interview”, and asked if he would accompany me to Polly’s for a celebratory drink or two (to which he agreed to join me).

Once I finally got back to the apartment (looking all spiffy in my three piece suit), I walked into Gaston’s apartment about to ask if he was ready to go…and there’s Slutty McSlutterson on the sofa.  Great.  It took seemingly forever for her to leave, but eventually we made it to Polly’s while Napoleon walked there to meet us in order to get in his exercise for the day.  Gaston pretty much ignored me once we got there, what a surprise, everything was as usual.

Okay, I hope that the person who invented pantyhose is serving eternal damnation in Hell.  Before leaving to my interview yesterday morning, a miniscule snag on one of my fingernails caused a run in my pantyhose at my ankle.  Thankfully, I had another pair – but not for long!  The second pair met their demise by means of my barstool.  This is always annoying, let alone with the additions of the struggle of getting them on and their constant discomfort.

Back to what I was saying, we ended up leaving Polly’s by 8pm so that Napoleon could get back to catch American Idol.  I made pasta for dinner and Gaston bitched that I never cooked for him, yet he chose not to eat any of it…  Later, Whitey came over and he, Gaston, and I played drinking games:  two rounds of Fuck the Dealer and one game of Circle of Death.

After all of this, I was pretty tired and ready for bed, wary of the long day that lay ahead of me.  Gaston and Whitey, on the other hand, wanted to go out and were trying to convince me to join them.  Gaston pleaded with me:

Just one hour.  Please?  I’ll do anything.

If I go out for just one hour, you have to stop this whole not-kissing thing.

Okay.

And we had ourselves a deal!

So after one hour we headed back home and Gaston and I had amazing, carnal sex.  I honestly don’t know how else to possibly better describe it, but it was incredible.  It had come out during Circle of Death:  being the only girl playing, I pulled out “Never have I ever gone down on a girl.”  Gaston lowered his finger.  This wouldn’t be such a surprise if he had ever done so to me, but he never has.  I questioned him and he assured me that, yes indeed, he has (although, not to me, of course).  I just assumed he was one of those guys that never did that because it grossed him out, and it never really bothered me that much because it has never really done it for me, if you will.  So last night, that was a first.  He insisted on doing it to disprove my assumption, and he did a (surprisingly) damn good job.

AND THEN we cuddled all night – at least, every time that I woke up we were cuddling.  He never does that.  When it was time for me to get up and get ready for class, he held me tighter, telling me, “Nope, you’re all mine.”

Maybe things between us are starting to get back to the way they were…

Hopeless Uncertainty

(Originally written on April 13, 2009)

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With all of the stress from school, Gaston, and being a jobless Master’s student with no experience that will graduate in less than a month, I occasionally break down and have mini-freak-outs.  The last time was probably two weeks ago or so.  I called Martyr, crying, and she asked if I would like to receive a trip to visit Samantha, since I don’t exactly have the money to pay for it myself.  This was quite a comforting idea that brought the mini-freak-out to an end and got me excited about seeing Samantha for the first time in about a year.

I received a call from my darling Samantha this weekend only to find out that her nursing school in Maine starts May 11^th as opposed to starting in August (she had just found this out herself).  I graduate on May 9^th.  Definitely not enough time to see her once I graduate.  This was a disappointing bummer, especially when taking into account the following topic.

My most promising job lead right now is with a winery in northern California.  I love wine and I think I would really enjoy the job and the atmosphere.  However, I know ABSOLUTELY NO ONE out there.  My immediate family and Martyr’s family are all in the southeast and Beast’s family all live in Ohio.  I am really excited about the opportunity, but I am scared out of my mind of going so far away – that’s a difference of three time zones!

I would also probably move out there (this is all assuming I get a job offer, of course) and start working at the beginning of June.  My 23^rd birthday is on June 12^th, so I would immediately be spending my birthday somewhere I will only have lived one-and-a-half weeks and know no one.  Okay, I would have acquaintances from work by that point – but still!

In case you haven’t noticed, I overanalyze a lot and always think about how present decisions will affect my future.  This also causes me to (probably unnecessarily) worry a lot.

•     •     •     •     •

Yesterday (Easter), Gaston was supposed to have gone to the Master’s tournament after church with his grandmother (church with his grandmother, not the Master’s), but that ended up not being the case for whatever reason.  He got back in town around 5pm and called me when he pulled into the apartment parking lot, telling me that he “brought back a present for [me] from [south Georgia].”

Holy shit.  He openly avows (and always has) that he doesn’t do stuff like Valentine’s Day specialties/gifts/whatever or anniversary crap either.  No cards, candy, flowers, etc. – none of that romantic stuff.  For example, I bought him a rare hat for Christmas this year, receiving nothing in return.  I mean, he told me upfront about how he is, I guess I wasn’t sure if that applied to Christmas too.  Whatever.

So anyways, I came out of my apartment and down to his car (which was parked right outside of his apartment and where he was unloading his stuff).  He pulled out a small stem of three Azaleas and tucked it behind my ear, telling me,

All the women in my family wear Azaleas behind their ears on Easter – even my grandmother.  I love Azaleas; they’re my favorite flower.  My mom and sister brought these back from Augusta.

I practically melted.  That was so sweet and out of character for him.

Still won’t kiss me, though.

•     •     •     •     •

This morning, upon entering the classroom, I started feeling slightly sick.  I told Scarlet that if I suddenly ran out of class it would be because I was feeling funny.  Literally 30-45 seconds later, my nose starts bleeding.  FML.

True story.

Ha ha!  In case you aren’t familiar with that format, you need to check out the website www.fmylife.com.  I love indulging in its gloriousness!

To the Point

(Originally written on April 10, 2009)

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Yuengling thinks that everything between Gaston and me is done after the whole April Fool’s thing.  He’s torn between thinking it’s awful and funny.  I wish he had spoken up on the former of those two feelings when the idea was originally brought up at Los Compadres because it is one of my biggest regrets.  Actually, my only regret.  I don’t believe in wasting time worrying about what has been done because there’s nothing that you can do to change it.

Downtown at Polly’s Tuesday after the movie, Gaston called me Slutty McSlutterson and asked me if I had ever met Dirty Steve for like the 100^th time (realistically somewhere around the 7^th).  Two insults rolled up into one – how efficient of him!  I don’t feel the need to explain why I was pissed about him calling me Slutty McSlutterson (he wasn’t even drinking –  ANYTHING).  However, Gaston took me home with him to south Georgia back in January.  During this visit, I freakin’ met Dirty Steve and we hung out with him all night.  He asks me this question on a regular basis (often sober) and by now I just feel that he should remember.

I went to see my friends’ band play on Wednesday with Yuengling (the same band I saw when I ran into X).  They played really well and I really enjoy their music and lyrics.  The one that I found most relevant to my life:  “I can’t help but worry about it.”  I just can’t.  About anything, really.

Yesterday afternoon/last night Gaston, Rowdy, Leto (Belle’s roommate) and I sat outside on Gaston’s porch drinking Mint Julips and watching the Master’s tournament.  We ended up grilling out and later on the beer pong table came out.  By this point, Napoleon had returned from work.   Gaston and Rowdy were taking on Whitie (Gaston’s albino friend) and me.  Game 1:  Whitie and I win.  Game 2:  it was time to break out the distractions – Gaston can never help but be fully affected by them.  My distractions, although not modest I suppose, consist of me shaking my butt or putting my thumb on the top of my jeans and pulling them down so you can see that hipbone line.

Out of nowhere, Napoleon announces (he’s still off the sauce for Lent), “I’ve been meaning to tell you – you look like a prostitute.”  Call me sensitive, but this really pissed me off – enough so that it was to the point where I sank Whitie’s and my remaining two cups on my next two throws with ease.  Immediately afterward, I retired to my apartment for the rest of the evening (where, not too much later, my nose started bleeding because my anger caused a sever spike in my blood pressure).  You can try to say that he was just kidding, but as many asshole lines as he has given me, I know better than to believe that.  The mere fact that he shouted it in front of everyone was embarrassing, degrading, and flat-out inappropriate.

Scarlet raised the questions, “How can you call him a friend?  Why do you still hang out with him?”  Those are two damn good questions.  I think it’s because he was the one that helped me after I had been raped.  He called the police for me since I could hardly be understood through my tears, and he was with me while the cops interviewed me and searched my apartment in the wee hours of the night.  That is a debt that I feel I can never repay and that I will always be eternally grateful for.  I mean, we had just been hanging out for about a month by that time and we barely even knew each other.  BUT that is also why this particular comment struck so deep – it made me feel as though he probably thinks I was just asking to be raped.  I’m sure that’s not the case, but that’s how I feel.

I FINALLY had sex today!  Woo-hoo!  And the duration was fantastic and…ahh.  It was just phenomenal.  However, I’m not quite sure what to think because Gaston still won’t let me kiss him – not even during sex.  I just don’t know what to think about that.  I understand that I ruined his trust in me, but it just seems so emotionless (which he can be a lot of the time, but this is different).  I don’t think I could do that again because the only other time (other than the rape) that I’ve had sex without kissing was post-breakup sex with X – which isn’t a very positive association.

We then spent, like, three more hours together watching the Master’s while he wanted to (and I let it happen) cuddle with me – holding my hands, kissing my shoulders, and such.  I asked him if he would ever let me kiss him again and he replied, “Probably.”  With Gaston it is more than just sex, but I just don’t think that our “not-relationship” can continue if the kissing aspect remains out.

“I can’t help but worry about it.”

Mr. Sandman

(Originally written on April 8, 2009)

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I had the strangest dream last night.

We had a party at Beast’s and Martyr’s apartment (even though they live in a house in real life), which was on the 12^th floor or so of the building, because we reunited with Ursula’s long-lost fraternal twin, a girl named Addie.  At the party, this blonde chick wearing a god-awful pink sequined dress, who, I believe, was a neighbor, ended up pushing Addie off the balcony, plummeting to her death.

I’m assuming this all took place approximately two years ago.  Ursula, Chip, Dale, and I were all upset that Martyr had never told us about our additional sibling.  She played it off as if we grew up with Addie, saying, “I don’t know why none of you kids remember her, you all grew up with her all your lives – she’s your sister.”  We ended up suspecting that she (Martyr) had brainwashed us.

The blonde chick that murdered Addie showed up to the funeral with her mother and sister, which was at Beast’s and Martyr’s apartment for some reason, wearing the same hideous pink dress that she had worn at the party when she committed the crime.  At some point in some conversation, she decided to draw attention to herself and make an announcement to all in attendance:

I always hated her.  In honor of that, I’m wearing the same dress to put her in the ground that I wore when I pushed her to the ground!

This ended up sparking a feud, if you will (Hatfield vs. McCoy reference, there), that, for some reason, we ended up deciding could only be settled with a fashion show:  me versus the blonde chick.  All of a sudden, there were hundreds of people in this big open room – just like a fashion show, I presume (I’ve never actually been to one).  We each chose five dresses to sport that were supposed to be stylish while at the same time flatteringly showed off our figures.

Martyr, in her usual fashion, insisted on helping me pick out my dresses.  I didn’t care for the fourth choice, so, right before I went out onto the catwalk, I put on another more-risqué number that was über short, long sleeved, shoulder pad clad, red and gold sequined, and backless – it came to a V that literally stopped just shy of my butt-crack.  When I came out, the room hushed in awe of how beautiful (even though it was actually hideous) the dress was.  Martyr was pissed that I deviated from the plan.  By the time I got back to the dressing room, Martyr had left the audience and was in there waiting for me.

I then asked her which of the two remaining dresses she would prefer I wear as the last one.

Well you obviously decided to make that last decision all on your own, so you can just choose this one for yourself too.

I ended up deciding to wear the dress that I actually wore for graduation last May (in real life).

Anyway, when I came out of the dressing room, it was no longer the runway – I was on a beach.  Ursula was there and told me that everyone had run out to the sandbar and urged me to go out there and show them.  I dove into the ocean and swam out to the sandbar where everyone was playing in customary beach manner:  swimsuits, beach balls, snorkels, etc.  Once I got there, I was having trouble getting everyone’s attention (as if me being in a dress on a sandbar in the middle of the ocean isn’t enough).

All of a sudden, this massive 25-foot wave came perpendicular to the beach (nonsensical, I know) and sent me tumbling along the ocean floor, unable to get any air.  It carried me into where it fed into a mountain river…yea, I know…  I ended up being dragged out and revived by Bluto, a friend in real life that moved back home to find a job since he was taking the semester off.

Once I came-to, I was shocked at his appearance:  he had a scraggly beard and was dressed in tatters.  Turned out (in the dream) that he couldn’t find a job and fled to the mountains to live as a caveman.  I spent some time with him on the mountainside overlooking the beach and talking about life before deciding that I just couldn’t live as a cavewoman.  We said our goodbyes and I headed back home.

When I got back home, Ursula had just found out that she had a son that was seven or eight years old that she didn’t know about.  She confronted Martyr about it and Martyr pulled the same routine as she had before with Addie, “You don’t remember?”

So here’s yet another family member that we never knew about!  Ursula ended up going up to the apartment, where she decided to kill herself in the same way that her twin (Addie) had died, and she jumped off of the balcony.

She ended up landing on a fallen rectangular pillar, with no harm done whatsoever.  So, then she taped her hands around it and decided she would just starve to death, right there.

Upon finding this out, Martyr immediately went to the site of the “accident”.  By the time she got there, there was a crowd and police were surrounding Ursula.  Martyr just went right up, ripped the tape off of Ursula’s arms and hands, and she dragged Ursula away from the site while she scowled, “I can’t believe you would embarrass our family like that!”

And then I woke up.

All Work and No Play…

(Originally written on April 6, 2009)

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Last night, Gaston got back from Miami.  I had no idea when to expect him to be back, I was at Beast’s and Martyr’s house (who are officially working on getting back together, by the way) for Ursula’s 21^st birthday.  While there, Ursula, Chip, and Dale revealed that they had all seen Fast and Furious over the course of the weekend and that it was awesome.  Having still not heard anything from Gaston since Wednesday, I decided that it was time to stop anticipating and just initiate contact myself (just like I usually do).  So, I texted him “Will you go with me to see Fast and Furious on Tuesday?  I’ll pay because I’ve got tons of movie gift certificates” (the certificates were part of Martyr’s Valentine’s Day gift to me – along with a tub of gumballs, a card, and a bottle of wine).  I actually haven’t even seen a movie in theaters since Role Models, which was mine and Gaston’s first date (which we went to with a few friends and he referred to as a “pseudo-date”).

Anyways, he ended up immediately calling me back saying, “I was just about to call you!  Are you at trivia?”  I told him where I was and why and asked him what his response was to my text.  He didn’t actually read it, so I asked him about Tuesday and he confirmed.  I hope he holds to that…

Before getting off the phone, I told him to call me after trivia (which he was heading to, late) because I wanted to see him and hear about his weekend.  That call ended at 8:30pm.  I got home from Ursula’s 21^st birthday celebration around 11pm.  Having not heard back from him, I texted him saying I was home, to which he replied “headed home”.  After waiting 20 minutes (when it only takes approximately five minutes to get to the apartment from trivia), I told him (via text) that I should instead go to bed since I had a long day ahead of me.

So you aren’t coming down?

Are you even home?

I told you I was.

NO, he told me he was headed home.  Whatever.  Now it was 11:30pm and I decided to just come down because I didn’t feel like getting into it over petty technicalities.  He was seated at their dining table (which he never does – he’s always either on the sofa or in his bed, both of which lead to cuddling opportunities).  I was originally playing up my tiredness in hopes we’d relocate (I sat completely opposite of him across the table – still hesitant as to how upset he remained over the whole pregnancy joke thing).

I asked him how his weekend was.

It was fun.

That’s all he said!  After getting upset that I was going to go to bed instead of come down to see him, that was IT!

I continued for approximately 10 minutes to pretend to pass out in my chair.  I then said, “Well can I go up to bed if all you have to say about the past four days is that they were ‘fun’”…Another five minutes go by, still no response.  Finally, he simply says, “I don’t care.  Go to bed.”

What an aggravating son-of-a-bitch!  I proceeded to go to bed.

•     •     •     •     •

As early of a start as I had this morning, I hopelessly hope my evening arrives just as soon.  After my first class, I had a pointless, unproductive, unnecessarily long group project meeting.  Then, I went to Polly’s to study for a pointless test that I have tomorrow for a pointless class.

While there, however, I did get a recruitment call from a company that I hadn’t even applied to.  I’m not too interested in relocating to where their headquarters are, but at this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.

Anyways, from there I went to another pointless class (which I would have skipped, but Scarlet told me that I’ve been doing that too much lately).  Then, I had another painfully god-awful seminar.  I WAS originally planning on skipping out on the social hour following the presentation, BUT my program mentor came, so I was essentially obligated to go.

Then Beast called and lectured at me for half-an-hour about finding a job.  He made me immediately draft a particular cover letter and e-mail it to him with my resume.

Ugh!

Now I have to pick back up my studying for that test tomorrow.  When does all this fun stop?

Normal Everyday Life

(Originally written on April 4, 2009)

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The past few days have been pretty uneventful.  Yesterday I went to Polly’s for lunch with Martyr and, as usual, Yuengling was there.  After we ate, I decided to just hang out and I spent the rest of my day there looking for jobs (online).  I had Yuengling bring me home around 8:30pm or so.

“Why so early?”  You may ask.  The night before, Ursula, Flower-Child, and I went to Los Compadres and Teddy was spoiling me with Patron margaritas.  I pre-gamed before dinner with three beers over the course of probably two hours.  We were probably only at Los Compadres for three hours or so – during which I had three potent margaritas and a shot of tequila.  Needless to say, I got wasted.

So, I really didn’t feel like going out hardcore last night.

Once I got back, I remembered that Belle, another one of my neighbors, was going to just be chilling at the apartment.  Once I got back, I dropped off my stuff (purse, laptop, etc.), grabbed a glass of wine, and went downstairs to join her.  We sat on her front stoop for a bit while her ex-boyfriend smoked a cigar – which smelled fantastic, by the way.

They have a really weird relationship – which isn’t really even a relationship.  It’s odd.  They aren’t together, but they still do a lot of dating-like activities.  Belle tried to explain it to me a little bit last night when he stepped out for a phone call:  basically, she’s just not opposed to dating other people.  Yet, I don’t think she has dated anyone or even tried.  Oh well, whatever!

Anyways, I ended up chilling with them until midnight or so after we watched The Departed.

•     •     •     •     •

Ooh!  I completely forgot to mention it, but after the seminar last Monday, Scarlet and I were walking back to his car when there was this girl in front of us wearing a ridiculously short dress.  We both commented on it, of course – we can’t help ourselves sometimes.  Then I realized that it was Slutty McSlutterson!  I turned to him and blurted out, “Wait, is that Slutty McSlutterson?”  Yes – I actually referred to her by her code name, out loud, in public, right behind her…

Then, as we began to cross the street (she continued straight and we turned the corner), I called out “Slutty McSlutterson?”  (I actually used her real name that time).  She turned, still walking, and just said, “Oh, hi.  It’s nice to see you out!”  I’m not sure if she heard my earlier comment(s) (the s because she may have also heard us talking about how short her dress was), Scarlet insists that she didn’t, or if she was just in a rush, but it seemed as though she couldn’t get away fast enough.

•     •     •     •     •

I haven’t spoken a word to Gaston since Wednesday night.  It’s kinda different because he’s in Miami right now visiting Tomboy, his best friend.  He’s accompanying her to her law school prom or whatever.  So I still have absolutely no idea where that whole situation stands.